CHAPTER NINETEEN
Elijah
Snag Getaway Girl’s Flirty Nighttime Look!
—Avant-Charleston
A look back at the Du Pont/Clemons courtship:
A far more dignified time.
—Southern Insider
I’m two hours late. But I just made Addison come so hard I’m going to have permanent scars on my ass, so I honestly don’t give a good goddamn. As expected, there are news vans parked outside City Hall, lying in wait to ask me all manner of personal questions. I knew this was going to happen when I left the bar with Addison last night. Not to mention I’ve got nine voicemails from my father and various news outlets—and still I would leave with her all over again.
I take the final swig from my coffee mug I nabbed on the way out the door and take a few moments to collect myself. If I get out of the truck right now, I’m going to be the poster child for getting laid, because I cannot wipe the damn grin off my face.
Okay. Deep breath. You retired a captain in the United States Army. You are the mayor-elect of a major metropolitan city. Not some knucklehead college student who got lucky.
Grin is still there.
Who could blame me? This morning was a victory. I recognized a relationship problem, I solved it and I left my girlfriend in a messy-haired stupor. I’ve never seen her smile at me the way she did when I finally climbed out of bed. It was something akin to…cautious optimism, but that definitely can’t be it, right? I destroyed a perfectly decent bed just so I have a shot of waking up beside her. I’m cooking her dinner tonight. She’s met my parents. I can’t keep my hands or my mind off of her. We’re living together.
She has to know I’m dedicated.
Ignoring the weird cinch in my side, I nod once. Yeah. She definitely knows.
I check the rearview mirror and find the grin is still intact. There’s no way to shake it, is there? I’m going to have to brave the frenzy looking like I just went for broke pleasuring an incredible woman. Because that’s exactly what happened. I’ve always tried to be a giver during sex in the past, but there were unspoken rules put in place without discussion. Boundaries created in the name of respect that I had no trouble following because the women I was with before…they never inspired this kind of unmitigated lust. I want to do all manner of filthy activities with Addison. Now. Yesterday. And we don’t need to have quiet sex with the lights off in order for me to still respect the hell out of her.
Oh yeah. The gentlemanly restraints are coming off. If I never found Addison, I wouldn’t have known how good it felt to lose them. With her. Only with her. I’m aching to take her from behind. It’s a position that has always turned me on the most to think about, but I’ve never even suggested it in the bedroom. Maybe it was intuition that it would be met with reluctance or my manners guiding me, but I have no such worries with Addison. She probably has things she wants to do to me, too, and damn. I’m ready, willing and able to participate.
God, just the thought of her little tush shaking while I slam in and out of her soaking wet pussy…it’s a thought I really need to stop having, unless I want a picture of me with a boner to make the front page tomorrow morning.
I take the handle of my suitcase and exhale long and steady before pushing out of the truck.
“Captain Du Pont, why did you throw a mattress out of your window this morning?”
“Broken spring.”
“Are you officially living with Addison Potts?
“Yes.”
Flashes go off.
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
I don’t answer that one, because “last night” doesn’t sound like the right answer, even though that’s when we officially started to date. I’m not so sure I haven’t been seeing her since I moved into her apartment, though, and fooling myself into believing we were just friends. We are friends. Best friends. But that doesn’t explain how often I’ve thought of her, fantasized about her, how my heart would kick up into my damn throat every time she answered the door.
Holding on to the memory of Addison framed by Christmas lights, I push through the fray, keeping my features carefully schooled.
“Are you dating Clemons’ cousin to get back at her for canceling the wedding?”
“Addison Potts’ mother was the mistress of Naomi’s father. There’s some talk he might be Addison’s father, as well. How—”
“How does the Clemons family feel about you dating Miss Potts? Are you telling us this is all a coincidence, Captain Du Pont?”
“Is she pregnant? Will there be a rushed engagement?”
Christ. I’ve already arranged for Addison to be escorted to and from work by a security detail, but even two armed guards can’t keep these ridiculous questions from being hurled in her direction. She’s not accustomed to them like me.
“Naomi Clemons is back in town. Have you spoken to her?”
Okay, now that one I wasn’t expecting. I check myself for some kind of reaction and find nothing more than…mild surprise. I’m glad Naomi is all right, returned to her family, and I hope to apologize someday for going through the motions as we got closer to the wedding. Or possibly since the beginning of our relationship. But I’m more concerned about Addison having to field this question from reporters. If she was insecure about the bed I destroyed, how is she going to feel about Naomi being back in Charleston?
Can’t we get through one day together without something trying to disrupt us?
I set aside the news of Naomi’s return and focus on getting through today. Being with Addison, holding her, ignoring anything that makes us question our relationship—that’s how to deal with disruptions. Having made it to the door, I turn and nod to the reporters, several of whom I catch trying to film my ass. “What would I do without you all being so concerned about my love life?” I wink at their ripple of laughter. “If you’re so invested in its success, send Addison flowers and tell her they’re from me. I need all the help I can get.”
