He wasn’t going to.
Brad kept a smile plastered over his face even though his heart felt like it dropped into his stomach.
Ginger squeezed his hand.
They stood on the back lawn of their sprawling mansion on the bank of one of the biggest harbors in the world. He looked over at his wife as sunlight glanced over her bare arms and highlighted her dark brown hair.
“You had a good run. We’ll be okay,” her eyes seemed to tell him.
Nodding, he pecked her on the lips. Released her hand. His body felt wooden as he turned away. Faced the crowd of murmuring men and women, all in pressed outfits and perfectly manicured bodies. They stepped to either side, lining a path for him to the back porch that overlooked them all.
Brad had been lucky most of his life. Born with an above average intelligence, he’d worked his way up the educational ladder and received a scholarship to Harvard. There hadn’t been much of a choice: get an education or suffer in the streets. He’d chosen the former but unlike these people, he wouldn’t forget the generations of poverty his family came from.
Today would help define the rest of his career, if he did it right. It wouldn’t be about his loss. It would be about his support of the party, a strength for next time.
Grinning wider, he nodded to the crowd and walked forward. Met the eyes of the party’s supporters. Shook their hands. Murmurs rose through the crowd and more answering smiles met his eyes as he waded through the last leg their pathway. When his shoes finally scraped the concrete on the porch, he turned. Waved.
Cheers rose up in front of him.
Stepping onto the little platform to the podium, he spread his arms palms down, motioning everyone to quiet.
“Tamara Coben and I have a lot of the same views. She’s a good friend of mine and a harrowing opponent. Our country needs new leadership...” He told them everything they wanted to hear then pointed at Tamara, his eyes still on the crowd. “...Tamara Coben will bring our interests to Washington.”
Brad fought a cringe from the false jubilation in his own voice.
Diamonds sparkled in the sun as the crowd cheered and applauded. He glanced to the side. Tamara’s perfectly made up blue eyes watched him. A smile twitched on her mauve stained lips.
Battling a frown, he turned back to the crowd.
“Mark this day, my friends. Ms. Coben is a rising star and will be a driving force in our party for change. I stand with you all, and fully support her.” Turning to his graciously smiling victor, he clapped like a fool with the rest of them.
Raising a hand in her trademark beauty queen wave, Tamara Coben stepped across the porch with the slightest twitch of her hips. The applause grew. Even the caterers behind her lowered their trays and watched her walk away.
Brad extended his arm as she grew closer. Mirroring his gesture, she slid her hand into his. Each held each other for a moment at arms’ length, free hands cradling the other’s elbow.
She hooked him closer. “Been a great race, Brad.”
“The best woman won, though, Tamara.”
“The best woman can use some help in the election, if you’re interested.” The blonde pulled back and squeezed his elbow, her pale blue eyes searching his own. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Pressing his lips together to curb a snarl, he turned to the crowd. Grinned and gave a final wave before he retreated from the podium take her place at the side of the porch.
Delicate fingers laced through his. He glanced to the side. The wind lifted a tendril of the red-brown mane of the woman beside him.
Ginger.
Brad took a deep breath. The blonde yapped on. Her words felt inspirational, masking the lack of definitive content. Several times he caught himself entranced by possibilities and hope, only to have no answers as to what that may be.
The crowd cheered as Coben finally descended the podium. She made her way around the buzz of the party, shaking hands and nodding. Talking briefly, she caressed the cherubic faces of children and grasped the elderly’s shaking hands with both of hers.
A merry go round of people flocked to Brad and Ginger. A blur of faces he didn’t want to talk to. Most of them couldn’t possibly understand why the office was so important. It was just a competition to them.
Muscles at the top of Brad’s spine pinched. The more he went along with their charade, the more stiff his face felt. Like with each second, his skin was hardening into plastic.
Ginger squeezed his hand. Pulled him away from the crowd and into the house.
“You okay?” she asked.
Light elongated through the high windows, nudging the soles of his wing tips. “Dandy.”
“Brad.”
He met her brown eyes. Her brows rose.
“I’m fine, baby. There will be other elections.”
She nodded, her gaze not letting up.
Sighing, he pulled the back of her hand to his lips. Kissed her warm, soft skin. “She requested my help in the election.”
“Help.” Voice monotone, her eyes searched his. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, Bradley, there you are,” a feline voice sang.
He watched his wife’s lips purse. She turned to the back door.
Tamara Coben sashayed toward them, make up flawless and hair cinched back in a tight bun. Her pale blue dress brought out the color of her eyes. Its sleek pinch lined every curve with a sensual modesty only she could pull off.
“Hello, Ginger.” His party’s front runner met his wife’s eyes before her gaze traversed down her body. “I do love your beautiful dress. Who made it?”
Bradley loved how his wife’s back straightened. How she turned her body to face the other woman instead of cowering to the side or behind him.
“My mother. Catalina Ferrera. You may know her work?”
