Campaigning for Christopher (15 page)

“Why’d you do it?” he whispered, his voice low and passionate. “Why? Just for the money?”

She didn’t know what made her tell the truth now when she’d withheld it from him before. Maybe she felt he’d earned the right to glimpse into her heart whether he trusted her or not. “I never took any money.”

“
What
?” he cried, his breath held, his face shocked and confused. “Then why . . . I mean, why did you—”

“Because he said you were a racist. He showed me a very compelling,
and completely doctored
video. He said that you were not a good man. He said you were bad.”

“
Who?
Who said this about me?”

“A man in a black hat,” she said sadly, “who knew a stupid, gullible girl with a chip on her shoulder the second he laid eyes on her.”

“Wait. I . . . I don’t understand. When did this happen?”

“At your sister’s wedding,” she answered. “While we were setting up for the ceremony. He caught me outside, behind the winery, as I was throwing trash in the Dumpster. Asked me to, um, to slip two tablets in your drink and . . .” Her voice faltered, but she reached inside for the strength to finish. She wanted him to know the truth. “. . . and take those terrible, um, p-pictures.”

“And you did it,” he said, with eyes so furious and sad, they made her heart ache.

“I did,” she said softly.

“But you didn’t take any money?” he asked again, searching her face.

“No,” she said, holding his eyes, willing his compassion and perception. “I couldn’t. I thought . . . Oh God, I wish you could understand. I thought I was doing something good. N-noble, even. I would do anything to p-punish a racist, to expose one, to sideline one. The idea of your being elected to office and abusing your p-power? It was unthinkable. I had to stop you.”

“But it was lies, Jules. He told lies about me. He just—”

“I know that now,” she said softly, looking down at her lap with shame.

“I want to know who it was,” said Christopher, his eyes burning. “I want you to remember everything you can about him and tell me every detail, because I—”

The door to the greenroom opened, and a short, frazzled woman with blonde hair piled on her head entered the room, looking up at them. “Mr. Winslow? Miss Crow? Ten-minute warning.”

Julianne looked away from the door, toward Christopher, to find his handsome face red, virtually boiling with injustice. Worried about the interview they were about to give, she felt compelled to calm his anger. She reached out and placed her palm on his cheek gently, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Chris? We can talk more later.”

“I
need
to know, Jules. I need to know who did this to me, who talked to you, who—”

“Look at me,
chuntay skoo ya
,” she said, forcing her lips into a tender smile and increasing the pressure of her hand against his skin. “We’re going on TV now. We can talk about it another ti—”

“What?”

“We’re going on TV. I know it’s hard, but try to forget about that for now. We can discuss it later, and I’ll tell you—”

“No. What did you just call me?” he asked softly, searching her eyes fiercely.

“Uh . . .” Her cheeks were suddenly on fire. “
Chuntay skoo ya
.”

“Which means . . .?”

She opened her lips to speak, but no sound came out. He turned his cheek and pressed a kiss into her palm, his lips whispering against her skin as he murmured, “Tell me what it means.”

The touch of his lips made her gasp, made all her careful restraint and resolve not to show him her love fall by the wayside. She was drowning in his eyes—in the soft, tenderness of his eyes—though they had no audience for whom to play, which meant . . . which meant . . .

“It means ‘sweetheart.’”

***

Sweetheart.

Chris gulped uncomfortably.

He’d known, of course, that it was probably a term of endearment, but the way it had tumbled from her mouth, so effortlessly, so warmly, had made his heart thunder as his body reacted to her touch. Christ, how he wanted her. With every fiber of his being, he wanted her to belong to him.

“Chris?” she said, raising her other hand to his other cheek. “They’re waiting for us. I’m sorry I told you that right before we—”

“You just called me sweetheart.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice choppy and breathy.

“Sweetheart.”

“Yes,” she said, the sound of surrender.

He had no right.

He had no business.

But it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and claimed her mouth hungrily with his.

Her lips moved beneath his immediately, her hands flattening on his chest as he reached around her waist and pulled her up against his body. Her lips tasted like coffee with a hint of sweetness, and he wanted more—more of her, more of the sweetness. Sweeping his tongue over her lips, she opened for him, and he tilted his head, slanting his lips to cover hers more perfectly. Their tongues tangled—velvet heat, timid at first and then more sure, her teeth razing his flesh as he plunged hungrily into her mouth, swallowing her whimper and adjusting her against his body so that his hardness lined up with the valley of her sex. He groaned as she nipped his bottom lip, leaning her head to the side as he slipped his tongue back into her mouth. Moaning softly, she arched into him, and he slid his hands up her back, bracketing the sides of her breasts through the flimsy material of her blouse and feeling the frantic, ragged pull of her breath beneath his fingers as he kissed her.

And kissed her.

And kissed her.

Another whimper sounded from the back of her throat, and suddenly he realized that the hands she’d flattened against his chest were pushing him away. With a grunt of frustration, he released her, stepping back. Reaching up, he touched his lips with the back of his hand, panting as his knuckles dragged over the sensitized skin. He scraped in a shaky breath, staring at her, forcing himself not to lunge for her and draw her back into his arms.

Her chest heaved up and down from the force of her breathing, her blouse was disheveled, and the skin around her lips looked pink, though her lipstick was still perfectly in place. Her eyes were wide. And angry.

“You can’t do that!” she said in a breathless whisper. “You can’t just—”

“I know,” he mumbled, dropping his hand from his lips and raking it through his hair. What the hell had he just done? What was he thinking?

