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ChapterTwenty-Two
Brennan
Then
Itried to fall into my routine, but I can’t get past the first asana. My breath work is shot. My focus is ruined. My mind flies from thought to thought. President Kirilov and his threats. The UN. My Security Council speech tomorrow.
Reese.
Always Reese.
Was our goodbye on the Truman Balcony goodbye forever? Was that it?
We came together like the wind, sliding into each other’s lives. He was already my addiction before we crossed the line—crossed a dozen lines—but now I know what his lips taste like and what his body feels like.
The control I’ve built up for two decades has slipped away. Discipline, gone. Inhibitions, gone. I can’t clear my mind for even one minute. Reese is always there, and my heart goes wild, my lungs stutter, my palms itch, and the hunger within me explodes.
I want Reese’s kisses and his touch. I want him over me, beneath me, surrounding me. Arms encircling me so there is nothing but him.
And I want him beside me. On the sofa while our fingers tangle and we talk for hours, or in the kitchen as I cook for us both. Watching the rain, or running together, or sitting in the fog. I feel whole when he’s near, as if he’s carrying a piece of me. Before we met, there was an emptiness in my life, but now—
Knocking at my door breaks my reverie. I texted Reese four minutes ago. It could be him. It could also be any one of my staff. Valerie Shannon, with another message from the Brits or the Germans, the French or the Finns. My speechwriter, here to fine-tune another half dozen words in tomorrow’s address. Dean McClintock, with news of an unfolding nightmare in Ukraine or deep within Russia. They’ve launched. We have twenty minutes, Mr. President.
Deep breath. I told my staff to take the night. We’ve been running hard for months, and never more so than the past few weeks, trying to build this alliance through the state dinner, and now here at the UN. Take the night and rest.
I tried to follow my own advice, but—
Reese hovers in the doorway, eyes bright, grin small and subdued, one hand squeezing the doorjamb and the other buried in his suit pants pocket. “Hey.”
I bring him into my suite. My bedroom is to the left, and to the right, Shannon and Matt have set up a temporary work table. Empty spaces reveal where their laptops drop into the messy piles of folders, speech drafts, handwritten notes, and rescribbled schedules.
Reese stands behind the love seat in the center of the suite’s sitting room. His eyes dart from wall to wall as his fingers play over the seam where the fabric meets polished wood. “I thought you might be relaxing. Doing yoga.”
“I tried. I couldn’t focus.”
“I don’t remember a yoga mat ever being on your packing sheet.”
Everything I bring, everywhere I go, is checked and rechecked by the Secret Service. A yoga mat would have been noticed. Commented on.
My yoga is mine alone, something I’ve never had to share with the media. I shake my head. “No mat. I’ve trained myself to practice in any space I’m in.” Or I’ve tried to. “My concentration is gone tonight.”
“Nervous about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, and other things.”
Silence descends like a knife.
His eyes flick to mine. I’m beside him at the back of the sofa, and if I reach out the slightest bit, my fingertips could brush the flat planes of his stomach. He’s here, and he’s so close. This is the worst kind of bliss, having him here and not being able to reach out. It’s torturous to have wanted and craved and then had a taste of everything, only to be stuck in this uncertain morass.
“Is there anything I can do?” His voice is like deep water, like veins of gold in blackened earth.
Kiss me. Take me in your arms. Tell me you didn’t mean it when you said you had to go.
He clears his throat. “Would it help if you had someone to do it with? Your yoga, I mean.”
I blink back to reality, to this moment and to Reese. Yoga. Right. He’s chewing on the inside of his lip, hesitant in a way I’ve never seen before. Keeping distance between us, even though we’re inches apart, close enough to feel the heat of each other.
“I’ve never shared it with anyone. Well, except for the video I sent you.”
