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?"
"What do you mean, am I sure? Of course I'm sure."
I almost play Devil's Advocate with him, but I don't. I let him be “sure” because really, it's none of my business.
"What are you sure about?" he asks me.
"I'm sure I wasted my time delivering the food.”
I would never tell him that the smile I get in reply is worth it in itself.
"Are you saying you don't like my company, Ms. Baker?"
"I'm saying, Mr. Landry, that you could’ve called and invited me to lunch, not . . . tricked me out here." I lean forward, pasting a serious look on my face. He leans in too, and I fight the smile on my lips.
"I didn't trick you out here," he replies. “I just didn’t give you the choice to tell me no. Again.”
My laughter catches him by surprise. "You're tricky, but smooth.”
His grin turns wicked. "My moves are even smoother."
My cheeks heat, my core burning with a flame that’s starting to burn like wildfire. "Are they now?"
"Smooth as silk. If you're ever inclined to see them," he shrugs, "I'd probably be willing to show you."
I roll my eyes.
"That . . . thing you do with your eyes," he says, pointing at my face, "is almost impressive."
"It's a good thing I didn't come here to impress you then, isn't it?"
His jaw drops slightly before he recovers with a smirk. "It's a good thing I didn't ask you here to impress me."
I start to answer, but he leans closer and cuts me off. The smirk is gone and a softer smile is in its place. It makes my heart stutter.
"I didn't need you to impress me today because you impressed me last night."
"I didn't try to impress you then either,” I whisper.
"I know. That’s exactly how you did it."
My hand begins to shake and I lay it on my lap so he doesn't see. I scramble for a response, knowing this is going to go one way or the other right here, right now. But before I can come up with something, his phone rings again.
"I should go." I push back from the table and stand. He's in front of me before I can move. His eyes are holding mine, just like they did when I first met him. My heart is beating so fast I'm afraid it's going to thump right out of my chest. He overtakes all of my senses—his burning eyes, his jagged breath that matches mine, the feeling of his hand on my arm, and, before I know it, the taste of his mouth against mine.
I take in a quick breath as our lips touch. The contact zips through me, making me tingle from head to toe. I try to pull back, but a hand is at the back of my head pressing me firmly against him. My will to fight flees as his hands fall to the small of my back. I'm completely pulled into his web and I like it. Too much. He kisses in the same way he does everything—with power and passion and with no relenting. It's completely and utterly overwhelming.