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  Jameson smiled.

  “It’s what keeps me steady. I need you to remind me of that.”

  Jameson bit her lower lip.

  “Even if I bite your head off for doing that,” Candace said.

  “Noted,” Jameson replied. “I can handle your worst.”

  “I’m not sure if I should take that as an insult or thank you.”

  “Your worst is better than anyone else’s best,” Jameson said.

  Candace’s eyes twinkled. “Are we talking about my temper?”

  “Among other things.”

  Candace laughed. “You really are a lunatic.”

  “Open your fortune cookie,” Jameson said.

  “Why? Hoping I’ll get something you can add ‘in bed’ to and make kinky?”

  “I wouldn’t complain about getting lucky.”

  “You don’t need a fortune cookie to get lucky,” Candace quipped.

  Jameson took the wine glass from Candace’s hand and set it aside. She placed a tender kiss on Candace’s lips and handed her a fortune cookie. “Open it.”

  Candace raised a brow but did as Jameson directed. She cracked open the cookie and pulled out the small white paper slowly. A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories. Candace looked at Jameson and smiled.

  “What does it say?”

  “Something tells me you know the answer to that question?”

  “Maybe I do,” Jameson confessed. “You’ve said the word ‘sometimes’ a lot tonight. Maybe sometimes you need to be reminded that you are the best person for this job.”

  Candace closed her eyes as Jameson’s lips found hers again. Jameson understood her, not only the emotions and insecurities that she struggled with at times, but also when she needed to find the confidence to carry on. Most people looked at Candace and saw a stateswoman—a successful, powerful, controlled woman. Jameson witnessed the truth. The truth was raw and vulnerable—real—human. Confidence was not the opposite of doubt; it was the ability to press on despite questions. Confidence was born of perseverance. No one lived without insecurity. No one existed without fear. Leading required the determination to act in the face of those human frailties. Every person needed a place to voice fear, sadness, and the endless questions that seemed to have no answers—even a president. Candace had yet to assume that role. Day by day she gained a better understanding of what her life would entail. She needed Jameson to be her refuge. That had always been clear to her. She’d received a stark reminder earlier in the day. She needed the president-elect to fade away into the wife and mother that Jameson loved.

  Jameson’s hands tenderly caressed Candace’s arms as their kiss deepened. Had she felt lonely? No. She hadn’t. She was certain that Candace had.

  Candace was surrounded by people twenty-four hours a day. She could scarcely enter a public bathroom without someone accompanying her. Candace seemed to take it all in stride. Jameson could see the evidence of strain on her wife’s face. Candace was suddenly immersed in the details of the issues she would need to address and be accountable for the moment she took her oath of office. Solace was found in simple moments—in fortune cookies, fireplaces, children’s stories, and grandchildren’s antics. And, it was found in each other.

  “Jameson,” Candace sighed.

  Jameson lowered Candace to the floor, hovering above her, searching her eyes, and smiling lovingly. It amazed Jameson; the way a simple moment of silence could transform a person. Making love with Candace would not suddenly bequeath either of them with any all-encompassing answer to life’s questions. It would provide perspective. It would serve as a reminder that when the noise of contentious opinions and countless requests quelled, there remained one over-arching truth—Jameson would always love Candace, and Candace would always seek Jameson for comfort.

  “I love you,” Jameson promised.

  Candace held Jameson’s gaze as Jameson’s hands deftly relieved her of her blouse. She watched as Jameson’s eyes lowered and heard Jameson’s sharp intake of breath. Her fingertips threaded through the soft wave of Jameson’s hair, loving every moment of Jameson close to her. Nothing on earth moved Candace the way it did to watch Jameson looking at her. She had once thought that time might diminish the emotion she witnessed in Jameson’s eyes. There was no force on earth that would ever succeed in doing that. Candace felt that reality course through her again, astounding her with its veracity. Her eyes closed against the sensation of Jameson’s lips caressing the swell of her breasts. Jameson’s touch felt like a gentle breeze caressing the treetops in springtime. So, gentle.

