Misconduct (22 page)

And I wasn’t so sure Tyler had a nobler agenda, either.

I took a deep breath, lifting my chin. “I just told you that much of your future constituency is underfed and undereducated,” I clarified. “Now, I would never base my vote on someone’s race or gender, but you can be sure my vote isn’t guaranteed simply because you have a dick.”

Tyler choked on his drink, coughing, and the other gentlemen broke out in snorts and laughs that were quickly concealed with a hand over the mouth.

Kristen cleared her throat, and I could tell she wanted to laugh, while a smile tugged at Blackwell’s lips.

Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, “But you haven’t seen it.”

His smooth voice was filled with sexual innuendo, and I stilled, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This guy was disgusting.

“Tyler,” a woman said behind me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Blackwell pulled back, still smirking, and I turned my head, seeing a beautiful blonde in a red wrap dress walk up from behind.

And I tensed, remembering her. She was the blonde from the Mardi Gras ball last year.

She came to stand at Tyler’s side, and I instantly felt heat rush to my cheeks.

“I’m Tessa McAuliffe.” She smiled, holding out her hand. “And you are?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Tyler cut me off.

“Tessa,” he interrupted, stepping up to me. “I need to speak with Ms. Bradbury.” He smiled politely, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Please excuse us for a moment,” he told everyone.

I narrowed my eyes, ready to object, but he grabbed my elbow and led me away from the group so fast I nearly stumbled along the brick path.

“What are you doing?” I whispered as he moved his hand to my back, continuing to lead me off the patio and into the house.

But he didn’t answer.

Most of the guests were outside, but there were a few scattered about, browsing around the house, as well as servers gathering food and supplies to refresh the tables.

“Tyler, someone will see us,” I whisper-yelled this time, trying to dig in my heels and stop him.

But once we were past the bustle of the kitchen, he took my hand and pulled me down the dimmed hallway and past the foyer to his den.

He opened the door, dragged me inside, and slammed it closed. Releasing my hand, he walked behind his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, locking eyes with me.

What the hell was wrong with him?

The woman simply wanted an introduction. Did he think I didn’t know how to be discreet? She couldn’t possibly have recognized me.

Or maybe he was angry about my behavior before she arrived. I guess I wasn’t so discreet.

“What did he say to you?” Tyler barked out. “When he whispered in your ear?”

I cocked my head, choosing to be stubborn.

“Does it matter?” I played.

He shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Not everything that’s in your head needs to come out of your mouth,” he scolded.

Ah, now we were getting somewhere.

“Are you angry because of what I said or because I drew attention to myself?” I inquired, crossing my arms as well. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear any short skirts either.”

He placed his hands palm down on his desk and glared at me. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Right.” I smiled. “Let me guess. I forgot my place. Legs open, mouth closed, right?”

He pulled up, slowly circling the desk and looking down at me. “Don’t be dramatic.”

My skin tingled, and my heart sped up. “What are you really mad about?”

“What did he say to you?” His full bottom lip was tight with tension.

“I forgot.” I shrugged. “Something about his dick.”

His entire face hardened. “I should’ve hit him.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not a child!” he bellowed. “I’m an adult who picks his battles. I don’t just run off, half-cocked, no matter how much I wanted to see him bloody for even getting near you.”

“Too bad,” I taunted, a slight smile on my lips. “If you had, I’d be in here on my knees, sucking your dick right now instead of thinking about his.”

His eyes flared, and he bared his teeth. Grabbing me by the jaw in one hand and hovering his lips just over mine, he slowly swung me around and slammed my ass against the desk, the small tray of file folders on the corner spilling to the floor.

My blood raced.
Yes.

I hopped up, planted my ass on the desk, and wrapped my hungry legs around his waist as he moved his hand to the back of my neck and came down on me, his lips hot and strong.

I whimpered, his tongue sending thrills down my body, spiraling in my stomach, and throbbing between my legs.

His hands were everywhere, underneath my dress, inside my panties, and gripping my ass.

“Tyler,” I groaned, nibbling and kissing his lips.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathed out, sounding angry as he sucked and bit my lip.

One of his hands left my ass and shifted to grip my breast through the dress. The other moved to my hair, holding my head back by the scalp.

He ripped his mouth away from mine, and I whimpered at the sting.

He glared down, tightening his hold on my breast. “Tonight you will be on your knees,” he whispered, kissing me, “and I’m going to like the sound of you shutting up. Now, get out there and make me jealous.” He pulled away, grabbing my upper arm and yanking me off the desktop. “It’ll make your punishment more fun.”

He walked around his desk, and I tightened the muscles in my legs to keep them from shaking. The fierce heat between my thighs ached, and I winced with the discomfort.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how worked up he’d gotten me. I could get what he gave me anywhere. At least that’s what I’d lead him to believe.

Standing tall, I pivoted on my heel and walked for the door.

“And, Easton?” I heard him call.

I spun around to see him eyeing me with the phone to his ear as he made a call.

“Louisiana has had three female senators throughout history, not one,” he said with a cocked eyebrow before looking away and dismissing me.

I let the corners of my mouth turn up before I walked out.

He might just have my vote, after all.

 

 

“All right.” I held the racket in my right hand and the yellow tennis ball in my left. “Stand between the center mark and the sideline, and you have to serve into the opposite service court,” I instructed Christian. “You can hit the lines, but if the ball shoots outside of those boundaries, you’ve lost that point.”

