“You’re a beauty, Miss Baker.”
I lean over the tray between us and kiss her lazily. Her mouth is sweet like the fruit and I could go back in for thirds, since I had her once we got in here too, but I don’t.
My landline rings, the handset beside my bed rattling, making Alison jump.
“I didn’t know people still used those!” she exclaims
“No one calls mine but my mother and Nolan. I’d just get rid of it, but it’s wired somehow into the security system of the house or something.”
“Do you need to get it?”
“Nah, it’s too late to be Mom. My cell is off, so it’s probably Nolan pissed he can’t get me and wants to ride my ass about some campaign statement or interview.”
She glances at the clock over my shoulder and presses her lips, still swollen from our kisses, together. “I probably need to be going home.”
“Why?”
She swallows and I see the trepidation washing over her out of nowhere. “Because it’s getting late?”
It’s more of a question than a reason and one I won’t let go.
“We aren’t teenagers, although you could pull off the twenty-something look better than me,” I tease. “Troy can take you home whenever I ask him to. You don’t have to leave now.”
“I probably should.”
I watch her wrangle with her decision and I can tell she doesn’t really want to. She won’t look at me, won’t let me see into her eyes.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
Although the words were harmless, she flutters her eyes up to mine and there’s a spark of pain hidden inside the blue irises.
She doesn’t answer me.
“You better talk to me,” I lead, rubbing my thumb over her knuckle.
“I guess for awhile I forgot who you are.”
“What’s that mean?” I ask, looking at her like she’s crazy. “Who I am?”
She takes a deep breath and the smile on her face is almost one of resignation. “I forgot about all of that,” she says with a wave towards my phone.
“Alison, it’s a part of my job. It’s not going to go away.”
“No, I know,” she sighs. “I just got swept away and . . .” She giggles, a soft, sweet, little rasp. “I relaxed. Do you know the last time I relaxed like this?”
I kiss her again, squarely on the lips. “You can come here and relax like this any time you want.”
She takes my hand in hers and draws little designs on my palm. She’s thinking, lost in some world I’m not privy to, and I want to ask questions. My curiosity is off the charts and I want to fix whatever’s bothering her, but I don’t ask what it is because I’m afraid maybe I can’t fix it.
“What scares you, Barrett?” she asks finally, putting both of her small hands around mine. The warmth from her skin floods into me and I want to wrap myself around her in every way.
“Election day,” I half-joke.
She smiles, but I can tell that’s not what she meant. Still, this is not a topic I’d like to delve into heavily.
“The words, ‘It’s your baby.’”
“Barrett!” she laughs, throwing a grape at me. “I’m being serious.”
“Me too,” I groan, but realize she’s not going to let me dodge this question. I blow out a breath and think. “I guess I’m scared of failure.”
The grin on her face dissolves and she leans back against the headboard. “Continue,” she prompts.
I shrug. “I . . . I don’t want to fail anyone. Being in my position, both as a Landry and as the mayor of the city, has all sorts of responsibilities, and I lay awake at night sometimes worrying about the best thing to do for everyone.”
“What about for you?”
My brows pull together and I lean back in the bed and face her. “What do you mean, what about me?”
“What about doing what’s best for you? Do you ever think about that?”
“Sure,” I say, stumped by her question.
“I don’t know how that’s true. When is the last time you did something purely because it was in your best interest?” she asks, her voice tilted with sass. “When is the last time you didn’t consider what was best for your campaign or your father or the city?”
I lean forward so my breath tickles the side of her neck. “When I sucked grapes out of your pussy.”
“Ah!” she gasps, trying to pull away, but I don’t let her. I pull her into me and she melts, letting me kiss her.
When we finally separate, we’re both grinning like crazy and I hope that’s the end of this questioning.
But it’s not.
“So I’m your little form of rebellion?” she asks. She means it as a joke, as a taunt, but there’s no denying the fear hidden beneath the surface.
“Maybe,” I say, watching her for a reaction. “Or maybe you’re the first thing I’ve thought was worth going after.”
She relaxes, but looks away.
“Alison? What’s the matter?”
Her head shakes from side-to-side, but the blankets are pulled higher up her waist. “Nothing. Nothing’s the matter. Why would you ask?”