  Jameson fingertips traced the path her lips had just traversed. She pulled Candace to sit and cast aside the bra that separated her from the treasure below. She ached to touch Candace, to feel the softness of Candace’s skin against her lips. She looked up and met Candace’s smiling face. Not for the first time, she wondered if anyone had ever loved a person as deeply as she loved Candace. Candace’s presence consumed her. Thought was swept away by emotion. Reason? Candace was the reason—the reason Jameson looked forward to every day of her life. She loved everything about the woman smiling at her, from the crinkles at the corner of her eyes to the boisterous laughter that erupted from Candace without warning. She treasured Candace’s intellect and marveled at her wife’s compassion. It was strange to realize that most of the world saw Candace Reid as a distant figure, a character that somehow lacked dimension. Everything about Candace was real. She possessed endless layers. Jameson’s lips met Candace’s tentatively, gradually beginning to explore and deepen their connection. How had she managed to become the person Candace chose to share her life with? She’d pondered that question a few times. Tonight, it seemed to surface with a new intensity.

  Candace gentled their kiss and held Jameson’s face in her hands. “What is it?”

  Jameson wet her lips and shook her head, unable to find any words.

  “Jameson…”

  “I love you so much, Candace. I know that I say it. I know that you’ve heard it. I’m not sure you will ever understand.”

  Candace caressed Jameson’s cheek with her thumb. “I do,” she promised. “I feel the same way.” She pulled Jameson’s shirt over her head and tossed it away. Her eyes never left Jameson’s as she continued to undress her. “Stay with me,” she requested.

  Jameson understood. She lowered them both to the floor again. Jameson’s fingertip traced patterns cast by the flickering of the flames across Candace’s skin. Her lips followed closely behind, falling like cool raindrops against the heat from the fire. She heard Candace sigh and let her mouth descend over a taut nipple. The instant arch of Candace’s hips spoke directly to Jameson’s heart. Sometimes, touch was the only way to convey what coursed between them. Words had their time and their purpose. Often, only the sensation of Candace against her could satisfy the yearning that burned deep within her soul. She enveloped Candace in her arms. The heat from the crackling fire and the softness of Candace against her aroused Jameson. Her lips tasted Candace’s neck and meandered lower as they began to glide sensually against each other. Candace’s perfume tickled her nose. She breathed in the scent, savoring the way it caused her heart to beat slightly out of time. Candace’s hands fell over her back tenderly, moving in long strokes, pulling Jameson closer.

  Dear God. Candace held onto Jameson. Jameson’s lips surrounded her nipple, a playful graze of Jameson’s teeth took her breath away. A fingertip danced over her collarbone as Jameson’s mouth continued its thorough exploration of her breasts. Candace fell away into a well of sensation; a well that overflowed and spilled out everywhere around them, between them, even through them. She would drown here and never regret it. Jameson would always pull her back to the surface. After all, wasn’t that the most glorious part of making love? Lost one moment, desperate and searching; found in the next, cradled and comforted; making love with Jameson was always that way.

  Jameson’s hand found the softness between Candace’s legs. Soft, warm, wet from desir
e—it spurred Jameson’s need. She glanced up to a sight unlike any other. Candace.

  Candace’s head had fallen back exposing her throat. Her eyes were shut tightly; her lips parted in anticipation. Barely audible sighs mixed with sensual moans, carrying to Jameson’s ears like chords in a beautiful melody. There was no sight on earth that compared to Candace in the throes of passion. Sunsets, sunrises, mountains, and oceans be damned; the most breathtaking vision in creation was laid before Jameson now.