Tamara crossed her arms over her chest, letting a lazy forearm hang. She tapped her index finger toward his wife’s figure hugging black dress. “I believe I have. She made Kate Hudson’s dress for the Grammy’s last year, yes?”
“She did.” Ginger’s chin lifted. A smile hinted at her mouth.
“Your mother is an amazing artist.”
His wife’s lips curved into a smile. “She is.”
“Ginger, I’m terribly sorry, but do you mind if I steal your husband for a moment to talk business? It won’t take long.”
Sunlight peered through the window and caught the glint of her white teeth, making Tamara’s permanent smile flash. She glanced at Brad before her gaze returned to his wife.
Seconds passed.
Ginger batted her eyelashes. Turned to face him. Deep brown eyes meeting his, she slipped her hand out of his grasp and cupped his face in her palms.
Jesus. His body weakened. The depth of her eyes never failed to escape his notice. A soothing tornado of fierce protectiveness and acceptance. What’s she thinking?
His wife nodded, a slow, rocking motion that made even the fabric of her dress waver. Her gaze insistent. “Take all the time you need to do whatever it takes, my love. I’ll be waiting.”
“Of course.”
Her mouth covered his moving lips with the softest of touches, making his breath catch. The temperature of his skin hiked, his muscles straining against propriety as he ignored the call of her body and kept her at arm’s length.
She broke away. “I’ll be right outside when you’re done.”
The whisper seemed to go straight to his balls as she turned away and glided back outside, the cloth of her skirt cupping her ass.
“Shall we?”
Tamara’s silky voice shattered the spell of his wife’s body. He felt the muscles in his face tighten, lips mash together. Tilting his chin up, he met her soulless blue eyes.
Her painted mouth stretched upward in something resembling a smile, but it didn’t touch the rest of her polished face.
“Of course. Follow me.” He turned his back on her, leading her to his office.
It was one of his favorite rooms in the house. The wall panels were a muted echo of the gleaming dark wood floor. Tall, narrow windows on the shorter sides of the room met the longer one, with glass double doors leading to the outside. Creme colored blinds filtered the sunlight.
Brad stepped onto the ornate, colorful rug and walked toward his desk chair. Rolling it backward, he extended his free arm to the chair in front of the sprawling desk.
“Please. Sit.”
Tamara sauntered past the desk, continuing on to the glass door. White light slatted over the curves of her body as she reached the little pulley for the blinds. She looked back at him, her breasts highlighted in her silhouette.
“It was smart of you to invite me here. Whichever one of us won the primary, we both look like we support the party and therefore each other.”
“Don’t we?”
Her eyes narrowed, the slit of her smile flashing again before she turned back to the outside. “Right. The good of the party and all that shit. World peace. Do you know how much I’ve had that drilled into my head throughout my life?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, well. That’s what happens when you’re in beauty pageants your entire life.” Tamara pulled the string to shut the blinds with a clang and turned back to him. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” Brad’s hands slipped over to the back of the chair.
Tamara turned to the side, reaching up to close the second set of blinds. She eased around the room to each set as if she were like performing a ballet. When the last one clamped off the remainder of sunlight, she peeked back at him.
“What I’m about to discuss with you can’t leave this room, and I didn’t want any long range cameras to catch it.”
He inclined his chin again. “Wise. I’m all ears.”
Releasing the cord, she stepped forward to touch the tip of her fingers to the desk. “Nice. Smooth. Cherry?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s why I like you, Bradley.” She peeked up at him under a fan of perfect, fake lashes. “You appreciate quality, and you are classy in every way I’ve come to expect in a man and in ways I’d never dreamed. Like this party.”
Get to the point, princess.
He took a deep breath, straightening his spine and pushing back his shoulders. It was a pose he’d studied from the classiest of men throughout American history; it boasted grace, strength, and importance. Something she should learn to appreciate, even if she had been the winner of the primary. “I strive to be the best person I can be.”
Nodding, her gaze fell to the desk as she stepped toward him, letting her fingers skate along its smooth surface.
What’s she doing? The muscles at the corners of his eyes tightened.
“May I call you Brad?” She looked up, the sudden attention of her pale blue eyes punching him in the gut.
“Of course.”
“Good.” Her lips spread, the grin deepening the shallow perfection of her face. “I like that.”
He shifted his weight away from her. “Okay.”
Tamara nodded, fingers finding the armrest of the chair. Trailing them up its back, she stepped closer until her firm breast grazed his elbow.
“I would like to invite you to my team.” Her thin, sculpted eyebrows rose. “You know every way to entice followers, and you are the embodiment of a perfect politician. I would be very content to have you with me.”
“‘The perfect politician’? The public has decided that is not as true as you believe. They chose you.”
Her lips puckered. “I would prefer not to have a conversation where we kid ourselves. We have the same ideals, but we both know you’re more qualified. I just happen to be prettier.”
“I... I can’t believe you just said that.” Brad’s hand gripped the chair tighter.
