For the Record (Record #3) Read online

  “Miss Dougherty, how did you and the Congressman meet?”

  Liz sighed. That was an easy question. She could do this.

  “At a press conference. I asked him a particularly troubling question. I don’t think he liked me very much,” she said with a wink.

  The reporter laughed. A few others did too when they realized it was a joke. “Did you start a relationship that night?”

  “Oh, no. It wouldn’t start until many weeks later. I wasn’t interested in getting involved with a state senator, but eventually he changed my mind.”

  A particularly brave reporter stepped forward. “Was it simply a sexual relationship?”

  Liz tried to keep from blushing, but wasn’t sure how well she succeeded. She glanced over at Brady and he seemed ready to jump in whenever he was needed. “No,” she barely whispered. Then louder. “No. Where my fiancé is concerned it was never purely physical. Next question, please.”

  The questions turned from their relationship to who she was, what she enjoyed, what she was studying, her dreams and aspirations, and on and on. She was sure details about her life would show up in newspapers all over the country this week. Who was the mysterious Liz Dougherty?

  She had once told Brady that the only secret she had was him, and now everyone knew that one. But she was strangely okay with it. Her place was at Brady’s side, and she wanted to see him to the White House. Their home, as Brady had jokingly called it.

  Brady stepped away to do a video interview with a reporter, which Liz suspected would air in clips on the evening news. Her questions kept coming and she was surprised to find how exhausting it was. She had never considered how much work it was just to stand around and answer the incessant questions hurled at her. People were polite, but she couldn’t keep from feeling tired. But this was her life now, and she wanted to do her part. After Tuesday, she would return to D.C. to finish the semester and start planning her wedding to marry Brady. The thought strengthened her, and she kept going.

  Numbers lessened and it looked as if they were about to close down the Halloween festival when one last reporter started asking Liz questions.

  “How do you feel about the accusations of being called a slut, a whore, and a home wrecker?” she asked impassively.

  Liz swallowed. She hated those names. They were so false and hurtful. “I’d encourage people to stop using those terms. Brady and I have been together for nine months now. It’s quite clear that those things aren’t true.”

  “Nine months,” the woman said disapprovingly. “So, then you didn’t have his child? Or did you cover it up and have it hidden somewhere?”

  Liz sputtered and then tried to collect herself. “No. We don’t have a child. I was never pregnant.”

  “Why do you think that you can direct people as to what they think of you? And do you think it’s fair to tell them to stop calling you true names? You did rip apart the Congressman’s relationship with Miss Edwards.”

  “People may think whatever they want, but I did not separate Erin and Brady. They broke up on their own terms months before we ever got back together.”

  “Do you feel like a sham of a reporter standing here answering questions for your fake relationship?” the woman pushed.

  Liz’s mouth dropped open. What the hell? How did she even respond to that? Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should just say no comment and retreat. The woman was trying to get a reaction out of her. It was tactless.

  Before she could speak up, she felt a presence at her side. She was immediately grateful that Brady had returned, but looked up and found Clay. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing the wonderful conversation you were having. I thought I would answer some of these questions for Liz.”

  Liz’s eyes widened. Oh fuck! That was not a good idea. She shook her head slightly to try to tell him to stop. But he just smiled that wicked grin, a dimple appearing.

  “I’ve had the opportunity to witness Congressman Maxwell’s relationship with Liz since the beginning. Or at least almost the beginning,” he said with that same arrogant smile for Liz. Then he turned to face the reporter. “And if we’re evaluating reporter tactics, maybe you should reevaluate your own professionalism. My brother loves this woman very much. There was no adultery, no home wrecking, nothing distasteful about it at all. They only problem was that they fell in love at the wrong time. It’s a model relationship. One of commitment, dedication, honesty, and loyalty. Perhaps you should start bothering someone else with these kinds of questions, because there is nothing else to be found on my brother.”

  Liz openly gaped at him. Where the hell had that come from?

  “Thank you. We’ll take no more questions,” Clay said with a curt wave. He tucked Liz’s hand under his arm and then walked her away from the reporters.

  When they were out of earshot, Liz finally found her voice. “What was that?”

  “I believe I just defended your relationship with Brady to a particularly troubling reporter,” he answered.

  “Yes. Thank you, but . . . what the hell was that, Clay?”

  Clay shrugged and smiled down at her. He still had that uncanny amusement in his expression, but she saw that he was serious too. “What? I’m not completely heartless.”

  “No. But you don’t agree with our relationship, and you certainly don’t believe in your brother.”

  They stopped and Clay turned her to face him. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and a strange looked passed over his face. “Maybe someone proved me wrong.”

  “Me?” she whispered.

