Teague walked along the sidewalk outside the White House, trying his damnedest to figure out why he’d asked her to coffee. Bloody hell, as Kamal would say, had he lost his mind? In those moments in the press conference when he’d been replying to questions while he struggled not to look at her, he’d felt like twelve years had been stripped away in one supercharged moment. He still felt less than, and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Her thick dark hair was long, just the way he’d always loved it, and certain parts of his anatomy had no trouble remembering how he used to wrap those silky tresses around his hands as he pumped into her from behind, long and slow.

Her skin was as clear and unlined as the day he’d met her, and her sky-blue eyes were just as sparkling and mischievous, promising that everything going on behind them wasn’t innocent and sweet.

But her body. My God, her body. She’d put on weight, in all the best places. She’d always had an athletic build, long, muscular legs, and broad shoulders. Now she had an even more defined ass, tits that made his hands itch to mold them, and curves for miles.

He never should have asked her out for coffee. What the hell had he been thinking?

“How about here?” she asked as they approached the Beltway Bean.

“Sure,” he answered, leaning in to open the door and hold it for her. She smelled like strawberry wine, and his dick did a tango in his dress pants.

“You ever been here before?” he asked as they stepped into line at the bar.

“A few times,” she answered. “I like their cappuccinos.”

He chuckled. “You always were a connoisseur.”

The small shop was typically jammed, but after they got their drinks, he stalked a pair of senate interns until they got nervous and left. Grabbing the table they’d vacated, he waved her over, and they each took a chair at the high two top.

“So, what’s it been?” he asked, even though he knew exactly, nearly down to the minute. “Ten years?”

“Twelve,” she answered. “I was twenty and you were twenty-two the last time we had coffee.”

And sex, his mind added.

“Well, it appears the years have been good to you.”

“And obviously, they’ve been successful for you,” she added. They each sipped their drinks, the awkward bleeding all over them.

“So, you married? Living with someone?” he asked nonchalantly. Yeah, sure, that.

She shook her head. “No. I was seeing someone back in Boston where I moved from, but it wasn’t going anywhere.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. “And you?”

“No. No time for all that. I work eighty hours a week and spend the other few at the gym or sleeping. I’m not all that exciting.”

She shifted on her chair, and her blouse slipped a touch, giving him a peek at the cleavage that hid beneath. His heart raced and his skin heated.

“Well, from what I heard on the news earlier, today’s been enough excitement for a few years at least.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s been a strange day for sure.”

“So, what you told WNN… Is that all that happened with the muggers?”

He raised an eyebrow, trying to assess why she was asking. “Is this a question from a reporter? Or my ex-girlfriend?” he asked.

“Completely off the record,” she said. “I honestly hadn’t even thought of it.”

She looked slightly offended, but considering how disloyal she’d been to him in the past, he didn’t think it was out of line to ask.

He smirked. “The guys were poseurs. Gangbanger wannabes, and like I said, I work out—a lot.”

“And the man you hurt?”

“He’ll be fine. It really was unavoidable.”

“Of course, I understand.” She sipped her coffee again.

“Do you?” He wondered, because she looked a little pale, and it brought home to him the fact that no matter how expensive his clothes, no matter how prestigious his degrees, to Deanna and her family, he was a poor black kid from the projects. Violence was par for the course, right? Hurting people was second nature to him. He was a thug. Just like his brother.

“They had a gun. I don’t think whether you hurt them should be much of an issue. You didn’t beat him needlessly, did you?”

“No, and I had ample opportunity to. But I took out the bigger one by clotheslining him—my forearm to his trachea. Let’s just say that breathing is something he’ll be working at for a while.”

She watched him, her beautiful eyes somber.

“When I saw the news report, I thought two things,” she said softly. “The first was, oh my God, he’s here in DC.” She gave him a wry smile. “And the second was oh my God, he was almost killed.”

He looked at her, a strange ache rolling through his chest.

“And then, the next thing I know, you’re walking onto a stage in front of me. I have to say, discovering you were in DC wasn’t a huge surprise. Finding out you’d nearly been mugged to death was sort of par for the course, but seeing you walk into the White House press conference as the president’s nominee to the Supreme Court? That was…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Surprising in the very best way.”

He chuckled, because she still did that thing where she made up words, expressions, whatever. She’d always been so damn entertaining when she got going, funny made-up words falling from her ruby lips like little bits of joy.

“Mugged to death?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Is that a thing?”

“Totally,” she answered, grinning.

“Well, I think I was more startled than you when I saw you sitting with the press corps. At least you had a warning that I was in town.”

He took a gulp of coffee, remembering that he’d seen her hair before he ever saw her, and he’d recognized her from that alone. After twelve years. Yeah, the woman had fucked with his head permanently.

And that was the moment he knew that no matter how incredible she looked, how charming he still found her, or how much he would give to ruck up that skirt of hers and get her off right there in the coffee shop, he needed to stay the hell away.

Deanna Forbes was the only woman he’d ever loved, and she was also the only one who’d ever chipped away at his resolve, his self-esteem, and his ability to bend the world to his will. After she’d dumped him, he’d gone to Yale and nearly flunked out his first semester. He’d had doubt, something that hadn’t ever entered his worldview before. It was hell, and it took him his entire first year to recover. Truth was, after twelve years, he still hadn’t fully recovered.