  Tenderly, Jameson entered Candace. A guttural moan rewarded her. Jameson entered Candace gently at first; deeper and harder with each thrust until Candace’s hips rotated to meet her endeavor. A flurry of kisses rained over Candace’s stomach to her hip, until finally Jameson’s tongue languidly traveled over her center, lingering when it met with the fingers still twirling inside her. Candace might not survive this night after all. Quivers erupted in her core, spreading like sparks through every nerve in her body. Tingles ran over her skin. Was it the heat of the fire or the heat from Jameson’s tongue? Maybe it was the feel of Jameson’s breasts against her thigh, or perhaps, it was the fullness of Jameson’s fingers as they continued to press deeper that was responsible. It was all of it, every tiny sensation meeting the other like instruments in a symphony. One played a beautiful note; together they created a haunting refrain that echoed through Candace’s being. Her hands gripped Jameson’s shoulders as the crescendo that heralds the end of a melody built steadily within her.

  Jameson relished the sights, the sounds, and the taste that was uniquely Candace. She continued her tender assault, in and out, up and down; her other hand reached for Candace’s breast. She delighted in the tremors that began the moment her fingertip brushed across Candace’s nipple. She ceased her teasing and sucked delicately on Candace’s clit until the tremors broke like waves, crashing violently over and over, one behind the other.

  Candace’s body lifted from the floor. She was certain the only thing that kept her from levitating was the weight of Jameson’s body on hers. She called out Jameson’s name repeatedly. Jameson would not relent. “Oh, God… Jameson… Jesus Christ!”

  Jameson licked and played and teased until Candace shuddered beneath her again. She could do this forever.

  Candace couldn’t stand another moment. She wanted Jameson above her. She wanted to taste Jameson, to make her quiver and shake until she had no choice but to fall into Candace’s waiting arms. She tugged on Jameson’s shoulders. Jameson’s lips met hers. Candace groaned. Everything about Jameson was sexy. Jameson’s tongue explored her mouth just as it had peeked her arousal seconds ago. She pushed Jameson away slightly, and licked her lips.

  “Yes?” Jameson asked.

  “I want to taste you right now.”

  Jameson thought she would orgasm right there. Lust blazed in Candace’s eyes, hotter than the flames of the fire a few feet away.

  Candace guided Jameson above her. She loved to place Jameson here, where she could reach her hands up and toy with Jameson’s nipples while her mouth explored all that Jameson had to offer. She greeted Jameson eagerly. Tonight, she had no desire to prolong Jameson’s torture. She desired to release Jameson, to feel Jameson let go of all control.

  “Candace,” Jameson moaned her wife’s name. “Oh, that… Oh, my God… Yes…”

  Jameson was gone. Candace took her over the edge. Her fingers tugged at Jameson’s nipples, and her tongue swirled around Jameson’s clit repeatedly, tenderly but firmly.

  “Candace!”

  Jameson grabbed hold of the couch with one hand to keep from losing her balance. She had no intention of pulling away. As long as Candace wanted to keep her suspended, she would oblige.

  “Mmm.” Candace felt her arousal building again. Every quiver from Jameson’s body seemed to cause a tremor in Candace. She felt Jameson beginning to succumb again and dropped her hand to touch herself. She couldn’t stand the ache any longer. She needed to crest and fall with Jameson.

  Jameson’s heart thundered in her ears. She could feel Candace touching herself and it sent shock waves through her. She wished she could watch Candace now, but Candace would never allow it. Desire silenced all Jameson’s inhibitions. “You’re touching yourself,” she panted. The only response from Candace was a desperate moan. “Oh, God… I wish I could watch you,” Jameson confessed.

  Candace almost lost it. Jameson seldom spoke unprompted when Candace touched her. She struggled to voice her desires. Tonight, it seemed, she was at their mercy. It made Candace crave release. She prayed Jameson’s voice would continue to reach her ears.

  “Yes,” Jameson hissed. She swirled her hips over Candace’s face. “Please,” she nearly begged. “Candace… I want you to make yourself come with me… Please… God, I want you… I want to feel you…. Oh!” Jameson’s words sent them both over the edge of sanity.

  Candace shifted and accepted Jameson into her arms.

  “Jesus,” Jameson sighed.

  Candace chuckled. “Finding God?”

  Jameson looked at Candace. “Hey, I like this version of Bible Study.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Candace replied. She looked at Jameson curiously. “What are you thinking?”

  “I hope all the fireplaces work in The White House.”

