The enemy.

It’s a term I’ve become all too familiar with in my thirty years walking this earth. After serving in the Marines, I never thought I’d face another one, but here I am—standing backstage, waiting to do a Q&A with my opponents for the evening news…my enemies.

Carl spent half the morning talking my ear off about how I can’t be kind to Reagan Preston or Sonny Solomon. He said if I show an ounce of weakness, they’ll attack like a pack of wild dogs.

“Hello.” Reagan nods, giving me a smile so large that I wonder if it’s sincere.

“Representative Preston,” I reply, holding out my hands to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It’s a complete lie, but I’m a gentleman. Any candidate but Reagan would only get a curt nod.

She slides her hand in mine, averting her eyes. “You too,” she says and chews on the corner of her bottom lip. My eyes are drawn to her mouth. The redness of the skin, the fullness, and the tiny ridge that runs down the center are mesmerizing.

When my thumb strokes the back of her hand, she pulls back. “Good luck today, Mr. Titan.”

“It’s Jude,” I correct her and smirk.

“Jude,” she whispers and puckers her lips, making the crease more severe.

“Reagan,” a woman says from beside her, pulling on her arm. “Let’s get you touched up before you go on the air.”

“Lexi, I’m fine.” Reagan brushes her off and spins on her heels. “I was just talking to Mr. Titan.”

The woman’s eyes grow wide before darting to me. They creep down my body as I tuck my hands in my pockets, waiting for her eyes to return to mine. “Jude Titan, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Representative Preston’s campaign manager, Alexis.” The way she says her name is seductive and comes out as almost a hiss. “I’m sure we’ll see more of you than I’d like over the next few months, Mr. Titan.”

I smile and tip my head. “I look forward to it.”

“Jude,” Carl says in a nasal, almost judgmental tone. I don’t even need to hear what he has to say to know he doesn’t like me talking to Reagan one bit. This isn’t his campaign. Even though I hired him, I wouldn’t run as anything else but myself.

“Excuse me,” I tell Reagan and Alexis. “I need to prep before it’s time.”

“Us too,” Alexis says quickly and pulls Reagan in the opposite direction.

She gives me a quick wave. “See you out there.” Reagan’s cheeks turn the brightest shade of pink when I give her a quick wink.

“What the fuck was that?”

I glance toward Carl and shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The flirting,” he replies and shakes his head before turning around. “I’ve taught you nothing.”

Following him, I rub my hands together as we head to the staging area. “You may know politics, but I know women.”

When he stops, I almost bump into his back because I’m taking in the frantic backstage scene the public never gets to see. “They’re two different beasts, Jude. You need to think with the right head.”

“I am,” I say just as my eyes land on her. “I promise.” In that moment, I don’t feel the conviction of my words. Reagan Preston isn’t what I had been expecting. She always appeared cute on TV, though lacking something, but in person…she is stunning. The tiny details the camera doesn’t pick up set her apart from every other female on the planet.

Carl punches my arm, drawing my eyes away from Reagan. “You’re staring at her.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and clear my throat. “Did anyone notice?”

He clenches his jaw and speaks without moving his teeth or lips, and it’s unnerving. “They’re going to if you don’t stop acting like a pubescent teenager who just saw his first pair of tits.”

Carl, for all his proper etiquette, can turn on a dime. He’s been in politics for over fifteen years, but before that, he spent time in the Marines just like me. That’s why I chose him as my campaign manager. No one else could understand me unless they’d lived the life I had. When necessary, Carl knows just what to say to make me understand, but it typically makes me laugh.

“Let’s talk about the Q&A,” I say to change the subject. It’s more for me than him. I need to get Reagan out of my head, and now that he mentioned tits, those need to be wiped from my mind also. “What can I expect?”

Carl’s eyes light up as he begins to explain everything that’s about to happen. He goes over my key talking points, reminding me to mention that I’m not a politician and I served in the military.

“I got it,” I tell him before rolling my head around my shoulders to release the tension his words have put there.

Reagan grew up in the spotlight because of her father. TV cameras and interviews are nothing new to her, and this puts me at a slight disadvantage. The public will hopefully forgive me for a short time for being a newbie, before the Preston camp can use my inexperience to their advantage.

“Why don’t you roll down your sleeves? Tattoos turn off some voters.” His nose wrinkles as his eyes wander down to my forearms.

“They’re part of me, Carl. I’m a soldier, and most of us have some type of ink. I can’t hide who I am. If the voters like me, they will because they know exactly what type of man I am. The sleeves are staying up.”

“Fine,” he says through a tightly clenched jaw.

“It’s time,” a woman yells from the news set and doesn’t give Carl more time to complain. “Places, everyone.” She claps wildly and beckons us to move.

“Go get ’em, tiger,” he says with a curt nod, and I roll my eyes at the little nickname.

“Piece of cake,” I say and head toward the set. I swallow down the lump that starts to form before the fear can get to me. I’ve got this. I’ve been through far scarier situations. Having the enemy hiding with their gunsight trained at your head is more frightening than staring into the eyes of Reagan Preston.

For a moment, my mind wanders and I brush shoulders with someone. “Sorry,” I mumble and glance down at Reagan.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, looking up at me with soft blue eyes. She’s ridiculously calm and doesn’t even have a hair out of place. Her stare dips to my exposed arms. “Nice ink, by the way.”

My hand unconsciously touches the ink on my left arm. “Thanks. Are you ready for this?” I ask for some reason. I don’t care if she’s ready. I need to remind myself that we’re not friends.

We’ll never be friends.

She’s the enemy.

She may not have a rifle pointed at my head, but her beautiful, angelic face is gunning for me in another way. There’s nothing she’d like more than to see me fail. My failure is her victory.

“I’m always ready, Jude.” She smirks and walks toward her seat, leaving me in her wake. My stomach flops like a lovesick puppy, and I know one thing——I’m completely fucked.

I give myself a silent pep talk, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Not only am I trying to tell myself that I will kill this Q&A, but I’m praying I don’t have a hard-on from Reagan. This could be bad, very bad. I open my eyes, glance down and exhale when I realize that my blessed cock hasn’t chosen the most inopportune time to rise to the occasion.

“Mr. Titan,” the news director says, grabbing my attention. “You can take a seat next to Representative Preston.”

I take my seat and don’t dare glance in her direction. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. No. Fuck. God, the way her calves look when she sits with her legs crossed. I can almost feel them squeeze my head like a vise when I’m licking her.

“Mr. Titan,” the news reporter asks, but I don’t hear her because I’m too busy fantasizing about Reagan. “Mr. Titan.” Her voice is louder this time and breaks my trance just as I was about to taste her.

“Sorry, Margret. It’s great to be here.” I can hear the strangled quality in my voice and I pray it isn’t as noticeable to the television audience.

“Let’s begin,” Margret says into the camera.

I take the opportunity to glance at Reagan. She’s staring at my forearms and slowly running her tongue across her bottom lip—the bright pink color calling to me. When our eyes meet, she blushes and I feel my heart flutter.

Maybe I’m not the only one having impure thoughts. This can’t go on. We can’t be attracted to each other. Politics is one of the filthiest businesses. There is no remorse, no room for sensitivity. It is brutal and unrelenting. I have to remember that even if I want to sink into her until the end of time—she’s off-limits.

But what’s that phrase…keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? The Godfather may be right.