  “No someone else,” he said sarcastically. “Of course you. You’ve changed him. He loves you. There’s an . . . energy between you that is hard to explain, but it’s there. It’s obvious to everyone who knows him. And maybe . . . just maybe it makes me see what you had been telling me all along. Maybe he’s actually in this for the right reasons.” He paused and glanced off into the distance. “And not just because our father wanted it for him and not me.”

  Liz felt for an instant as though she finally understood Clay. She could see his life stretched out before him. The second brother with Brady the prodigal son, the golden boy always one step ahead. Maybe he had even once wanted to become a politician. Maybe he had wanted to become president, but his father had encouraged Brady. And Clay’s love for both politics and Brady had hardened with time. What would become of the man now that it was finally thawing?

  Clay kissed her forehead softly at her clear astonishment. “Be good to him. He needs you.”

  And then he walked away.

  “What was that about?” Brady asked when he appeared at her side a minute later.

  “Nothing. Clay just told a reporter off for degrading our relationship and basically endorsed you for Congress.”

  It was Brady’s turn to look startled. “Are we talking about my brother still?”

  Liz smiled and nodded. “He loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

  Brady seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Well . . . I suppose at least we have that in common.”

  “You have a lot more in common than I think you’ll ever realize.”

  “Well, I’m thankful I have you to realize that for me.”

  “I’m always going to be here,” she told him.

  “I sure hope so, or else I’m going to need my ring back,” he joked.

  Liz slapped her hand over the ring. “You can’t have it.”

  He grabbed her firmly around the middle and kissed her lips feverishly. “Good. You’re mine?”

  “Always.”

  He brushed his nose against hers. “It’s worth it?”

  “You’re worth everything,” she whispered.

  Chapter 32

  BRADY

  Every Election Day morning growing up, Brady would wake up super early with his family. He
would dress with care in what his mother had put out for him the night before. She would make sure he looked presentable, and then the whole family would pile into his father’s Mercedes and he would drive them to the polls.

  As a child, Brady remembered liking it more than Christmas, even without the presents. The months of anticipation leading up to this one big momentous day for his entire family brought them all closer than they ever were. And every other year, when his dad came home victorious once more, they celebrated—just the four of them, and then when Savannah was born all five of them—before his father went to all the necessary parties.

  When Brady got older, he thought that the ritual might diminish—that he would enjoy Election Day less, since it really was so much work, but the small moments with just his family were unlike anything else. As time passed, Clay helped and participated only begrudgingly, and as they grew further and further apart so did Clay’s love of the election. Clay saw it as a duty, whereas it remained to Brady a gesture of love and devotion.

  Brady remembered the first time that he walked into the voting booth after his eighteenth birthday. He cast his ballot for his father and knew as he had known his whole life that there was nothing else for him. Politics was what he loved more than anything—his greatest joy from his childhood and his deepest ambition as an adult.

  All of that had changed with the entrance of Liz into his life. He had never thought that anything could replace his dreams of becoming president. When he had fallen for her, he had fought tooth and nail to keep his life exactly how it was. But he couldn’t do that with Liz. Without even meaning to, politics slid down a spot, and she became his number one priority.

  Liz was still sleeping when he woke up on Election Day. Her bare chest was pressed firmly against him and her head nuzzled his shoulder. An ache throbbed in his groin at the sight of her nearly naked in his bed. Exactly where she belonged.

  He was seeing the spark of a new Election Day tradition.

  “Baby,” he growled into her ear. He ran his hand demandingly down her side, under the covers, and onto her thigh. She roused softly and he felt himself harden further as her body moved against him.

  “Brady,” she whispered.

  His hand slipped in between her thighs and brushed lightly against the black lace boy shorts she had worn to bed. He preferred when she slept naked, but he couldn’t keep himself from wanting to fuck her all night. The panties didn’t help all that much, though. He had ruined a few pairs.

  “Mornin’,” he muttered. He rolled her onto her back and brought his lips down hard on hers. She responded with the fervor that always exploded from their kisses. He couldn’t get enough.

  “Someone is in a good mood.” Her blue eyes were alight and he could see the need evident in them.

  He bent down and nipped at her neck. The moan that escaped her lips urged him on. “I love your body.” And he let his hands worship the soft, smooth skin of her breasts, down her flat stomach, to her hips.

  His thumbs hooked around the boy shorts and he eagerly dragged them to her feet. She squirmed under his scrutiny, but held his gaze, ignoring any self-consciousness. He had forced that out of her. Or maybe he had just opened her up to what was already lying dormant inside of her.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered.

  Fuck! The way she said that. The way she pleaded with her big blue eyes. Begging was a particular weakness for him. And some days he just wanted to fuck her senseless when she opened her mouth and asked for it. But he could make love to her. He wanted to. God, he loved her.

  Love sliced through him. It held on tenaciously, never giving up even when he had wanted to give up. It didn’t care about the past, present, or future. And every day that he held on to that searing emotion, he felt as though he was finally living.

