Rogue Hearts Page 3

  He’d laughed, flopping into a wing chair and shaking his head as the curated footage wound down. “That’s ridiculous. If you had any gold, I would’ve found it by now.”

  That’s certainly true. He’s found everything she guarded so closely, unlocked all of her treasures and taken over their care. But she can’t argue with the second part of Jack’s vicious volley. Her painfully young and brash husband, her savior and her submissive, cannot possibly understand the magnitude of what he took on when they wed. Yes, he faced challenges in the armed forces. And his work in the Secret Service was exemplary. But this…5AM and go-time…cleaning up messes made more than eight years ago…it’s something so far beyond a challenge, requiring so much more than ‘exemplary.’

  You know how it is, Letty girl. You have to be twice as good to get half as far. It’s four times as good now. That’s how high the stakes are. Nearly astronomical. If POTUS fucks up, if she fucks up, it reflects on women everywhere. And now Shahzad has that responsibility, too. Second Gentleman, but First Muslim. The poster boy. She knows he got a taste of it when he joined the Secret Service and again when he joined her detail, but this is the big leagues. This is the big stage. Just like the one she stood on less than 24 hours before.

  And it accepts no distractions, no delays. Ugh. Letitia slips out of bed, though it’s the last thing she wants to do. Her man stirs just seconds later, in sync with her if not the clock. It’s not long till dawn. Fajr prayers would be in order if he actually prayed five times a day. He tries to manage three—midday, afternoon and sunset—now that he’s no longer on her protection rotation, and frequently calls his mother to apologize. The one time she listened in via speakerphone, Letty nearly coughed up a lung from laughing. “You think I don’t know? I raised you. I know you are more Shahrukh Khan than Muhammad.” Aliya Khan is a remarkable woman. It’s no wonder she raised a remarkable son. A good man.

  Lord, she hopes he’s up for this. She hopes she’s up for this. This journey that they’re on together. Four years and beyond. Not just their relationship, but this whole thing. Because there’s an itch in the back of her mind. A sibilant suggestion that lives in her ear canal. 2028. Or 2032. You can do it, Letty girl. She could headline the ticket. Ask Senator Corey to be her running mate. Black POTUS. Black VP. America might just lose its goddamn mind. But there’s just as much hope that the country will rise to the occasion. That it will embrace the possibility, this gorgeous reality of a multicultural nation, and thrive. She has to cling to that. Otherwise, why is she even here? Not to cut ribbons and shake hands and wait for the president to die, that’s for sure.

  “I greatly appreciate that you’re not plotting my demise,” she can imagine POTUS saying in that bone-dry patrician tone that comes from growing up well-to-do and white. And she can also imagine the endorsement for her own run. The speeches on the campaign trail. The magnitude of it all. What she sees most clearly, though, is former agent Shahzad Ali Khan by her side. If he wants to be there.

  “It’s too early for you to be carrying so much. You haven’t even had coffee.”

  She knows without looking that he’s been tracking her progress around the suite. Watching her untie her silk head wrap and slip into her robe before she thumbs through her messages. Taking in how her shoulders slump. The appearance of sleep is just that—an illusion masking alertness. And the weight of his attention balances out the weight of her duties. His gaze is like a balm, his focus a caress. He shifts in the sheets, sitting up and then swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  “We begin as we mean to go on,” she reminds him. “If I don’t carry it now, I’m not picking it up.”

  He helps her shoulder the weight, of course. Making sure she’s hydrated and fed and rested and loved. From the very start. He began with her as he meant to go on. She sees that care in his eyes as he strides across the room. And then, because she’s only human, she drops her gaze to the rest of him. To his beautiful body. It’s all hers. Every angle. Every line. The curve of his thick cock against his thigh. These are the gifts he’s given her without hesitation.

  She’s always known her worth. Mama and Daddy instilled that pride and confidence in her. She’s never needed a man to validate her. Not Michael, not Shahzad. Not lobbyists or voters. But being respected, being cherished, is a blessing she’ll never turn down. Just like she won’t turn down his arms slipping around her from behind. Or the soft bristles of his beard rasping against her jaw as he kisses her ear, her temple and her throat.

  “Good morning, Madam VP,” he murmurs, with a husky note that can only be characterized as suggestive.

  “Good morning to you, too, husband.”

  The day ahead of her will last a month. Interminable meetings. Endless hours spent in circles, going nowhere. So Letitia Marie Hughes, second-time Vice President of the United States, commandeers fifteen minutes of personal time.

  They brush their teeth at the side-by-side sinks in the lavish en suite, and then they fall back into bed. Okay, not precisely bed. It’s the counter. Then the wall. The back of the bathroom door. Clinging to the reinforced clothing bar as he grasps her hips and plunges up into her again and again and again. Some say she’s too young to help run a country…they’d also say she’s too old to be having this kind of sex. They’d be wrong on both counts. Because she is the perfect age for the responsibility and for the joy. For the security of this partnership and the sensuality of Shahzad’s face gleaming with sweat, his muscles rippling with effort.

  “I love you,” he tells her with each thrust. With each teasing rub of his beard against her breast. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” I believe in you, he means. I will fight for you, he promises. I won’t ever leave your side.

