The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,92
touches under tables, and long looks with our fantasies meeting across crowded rooms.
His fingers delve into my hair, tugging the elastic band free so the strands pour over his fingers. He tilts my head and whispers into our kiss, “Are you sure we need to keep doing this? I miss you so damn much, Nix.”
I lick into his mouth, strain up, wrap my arms round his neck, and press into the erection at my belly, making us both groan.
“I miss you, too, but if it comes out, believe me, it will be such a distraction, and the people who are starting to take you seriously won’t. They’ll reduce us to a fly by night candidate screwing some young girl from his campaign.”
“Young, huh?” He laughs. “Now you’re trying to make me sound like some dirty old man.”
“Hey, you did start lusting after me when I was only seventeen.”
His smile fades, and his hands tighten at my waist. “You were so fantastic that day. I was in my dad’s car, and I heard you before I saw you. The conviction in your voice, and then you were so . . . everything.” He cups my cheek and rests his forehead against mine. “I never stood a chance.”
“Neither did I,” I whisper, curling my body in closer to his, loving how we fit together.
“I want our daughter to be just like you.”
The word daughter jars me and I drop my eyes. Being apart for the campaign is so hard, but doing the work of getting him elected, seeing how people already respond to him, makes it seem . . . possible. As adamant as I was about him running, I never stopped to think about what happens if he actually wins.
What happens to me.
Maxim’s never proposed, but we want to spend our lives together. If he wins this election, marriage becomes a whole new world that would require sacrifices I never anticipated. Sacrifices I’m not sure I want to make.
“Did you hear me, Nix?” Maxim asks, tilting my chin up to lock our stares together. “I said I want our daughter to be just like you.”
I’m still formulating my response when a key turns in the conference room door. We hastily pull apart, my heart beating triple time. Maxim seems much more relaxed, sitting in the chair in front of his laptop as if that was his destination all along. Jin Lei opens the door. She’s one of the few people who knows about us. She knows about everything in our lives, even Gregory.
“Oh” Jin Lei says, looking as startled as we are. “Sorry to interrupt. I forgot something. I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t interrupt,” I reassure her, avoiding Maxim’s searching stare. “I was just leaving.”
42
Lennix
“I’m not a monk, or a priest,” Maxim says from the small platform we set up in Philadelphia’s Love Park, the iconic LOVE statue behind him with stacked red letters. “And yes, at some point, I inhaled.”
He pauses for the crowd’s laughter. We finally convinced him to wear the campaign T-Shirt. He felt weird wearing his own name across his chest. The man makes bras from recycled water bottles, but has qualms about clothes that bear his name.
“But I’m not a liar,” Maxim continues. “I’m not a coward, and I know how to build something from absolutely nothing. I look back enough to learn from our history, but won’t allow antiquated practices to keep us from the brightest future. Dig deep enough into my past and you might find me saying something stupid, or that I no longer even believe. Look closely enough, and you’ll spot my flaws, but you’ll also see someone with a vision and, I hope, the integrity to see through.”
We kicked our policy pop-up tour off in New York, and our Cade bus has been tracking across states every day. Inherently, the viral, grassroots nature of the pop-up format means the crowds trend younger. I believe we’ll have millennials on lock come November. They’re the earliest adapting demographic, obviously. They’re not as quick to mistrust Maxim’s relative “youth,” and the idea of doing something history-making—electing an independent president—appeals to them. Specifically, Maxim appeals to them. He’s handsome and compelling, that leashed power and raw physicality drawing people to him, but it’s the breadth of his intelligence and his unexpected humor keeping their attention.
“Ain’t this some shit,” Kimba mutters next to me on the periphery of the crowd.
“What?” I ask, forcing myself to drag my glance from Maxim.