“That’s all very noble,” Katya says, her Russian accent thickening, sliding her hand back to my thigh. “But while you’re waiting . . .”
I catch hold of her hand and push it away, but offer what I hope is a kind smile. “Nytet, spaseeba.”
She nods and cuts into her own lamb chop. “So who is this madwoman who does not know what she’s missing?”
“Oh, she knows. She’s had it before, but I screwed things up.”
“You cheated?” she asks, her eyes condemning slits.
“No, I lied.”
Katya nods sagely, turning down the corners of her mouth and shrugging. “Lying is simply cheating on the truth.”
“Yeah, well I did that about something that was important to her. She’s with someone else for now.”
“You’ll take her from him, though, da?”
I shake my head. “She’ll have to leave him. I need her to come to me.”
Lennix freely given was the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever tasted. She spilled down my throat like wine, warm and wet and full-bodied. Unbuttoning her blouse, offering me her breasts. Leaned back on her elbows in my bed, morning sunshine beaming between her long, firm legs spread open. Begging me not to stop in the chill of night, in the rain.
Shit. My dick didn’t get hard with Katya’s little hand wrapped around it, but the thought of Lennix’s kisses from ten years ago has me stiff as a tree trunk.
“Someone’s taking photos for tomorrow’s papers,” Katya whispers, leaning over. “Let’s make her jealous.”
“What?”
Before I can stop her, she kisses me.
43
Lennix
“This will be fantastic.”
Millicent fairly glows reading the plans we’ve drafted to announce Owen’s exploratory committee on New Year’s Eve. Take-out cartons, coffee cups, laptops and iPads crowd the glass surface of our conference room table. The faces around the room look tired, but her response makes the hard work worth it.
“I agree,” Owen says absently. “Fantastic.”
He’s been reading the draft of a bill during the meeting, negotiating the challenge of still serving in the Senate while running for president. That will only intensify the further we get into this process.
Millicent gives him a heatless glare and rolls her eyes. “He’ll be no fun until that bill goes through. Now I do have some questions about the menu and decorations. It is still New Year’s Eve. It has to be festive.”
“It’ll be at our house,” Owen says, still not looking up from the massive stack in front of him. “Our Christmas decorations are up from Thanksgiving ’til St. Patrick’s Day. You don’t get more festive than that.”
“He exaggerates,” she says with a smile. “They’re down by Valentine’s Day.”
She crosses her arms and begins what resembles a military march. “But that is neither here nor there. We need to discuss menu, additional decorations, entertainment, fireworks—”
“Fireworks?” Owen, Kimba and I ask simultaneously.
She lifts one haughty brow, her general’s face on. “Are we going to have a problem with my fireworks? It’s the least we can do to launch one of the greatest presidential administrations in our fine nation’s history. A Cade finally sitting in the oval? We need to blow some shit up.”
Silence hangs in the air. Everyone exchanges nervous glances. Then there is a snicker from the far end of the conference room table. It’s Maxim, who hasn’t said a word the entire meeting. With his head and shoulders hunched over his iPad, I assumed he was barely paying attention. His humor seems to uncork everyone else, and then we’re all laughing. Owen laughs loudest and pulls his wife down onto his lap.
“My girl wants fireworks,” he says, kissing the top of Millicent’s head. “My girl gets fireworks.”
She giggles and burrows into his neck. “Thank you, O.”