Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
There’s a loud cough in front of me. “Five minutes to touchdown, sir.”
Reality intrudes like a record scratching, both of us breaking the kiss to suck down air. Eloise blinks at me, blushing and bewildered. Her fingertips slowly rise to her lips, touching them, her eyes scanning her surroundings with dawning horror, as if only realizing she’d been in my lap for the last fifteen minutes.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she breathes, scrambling off me as soon as the helicopter lands, her face growing deeper and deeper with color. “It won’t happen again.”
Confused, I shake my head. “Eloise…Ms. Rogers, I mean. We both—”
I never find out what my brain plans on putting out of my mouth because a phone is suddenly in my face. “Sir, there’s an urgent call from the Secretary of State.”
I curse internally, no choice but to take the call.
And the one after that. And the one after that.
All while Eloise tries to melt into the seat beside me, all the way to the capital where the senator and his staff are waiting outside for us.
Later. I’ll handle this…and my rapidly growing feelings for Eloise later.
five
. . .
Eloise
This is getting embarrassing.
I cannot physically control myself around President McAlister.
I’ve all but offered myself to him on a silver platter twice in one day, even after I resolved to maintain my professionalism. Now, I’m standing at the perimeter of Senator Stokes’ office, behind a row of flashing cameras, watching as the president shakes the hands of several miners who were rescued after being trapped in the earth for several days.
Pierce looks every single one of them in the eye and gives them a firm shake, exchanging a few words just between them, not for the benefit of the cameras. Long gone is his jacket, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms. His hair perfect in its disarray. Every woman in the room is watching him with slack-jawed appreciation, from interns to reporters.
“Senator Stokes, what will you and the president be discussing on this visit?” asks someone holding a tape recorder.
“Today is all about honoring the sacrifices of our treasured workers of industry here in West Virginia. However, we’re humbled by President McAlister’s presence in our fine state and see it as a sign of promising things to come between West Virginia and the new administration.”
“Just honored to shake the hands of these brave men,” Pierce rumbles with a firm nod, his answer shining with authenticity, especially when compared to the senator’s reply. “Thank God they were able to return home to their families.”
Everyone is charmed by Pierce and the quiet conversation he resumes with one of the miners, his hand gestures so familiar to me. I can only watch him and sigh, my thighs squeezed tightly together beneath my dress. I haven’t had a chance to change into a new pair of panties and these are growing damper by the second, just from watching the president’s back muscles shift under the starched white shirt, hearing his low crack of laughter in response to something said by the senator.
When they fan out and face the cameras to pose for pictures, he doesn’t give one of those phony politician smiles, he just looks patiently at the row of lenses, a small groove between his brows, as if he’s not sure he likes the fanfare. His lips are a shade darker than usual, a hint swollen, and I’m the only one in the room who knows why.
We made out on Marine One.
I sat on the president’s lap and kissed him like tomorrow would never come.
Like he never told me a relationship was impossible.
Those stolen moments in the back of the helicopter will surely go down as the best ones of my entire life. A real man is man enough to serve his woman. Don’t ever forget that. Those words revolve around my head, packing more meaning every time, the memory of his long fingers testing and stroking my knee, making me hot beneath my dress, the material of my underwear sodden and uncomfortable.
“Thank you very much for your time,” the senator says to the assembled media, his smile toothy and broad. “We’re going to enjoy a luncheon with the president now, before we break to prepare for his reception gala tonight. He deserves to be spoiled a little before we send him back to the sharks in Washington.”
There’s an obligatory smattering of laughter before the media is hustled out of the event room, the miners herded by interns with clipboards and guided out a separate entrance, their photo op with the president and senator concluded. Secret Service and various staff members are left behind in the room, including myself, but I don’t have a chance to feel like a spare tool, because Pierce makes eye contact with me immediately, jerking his chin to indicate I should join him and the senator.