that okay?”
It only takes two running steps to reach him. His eyes go wide, understanding my intentions just before I jump, latching onto his shoulders and wrapping my thighs around his waist. Once we’re nose to nose, my large smile causes a low ache to build along my cheeks.
“Yes, it's okay. It's more than okay. I can't believe you'd do that.”
He tilts his head to the side. “I love you, Randi. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.”
“Oh, you mean like selling your soul to the dark side and pretending to be engaged to a woman you can't stand?”
“Something like that,” he says with a chuckle.
With a quick peck to the tip of his nose, I release my hold and slowly slide down his chest. Toes against the floor, I wrap my arms around his waist and tighten my hold. Cheek flush to his chest, I take a deep inhale of his unique spicy cologne.
“Hey, Mess?”
I hum a response, savoring the feel of his strong arms wrapped around me.
“Last night, you wanted to tell me something. What was it?”
My tight breath pushes back against my cheeks. “Later, Trouble. Okay?”
The way his muscles tense tells me he’s not okay with that response, but he doesn’t say a word about it.
“We'll get through this, right? Jessica, your mom, Kyle, your job, my job, everything and everyone that’s standing between us.” Dread builds in my gut as I wait for his answer.
Two fingers beneath my chin, he tilts my face up. “I won't allow any other outcome. You're mine, now and forever, Randi. I'm not saying it’ll be easy, but we'll figure it out one day at a time.”
“And the whole Kyle wanting me dead stuff? Because there’s that, and Shawn, who’s an evil psychopath who’s probably plotting my slow death as we speak.”
His features harden, lips pressed into a thin white line. “Don't worry about Kyle, or Shawn. We're all here to protect you.”
Nodding, I lean forward and rest my forehead against his hard chest.
We can do this. Fake it until you make it, right?
Three years really isn't that long.
If you're an immortal magical fucking unicorn.
The sharp rap of knuckles against the library door kicks my anxiety into overdrive. Swallowing down the ball of nerves in my throat, I slide my hands down my T-shirt and jeans, making sure everything is on straight. Shit, I hope my shirt isn’t on backward. Surely Trey would’ve said something if it were.
My hammering heart tightens in my chest as Sam strides in, gaze immediately locking with mine. Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around my throat to keep the erratic pulse from beating out of my neck.
To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I loathe being unprepared like right now. It makes me edgy, frantic almost, not knowing what to expect or preparing my responses.
“Madam Vice President,” he says in that sexy-as-hell gravelly voice. His gaze settles on my jeans and ballet flats.
Shit, maybe I should’ve dressed up, worn a suit like I normally do. But with everything else going on in the past twenty-four hours, I just couldn’t muster the energy to put something fancier on.
Not that he’s dressed to the nines, but he’s still more business casual than going to the grocery store like my look. Instead of a suit, he’s in a pair of dark gray slacks with a stark white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing thick, corded forearms. My gaze latches on to the bit of ink peeping under both tight cuffs.
Well hell.
Deep breaths, Randi. Deep, calming breaths. Who knew I was a forearm type of girl? Or maybe it’s just Sam’s forearms I find sexy, along with the teasing ink I want to see more of.
“Sam,” I say, my voice trembling. His lips twitch upward before sealing back into an almost frown. “Please, it's Randi.”
Sam dips his chin in acknowledgment and casts a quick glance around the room. With an inquisitive expression, he angles his head toward the grouping of leather chairs in front of my massive desk. That’s one thing I didn’t expect when arriving in DC. The men here must equate their dick size to how large their desks are, because every single one of them could double as an unbreakable barricade. I gesture toward the chairs. Sam steps to the grouping and folds into the plush leather, resting one foot over the other knee.
“What I need to discuss requires them to leave,” he says, picking at an invisible piece of lint from the bottom