When dim sunlight starts filtering into Jude’s bedroom the next morning, I kiss his cheek softly and begin to slide out of bed.

“Where’re you going?” he mumbles, reaching out to wrap an arm around my waist.

“I have to go,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

“Stay here.” He pulls me back against his warm body, and I groan.

“We can’t risk it. I have to get out of here so no one sees me leaving your apartment. Carl might not have been bluffing about leaking the story.”

Jude wraps the covers back around me and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry about that.”

“How can I not?” I brush my fingertips across his cheek.

His response is a grunt.

“I’m not doing any more damage to your campaign,” I say, trying to ease out of his grip.

His hold on me tightens. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

For a few minutes, I worry about being seen leaving his place later. Carl may have tipped off photographers who will be waiting at all the building’s entrances, ready to capture my walk of shame. But I’m still tired, and soon I drift back to sleep.

When we wake up a couple hours later, we have quick but absolutely incredible shower sex. I’m assuming Jude wants to order in and spend a lazy day at his place, and why not? He can slow down on campaigning now that he’s the front-runner.

But he surprises me when he tells me we’re going out for breakfast.

“Out?” I arch my brows in confusion. “Out in public?”

“Yep. Then we’ll walk around downtown. I figure we’ll have photographers on us by noon.”

“So you want to get ahead of Carl by letting the cat out of the bag this way?”

He kisses me, and I feel a tug of warm possessiveness. “It’s time, Reagan. I want to be elected for who I really am, and my relationship with you is part of that. No games. I don’t want voters to feel like I pulled a fast one on them.”

Of all the things I love about Jude, I think I may love his integrity most of all.

“This will hurt you with your base, though,” I remind him. “You know that, right?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The base I care about doesn’t give a shit about political parties. They want a guy in there who can get shit done without playing games, and that’s me. I don’t care who anyone thinks I should or shouldn’t love. I love you. We’re together. Now let’s go let some lucky reporter break this story.”

When he puts it that way…I kind of want to have sex with him again before we go out to breakfast. But he’s right—it’s time.

We put on our coats and take the elevator down to his building’s lobby. My heart is pounding when the doors slide open, and Jude takes my hand and leads me toward the front door.

No photographers in the lobby or at the building’s front entrance. That means Carl hasn’t leaked anything yet.

“I figure the farther we walk, the better our chances of getting busted,” Jude says.

“There’s a diner about a mile from here with really good pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is.”

It feels surreal to be walking the crowded streets of downtown Chicago hand-in-hand with Jude. No one takes notice of us. For the first time, I feel like we’re a normal couple.

At Gigi’s Diner, we have a long, openly affectionate breakfast. Jude raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles several times. He keeps hold of my hand across the table and gives me a look of love, his eyes soft and affectionate.

“So…you lookin’ for a job, Preston?” he asks me playfully.

I shrug. “Not yet. I may go back to practicing law. Glad I kept up my license.”

“I was hoping you’d consider being my new campaign manager.”

I laugh at the absurdity of it until I realize he’s not joking. “Jude…”

“Reagan.”

“Really?”

“Why not? I think you kick ass.”

“But I’m a Democrat. The establishment would say you need your head examined.”

“The establishment can kiss my ass. You know me better than anyone. You know what I stand for. How to keep me in line.”

My lips quirk into a smile. “Most campaign managers don’t sleep with their candidates. There can be contentious fighting, you know.”

“Sounds like good foreplay to me.”

“The election’s so close that I’m not sure you need to name a manager. Just make someone on staff a figurehead manager.”

“Work for me, then. After the election.”

I give him a skeptical look. “Work for you, huh?”

“Work with me. Whatever you want to call it. Be my right hand.”

“So I can beat you off anytime you want?”

He smirks. “That, too. But I’m dead serious, Reagan. We can accomplish things together. Bring together both your supporters and mine. We can show everyone that compromise is the way to move forward.”

“I like this idea,” I admit.

“Good.” He draws my hand to his lips and kisses it again. “And don’t look, but there’s a guy shooting photos of us through the window with a telephoto lens.”

“How did you see him through all the people out there?”

He shrugs. “I was trained to spot people pointing something at me.”

“So, what now? Stay and let him get more photos?”

“Nah. He’s gotten plenty. I say we walk out there and wait for a reporter to confront us.”

It doesn’t take long. Jude leaves some cash on the table for the bill, and as soon as we step outside, there’s a video camera on us and a TV reporter sticking a microphone in Jude’s face.

“Mr. Titan, how long have you been dating Reagan Preston?” a woman asks.

He looks at me and grins. “Not long enough.”

“How long did you think you could keep this relationship a secret?”

“We wouldn’t be here if we wanted it to be a secret.”

“Is she pregnant?”

He lowers his brows in a look that tells her she’s crazy. “No.”

“Don’t you think voters will question your credibility, now that they’ll know you’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”

Jude’s expression turns serious. “That’s the problem right there—the mind-set that any of us are enemies. Reagan is intelligent and passionate about making people’s lives better. I’m honored to call her mine. As for my credibility, I’ll leave that up to the voters.”

The mic is thrust into my face. “Representative Preston, is this why you dropped out of the race?”

“No.” I don’t elaborate, which draws a frustrated sigh from the reporter.

“But he’s against everything you believe in. How do you feel about that?”

“He’s not, though. Jude is the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”

Jude tugs on my hand and leads me past the reporter and her cameraman.

“That’s all for now,” he says, hailing a cab.

“Why don’t you kiss her?” the reporter blurts out.

Oh, Lord. She’s milking this for everything she can get out of it. But as a cab cruises to a stop at the curb, Jude leans down and kisses me. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he says against my lips.

We slide into the cab, and I look at him expectantly. “Where to?”

“My campaign bus,” he says, giving the driver an address. “You can stay with me now.”

“Actually…I need to go home and be with my mom. She’s dealing with a lot, and I want to be there to help. My sister Abby’s there now, but I need to get back so she can go back to work.”

He nods. “I’ll drive you home.”

I should probably take some time to settle into my new reality. It’s been a whirlwind, to say the least. But I already know that when I leave my parents’ house, I’ll want to come back to Jude. Our relationship is a big part of my new reality. Possibly the biggest. Definitely the best.

“I want you with me on Election Day,” he says. “And that night. Can you be there?”

I smile and squeeze his hand. “I will. I never thought I’d see the day I’d be celebrating with you at your victory party.”

“We’re gonna do this together, Reagan. What matters to you matters to me now. Other than gun control, I mean.”

I roll my eyes. “Here we go. Our ideological differences are going to lead to arguments, you know.”

“Yeah. But I’d rather have you than a woman who agrees with everything I say.”

I snort-laugh at that. “Good, because I don’t. And I won’t.”

“Work for me,” he says, a pleading note in his tone. “Say you will. I want you on my team so goddamn bad, Reagan.”

My lips quirk into a smile. “Persuade me.”

He clears his throat, fighting back a smile. “Excuse me?” he says to the driver.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re actually going to the Palmer House, please.”

I consider telling him if more outrageously amazing sex at our favorite hotel is his plan for the morning, he might as well have an employment agreement for my hiring sent to my email.

But, nah. I’d rather make him earn it.