  He kissed up her thighs and she whimpered at the tender caresses. He would take his time with her, savor every inch of skin, her eager pants of pleasure, her body as it responded so perfectly to his commands.

  He spread her wide and slowly slid his fingers into her. She was already wet and needing him, tightening around him, trying to fill that ache. He slid in and out and in and out until her eyes rolled back and her body struggled for release. Then, when he felt her dying for it, he leaned forward and flicked his tongue against her clit. Another groan left her mouth, encouraging him, and he feasted on her body until she came apart at the insistence of his mouth.

  Then he discarded his boxers and readied himself before her opening. Her eyes fluttered back open when he pushed her legs even farther.

  “God, yes,” she said in the same breathy voice she got right after orgasm. “Take me.”

  So he did. He slid his cock all the way into her, grasping her hips in his hands and pushing just a little bit farther.

  “Fuck,” she cried.

  “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

  He leaned forward over her, brushed her hair out of her face, and brought his lips down to her. They kissed tenderly as he started up an easy sensual motion. He could do this all day. Who needed the election? He had his prize already.

  She broke away with a gasp, her body arching back as she tried to get him deeper. “I take it back,” she whispered. “Fuck me.”

  He nipped at her earlobe and thrust once fiercely into her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  “Please. Please fuck me,” she pleaded. She already knew that was what he wanted from her. “God, I want you.”

  “Like this?” he crooned, starting up a quick pace. Their bodies slammed together. All he could hear was her encouraging pants, and the smacks of skin on skin.

  She bit out one word. “Harder.”

  Well, he could fucking oblige her.

  He grabbed her leg, threw it onto his shoulder, and then pushed into her deeper. The feel of her so tight around him nearly made him lose it, but he wasn’t going to finish without her. She was so damn close. He thought she might come at any moment, and he loved to get her at least twice.

  “I love you,” she said, reaching out and digging her nails into his shoulders.

  “I love you too, baby.”

  He felt the tension burst out of her as she pulsed around him. He had no control in that moment. She sucked the life right out of him. He grunted, collapsing over on top of her as he emptied himself within her beautiful body.

  They lay like that together until it was clear that their busy schedule was going to interfere with Brady’s request for round two. After a quick shower, Brady put on a fresh suit with his favorite blue tie. Liz appeared out of the bathroom like a vision. Her wavy hair had been straightened, her blue eyes were bright, and the white dress she had chosen was modest but fit her perfectly. He knew what was lying underneath it and he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on it.

  He pulled her toward him. “Your mother was right. You look great in white.” She blushed at the compliment. “I can’t wait to see you walking down the aisle toward me on our wedding day.”

  “You’re just excited about the lingerie afterward.”

  “I’m excited for you to become my wife and take my name,” he said, running his finger around the diamond ring on her hand. “We have the rest of our lives for everything else.”

  He kissed her tenderly before they exited the house together. He wouldn’t have minded taking the town car to the polling location, but following tradition, they got into his Lexus and drove into town.

  A camera crew greeted them when they arrived. Brady had warned Liz that one would likely be there to ask a few questions after he cast his ballot. Standard protocol.

  “So,” he whispered as they got into line behind a little old woman with a cane. “Who do you plan to vote for?”

  Liz giggled and shook her head. “You’re silly.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You, of course,” she said, shaking her head.<
br />
  “Oh good. I need every vote.”

  Liz laughed and walked in front of him to cast her ballot. Brady took his own card from the poll worker and walked into the voting booth. He stared down at his name with a sigh. He hoped he never got used to the feeling of seeing his name there. It should never be commonplace to have the people vote for him. He wanted to win, but it was a privilege earned, not a right.

  He filled out the card, punching his name last, and then exited the voting booth. A woman handed him an I’m a North Carolina voter sticker with a toothy grin. He slapped it proudly on his suit and then walked outside.

  Liz was waiting for him. She looked giddy from the experience. “I just did my civic duty,” she told him triumphantly, pointing at her own sticker.

  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “And here I thought you did that this morning.”

  She blushed and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Brady Maxwell.”

  “At your service.”

  “Congressman Maxwell,” a reporter called, interrupting them. “Mind if we have a word with you?”

  “Of course not,” he said amicably.

  He walked over to where the reporters were standing and answered their questions. It felt good to be free. He had cast his ballot, and he had done everything that he could to ensure his victory. There were volunteers out right now trying to get people to the polls, and there would be people doing that until the polls closed.

  He had a busy day ahead of him to get out the vote, but he did it cheerfully. If he couldn’t be out there with his supporters to get the word out, why would they bother?

  The day passed in an exuberant blur. Everyone was in an incredible mood. The city was alight with the buzz of Election Day. Whether it was volunteers eager to help where they could or just the everyday citizen happy that the campaign signs would come down, their voice mails would stop being filled with chatter, and the television would be free of advertisements, there was something in the air that day.