  Candace burst out laughing. “All of them?”

  Jameson nodded.

  “A little ambitious?”

  “Nah. There’s twenty-eight. We’ll be there for forty-eight months. That’s like what? About 1.7 fireplaces a month. Doable.”

  Candace stared at Jameson for a moment before laughing again. “Lunatic.”

  “Hey, you’re not the only one with plans.”

  “Thank God.” Candace pulled Jameson close and let her eyes close.

  “Do you want to go upstairs?” Jameson asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay…. So, which one do you want to try out first?” Jameson asked.

  Candace shook with laughter. “You’re the architect, honey. Draw up a plan.”

  Jameson grinned and snuggled against Candace. “I will.”

  I have no doubt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Are you sure about this?” Grant asked.

  Candace was growing tired of that simple question.

  “I’m just asking,” he said, sensing her displeasure.

  “Nate and I have discussed this at length,” she said. “We both agree that Senator Gorham is the best choice for Secretary of State.”

  Grant nodded.

  “Unless there is something I don’t know that I should know, that is my decision.”

  “No, there’s not. Jenny is a logical choice.”

  “Jenny Gorham is more than a logical choice, Grant. She’s one of the most well-versed people on foreign policy in leadership today. And, she happens to speak four languages fluently. That’s an enormous bonus on the world stage.”

  “And, she’s a woman.”

  “Your point?”

  “Did that tip the scales in her favor? I think some people will ask that.”

  “Some people will ask a lot of things.”

  Grant groaned. “Candy…”

  Candace held up her hand. “Don’t. Gender is neither a qualifying or disqualifying factor in this administration. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “This isn’t about what I know.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Whether you like it or not, perception still matters.”

  Candace took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She understood with crystal clarity how important optics were on the world stage. Like it or not, optics mattered. Optics were also a fickle thing. People perceived any situation differently based on their firmly held convictions and embedded beliefs. No candidate, no leader, and no president would ever be able to create perfect “optics.” She’d attempted to school her staff in that reality. At times, it seemed that remedial lessons were called
for. That frustrated Candace. She listened thoughtfully to the guidance of her advisers, both at work and at home. She listened. When she made a decision, it was solid. Spending time explaining her reasoning or debating her choices was not a luxury she was afforded. Each day, Candace received nearly the same security briefing President Wallace did. Every morning, she listened to and accepted calls from congressional and foreign leaders seeking her support and offering theirs. And, in the afternoon she engaged in meetings to formalize her inauguration. She was grateful that Jameson had taken control of their move to Washington DC. While she still needed to address details regarding their living quarters, Jameson had handled nearly everything. That took a few hours off each day. Each day seemed to be composed of forty-eight hours of tasks poured into twenty-four hours of time. She did not appreciate revisiting decisions that required no further discussion.

  “Grant,” she began evenly. “I think we need to establish something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I love you, and I am grateful for your insight and your candor.”

  “But?”

  “I told you; as I told everyone during the campaign; when I make a decision, unless there is some earth-shattering information that makes that decision perilous, I don’t have the time to revisit it.” She held up her hand to stop his oncoming thought. “Ultimately, the success or the failure of any decision in my administration will rest with me, just as it did during the campaign. I expect that everyone on my team is honest with me. And, I welcome spirited debate—when we are in that phase of the decision-making process. That process has an end. It’s called the decision. I take everything that’s offered to me into consideration. Once I have made that decision, I expect respect for the conclusion I have reached. The government has enough built-in redundancies. We can’t afford to create more.”

  “I’m only trying to look out for you.”

  Candace smiled. Grant was like a son to her. His eyes had lowered, reminding her of a child who had been reprimanded. Sometimes, governing mirrored parenting a great deal. She would forever be amazed at how adults could transform into small children. She often felt the same way in Pearl’s presence. “I realize that. You need to trust that when I’ve arrived at my decision, it’s been through plenty of internal debate. Jenny isn’t just a logical choice. She’s the right choice for this administration. Optics matter, Grant. They fade into nothingness if they lack any substance behind them.”