I Would, Wouldn't You?

Chapter Three

Henry

The glow of the bedside lamps lifted into the air and diffused through the room. Henry emptied his pockets onto the bedside table. Loose change, a few fluffs of lint, the card that reporter had given him. He crossed the room, one hand tugging at the knot of his tie, and sat down at the end of the chaise longue. Knot loosened, he slipped the tie free from his neck and hung it over the back of the cushion. He turned towards the door. His heart jumped, and he gave a double take. Elizabeth had appeared in the doorway. How did she always manage to creep up on him like that? It was like a fox slinking across a fresh carpet of snow.

"Hey, babe." He smiled up at her and offered her his hand.

Her own smile made those first frail rays of dawn look positively dazzling, but she placed her hand in his and let him pull her towards the couch. He scooted back on the seat, making space for her, and the cushion dipped as she settled between his thighs. He gathered her against his chest, arms wrapped around her, and she sank back, her body yielding to the embrace with a long sigh.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then rested his chin there. "How was your day?"

Elizabeth let out a huff of breath. "Well...it started out with half the country tweeting about how they'd like to do me—" Henry hugged his arms tighter around her. "—then it descended into what position I'd like best—" She turned her face towards him and shot him a look. "Blake was going to draw up a list for you."

Henry drew back enough that he could look at her properly. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah." Elizabeth nodded.

Henry's brow furrowed. "Well, that's...thorough."

Elizabeth gave a wry laugh and then turned back to face the door. She nestled against him, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. "I'm not quite sure when the boundaries got eroded..." Her fingertips wandered up and down his thigh, the touch just a graze through the fabric of his trousers.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps around the time you ran out of clothes at the office and he had root through your underwear drawer."

Elizabeth chuckled. "It was three days before he could look me in the eye." The lightness of her laugh faded into the night. "Anyway, the White House signed off on the trade agreement—"

"That's great, babe." He kissed the top of her head, her hair smooth beneath his lips.

"But—" Her voice dipped. "—Russell Jackson said that we have to hold off on announcing it until this thing dies down." She shook her head. "Apparently the White House doesn't like it when the Secretary of State is sexualised on national television." Her hand left his thigh and came to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"It's not your fault."

"I know," she said.

But did she know?

She sighed—no sound, just her body sinking against him—and then she patted his thigh. "For the record, this is my favourite position, just sat here with you." She twisted round to look up at him. The blue of her eyes danced, like petals swaying in the breeze, and the sparks were there too, if a little dim.

Henry chuckled, and he kissed her forehead. "Mine too."

Elizabeth eased away from his chest and turned round, forcing his grip on her waist to loosen. She knelt one knee against the end of the cushion, and as she leant in, her necklace swung forwards, gold glinting in the lamplight. She held his gaze.

At the look in her eye, his pulse quickened.

With one hand rested against his shoulder, the other cupping his cheek, she closed the gap between them. Closer, closer, closer—until her lips brushed against his. Gentle at first, like sunlight unspooling, but as he gripped her hips, she smiled against him and then threaded one hand through his hair and deepened their kiss.