  2032. It’s just around the corner. A hop, skip and a jump. It’ll be here before they know it. Letty will tell him of her intention to run when she’s ready. She will lay out her carefully plotted plans for their future. Perhaps via Powerpoint presentation. Perhaps via whimsical stick-figure. And her doubts of his readiness, her fears of just a few minutes before, are of no consequence. She knows exactly how he’ll respond. He’ll kneel at her feet, and he will say he loves her, he loves her, he loves her.

  I believe in you. I will fight for you. I won’t ever leave your side. We’ve got this.

  They’ve got this. They’ve got this. Breaths in sync. Hearts beating as one. Chasing the peak and finding it together. This fuck is theirs for the taking. This world is theirs for the taking. They are partners on every level. Cellular. Physical. Metaphysical. And most assuredly political.

  Someday soon, she’s going to announce her candidacy for President. She’s going to win. She’s going to thrive. And so will the nation. Because one of the key lessons she’s learned from the past four years—from this man in her arms—is that giving yourself to a cause that means everything to you…is nothing short of an act of love.

  Thank You!

  Thank you so much for reading In Her Service! It’s one of the few pieces of fiction that I’ve actually finished in these increasingly fraught and emotionally draining political times—and I’m so grateful that Amy Jo Cousins and Tamsen Parker were pretty much immediately encouraging about submitting it to Rogue Hearts. Thanks also to my anthology mate Kelly Maher for the beta read. And I especially want to thank Mica Kennedy and Savannah J. Frierson for their invaluable feedback on Letty and Shahzad. The characters, and the story, are stronger because of their input.

  If you’d like to keep up with my latest news and future releases, sign up for my newsletter!

  Also By Suleikha

  Bollywood Confidential

  Spice and Smoke

  Spice and Secrets

  Bollywood and the Beast

  Master Chefs

  Seared

  Anthologies

  Ishq Factors: an erotic collection

  About the Author

  Editor, writer, American desi and lifelong geek Suleikha Snyder is an author of contemporary and eroti
c romance. A passionate advocate for diversity and inclusivity in publishing, Suleikha is frequently ranting when she should really be adding to her body of work — which includes multiple Bollywood-set romances and several shorts and novellas.

  City-dweller Suleikha finds inspiration in genre fiction, daytime and primetime soaps, and anything that involves chocolate or bacon. Visit her online at www.suleikhasnyder.com and follow her on Twitter @suleikhasnyder.

  Run

  Emma Barry

  About This Book

  Public defender Maddie Clark doesn’t want to be a candidate for the state senate—but she’s running. Her high school nemesis turned campaign advisor Adam Kadlick shouldn’t be back home managing campaigns—but he is. They definitely should avoid falling for each other—but they won’t.

  1

  The weather man was a motherfucker. When he’d done his “ho ho ho” laugh and suggested that tomorrow was going to be a blustery one, Maddie Clark should’ve known to skip the cute skirt.

  The chinook burned through her knee-high boots, wool peacoat, and thick scarf to chill her bones. There wasn’t any snow in Fallow, not anymore, but the wind had come off the mountains or down from Canada, and it smelled like ice. Felt like it too.

  “It’s March,” she muttered to no one as she opened her car door. “Can’t a girl get some spring weather?”

  Not, apparently, in Fallow.

  Inside her car, the sudden silence overwhelmed her. So much so that she didn’t hear her phone ring but felt it buzz in her coat pocket.

  A 406 area code, so she answered. Just a nudge over a million people in the fourth largest state in the nation, and all their phone numbers started the same way. It could be a client calling from a new burner, a courthouse extension she didn’t have saved, or a reporter. It was past six, but she was never off the clock.

  “Madison Clark.”

  “Hello, Maddie. It’s Adam Kadlick.”

  Maddie lifted the phone from her ear and looked at it. If it had been the pope, she would’ve been less confused.

  “Adam?” she repeated.

  “Yup. How are you?”

  She sank into the frigid seat of her car. Adam Kadlick, the former king of Montana high school debate, was on her phone for some reason.

  Twelve years ago, he’d had miles of lean body in a cheap suit and arrogance for days. “Nemesis” was such a strong word, and an inappropriate one probably for nerdy kids who voluntarily spent their free time researching public policy issues and screaming arguments at each other, but sure, he’d been her nemesis. Her rival. The too good-looking thorn in her side.

  According to the rumor mill, he’d left Montana for college and law school, as had most of the “smart” kids. They’d scattered like seeds in the wind and hadn’t landed back here.

  That was why Maddie hadn’t left. If you started running, who was to say when you might stop?

  “What’s going on? Wait, have you been arrested?” She had absolutely no problem imagining that Adam might’ve broken the law. He’d never thought the rules applied to him.

  He laughed at her questions, and it was the same tenor, the same rhythm, as how he’d laughed back in high school. His laugh had made her feel a little giddy back then too.

  She reminded herself of the time he’d chuckled when she’d run a topicality argument in a final round and how she’d wanted to gouge his eyes out with a binder clip. That kicked the nostalgia in the ass.

  “Get lots of calls from prison?” he asked.

