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I nod. "I also know now that I can’t bear it if anyone else dares touch you. If any man dare look at you again, I’m going to kill him."
She throws up her hands. "You’ve declared you’re going to run for the top leadership position in this country. You can’t afford to lose your temper at such a trivial matter."
"Trivial matter?" Anger punches my guts with such force, specks of black dot my vision. I rise to my feet and prowl toward her. "He. Had. His. Hands. On. You." I stop in front of her and glare into her features. "He was dancing with you. You were laughing at something he said, you—"
"He’s my brother, Hunter."
I still. "Eh?"
"He’s. My. Brother. Cade Kingston."
"That was Cade Kingston, aka the King, the Captain of the English Cricket Team?"
She nods.
I shake my head. "He looks different from his pictures."
"He shaved off his beard and his hair."
Of course, I know Cade Kingston is her brother. And there was something familiar about him… But I was so consumed by anger, and he looked so different from his pictures, I never, in a million years, would have recognized him as her brother.
I rub the back of my neck. "Fuck, fuckity, fuck."
"Indeed." She folds her arms across her chest. "If you had paused to think for one minute, or better still, decided to think with something else other than your dick—"
"Which is very difficult for me to do where you’re concerned."
"—you’d have noticed that he had his hands on me, not in a lover-like fashion, but in a brotherly manner."
I lower my hand to my side. "He still had his hands on you."
"Didn’t you just hear what I said?" She scowls up at me. "He. Is. My. Brother."
"He was a man. He was someone other than me. And he was touching you."
She throws up her hands. "So?"
"So?" I bend my knees, peer into her eyes. "I will not tolerate you being with anyone else. I will set fire to the world before I let anyone else touch you, and that includes any sibling of yours."
"Jesus Christ, give me patience." She draws in a breath, then stabs her finger into my chest. "This passion of yours? This obsessive attention to what you want, this forgetting everything else except the one thing most important to you? This…this…all-consuming fervor is what you need to bring to the campaign trail."
I blink. "You’re comparing what I feel for you to the emotions I need to bring to the campaign trail?"
"Absolutely."
I glare at her. She pales but doesn’t look away.
"This fire inside of you, this need to go after what you want, this absolute focus that you have for me, it’s the most flattering thing in the world.".
"It’s how I feel about you," I growl.
"It’s the true you." She flattens her palm against my chest. "The one you need to show to your constituents. To this country."
This woman, only she could take my words and turn them on me, and yet…a part of me wonders if she doesn’t speak the truth. Is this what’s been missing in the run up to my campaign? Why I haven’t been able to galvanize my efforts behind this program? Why it felt empty, even to me, like something was missing? Why I feel alive only when I’m with her? Why I need her beside me to feel whole?
"You’re right."
Now, it’s her turn to look taken aback. "I am?"
