The Kingmaker (All the King's Men, #1)(37)



“Good for you. You already know how I feel.”

“Yep.” She turns her head from my shoulder to consider the glimmering canal bordering the street. “No attachments.”

“Right.” I thread our fingers together and pull her closer. “No attachments.”

The silence deepens between us while we walk, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing somewhere along the way—if I’ve been too honest about how things need to be between us.

“So what about you?” I ask after a few moments. “Thought any more about which of the three opportunities you’ll take?”

“There’s actually a fourth on the table now. My godmother called today. Her friend is running for Congress, and she thinks I should be on his team. He’s Native and smart and has been doing great work for the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma.”

“Wow. That sounds like it could be amazing. You gonna do it?”

Her shrug is quick. “Mena, my godmother, is sending some stuff for me to look at so I can see what he’s all about. This could be it, though.”

“It?”

“I feel like a missile ready to go, but waiting for launch codes and a destination. Poised, powerful, but not sure where to aim. Today when Mena was telling me about this campaign, I wondered if this is my target. Something seemed to . . . I don’t know, make sense. You ever thought about going into politics?”

“Hell, no.” I fake a shudder. “Dirty business, politics. You can’t have a soul and be a politician. Believe me, I have a family full of them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my uncle was a mayor. We’ve got a few congressmen in our illustrious family tree. And my older brother’s a senator. He’s gonna be your president in about ten years, by the way.”

“You say it like it’s only a matter of time.”

“You haven’t met my brother,” I say dryly. “When he sets out to do something, it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“Sounds like it runs in the family.”

I pause, considering. I’m a Cade. Ambition, achieving was never a choice for me. It was just a question of if my ambitions would take me down a path that satisfied my father. But I’ve removed that factor. I may have shunned the Cade name, but the Cade nature is not so easily shed.

“You didn’t want to get into the family business, so to speak?” she follows up.

“Let’s just say the family business is not for me.” Neither of them, I add to myself.

“Besides, it’s the dreamers, the inventors and entrepreneurs who change the world the most. Gutenberg, Edison, Stephenson, Jobs—something about the present wasn’t good enough, so they made the future.” I almost choke on a jaded chuckle. “What do politicians make? They make war. They make profit off the misfortune of others. They make mistakes they won’t take responsibility for and decisions they never have to feel the impact of. No, thank you. Not for me.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess you think I should turn down the campaign job.”

“Not at all. If anyone can make that rotten system work, it’s you.”

A fat raindrop plops on my nose, sliding down the bridge, followed by another and then a wet succession.

“Aw, hell.” I pull my jacket up on my elbows to provide some shelter for the two of us, but the rain trebles, more coming down and faster.

“We still have four blocks before my place,” I say. “Sorry, but the weather is unpredictable this time of year.”

Rain has already started molding the thin dress to her body, faithfully hugging every swell and curve. A hard shiver runs through her and her teeth chatter.

“Come on.” I grab her hand and duck into an alleyway. An overhang provides a tiny patch of dry ground and shelter. “We may be able to wait it out. These showers sprout up and pass over like they never happened.”

We’re sandwiched between two buildings and there is barely any light, but the moonlight finds her, sculpting shadows beneath her cheekbones and etching dark crescents of her lowered lashes. The rain has smeared her mascara, and water-slicked hair flattens to her head. She should look bedraggled, but she manages to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

I bend, tentative at first, even after last night. Even after making love to her again this morning when I chased her up the stairs. I approach slowly, giving her the chance to refuse, but she doesn’t. She meets me, eyes open, lips eager, hands bunched in my wet hair. It’s a freshwater kiss, made of rain and passion. Slow touches pick up steam until we’re frantic against the wall, hands searching, desperate to find the flesh under our soaked clothes. The inside of her thigh is slick with rain, and I trace the droplets with my finger before inching higher and burrowing beneath her panties, inside.

“Do that, Doc,” she says, a breath-starved command. “Yes.”

I lean into the damp, scented curve of her neck, leaving kisses there while my finger is knuckle-deep in paradise. Every sound she makes gets me harder, ready. She kisses my jaw, my cheekbone, pulls my bottom lip between hers.

“We should stop,” I pant across her mouth. “I can’t . . . let’s stop before . . .” How do I tell her that if we don’t, I’ll be fucking her in an alley with no regard for who might see? How do I say that without sounding disrespectful and selfish?

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