I laugh, trying to ease the sexual chemistry that's now whirling around us like a cyclone. One little nod and I'm sure he's going to pounce, and I'm not sure I'll do anything more than fall on my back and open my legs. And while that'll be fun for however long his stamina runs—which is classified under things I'd like to know—after that, it'll be a disaster. This I'm sure of.
"I don’t think I’m up for that challenge," I grin.
"I'll let you win," he says, his eyes growing wider, tempting me to break.
"I'm going to call bullshit on that."
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. I can almost see a weight lift from his shoulders. He seems even more casual than last night while we walked in the dark. Watching him control a room yesterday was such a turn-on, but watching him like this, relaxed, is maybe even sexier.
An easy breeze floats through the room and my gaze is carried out the window. I can see a line of trees, pines, I think, in the back of the property. It’s so peaceful.
"Do you live here?" I ask.
"No. This is where I come to work when the office is too crazy. We call it the Farm."
"This is your getaway? Very nice,” I approve.
"This isn’t where I grew up, but I feel more at home here than anywhere in the world."
His features morph, turning lighter, more playful. He looks like a little kid showing off his new bike. It’s adorable.
"I had no idea it was even here,” I say. “It’s amazing. So quiet."
"That's the point. I—"
Our gazes land on his desk to a phone buzzing. He looks at me for permission to answer and I nod. He stands and lifts the receiver.
"Yes, Rose?" He pauses and stares at the wall, purposefully not at me. "Send him through." He pauses again. "Yeah, Nolan?"
His posture changes immediately. His back stiffens, his shoulders tense. His volley back and forth with Nolan is all political jargon, the harshness in his tone has returned, thicker than before.
I wonder if this is what he goes through every day. It's even more stressful, I'm sure, than what Hayden went through, and I can't begin to fathom what that must do to his life. I know it's a part of the job, but I wonder how much of himself Barrett has to give up to have this life. And I wonder if he enjoys it.
"My cell is off because I'm trying to get some actual work done," he bites out. He moves confidently around the desk, one hand stuck in the pocket of his pants. He looks in total control, completely assured, a touch aggressive, and it's nothing short of visual foreplay. This call is prepping my body for sex, even though it wasn't meant to.
"If that's the absolute only way to get the votes, then fine," he finally sighs. I can tell he isn't thrilled about whatever he's just agreed to. "Listen, I want a list of other options you've explored before this goes through. I want it perfectly clear that if another way becomes available to achieve this, I want to go with it instead. This is a last resort. You got it?" He listens before planting the receiver firmly in place. He turns to face me, the prior look of amusement long gone. I'm not sure what that call was about, whether he's had a bomb dropped in his lap he must take care of.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low. When he doesn’t respond with more than a furrowed brow, I say, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”
"The campaign is a—"
"Barrett," I interject, "your campaign isn't what I was asking about. I was asking about you.”
A slow smile slides across his face and he sits down and leans back in his chair. "In that case, I'm better at the moment than I have been since, well, last night."
I grin.
He pauses for a moment and then leans on his elbows again. "I'm sorry about that call. I don't know what else to say other than welcome to my life."
"Is it always so . . . stressful? Aren't you here to get away from that today?"
"Yeah," he says, blowing out a breath. "It's a part of the job. It's 24/7."
"That must be exhausting."
"It's what I was born to do. Do the things I'm doing now."
"Are you sure?"