Knight (Political Royalty Book 1) (13 page)

The two of them joined Haven in the seating area and focused their attention on the TV while the senator put on his tie and slipped into his jacket. The split screen showed the round table of talking heads and an image of the ballroom downstairs with its
Moving America Forward
sign on the empty podium in the middle of the temporary stage. Justin had gone all out, getting a wall of American flags as a backdrop and keeping the rest of the decorations tasteful and presidential. Nothing worse than balloons and confetti at a wake.

“Third,” said Travis, almost to himself.

Haven clicked off the TV and walked past the others to stand in front of Walker. Looking up to meet his gaze, she straightened his tie and smoothed her hands over his shoulders.

“Let’s go get this done.”

––––––––

S
HEP OWED JUSTIN big. Instead of having to walk onstage to U2’s “Beautiful Day,” an unremarkable instrumental played in the background. He didn’t think he could stomach the triumphant shit.

Despite the colossal spanking his campaign had taken, he walked into a ballroom filled almost to capacity. The pundits could spend from now until the next debate trying to dissect why the Iowa voters hadn’t connected with him, but no one could fault Haven’s ground game. Her staff built a network of people across the state who’d made phone calls for him, knocked on doors, and lobbied hard to convince their neighbors to vote for him. Most of them had been hard at it until just over an hour ago.

And then, instead of going home and consoling themselves for what had to feel like wasted time, they’d turned up in a ballroom in a mediocre hotel to eat rubber chicken and drink watered-down drinks. He owed them more than the self-pity he currently wallowed in. He raised his hands and the room quieted to a low hum.

“You guys saw the results, right?”

Nervous laughter erupted throughout the room. He arched an eyebrow and the laughter grew.

“I’d rather not talk about that. We will do better next time and the time after that, but that’s not what any of you need to hear tonight.” He scanned the room, trying to include everyone. “Tonight I’m here to congratulate General Collins on a well-run campaign. No,” he said, holding up his hand when a handful of people started to boo. “The general and I have a significant difference of opinions, but she deserves my respect and yours. What I really want to do, however, is thank all of you for all your hard work. For all the hours and all the miles you put in on my behalf. There aren’t enough words for me to tell you how grateful I am.” By this point the room had quieted, and he felt the crowd watching him, their focus on what he’d say next. “So, for tonight, I want you to dance and celebrate a job well done, even if the results weren’t what we wanted and then tomorrow, we’ll pick up our weapons and meet the fight again. Thank you. God bless you and God bless America.” He raised his hand to thunderous applause and the chorus of “Beautiful Day” came on in the background, loud enough to be easily heard but at a much lower decibel than they usually played at the rallies.

He left the stage, scanning the wings for Haven. He needed to look in her eyes so he’d know if he’d messed up the concession by speaking off the cuff. It felt good—felt right—to him but he trusted her judgment slightly more than his own at this point, and he wanted confirmation. She stood off to the side behind the wall of flags and he closed the distance between them.

“Well?”

“Well what? The crowd ate it up. You made the volunteers happy and didn’t say anything interesting enough for the news outlets to try to parse. Job done.”

“Good, then we’re both done for the night.”

She opened her mouth and he could feel the protest coming.

“No way,” he said, holding up his hand. “We already ascertained that I’m the boss. We can kick ass tomorrow. Tonight we need a break.”

He put his hand on the small of her back, trying to ignore the heat of her skin through the thin silk of her blouse. Guiding her through the increasingly happy crowd, he steered her toward the bar. He handed her a glass of cheap chardonnay and took his Scotch, before finding them a relatively quiet place to stand.

It didn’t matter. They could have been in the next room and he wouldn’t have been able to hide. Supporters formed a line almost immediately. Everyone wanted to tell him to keep going and to get their picture taken with him. Grinning, Haven took his rocks glass and watched as volunteer after volunteer snapped selfies with the congressman. It was the very last thing in the world he wanted to do, but there was no way on God’s green earth that he’d risk alienating the people who’d worked so hard for him.

Haven’s glass was empty and God knows how much time passed before the line had dissipated. He tossed back the last of his Scotch and replaced both of their drinks with fresh ones. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and he felt like an ass. She’d spent all day in those high heels that made her legs look a mile long. Her feet had to be tired. He had a sudden flash of holding her stocking-clad foot on his lap and rubbing her arches until she purred for him. He settled for finding two empty folding chairs where they could sit down.

“Have you seen Travis and Abby lately?” she asked, practically groaning in relief as she sat.

“Not since they walked down here with us. What about Justin?”

“He’s still finishing up with the hotel staff. You’ll know when he’s done.”

“That sounds cryptic.”

“Trust me,” she said, turning to face the room in a way that let him know she didn’t intend to say any more about it. “There’s Travis.”

He followed her gaze across the room and saw Travis talking to a group of pretty young volunteers. They watched him like groupies watched rock stars, as if he was somehow more than human. Shep had gotten his fair share of attention over the years, but the blind hero worship had always made him uncomfortable. How could they adore him if they didn’t know him? He’d started to think no one really knew him anymore, which was a pathetic and depressing line of thought and one he couldn’t afford the night he came in third. He glanced at Haven, watching the long, slender column of her throat move as she swallowed her wine.

That wasn’t a safer line of thinking, but before he had a chance to do more than consider it, Haven’s eyes widened and her lips curve up in a wicked grin. He followed her gaze and almost choked on his Scotch.

“Holy mother of God.”

“Yep,” said Haven.