He nodded, the same little scowl on his face that his father often wore. It was funny, because I think that look intimidated most people. It looked like he was angry, but it was just the look of him paying attention. I’d been getting it more and more in class lately.

Most of Christian’s friends had already left the party, only a few still sticking around because their parents were still here. When I’d inquired about his tennis court, he’d said it had come with the house when his father bought it years ago. But to his knowledge, it was never used.

Still, it appeared well kept, though the net could be changed. It was stained from the heavy rains over the years and frayed.

I tossed the ball into the air above my head and swung the racket from behind, the dull popping sound of impact sending shivers up my arms. The ball flew over to the other side and landed in the other service court, bouncing several times before it finally came to rest against the fence.

“And then is it the other person’s turn to serve?” he asked, his hands in his pockets.

I handed him the racket and walked over to the side in my bare feet, grabbing a new can of balls he’d brought out.

“No. You serve the whole game,” I called back, looking over to the garden and seeing more guests begin to leave.

“The whole game?” he blurted out, sounding daunted.

I tried not to laugh. “Not the whole match,” I pointed out, emphasizing the different vocabulary. “Just that game. Men’s singles generally have two sets per match, a third if needed.”

I peeled off the lid from the can and popped the sealed top, instantly dipping my nose in and smelling the new-ball scent. It reminded me of summers and sweat, Gatorades and sore muscles.

“Do you play any sports at school?” I asked him.

He reached his arm up, dipping his racket behind his head and throwing a practice swing.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “I play soccer, but…”

“But what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just get… pressured, I guess,” he confided, attempting more practice swings. “I don’t think I’m very good. The other team or everyone watching sometimes gets in my head, and it’s all I’m thinking about.”

I smiled to myself, knowing exactly what he was talking about. It was very common for athletes to feel the crowd’s expectations, and winning was as much mental as it was physical.

“Do you know what I realized when I played tennis?” I asked him. “I realized that you’re playing a part in a way. When you put on that uniform or grab that ball, you sometimes have to become someone else to play the game. Braver, harder, tougher… When you’re in a competitive situation, you’re you times ten.”

His eyebrows pinched together, like he understood what I was saying but wasn’t sure what to do with the information.

“An easy way to put on that new mask is to do something to your appearance,” I suggested. “I used to create elaborate braids before pulling my hair back into ponytails for a match. It kind of helped me get my head into the game and feel tougher,” I told him. “Other athletes paint their faces…”

He nodded, looking pleased with that idea.

“Hello.” A woman’s voice interrupted, and I turned my head to see the blonde from earlier, Tessa McAuliffe.

I narrowed my eyes but quickly recovered. I’d thought she’d left.

Many of the guests had filtered out, and I was getting ready to grab my brother – who was deep in conversation with one of the mayor’s assistants – and Kristen – who was chatting with the son of someone important from somewhere important – as well, to leave. Tyler had been in and out of the party, talking to a few people and making eye contact, probably to make sure I was having fun.

But I’d been fine.

I’d spoken to several guests, and my brother was in his element. Tyler had been on my turf a few times, so it was only fitting that I got to invade his.

And it had been eye-opening to see the people he surrounded himself with. Blackwell, other politicians, and members of the elite.

And then Tessa McAuliffe, who I remembered also hosted a morning news show. It was reasonable to believe Tyler had invited her due to the influence she held or her media connections, but I still didn’t like the way she said his name.

Or the way she was so familiar with him.

“I tried to introduce myself earlier,” she said, holding out her hand, “but he swept you away so quickly.”

She gazed at me with a twinkle in her eye.

I nodded once and took her hand. “Easton Bradbury.”

“Tessa McAuliffe.”

“Yes, I know,” I responded, turning away to hand Christian the can of tennis balls before facing her again. “From the morning show, right?”

She grinned, squinting her eyes playfully. “Not a fan?”

“Oh, no,” I shot out. “I’m sure I would like it well enough, but pop culture isn’t really my thing.”

She nodded, and I let my eyes fall down her body for a moment. She looked like everything I wished I was.

Her red dress stood out against the other female guests’ beiges and pinks, and she walked with grace in her tan heels. Her hair was neatly coiffed in an up-do, with locks of rich blond hair falling around her face. Her makeup was soft, and her posture was confident.

My dress seemed childish now, and the dark blue heels I’d rushed out to get to match the splatter of flowers on the dress were cheap compared to hers. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the money for designer things. I’d made a small fortune playing tennis and even modeling in ads for clothes and tennis shoes. I simply had no interest in spending my money on things I considered impractical.

Until now.

She was a woman, and I felt like a girl next to her, with my hair hanging in loose curls instead of up, looking sophisticated. I should’ve done something with it.

What does Tyler prefer? Does he think she’s prettier? More presentable? I
—
 

And then I cleared my throat, stopping myself.

Ridiculous. How the hell did I get filled up with all of these insecurities all of a sudden? All that mattered was me. How I felt comfortable and what I liked.

And Tyler certainly seemed to like something about me.

“And what do you do?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I took a deep breath, stepping over to the side to slip back into my heels. “I teach at Braddock Autenberry.”

“Where Christian goes to school?” she inquired. “What do you teach?”

My toes ached as I pushed them back into the tight-fitting shoes. “American and World History,” I replied.

And then I stopped to look at her. “Are you here in support of Mr. Marek’s campaign?” I asked, ready to find out exactly what she was about.