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What better way to ram the message home that they weren’t done fighting by using the visit of a state dignitary as a global platform?
Just as I imagined her car being torn apart by a bomb that had been set to retaliate against the president’s ongoing investigations into the secret society, a set of headlights flared inside the cabin of my limo, and I heard an engine rumbling as her car pulled up behind mine.
Her driver jumped out, rounded the car, but I got out too, rushed over to the back end of the limo, and dragged the door wide open.
Her smile was wide. Shit, it beamed brighter than the headlights. In her eyes, there was glee, but for myself, I was just ecstatic that there hadn’t been a terrorist attack against the White House.
I wasn’t interested in politics, but when I’d found out the reason for tonight’s dinner was that the Irish prime minister was visiting, more dread had filled me.
Seeing her safe and whole and hale had me almost sagging against the car door, but she was so buzzed that she didn’t even notice I was a fucking wreck.
When I shuffled into the limo, I had confirmation of just how pussywhipped I was for her because that was the first time I could breathe.
I didn’t even take a second to appreciate how fine she looked in her purple dress that skimmed her waist and made her tits look banging.
That was how freaked out I was.
Her banging tits didn’t so much as make my dick twitch. She looked as good now as she had earlier, when I’d tried to fuck her before she left for the dinner in an attempt to change her mind—it hadn’t worked.
My woman was goddamn stubborn when she wanted to be.
“Get us the hell out of here,” I rumbled the second the driver was back behind the wheel.
At my tone, Aela stopped chattering away, and I saw her attention was fixed on me.
I didn’t mean to kill her buzz, so I raised the privacy screen and murmured, “You were saying about the Irish prime minister?”
There, that proved I’d been listening, didn’t it?
“Are you okay?”
Curving my arm around her shoulder, I hauled her against me. “Better now that you’re back.”
“You were seriously worried,” she whispered, peering up at me still.
“Which part of my behavior over the last twenty-four hours makes you think I wasn’t?”
“I don’t know. I thought you’d recognize I was going to the White House, not the Bratva’s home base.”
“President is just another word for Pakhan.”
She scoffed. “Hardly. One’s elected democratically—”
“Yeah, you tell me how democratic Super PACs are, babe. And remember, before you say a word, that Da donates toseveralSuper PACs…” At her swiftly inhaled breath, I nodded. “Uh huh. Anyway, let’s not talk about politics. What happened?”
“Did you know the First Lady is Irish?”
“Irish-Irish? Or like us?”
“Like us. But her grandparents were born in County Louth. Just like mine!”
I wasn’t sure why she sounded so excited seeing as Shay had told me that hers had treated her like shit.
He’d also told me they’d been murdered in a burglary gone wrong which I was sure was the work of the IRA…
Not that I raised that subject. That would definitely kill her buzz.
“Second generation Americans,” I remarked instead, because Ihadn’tknown the First Lady was Irish. “…did you know they tend to have an identity crisis?”
