Page 21 of The Senator's Secret
ME: Thanks for the heads up on the press. That was fun.
JAKE: It’s all part of the plan. Stay the course.
ME: I’m doubting the course.
JAKE: We’ll work off that frustration and excess energy when I get home. You’ll feel better after you come.
ME: Don’t count on it.
JAKE: Be ready for me.
ME: …
I started to text him back, but really, it’s not worth it. He will only keep arguing, and I wasn’t sure his texting me about my orgasms was really beneficial in this situation.
“Jesus H. I need a drink after that,” Carter said once he closed and locked the door behind us. “Let’s go snoop around the senator’s house and find his good liquor.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “Fine. Let’s go.” I mean, it’s no less than Jacob deserves by orchestrating this whole thing.
“Would you get a look at this place?” he breathed as we started opening cat carriers and watching the angry little furballs flee the room.
I looked up at Carter to see him taking in the dark wood stairs and entryway, polished within an inch of its life. This home has to be on some historic registries.
“It’s amazing what a lot of old money can buy.”
“Your snobbery is showing,” Carter said. “Besides, this is your home now.”
“You’re right,” I told him. “Let’s go drink his fancy wine.”
“Solid plan.”
After snooping through the palatial five-story brownstone, Carter and I didn’t find anything remotely scandalous. I was kind of hoping we’d find some sort of den of iniquity, a red room of pain, but there was nothing out of the norm to be found.
We did find a fancy wine cellar full of expensive-looking bottles. Carter and I carefully selected two that looked expensive but not irreplaceable and carried our bounty upstairs. We drank both, laughing the whole time. And the whole time, I sat nervous, feeling totally on edge, but Jacob never showed. Which brings us to now.
When it grows late, Carter leaves for the comfort of his home and his hot husband. I can’t blame him. I would be home wrapped up in a good-looking man who dotes on me too—if I had one. Instead, I sit fretting away the hours. What I should have done was scoped out a guest bedroom.
When I can’t take it anymore, I pour myself another large glass of wine and climb the stairs. I draw myself a hot bath and try to unwind. When the thought of being caught naked and trapped in a pool of water makes me even more anxious, I climb out of the tub and dry off. I pull on a soft pair of black leggings and my favorite college sweatshirt.
I head back down to the kitchen, feeling the heat from the bath and the wine in my head. I need to add some food to my bloodstream to dilute the pinot noir. This kitchen is nothing like the small little galley number in my apartment across town. This is meant for commercial use. After surveying the contents of the fridge, I grill two chicken breasts in a pan and chop vegetables for a salad. I wouldn’t usually be so nice to Jacob, but I’m going to try to sway him to my non-intimate way of thinking with good food and camaraderie. I’m going to kill him with kindness, and then maybe he won’t ruin me for all other men and make me fall halfway in love with him.
Wishful thinking, right?
I pour myself another glass of wine and eat my dinner standing up at the kitchen counter. When I’m done, I clean up and place Jake’s plate in the fridge for whenever he returns, which clearly isn’t going to be anytime soon. The cats have started coming out of their hiding places one by one and are loving all the space to hide and run around.
I grab a book and my favorite throw blanket Carter thoughtfully packed for me and snuggle into a corner of a sofa in the den. Eventually, my fluffy Himalayan comes to cuddle in my lap. She always loves to snuggle when I read. And finally, I start to relax.
Ten minutes later, I’m totally spoiled, when I hear the front door open followed by the beeping of the alarm pad, which I forgot to reset when we came in. And all of this is followed by Jacob’s quiet, “What the fuck?” and then a loud “Meow.”
Looks like the surprise is up. I sit quietly on the sofa for longer than I should and am a little embarrassed to admit I consider hiding under my favorite blanket and pretending like I was never here at all. And in my still-a-little-wine-drunk state, I am completely honest with myself. My fear isn’t that I don’t want to sleep with him and he will force me; it’s that I know I do. Even at his slightly angry words spoken in another room, I feel my nipples pebble under my sweatshirt. I want to feel his hand on my ass again and his rough groan against the side of my neck. How am I ever going to resist him?
“Grace?” I hear from down the hall.
“In here,” I answer.
“What’s this?” he asks when he appears in the doorway holding a gray cat with one ear in his arms like a baby. And that cat is purring so loud he could probably be heard in New Mexico. Traitor.
“My cat,” I answer blandly.