But he’d recovered enough of his bullheaded mojo that he’d ended up near the top of the class, had done a stint as editor of the law review, and walked the stage straight to a clerkship with Supreme Court Justice Norman. Yeah, he’d recovered in all the ways that showed, but he knew deep inside was a tender wound that would never completely heal. It kept him at a distance—from his colleagues, his mentors, hell, even his best friends. It was the knowledge that even someone who professed to love him could find him lacking simply because of the color of his skin. And if the woman who’d once agreed to marry him could feel that, then the rest of the world surely must too.

Yes, Teague thought as he stood and took one last swig of his coffee, Deanna Forbes had nearly destroyed him twelve years ago, and he simply wouldn’t allow her the chance to do it again.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he straightened his tie. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I need to check in at the office. I think they have something planned to celebrate the nomination.”

Her face fell, and he gritted his teeth.

“Of course,” she answered. “Thank you so much for the chat. It was really nice to see you again after all these years.”

He nodded. “Are you going back to the office now?” he asked, immediately wanting the words back. He shouldn’t care what she was doing next. They’d had coffee, been polite as adults do; now they would go back to their very separate lives.

“Yes. I need to file the story on your nomination.” She suddenly seemed subdued, but he reminded himself that she wasn’t his problem to worry about—even though doing so was apparently still second nature to him.

“Well, I’ll look forward to reading it.” He wasn’t sure what to say next, so he went with “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

She nodded. “I’m sure,” she murmured.

Then he flashed her a smile that he knew was about as phony as the Rolex watches his brother used to give him for Christmas. He turned and walked away, but instead of feeling lighter with each step, he felt heavier, weighted, sluggish. He felt like he’d felt every day since he drove an old BMW away from her in a dark parking lot.

* * *

Deanna watched Teague’s tall, broad frame stride out of the coffee shop and slumped back onto the stool.

My God, the man was beautiful. And so done with her. But then what had she expected? It had been over a decade. And she’d been the one who ended it. Handed him back the sweet diamond he’d saved for months to buy her, promising that he’d get her a bigger, better one as soon as he had his first job after law school. She’d been the one who let her parents’ covert racism disguised as concern distract her from who she was, what she believed, what she felt—in her heart. The fact that she seemed to be right back to watching him walk away was fitting and well deserved.

She’d betrayed a fine man, the kind that women the world over dreamed about. Teague Roberts was not only bright, ambitious, and generous, he was also responsible, committed, and honorable. He’d been the one who wanted to get married before they moved to Connecticut. He’d said, “It’s not fair to ask you to change schools and move for me if I’m not going to be one hundred percent committed to you. I’m asking a lot of you, and I want to give you everything in return. My heart, my home, and my promise that I’ll be here for you for as long as I live.”

She’d cried that night, tears of joy, as he placed the ring on her finger and said so solemnly, “Dee, marry me, and let’s change the world.”

And she’d agreed—promised—that she would. She’d marry him, she’d stand by him, she’d fight by his side.

And then she hadn’t.

Her phone vibrated from inside her bag, and she pulled it out, seeing Brice’s name on the screen.

“Hi, Brice,” she answered.

“Hey. I just saw the nomination on WNN. Can you put together something for the morning edition so that we won’t simply be regurgitating the cable networks?”

The problems of print news in a digital age.

“Yes, I’m on my way back now to file it,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and weaving through people toward the door.

“Good. This nomination is going to be bloody. I want you focusing on nothing else until further notice. I want a series of in-depth exposés on Roberts and the confirmation process. The opposition party will be digging deep and hard, and I’d really like us to know it all before they do. It’s embarrassing to have the party hacks show us up. We’re the press; uncovering the dirt is our job.”

Deanna swallowed, stepping into an alcove off the sidewalk. “You want me to be the point on the nomination?” she asked.

“More like the point on the nominee,” Brice answered. “You’ve been following the whole thing up until now, no reason to put someone else on it. Your life should get a lot more interesting now that you finally have an actual name for the nominee. Use that investigative talent we hired you for and tell America exactly who Teague Roberts is.”

Before she could answer, Brice was talking to someone else in the room and telling Deanna they could discuss it more when she got back to the office. He signed off, and she slowly dropped the phone into her bag, leaning against the brick wall behind her.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t investigate Teague. The fact was she already knew probably his deepest secret, and something that she felt pretty certain would tank his nomination. But she would never tell a soul that story. And it didn’t give her journalistic integrity a moment’s distress. She strongly believed in the press’s obligation to inform the American public of things that could impact their well-being and that of the nation. But what she knew about Teague’s past? That in no way threatened America or its people. The only thing that did was give people like her parents an excuse to denigrate a brilliant, talented man who would serve the Supreme Court and the US Constitution faithfully.

No, Deanna wasn’t going to divulge the secrets she knew about Teague, and that meant she was going to put her entire career at risk. The thing she’d devoted herself to for years, giving up relationships, losing touch with friends, missing out on most of the things that people in their twenties and early thirties lived for. She’d done it to become a top investigative journalist at one of the few remaining significant newspapers in the nation.

And now she was going to risk it all because the simple fact of the matter was she’d never stopped loving Teague Roberts, and in the end, that meant everything.