The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,35

to the park not far from my building, and I nod and smile to the other runners out this morning. D.C. has been voted the fittest city in America for several years, partly because we have so many great running trails and options. I was in a runners’ group that met a few mornings a week, but my schedule ate that ritual up and spat it out when we managed a few tough campaigns back-to-back. I’d forgotten how good the community and camaraderie of it feels. Still, nothing compares to the deep kinship I had with my fellow students when we ran across the country raising awareness about water crises in Native communities and on protected lands.

In the park not far from home, I stretch for a few minutes, my breath forming little puffs in the chilly air while I start gentle exertions to ease my body into the demands of the run ahead. I begin at a moderate pace, waking my muscles and stirring my blood. The trees decorated with cherry blossoms in the spring are stripped bare, their spindly branches reaching out like bony fingers when I jog past.

My favorite section of this path lies ahead, a picturesque cobblestone bridge that provides just a moment of shelter from the sun overhead in the summer. In the fall, leaves wallpaper the stones, and in winter it’s sometimes kissed with snowflakes.

Today there are no autumn leaves, no blanket of snow. Just an archway to break the monotony of the path. I cross under it and yelp when a tall figure stands from a nearby bench. I automatically reach for the mace I left behind, but he steps out onto the path so I can see his face.

“Maxim?” I press a hand to my heart and bend over to palm my knees. “You scared me to death.”

“Sorry.”

It steals my breath, how beautiful he is this morning. Dark, amber-dusted hair slumps forward in silky chunks over his forehead, like he rolled out of bed and came straight here. A smile barely moves his lips, and there’s a somberness to his expression that gives me pause.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “How’d you even find me?”

He watches me for a few moments and then nods to the bench where he sat waiting. “Let’s talk.”

“Let’s talk?” I glance at my Fitbit. “Baby, you’re literally breaking my stride. Can’t we talk when I get back to the apartment?”

“Well, that’s what we need to talk about.” He sits and gestures to the empty space on the bench beside him. “Please.”

I let out a choppy breath, my heart still racing from the run and the fright, but take the seat.

“Is this about your goon? Because he was mistaken if he thought I needed him to run behind me through the park. And you’re mistaken if you think I’ll have a cohort of security guards trailing me around the country during the campaign. It’s unnecessary and impractical.”

“Okay. We can discuss . . . modifications, but you do need security.”

“I’ve never needed it before.”

“You weren’t my girlfriend before. Once people know they can get to me through you, you can’t expect me to let you wander around unprotected.”

“Let me wander around? You mean like an unaccompanied child in an amusement park?”

He answers only with an impatient frown and a tightening of his lips.

“No one knows about our relationship yet, Doc.”

“And just how long do you think I’ll accept that?” he asks, his voice quiet, unyielding. “Accept people not knowing we’re together?”

“Maybe for the next eighteen months while I’m running your brother’s campaign?”

Even as I say it, I know he won’t agree. It sounds exhausting even to me, hiding how we feel for that long, but I want to protect what Kimba and I have built, and I don’t want to detract from Owen’s platform with sidebar romance fodder for the tabloids.

“We can compromise and ease into discussing our relationship,” he says, resting his elbows on his knees and turning to look at me. “but I’m not going through this entire campaign pretending not to be in love with you.”

My heartbeat stutters even hearing him say the words. The intensity of his stare warms my skin in the frigid morning air. I scoot closer to him on the bench.

“We can work something out,” I say, dropping my head to his shoulder. “But not this early in the campaign. Owen hasn’t even announced, and Kimba and I need to establish ourselves and prove that we can do this on merit