Justin stood in the middle of a circle of volunteers, dancing like he was out for a trophy. Every so often, he’d pull someone into the circle and make them dance with him. By the end of the song, they were laughing and dancing like they were at a rave instead of a concession party. One song merged into the next and the party spread across the room with Justin at the epicenter.

“He’s good.” Shep wasn’t sure why the idea shocked him but it did.

“Dancing is his secret weapon. He can turn the mood of a crowd faster than any politician I’ve ever met.”

He heard what might be a note of longing in her voice and turned away from the hypnotizing scene on the dance floor to watch her.

“Do you want to be out there?” The idea of Haven out in the tangle of sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the pounding bass did something undeniable to him. He tossed back another swallow of Scotch to keep from egging her on.

“I can dance with Justin after the campaign. The last thing we need is someone posting an image of your campaign manager rocking out the night you lost Iowa.”

Instead of getting pissed at being reminded of his loss, he felt an overwhelming gratitude that Justin preferred men. Still, the idea of Haven grinding her body against her friend’s the way the pretty young volunteer was currently doing made Shep’s fist clench. Stupid, irrational reaction, but undeniable.

“Don’t even think of joining them,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. It was an innocent touch. There wasn’t a damned thing inappropriate about it except his feelings. The simple touch of her hand on his arm, even through the layers of his suit, had his thoughts careening in directions they had no business going. He had to get a fucking grip.

“Not a chance,” he said, sucking in a much-needed breath when she took her hand away. He missed her touch like an ache the second it was gone. “Third place is bad enough. Video of me dancing on YouTube... I don’t think I could recover from that.”

“Really?” She shifted in her chair to face him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “So rocking it on Fallon isn’t something I should work into your schedule?”

“No. I put on tight pants for no man.”

She let out a sound that was part giggle and part snort, and he laughed out loud. He could find a lot to like about tipsy Haven, and he loved that she’d relaxed enough to loosen her tight hold a bit. He could make it his mission to make her laugh and feel good about his life’s work. Of course, that might be the third Scotch talking.

“We’ve put in enough time. Come on, let’s get out of here. I missed the chicken and I’m starving.”

The starving part was true. He’d spent time taking pictures with volunteers instead of eating. She had to be hungry too. He needed to make sure she got something to eat. At least that’s what he told himself. In reality, he wanted to sit someplace quiet with her and talk about something other than the campaign, and if he was very lucky, make her laugh again. She watched him for a moment, her penetrating hazel eyes pinning him in place. Even tipsy, the woman was formidable.

“Okay,” she finally said.

They’d missed the hotel restaurant by an hour and neither of them were safe to drive. When he asked the woman at the front desk about restaurants within walking distance, she’d shaken her head like she really wanted to be able to help. And then she said room service was still available for another half hour. The words hung in the air between them like a promise and a curse.

“Room service it is.” He let his hand hover over the small of Haven’s back—nothing too intimate, nothing that would raise eyebrows. She hesitated for a moment and then turned back to the bank of elevators.

He’d spent all night wanting something he shouldn’t, but he’d be damned if he could make himself turn away from it. He wanted to eat, and he didn’t want to be alone. And he fully intended to ignore the small steps he’d started to take over a line he’d never intended to cross.

When the elevator door slid open, he ushered her into the empty car and then stepped in behind her, hesitating over the buttons for the floors. With a finger made steadier by need, he pushed the button for his floor. She reached to hit the button for hers, and he caught her hand, ignoring the jolt that went through him at her touch.

“Have dinner with me?” he asked, sounding like an eager teenager and wanting it—wanting this time with her—too much to care. “Just dinner. It’s been a long day and I don’t want to be alone yet. We can order greasy cheeseburgers, ignore the news networks, and watch Fallon do something stupid.”

He didn’t need anyone to tell him; he was doing something stupid. But knowing it didn’t stop him.

“You can order a burger. I want something with less than a week’s supply of cholesterol.”

“I can manage that,” he said, fighting back a triumphant grin.
Christ, she’d only agreed to dinner.

“And we eat in my room,” she said, punching the button for her floor. “You don’t want the room service staff talking about who the candidate shared a late-night meal in his suite with.”

When she said it like that, it added weight to everything he’d been thinking all night, but it wasn’t enough to get him to turn back. Not even close.

T
HE DOOR SLID OPEN ONTO an empty hallway, and this time when he ushered her out, he rested his hand on the small of her back, giving himself over if just for a moment to the pleasure of her skin, warm through her blouse. He could feel the dip of her waist and the narrow waistband of her pale-gray trousers. And God help him, but he wondered what it would be like to slip his hand under the fabric to find the woman beneath.

When they reached the door to her room, he had no reason to keep touching her and dozens of reasons to stop. He was still reluctant to take his hand away while she reached into her pocket for her key.

Her room was smaller than his. Instead of the seating area, she had a bed, a desk, and a small armchair with a postage stamp-sized table. She hurried past him to scoop something lacy off the chair and drop it into the suitcase sitting open on the luggage stand beside the dresser.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, closing the suitcase on the scrap of lace he knew would haunt his thoughts later.

He waved his hand, gesturing that it didn’t matter.

“How do you want your burger?” she asked, snagging the room service menu off the desk.

“Medium rare, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. With a side of fries,” he added, grinning.

“How can you eat that stuff and look like you do?” She picked up the phone, not waiting for an answer, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say the words.

Too late. He’d heard them, and he was going to have to work damn hard to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. He shouldn’t care that she’d noticed his body. He did. A lot.