nineteen #3
A balcony.
He let me step out first.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing out the murmur of the gala like it had never existed.
And for the first time all night, it felt like the room stopped spinning.
The night air felt colder than I expected. It slipped under the edges of my dress, raising goosebumps across my skin.
I stepped to the railing, resting my hands against the cool iron. From up here, the skyline looked like a galaxy laid out in neat rows—amber windows, blinking red lights, the slow crawl of headlights threading through the dark.
Behind me, Brooks didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, his presence quiet and steady, until I felt my shoulders start to ease.
"Better?" he asked softly.
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. His tux looked almost too perfect in the spill of city light—sharp lines, crisp white shirt, the bowtie still immaculate at his throat. But his hair was starting to fall out of place, and somehow that made me feel better.
"Yeah," I murmured. "A little."
He came to stand beside me, close enough that our arms brushed. Close enough that I could smell the faint trace of cologne and something warmer underneath.
"I hope me being here doesn't cause any problems for you," I admitted, my voice too soft. "Or make things complicated."
He was silent for a moment. Then he reached out, his knuckles grazing my wrist. "You think you'll make things complicated?"
I didn't answer.
His hand turned, catching mine properly. His thumb traced the inside of my palm, slow and unhurried. "If anything," he said evenly, "you're the only part of this that doesn't feel complicated."
I swallowed. The city blurred a little around the edges.
"You always say the right thing," I whispered.
"No," he said, so quietly I almost missed it. "I just mean it."
We stood there like that, the hush stretching between us. My hand in his. The whole gala just on the other side of the door, but feeling like another universe.
Finally, he lifted our joined hands and pressed his mouth to my knuckles. The heat of his breath made something flutter low in my stomach.
"I wanted you here tonight," he murmured. "I'm glad you came."
I tried to smile, but it felt shaky. "Even though we're hiding on the balcony?"
He stepped closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Especially because we're hiding on the balcony."
My pulse tripped.
His free hand came to the curve of my waist, settling there like it had always belonged. "I kept looking for you," he said. "Every time someone started talking, I'd try to find you again."
I didn't know what to do with the way that made me feel, so I looked away. "You should probably get back in there before someone notices."
"Probably," he agreed.
But he didn't move.
Instead, he leaned down, his mouth brushing just beneath my ear—so soft it almost wasn't a kiss. My breath caught.
Then he kissed me—slow, deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world to figure out exactly how to make me come undone.
My back pressed against the railing, the city unfolding behind me in a haze of light.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His thumb traced my cheek, the gentlest touch.
"We should go back," he said, though he didn't sound like he meant it.
I nodded, but my voice was gone.
He lingered one last moment—just long enough to kiss me again, softer this time.
Then he let go of my hand, straightened his jacket, and stepped back toward the door.
His voice was low when he spoke. "Stay close."
And even though I knew he wasn't supposed to be mine, it was the easiest promise I'd ever made.
The ballroom felt louder when we stepped back inside, like the hush of the balcony had made everything else sharper.
Brooks didn't take my hand again. He never did when there were eyes. But he walked close enough that I could feel the brush of his sleeve against my bare arm, the steady warmth of him beside me.
A few people turned to look. One of the catering staff did a double take, probably wondering why the senator had appeared from a service hallway with a woman he hadn't arrived with.
I kept my chin up, but my pulse felt like a bird fluttering in my throat.
He stopped near the edge of the crowd, glancing back at me. "I'll have Monte bring the car around."
"You're not leaving yet?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
His mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not yet I have to say some goodbyes."
My stomach dipped.
He reached out, brushing his knuckles over my wrist—a touch so fleeting it could have been nothing. "I won't be long."
I nodded, because it was all I could do.
Then I slipped away, weaving between clusters of suited men and women in tasteful gowns, feeling every step like I was moving through a dream I hadn't meant to step into.
Outside, the air was cool against my flushed skin. The doorman didn't look twice at me. Monte was already waiting by the curb, standing beside the SUV with his hands clasped in front of him.
