Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Not a chance. The President isn’t going to miraculously land in the park.
It must be someone else. Someone is probably having a medical emergency in the park and this chopper is going to bring them to the hospital—
“The helicopter has the presidential seal on it!” someone shouts from the front of the shop. “It couldn’t be McAlister…could it? Why would he be in Philly?”
My heart fires up into my mouth, the crepe shop growing insubstantial in front of me, like a cloud about to dissipate. My legs struggle to keep me standing. I shouldn’t hope it’s Pierce, because if I see him, I’m going to run to him. Simple as that. The sacrifice I’ve made will be for nothing. All I can do is stand there, trapped between yearning and despair, watching in disbelief as Marine One lowers itself into the park.
No sooner has it touched down is it swarmed by Secret Service, the door opening and steps unfolding to the earth, Pierce McAlister appearing in the mouth of the aircraft to the resounding cheers of the park goers, his determined expression more ominous than a thunderstorm. He buttons his blue suit jacket hastily on the way down the stairs, his eyes locked on the crepe shop—and I’m surprised that my first instinct isn’t to run across the street and fling myself into his arms, as I expected it would be.
No, my first instinct is to hide.
The president is pissed.
“What is he doing here?” my father asks beside me, dazed.
“He’s here for me,” I say, breathless, my time with Pierce coming back to me in snatches of color. The candlelight dinner. Him defending me in front of the senator. Above me in bed, that wild light of possessiveness in his eyes, his growl releasing into my neck as he actively tries to get me pregnant. “I guess…I guess I was kidding myself thinking he wouldn’t come.”
“Did something happen between you and the president?”
“You could say that.”
“What—”
My father doesn’t have a chance to complete the question, because men in suits storm the shop, ushering customers out through the front door, half eaten crepes left behind. “Apologies, folks. We need the premises clear immediately. This is a national security issue.” My own father is hustled out from behind the counter, agents taking his elbows and dragging him toward the exit. “You’ll be allowed back when the president has departed.”
“This is my shop!” my father blusters.
“It’s a very nice shop, sir. Please wait outside.”
I stand wide-eyed behind the register, waiting to be directed to the exit as well, but knowing at the same time I won’t be asked to leave. I’m the reason Pierce has come. And a moment later, he arrives in a sea of black suits and chirping earpieces, the door closing behind him and silence gradually falling in the small storefront.
I gobble up the sight of him, my flesh growing warm, tingling everywhere. Everywhere. My breasts, my scalp, beneath my navel. My heart knocks persistently, awoken by the appearance of Pierce not ten feet away.
“Mr. President,” I whisper, noticing the crowd already gathering outside the shop. “What are you—”
“If you ask me what I’m doing here, Eloise, I’m going to fucking lose it.” His amber gaze is all over me. On my throat, my face, tracing the slope of my shoulders, and he appears to grow more overcome by the second. “Is there somewhere private we can speak, because I have no idea what’s going to happen when I touch you and I don’t think it’s wise to have an audience.”
Breath hitching, I nod, backing toward the combination office/storage room behind the swinging doors, lying just beyond the kitchen. Until I’m passing through the doors and two men in suits stride past me on their way to the front of the shop, I don’t realize the back of the store has been searched for security purposes. Good. I want my president safe.
Anticipation and nerves are making me short of breath, and by the time I’m in the storage room/office, I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, my heart hammering noisily in my ears. When the president walks inside and kicks the door closed behind him and we’re alone in the mostly dark room, his presence filling every corner of the space, my pussy dampens with such erotic vengeance, I have to support myself with a flattened palm on the desk, my thighs melding together to ease the ache, but only making it more intense.
Oh God. I’m shaking and he hasn’t even come close to me yet.
“Did you think you could run from someone who does that to your body, Eloise?” His voice is pitch-black silk as he comes toward me, unbuttoning his jacket, removing it and tossing it onto a nearby shelf, yanking at the knot of his tie while looking me over, starting at my ankle boots, higher along my stockinged legs to the high hem of my skirt. “Or more to the point, did you think I would let you run?”