They all go off like car alarms as soon as I leave, throwing questions at me through the door, but I only wave back at them while passing through security. Something about the tension in the lobby tells me my father is upstairs and that theory is confirmed a few moments later when I pass Preston in the hallway. Being that there’s no love lost between us and I have no intention of faking otherwise, I start to pass him with a tight nod. I’m forced to slow, however, when he addresses me.
“I guess it’s safe to say Addison won’t be needing my tour guide services.” He checks his phone, then slides it back into his suit pocket, tapping it into place with a finger. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to showing her around.”
Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. “You’re not on a first-name basis with her. Miss Potts will work just fine.” I step into his space, satisfied when he drops a few shades of tan. “Not that you’ll have the chance to call her anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll run into each other sometime.” He backs away from me with an infuriating wink. “Charleston is a small world.”
When Preston disappears down the stairwell, it takes all of my willpower not to go after him. I manage to calm the boil of my blood by recalling Addison’s sex-limp body in bed, the feel of her fingertips tracing the knots of my spine. Her breath on my neck. She’s my woman. Preston could never be a threat to that. He’s pissed about not being asked to join my advisory council and is just trying to get under my skin—and jealousy over Addison is his only effective tool. No way I’m going to let him threaten the contentedness I left the house with this morning, though. Not happening.
As soon as I’ve managed to set aside the encounter with Preston, I enter my office. As usual, my father has the television turned to the local news station, my entrance to the building playing on a loop. However, he’s no longer sitting at the desk—which is now mine—opting for a slow pace in front of the windows.
I expect him to launch into a lecture about the past, Addison and me, public perception. Et cetera. Things I don’t give a damn about. Especially not when she’s making me so happy, I barely know what to do with myself.
The fact that I’m not going to suffer any bullshit must be showing in my eyes, because my father’s weathered face breaks into a smile. Making me even more suspicious.
“Good news. There was an opening on tonight’s Fastball panel and they want you.” He waves a hand at the television. “We’ll ask them not to discuss this in too much detail, but your actions of the last twenty-four hours have definitely caused a stir. Like it or not, gossip and scandal boost ratings.”
The sinking disappointment that I might not be able to cook dinner for Addison is only responsible for half of my irritation. “My actions? Look, I admit throwing the mattress out of the window wasn’t my finest judgment call. Apart from that, I collected my girlfriend and drove her home.”
“Your scantily clad girlfriend, Elijah. The daughter of a home wrecker.”
Those words drive a fist into my solar plexus. “You need to leave.”
“Not my words.” He points to the window. “Theirs.”
“Who?”
“The Tea.”
There’s no humor in my laugh. It’s resentful. Toward anyone who wants to taint the best thing in my life. “That’s a gossip website. It’s not even worth mentioning.”
“A gossip website with a million readers.” He massages the center of his forehead with a sigh. “Elijah, I actually do like her. She’s…nothing like I expected. Throwing large objects out of my window is something your mother might have inspired me to do, once upon a time.” His mouth flattens. “But I want to retire knowing your success is guaranteed. They want a family at the wheel they can look up to. You look at Addison and see one thing, while they see the sins of her mother. Or a gold digger.” He takes a folded newspaper off my desk and holds it up—and there’s Addison from last night, dancing. With Lydia. A huge, beautiful smile on her face. “Hell, they see what the newspapers print. Addison out dancing and drinking in a cheap dress.”
If I could go back in time, I would never mention the stupid pink bra. I would just suffer in silence while she wore that damn thing, even if it killed me. “You have the nerve to throw the word cheap around, when you’re letting some exploitive, low-rent website do your thinking for you?” I move around the desk and take the newspaper from his hands, scanning the first few lines. Slowly, I start to relax, the morning’s lightness returning in waves. “This story isn’t negative. They…love her. She’s, ‘dancing to the beat of her own drum and shaking up Charleston’s stuffy upper crust. Our love-struck mayor-elect never knew what hit him. Getaway Girl for the win.’”
“Give me some credit, son. I’ve been doing this a while.” He stabs the desk with a finger. “What seems like positive spin today is exactly what they’ll hate her for tomorrow. And in case you forgot, the stuffy upper crust are your donors. They take these headlines as an insult and you condone them by dating her.”
“This is the last time I’m going to say this, so listen very carefully. I do not care what the public thinks of my relationship. We make each other happy. If there’s a donor or a website or an entire goddamn public who takes it upon themselves to judge her, so be it. It won’t change my judgment. And if you can’t see she’s incredible—if you can’t evolve with me and stop living solely for public approval—then get the fuck out.”
My veins are flowing with heat and I’m about ready to flip the desk we’re facing off across. This isn’t some fight an adolescent has with his dad. This is a man telling another man what the hell is up. It’s a line in the sand and if he crosses it again, I’m done. It’s a fact.
Finally, my father circles the desk and sits down in one of the guest seats, gesturing for me to take one behind the desk. “One of the panelists on Fastball likes to lean hard on education issues. You should have your ducks in a row.” He rolls his tongue around his mouth. “We could work on some talking points, if you’re done tearing me up one side and down the other.”
Feeling my night with Addison slip further out of my reach, I drag a hand down my face and get to work, promising myself I’ll make it up to her. And I know exactly how to start.