I search the crowd for Maxim. He’s been working the room all night. I know it’s for Owen, but he freely admits he has his own agenda, the same one he has been advancing for the last decade—to wean this country off fossil fuels and direct our resources to cleaner, more sustainable energy. He’s a single-minded man. It’s hard to remember how it feels having all that power and intensity focused on me since he hasn’t looked at me all night.
He’s striking in black, perfectly tailored pants and a button-down shirt. There’s a satyr-like look to his dark hair and brows, the sensual curve of his mouth, the wild, wicked light in his eyes.
“Who invited the Russian?” Kimba asks.
I shift my attention from Maxim to the woman at his side. It’s the Russian ambassador’s daughter. The one who kissed him. He’s laughing down at her, easy affection in his expression. She reaches up to cup his face, the gesture familiar and intimate. My breath gets hung on irritation like a dress on a nail. A sharp, tiny thorn pricks my heart, but before the pain has time to take root, Maxim pulls her hand away from his face and shakes his head. His smile is gentle, but it’s a firm dismissal that reassures me. He said there had never been anyone else like me. I believe him because for me, there’s never been anyone like him.
My father told me to want something, to take something for myself.
I want Maxim. Will I take him tonight? After hiding so much about myself from myself, lying to myself, can I tell him the truth?
“We’re thirty minutes from the announcement,” Kimba says, her face taking on a serious set.
“I’ll go check on Owen. I think he went upstairs to review his speech.”
With one last glance at Maxim, now laughing with a congressman from North Carolina, I make a dash for the stairs and toward the guest room where Owen is supposed to be. The two men who are always with him stand outside the door, wearing identical impassive expressions. I stride down the long hall, anxious to make sure he’s prepared for the biggest speech of his life to date. He has an excellent speechwriter, but he drafted most of it himself. Maxim, Kimba and I weighed in and offered suggestions. The speech is loaded to a teleprompter we brought in, so he should be set, but I want to make sure. I lift my fist to knock, but the door opens before I get the chance.
Filling the doorway is the man who is almost the exact, albeit older, physical replica of Maxim. Our eyes narrow and our shoulders stiffen at the same time, the only things about us in synch. He closes the door behind him.
“Miss Hunter,” Warren Cade drawls. “I wondered when you’d turn up.”
Turn up like a bad penny if his disdainful look is any indication of how he feels about me.
“I’ve been around,” I tell him, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. “There’s a lot riding on tonight. We all want Owen to do well.”
Any polite pretense disintegrates from his face. “You better not ruin one damn thing for my boy.”
“I want Owen to win. I’m willing to set aside our personal differences long enough to get your son elected because I believe he will take this country in a direction that benefits those most vulnerable among us.”
“You’re so concerned about the most vulnerable, yet every time I turn around you’re ingratiating yourself with extremely powerful men, specifically my sons. Why is that, Miss Hunter? I think you’re as hungry for power as the ones you claim to hate.”
“Your sons came to me, not the other way around. I don’t want power. I want what has been promised to my people for centuries. I only want what is ours to remain ours. What was stolen from us, where possible, to be returned. You’re the one constantly collecting things that aren’t yours as if you don’t already have enough.”
“Enough?” His laugh is dark and twists between us. “What is this concept of enough? It sounds wholly un-American. There’s never enough. Ask my son if he ever gets enough.”
He leans down to look directly into my eyes. “Not Owen. The other one. Maxim’s just like me. You do know that, right? Under all that clean, Greenpeace shit, he’s as ruthless and insatiable as I am, though he doesn’t like to admit it. You think some girl from the reservation will ever be enough for him?”
Never be enough for Maxim? For the man who put himself between me and a pack of dogs before he even knew my name? Not enough for the man who shook me awake from my nightmares and held me all night? The man who begged for my forgiveness, admitted he was wrong and came back for me . . . just like he said he would?
“You hate it, don’t you?” I ask, my voice low and taunting. “That I’m the one he wants?”
His confident smile flickers, slips.
“You know him so well,” I say. “Not Owen. The other one.”
I take a bold step closer so my words have less space to travel.
“You know Maxim well enough to see that he didn’t come back for Owen. He came back for me.”
“You’re wrong,” Warren says with an ease belied by the hard glimmer in his eyes.
“Am I? God, it must grate that your son wants . . . how did you put it? Some girl from the reservation? The girl who can’t stand you and gets in your way at every turn?”
“You should be very careful,” Warren says, his voice a threat.
“Or what? You’ll destroy my career? Come against my friends? My family? You don’t scare me.” I laugh with sudden realization. “I scare you. Because you know that if you hurt me, Maxim will never forgive you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” His laugh scoffs, but I see something in his eyes; the same thing Maxim doesn’t want me to see in his. Longing. He longs for a relationship with his son the way Maxim longs for him. He misses Maxim, but he can’t have him.