  Drily she answered, “I’m a public defender.”

  “I’ve heard. You remember Chad Palmer?”

  “I don’t have to remember him. I saw him at a conference in Helena a few months ago.”

  Chad had been Adam’s debate partner, but he’d never gotten under her skin in the same way Adam had. Possibly because he’d come back to Montana for law school and now worked at the ACLU. She and Chad weren’t close friends or anything, but he was something of an ally.

  “He said you were quite colorful on the subject of the prison in Stone Gap.”

  She was colorful on that subject on planes, trains, and automobiles. A low-rent hotel ballroom might not have a soapbox, but where the prison was concerned, she brought her own. That edifice to the prison industrial complex was everything wrong with the American justice system turned into brick and mortar.

  “Yeah, because it’s an abomination. They abuse the inmates, deny Native prisoners the right to worship, and exploit the families at every turn—plus the staff are completely inexperienced. No one should be profiting off of prisoners, let alone begging the state to shove money into their coffers so they can keep doing it, and…you can probably imagine my arguments.”

  That had always been Adam’s genius as a debater. He hadn’t been smarter or harder working, but his smile had charmed the grandmas who all too often judged the rounds and he had seemed preternaturally able to guess what someone was going to do. No matter how diligently she and her partner had worked to devise a new case or strategy, Adam had never been fazed. If his nonchalance was an act, he was amazing at it.

  So even now, he probably knew how she felt and what she would argue, at least when it came to policy.

  It was funny because she didn’t know him, and she hadn’t ever really, but at seventeen, they’d shared a certain intellectual intimacy, and it still glowed radioactive across the years.

  She cleared her throat. “Listen, as much fun as this is, I need to get going.” It was starting to get truly cold in her car.

  “Sure. This won’t take long. I was calling to see if you’d like to do something about it.”

  “The prison in Stone Gap?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you organizing a raid of some sort?” She tried to picture Adam as a modern John Brown, and it didn’t quite fit. He didn’t have a reformer’s personality; he was more the executive type.

  “No. A campaign. A bunch of ’em.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m calling to recruit you.”

  People normally told Maddie she was quick witted, and normally, she thought they were right. But this conversation didn’t make any sense. “What are you recruiting me for?”

  “To run for the legislature. Maddie, I want you to challenge Mike Hoagland.”

  Adam Kadlick. On her phone. Trying to get her to run for elected office.

  She barked with laughter. Laughed hard and long and until her stomach ached with it. “That was the highlight of my day,” she finally said to Adam. “Really. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad I could amuse you.” He sounded amused himself, but she’d never fallen for his particular brand of bullshit so she didn’t believe he was. “Think how you’ll feel when you win.”

  “I’m not going to win because I’m not going to run. I can’t get elected, not in this state.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll be in Fallow in a few days, let’s have dinner. Don’t say no before we—”

  “No.”

  “Maddie.” So cajoling, so tempting.

  Adam had been a mansplainer before she’d known the word mansplain, and she wasn’t going to let him do it to her now. She was thirty, an attorney, and no longer awed by men who had used to be cute boys but probably weren’t any longer.

  “No,” she repeated. “I have a job I love, a job where I do a lot of good. I don’t want to leave it to raise money, kiss asses, and explain why I thought it was important to defend meth cooks to my neighbor who thinks I’m a liberal slob.”

  “I know for a fact you’re not a slob.”

  “You don’t know me anymore. You never really knew me. Which are reasons number fifty and fifty-one why I’m hanging up now.”

  “I wish you’d hear me out.”

  “I already did.” She ended the call and drove home.

  Maddie lived across the street from her brother and down the hill from her parents and in the same neighborhood as her grandparents. All of them. She and her brother had once discusse
d what the collective noun for a bunch of Clarks was and he’d suggested, “A bar,” but she’d known it was Fallow.

  She could’ve left, she supposed, and then come back later. Or she could’ve run away forever, given into the itch she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t feel. She could be one of those people who did their morning jog in Central Park or was a regular at a bistro in Paris or took Miami weather for granted.

  But when she saw a note from her mom on her kitchen counter saying there was lasagna in the fridge and asking, for heaven’s sake, why wouldn’t she come to dinner soon, she knew why she hadn’t. Leaving Fallow was as absurd as Adam’s suggestion she become a politician.

  While her dinner warmed in the microwave, Maddie turned on the TV. There was Mike Hoagland—her current state senator—on the evening news announcing he was running for another term. He’d keep running for new terms, and presumably winning, until hell turned arctic.

  Normally, she’d have changed the channel. Even a Wheel of Fortune repeat would’ve been preferable to hearing Hoagland. She already knew he was an asshole in addition to being pro-incarceration, anti-education, and anti-choice. Adam was right to suggest Hoagland needed a challenger; it just wasn’t going to be her.

  But tonight, she turned up the volume. It was always good to keep an eye on jackasses.

  Hoagland had a signature flat top buzz cut and was wearing a denim button down as always. He looked like half the men at her parents’ church, but that near familiarity was nauseating. Maddie knew well the betrayal of someone being nice to her while voting to disenfranchise poor people. The selective kindness made the cruelty all the sharper.