He opened the door as I approached, his face as unreadable as ever. "Better turn out than you expected?"
"Yeah it wasn't too bad."
I climbed inside, sinking into the leather seat. The door shut with a soft click, sealing me into a hush that felt almost comforting.
Monte pulled smoothly away from the curb. The city slipped past in soft blurs of light.
For a few minutes, I just breathed. My heart was still slowing from the balcony, from his mouth on mine, from the way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
And then—like the universe couldn't resist reminding me of the difference between us—the car eased to a stop at the corner.
Through the tinted glass, I could see the hotel entrance flooded with camera flashes.
Reporters clustered behind the velvet rope, microphones extended as Brooks stepped out into the night. He looked exactly the way he was supposed to—composed, immaculate, every inch the man they'd come to see.
Questions flew at him in a ragged chorus.
"Is it true you're courting national donors?"
"Will we be seeing your family on the campaign trail?"
He smiled, that practiced, easy expression that said everything and nothing at once. He gave the crowd slight wave before entering the car.
The bulbs kept flaring—white heat against his black tux.
In here, my world felt suspended. Like I was watching a movie I hadn't meant to audition for.
I pressed a hand to the window, just for something to hold onto.
This was who he was.
The man who could walk into a ballroom and make it hush with a word. The man who could command a roomful of billionaires, then kiss me in a corner like he'd never wanted anything else.
The car was quiet when Monte finally pulled away from the hotel.
For a minute, neither of us spoke.
Brooks didn't look at me right away. He just sat with one hand braced on his knee, the other curved loosely over the space between us. His hair was a little rumpled from the wind outside, and the knot in his bow tie had slipped just enough to make him look human again.
When he finally turned, the soft wash of the passing streetlights lit his face in pale gold. He studied me like he couldn't help himself.
"You okay?"
I nodded. My voice felt too small to use.
His gaze dipped to my mouth. Then lower, to where the red silk of my dress hugged my thighs. When he looked up again, his eyes were darker.
"You were the only thing I could think about," he said, softer now. "The entire time."
I didn't try to pretend otherwise.
His palm skimmed higher, just a fraction. Enough to make my breath catch. "Every time I looked over and you were watching me...I wanted to walk out in the middle of all of it and take you home."
The city blurred by outside the windows, a smear of soft neon and dark glass. My heart beat faster every time the pads of his fingers traced higher.
"Monte's right there," I murmured, though it sounded more like a warning to myself.
His thumb brushed slow circles over the silk at the top of my thigh. "He's been driving me since college."
"That doesn't make things better..." I swallowed, heat pooling low in my belly.
His hand stayed exactly where it was—no rush, no need to push further. Just the quiet, possessive pressure that told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
I turned my face toward the window, trying to calm the unsteady thrum in my chest.
Brooks leaned closer, his mouth near my ear. "You have no idea how beautiful you looked tonight."
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
His hand eased back to my knee—like he knew if he kept going, I'd fall apart before we even made it home.
The rest of the drive passed in charged silence.
When Monte finally pulled up to the curb in front of the building, Brooks didn't wait for him to come around to open the door.
"It's okay Monte I got it." He popped the latch himself, and stepped out holding the door open for me.
I followed, legs unsteady.
The second the door shut behind us, the hush of the marble lobby settled over everything—thick and expectant.
Brooks turned to look at me, his jaw tight, eyes dark. He didn't say anything. Just reached for my hand and laced our fingers together, like there was no part of him willing to let me go.
The elevator doors slid shut.
And for the first time all night, I felt like I could finally exhale.
The elevator ride up was silent.
Not an awkward silence—just charged. Every time I shifted, the soft brush of my dress against his trousers felt too loud, too much.
When the doors slid open, Brooks stepped out first. He didn't look back to see if I'd follow. He didn't have to.
The penthouse was dark but for the city lights seeping through the glass walls. He set his keys down with deliberate care, shoulders rising with a deep breath—like he was trying to hold onto the last scrap of composure he had.
I stood just inside the doorway, watching him.