Page 17 of The Senator's Secret

No. Absolutely not.

“I’LL DO MY BEST,” I replied as I pushed up from the booth.

“Good,” Jacob said just as I was reaching for my bag. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“What’s that?” I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it; he is so frustrating. I feel like the sexy senator with the dimples talked circles around me all night and I somehow managed to agree to everything he wanted. What the hell? It’s like I’m stuck in his sexual pull. Every single time he flashes me those dimples I got stupid.

“Just a little practice,” he said cryptically.

“Practice?” I snapped. I was losing my patience. I clearly needed to get out of that restaurant and soon. “What practice?”

“This.” And then he wrapped me up tight in his arms and crushed his mouth to mine.

I melted into him like Frosty the Snowman in July, and my lips opened under his. And when he licked into my mouth, I just lost it. I let out a moan worthy of a porn star, which is nothing like me. Usually, I am reserved and private no matter what, but with Jacob, it’s like I become a completely different person. And I don’t like it at all.

But that’s a lie. My body burned hot and I pushed closer to Jake. I needed him. I needed him to touch me, to put the fire out so I could go back to my normal quiet self.

And all the while, as he held me in his arms, the promise of more whispered across my mind, but we both know that would be impossible, and even if it weren’t impossible, it’s certainly dangerous to my heart.

We were lost in the moment like a Shania Twain song, and then one of his Secret Service agents whispered, “Senator, you have eyes on you.” And it’s like a bucket of cold water was thrown on us.

How could I have been so stupid? Not once, but twice I let myself fall into a compromising situation with Jacob Chancellor, New York’s most eligible bachelor. And I am grand prize idiot of the year.

I HAVE TO SHAKEmy head like an Etch A Sketch to clear the images that keep skipping through my brain, but after last night, I am helpless to stop them. Now, all I can think about is how I want a certain senator to kiss me.Again. Actually, I guess I should start calling him Jake like everyone else if I’m going to be his faux live-in lover. But a secret part of me deep down inside whispers I don’t want to be like everyone else.

“And I like that you call me Jacob,”he whispered when he thought I wasn’t listening. I have to steel my heart against falling for his charm, because now I’ve talked to him and really heard what he had to say. Now that I’ve kissed himand liked it, I could really fall for Jacob Jefferson Chancellor, United States Senator and really get my heart broken if I’m not careful.

My doorbell dings, breaking me from my thoughts. It’s Carter, my assistant. I called him early this morning and told him I needed help packing to move. He laughed out loud in his haughty way until he realized I’m not kidding. I, of course, had to find a way to explain to my second in command that I was moving in with the presidential candidate of the year. And I had to do it all without telling him the entire thing was a sham because I’m being blackmailed. Somehow, I sidestepped answering when he asked me about Chancellor’s… umm… “credentials,” and I was tight-lipped when he asked me about our whirlwind romance.

“This is not in my job description,” he says when I open the door.

“But you love me, so you’ve come anyway,” I say on a smile. I’m happy to have a friend with me for this move, even if I can’t tell him why I’m moving. Carter knows I’m nervous, but he thinks it’s just serious relationship jitters, not “I’m being blackmailed into pretending I’m in a serious relationship with a man running for President of the United States.” Jesus H, that’s a lot to take on.

“I do,” he replies with a frown. “Although I’m not sure how much, since you held out on me. I thought you hated Senator Chancellor.”

“You know what they say about love and war and politics?” I laugh. I’m trying to change the subject, but my efforts seem to fall flat. If I can avoid the truth, I’m not really lying, right?

“That the buttoned-up politician is a tiger in the bedroom?” Carter snarks, making me blush. “Because I need to know if the tabloids are true.”

Of course he would ask that, and I can’t freaking tell him the truth, because with all of my frustration over the pictures and Jacob and this stupid fake engagement to a man I want desperately but can never ever have is boiling up to the surface. I want to shout “How should I freaking know?” but I can’t, because then he would know the truth is I barely know the man and couldn’t possibly be marrying him.

“Carter—” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish whatever it was I was going to say, which is probably great, because I had no idea how I was going to stop him.

“Please tell me he has a big penis, please tell me he has a big penis, please tell me he has a big penis…” my less than noble assistant pleads while holding his hands in prayer pose in front of him.

“You are ridiculous.” I roll my eyes. “Come in here and help me or I’ll make you load Chevy into her crate.”

“No, you will not, devil woman!” he practically shouts. “I want to keep all my fingers.”

“Oh come on, you big baby,” I say on an eye roll as I walk away from him and head back into my apartment. “She’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Not that bad?” he parrots, clearly working himself up. “She’s not that bad? Last time we tried to give her flea medicine, she bit through my thumb!” I wince as he yells.

“Okay, that was… not great,” I say, kind of agreeing with him. “But she was scared.”

“She was scared. You know who was scared?” He scoffs. “Me! When she peed on me.”

I let out a resigned sigh. There is no talking to Carter when he’s like this. I can only agree with him and hope to move on.