“You can’t accuse me of . . . of falling for you two days ago and then . . . then k-kiss me in p-private like . . . like the world is ending today. It’s not . . . it’s not fair, Chris.”

“I’m sorry. I just . . .”

He turned his back to her, confusion making him wince. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t want anything to do with her. Why couldn’t he help himself around her?

She raised her voice, speaking angrily to his back. “You said this was a job. An . . . an act.
That
didn’t feel like an act.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You’re confusing me. You don’t want me, then you—”

He palmed the back of his neck and turned to face her, his own voice low and lethal in his ears. “
I don’t want you?
”

“No!”

“Are you insane?” he barked.

“Are
you
?”

“Jules,” he gasped, staring at her in disbelief because how could she not know this? Despite what he’d said on Monday, didn’t she know? Couldn’t she see? And then suddenly he was speaking, his words coming out in a rush, a relief, a completely inappropriate stream of consciousness that he’d never, ever meant to share with her. “I can’t
think
about anything but you. I
dream
about you. I have imaginary
conversations
with you. I go to YouTube and replay that press conference kiss over and over again to torture myself because I can’t get enough of seeing you in my arms,
melting
into me.
I don’t want you?
” He took a step toward her, stalking her, taking her arm so she couldn’t pull away from him, and leaning into her personal space until they were almost nose to nose. “I’ve
never
wanted anyone as much as I want you!”

The door to the greenroom opened, and they turned in unison, cheek to cheek, to find the blonde production assistant standing in the doorway staring down at her clipboard. “It’s time! Follow me, please.”

Christopher turned back to Jules, clenching his jaw as he looked at her delectable, delicious mouth. Then, grabbing her hand, he turned and pulled her toward the door. She didn’t protest or pull away, just followed his lead across the room and down the hallway.

Stealing a quick glance behind as they reached the soundstage, he found her staring at the floor, her cheeks pink and lips tightly pursed.

“Jules?” he whispered.

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “Not. Another. Word.”

“Are you pissed at me?”

“I’m trying to keep it together.”

Staring at her more carefully, he realized that whatever she’d thought of his impromptu speech in the greenroom, she was somewhere else now. Somewhere else that was turning her face a little green and making her look like she was about to throw up.

“Are you . . . okay?”

She nodded quickly, but she definitely didn’t look okay. Fuck. The public speaking thing. She was panicking.

“You can do this,” he encouraged her.

She didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the floor.

“Do you want some water?”

She shook her head, then closed her eyes, leaning her neck back until her face was parallel with the ceiling. He could hear her whispering something that sounded like “
Oun she la yea. Oun she la yea.
” She said it over and over again, a fast and furious whisper at first that gradually calmed down to a soft murmur.

“
Oun she la yea
,” she said, righting her head and opening her eyes as she exhaled a long breath through O-shaped lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked.

She nodded, looking past him at the soundstage where their names were being announced. “Let’s go.”

The music ramped up, and Christopher tightened his fingers around hers, leading her onto the stage, forcing a smile he didn’t feel and waving at the audience. He glanced over at Jules to note she was doing the same—her smile confident, brilliant, and warm as she followed him to the guest couch.

“Jules!” yelled members of the live audience, and one admirer threw a red rose onto the soundstage.

Christopher dropped her hand for just a moment and retrieved it for her, presenting it to her with a small bow before they took their seats on the couch together.

“Julianne and Chris. My goodness, my goodness, my goodness!” said Kelly King, beaming at them. She looked at her cohost and gushed, “Are they not the most adorable couple in Philly?”

The audience roared its applause, and Chris looked askance at Jules, who pressed her hands together in a prayer position of thanks, nodding her head and grinning.
Christ, she’s good at this. Despite her fear, it’s like she’s made for it.

“Jules,” said Sadie Stewart, who, leaning forward intimately, added in a stage whisper, “Is it okay if I call you Jules? Or is that Christopher’s special pet name for you?”

“Oh,” she said, reaching for Christopher’s hand. “We have
many
special names for each other.”

“Is that right?” asked Kelly King, cupping her cheek on her palm with dreamy, wide eyes. “Like what? Christopher, tell us!”

“Well,” he said, grinning at Jules, who was gazing at him like he hung the moon.
It’s all an act. It’s all an act. It’s all an act
, he reminded himself. “She calls me sweetheart in Lakota.”

Sadie Stewart gasped, pressing her palm to her chest and looking out at the audience. “Is that the
cutest
thing you’ve ever heard?”

From the large volume of audible “aw”s, he assumed that Sadie was right.

“Jules,” said Kelly, “will you say it for us?”

“No, no, no!” said Sadie. “Say it to Chris.”

“Oh, yes, yes! Perfect! To Chris!”

“Um, sure,” said Julianne. She looked from the hosts to Christopher, wetting her sweet lips before saying, “
Atanikili,
c
huntay skoo ya
.” Then she looked back at the hosts and grinned.

“What did you just say?” asked Sadie, leaning closer.

“I said, um, that I think he’s wonderful, and I called him my sweetheart.”

“Is he?’ asked Kelly in a dramatic stage whisper. “Is he as wonderful as we all think?”

Christopher brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her skin, closing his eyes for just a moment as the smell of sandalwood made his brain short-circuit. When he opened his eyes, she was staring at her hand, but her eyes slid effortlessly to his, and he felt like he wasn’t only drowning in her, but she was drowning in him too.