5. 300 PM
FIVE
3:00 PM
PASSION ERUPTS
W hen I return to my campaign headquarters, I’m still trying to understand what the hell just happened.
Have I just made a deal with the devil?
“What are you going to do?” Beth questions as we walk into the office.
On the way back here, I told her about my encounter with Lincoln and the evidence he showed me.
“I don’t know. This isn’t the way I want to win the election. I want to do it fair and square. But the headlines this morning could ruin that. Mayor Weston needs to pay if this information is true. It’s illegal. Immoral.”
“But it came from Lincoln Caldwell. That must set off so many alarm bells ringing for you.”
“It sets off every alarm bell in the world.”
“Jerk.”
“Prick”
“Idiot.”
“Bastard”
“Jackass.”
“Moron.”
“Douchebag.”
“Creep.”
“Scumbag.”
“Tool.”
Beth and I retort back and forth to each other, laughing.
“Maybe I’m mistaken, but I’m sure I can feel my ears burning.” The deep voice comes from behind Beth.
Lincoln.
He strides in like he owns the place. I can’t help but notice the brown envelope tucked under his arm.
Am I about to make a Faustian bargain?
“You’re not welcome here,” Beth snaps, folding her arms across her chest as she steps toward him.
“It’s fine,” I sigh. “I’ll hear him out.”
I gesture for her to leave the office, and she does, shutting the door behind her. The interior windows of my office are still opaque from when I switched them this morning.
Lincoln moves toward me, and I start to experience the same heat I felt earlier as he places the envelope on the desk in front of me.
“What’s this?” I ask. Not wanting to touch it.
“Something you’ve been looking for,” he replies.
I reluctantly pick up the envelope and pull out the contents. Inside is all the proof I need—leaked emails, spreadsheets, and memos that explicitly tie Mayor Weston to the developer’s bribery scheme. The emails are damning and include clear instructions to manipulate rezoning laws, promises of payouts, and there’s even a breakdown of campaign contributions funneled through shell companies.
“This is certainly incriminating,” I confirm.
But rather than feeling happy, my heart sinks. Part of me didn’t want to find definitive proof. I wanted to win this election on my own merit.
“You’re welcome,”
The relief of having the evidence in my possession is dampened by suspicion. “Why are you giving me this? You’re Weston’s campaign manager. You’ve spent years defending him. Why did you release that article this morning? What game are you playing? I don’t get it. Why now?”
Lincoln pulls out a chair and sits down, resting his left foot on his right knee in a relaxed pose. “Because I’m tired of defending a sinking ship. Weston’s gone too far this time, and I’m not going down with him. And maybe, just maybe, I’d like to see what you can achieve with a win. As for the article this morning, it was an incentive. This political world is all a game, Sophia Tucker. From the moment I first saw you, I knew you would be a worthy adversary.”
His words linger in the air between us, leaving me unsure if they carry genuine admiration or are a product of calculated manipulation.
Probably both.
Dickhead.
I’m so confused.
I put the documents down on my desk.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I tell him. “Plus, you infuriate me,”
“Good, I’d be worried if I didn’t.”
For a moment, the world tilts as the years of verbal sparring, stolen glances, and unspoken tension finally boil over. I’m tired, I’m stressed, and Lincoln Caldwell is driving me crazy.
Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I close the space between us and press my lips to his in a kiss that’s as heated as it is inevitable.
This was always going to happen from the day I first met him and saw the way he looked at me as I stood up to Councilman Hayes.
It’s not a gentle kiss.
There’s too much frustration. Too much history for that.
Lincoln’s on his feet and returning the kiss in seconds. His hands find my waist, pulling me against his body with a force so strong I instantly feel his hardness. My fingers tangle in his tousled hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against my mouth. His breath is warm and intoxicating.
He lifts me onto the desk without breaking the kiss, scattering the papers he just gave me onto the floor. The sharp edges of the wood dig into my thighs, but I don’t care. All I can think about is the heat of his hands as they trace up and down my body and under the hem of the skirt I’m wearing.
His lips move against mine. Every inch of him feels like a challenge I’m determined to meet head-on.
I need this.
I have to have this.
I can’t stop this.
“Fuck,” he hisses as I nibble at the edge of his lips.
His fingers move my panties aside, finding my core. Stroking. Caressing. For a brief moment, everything else fades away—the campaign, the corruption, the precariousness of the position we’ve put ourselves in.
It’s just us. Trapped in a blaze of passion we’ve been unwilling to admit and have been fighting since we first met.
My breath quickens as the heat between us cascades through my body, flooding all my senses. The orgasm hits me out of nowhere, and I ride Lincoln’s fingers, taking everything.
Making it all mine.
Taking from him, for once.
Then reality crashes in. Hard, fast, and shocking.
Lincoln Caldwell has his fingers in my pussy.
I break the kiss, pulling back just enough to catch my breath and firmly remove his hand.
My chest rises and falls as I stare up at him, my lips tingling and my body still on fire. One of his hands lingers at my waist, and the expression on his face, which is inches from mine, is unreadable. He brings the fingers that were inside me up to his lips and swirls his tongue around them.
Tasting me.
Savoring my orgasm.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I manage to get the words out as I take in deep, shuddering breaths.
“No,” he agrees. “But it complicates everything.”
I slide off the desk and smooth down my skirt before grabbing up the evidence lying scattered over the floor.
“We’re done here,” I tell him firmly.
“For now,” he replies with a knowing smile.
As he leaves, I glance toward the doorway. Beth is standing there, and her expression holds something I can’t quite decipher. I suspect she can tell what just happened.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say, making my way out of my office. “We need to get to the rally.”
She raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
As we walk out of the campaign headquarters, I’m clutching the evidence that could destroy Weston. I’m not sure if I’ll use it, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate with the throbbing that’s still pulsating between my thighs.
My thoughts are crowded by what, or who, I’ve just unleashed.