Tamara shrugged, dragging a hand from his neck down. Rested her fingers at his sternum. Her gaze never left his. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
“You’re a beauty pageant contestant, Tamara. I don’t think you need my affirmation.” He glanced down at her hand before meeting her hypnotic eyes again. “But we are both married.”
“We are. And you’re such the impeccable person, I bet you’ve never been unfaithful.”
His lungs seemed to close with each sucking breath. “Have you?”
“Oh, yes. I’m not such the good girl.”
The fingers on his chest spread. Heat swarmed his veins from his sternum out, into a crescendo that fed the bounding thickness of his cock.
The memory of Ginger’s intense gaze burned into his mind.
“...do whatever it takes,” she’d said.
His wife had never taken anything for granted, was as resolute about him getting a seat in politics as he was. It was a goal they’d shared. When he got into office, they’d take it as a partnership, him as the face. The world was too bruised and chaotic, taken over by ignorant yet over educated people with power problems. It needed soul within the soulless, representatives that cared about its people and its problems.
“Whatever it takes.”
Ginger was anything but clueless. She had to have expected Tamara to flirt with him or throw herself at him. Yet she’d given him permission.
Why?
Tamara’s manicured fingernails dragged down his chest, over his abdomen. Pale blue eyes warm as ice. Everything about her screamed beauty and perfection, though she was nothing but a snake and a whore.
But if there was nothing else pure about Brad, he trusted his wife.
His opponent’s hand drifted over his belt, her fingers squeezing his dick through his soft slacks. “Do you like it when I cup your big cock, Bradley?”
The sheer act of breathing was all he could manage.
Her lips drew together in a pout. Tilting her head to face him fully, her palm slid up and down his cloth covered shaft. Gaze on his mouth. She licked her lips.
She wants me to kiss her. Brad straightened, his grip on the leather chair relaxing.
“What do you want? You want my cock inside you? You want to be a bad girl with me and sleep with your opponent? A married man.”
A gasp escaped her mouth. Licking her lips again, she nodded. Stepped forward. Her breasts pressed against his chest as her hand feverishly worked his exalting dick.
“Say ‘yes, sir.’”
Her hand hesitated then stroked lower, fondling his balls only to slide all the way back up his thriving cock.
Ignoring the pulse of his dick, his gaze never left hers. He waited.
“Yes. Sir.” Her painted eyes narrowed, two paper-thin ridges gathering between her brows.
“Good. Get on your knees.”
Tamara’s hand faltered. Her gaze drifted back and forth from his eyes to his mouth.
“Do you have a problem with that, Tamara?”
A smile ghosted her lips. She shook her head. Cocking her head to the side, she lowered to the floor until his crotch was inches from her perfect face.
“You want me to do this, then?” She reached forward. Wrested the tail of his belt to the side and flicked it from its groove. Clinking it open, she grasped his waistband. Unsheathed the button. Lowered the whimpering zipper and let his pants fall to his ankles.
He nodded. Slow and steady.
“You’re not so perfect after all, are you, Bradley?” Her fingernails scraped his bare skin as she hooked them under the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged it down. His swollen cock bounced next to her face as she looked up at him. “You want to share this dick with someone other than your wife?”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. And how desperately you want to be something other than perfect.”
Her warm fingers wrapped around his swaying cock. When she looked up at him, her eyes were dilated. Mouth open.
Bingo.
“Go on then, Tamara. You say you’re a bad girl. Prove it. You want that cock? Take it in your mouth and suck it like the bad girl you are. Show me what you’re made of.”
His opponent’s mauve lips opened wider. Holding his gaze and thrusting out her tongue, she leaned forward to suck the tip of his cock inside.
A moan rumbled through through Brad’s throat. His cock jolted at her mouth’s embrace, growing harder with every swipe of her smooth, wet tongue. Her touch was softer than her soul. Gentle and pleading, sucking and laving him like her salvation.
But her eyes were calm, never closing for more than a blink. As if she were thinking, processing, and gauging his reactions.
Unacceptable.
He tried to clear his mind. Focus.
“Tamara.” He shook his head. “Is that all you’ve got? You said you were a bad girl, a dirty girl. I expected more.”
Eyebrows raising, she dragged her lips down his shaft, forming them to the curves of his cockhead before pulling off with a gasp. A translucent string of saliva snapped back to her lips. “What do you know about dirty girls, Bradley?”
Trying find dirt. On me. Not gonna happen.
He shook his head, taking hold of his stalk from her hands.
She startled.
Caressing her face, he stroked his wet dick. Then he pressed it against her soft cheek. Held her head closer to him with his free hand, stray tendrils of her hair flouncing over his wedding band. Precum oozed onto her face and slathered the head of his cock as he moved.
She squinted her eyes shut.
“Dirty girls don’t mind having their make up smeared.” The head of his cock kissed her eyelashes before dragging downward and leaving a trail of mascara. “They deep throat, they pay attention to balls and make love to your ass. I don’t think you’re a dirty girl. Just a pristine beauty queen playing pretend.”
“I don’t touch ass. What are you, gay?” Her lips mouthed against his shaft with every word.