“Well, I agree with that.” Savannah had lightened her mood after all. “I just think you could have told me.”

Brady nodded. “I admit that I’m used to being reticent with information.”

“Part of your campaign mask.”

“It’s easier to control information if you don’t give anything away.”

“I get that, but I’m not the press anymore,” she said. He slid his hand around her waist and hers wound around his neck. “I’m just Liz.”

“I know that,” he said, dipping his head so that his forehead rested on hers.

“Then act like it. Don’t keep me out of the loop,” she murmured. “You were the first person I called when the reporters followed me. I should be that for you too.”

“My relationships have been rather cut-and-dried for as long as I can remember. What you’re asking for is equality, and it’s not something I’ve ever consciously given.”

She stepped back. “Well, if we’re not going to be equal in this relationship then why did you push for me to do this?”

“Hey,” he breathed softly. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it. I said I wasn’t accustomed to it. I want what’s best for us to be together. A lot is changing in your life because of me. I can change for you too.”

“Well, I’ll make a deal with you,” she said, reaching out and toying with his tie.

“Oh, no, what am I getting myself into?”

“You might like it.” She couldn’t keep the smirk from playing on her lips. He arched an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. “If you work on this communication thing, then I’ll let you take complete control . . . in the bedroom.”

Brady laughed lightly and kissed her. “I already do.”

“Not all the time.”

“Maybe I like when you take control. I seem to remember a certain desk where you climbed on top . . .”

Liz blushed as she remembered the time they’d had sex on top of the desk in what had, at the time, been Hayden’s office. It was now her desk . . . or she supposed after today it belonged to Massey. That sobered up her good mood. The stress of the day flooded her and she sagged a bit in Brady’s embrace. It was still early and already she was exhausted.

Brady seemed to notice and started walking with her back to the garage. “Let’s get you back to my place. We still have a lot to talk about, and I might take you up on that complete-control thing you were suggesting.”

About an hour later, they arrived at Brady’s house in the suburbs of Raleigh. Aside from last night, Liz had been there only once, after one of Brady’s galas. It was also where he had defended their relationship to Heather and Elliott when they’d walked in and seen them together. It was the first time she had ever heard him say that he loved her—though admittedly he’d never said it directly to her.

It was also the place where everything had started to fall apart.

It was easy to see all that when she looked up at Brady’s two-story brick house on a solid acre of land with a gorgeous view. But Liz was set on making new memories of them together. They certainly had last night.

Brady parked his Lexus in the garage and she followed him inside. The layout was open, with dark furniture and beautiful artwork. Liz was sure an interior designer had set foot in the house. She wasn’t sure how else he would have time to do this much work to the place. The best part, of course, was the expansive windows that showed the porch and the huge tract of land beyond them.

“So,” she said, kicking her heels off and sinking into the couch.

Brady walked into the kitchen, popped open a bottle of wine, and brought two glasses out for them. “So.”

Liz took a sip of her wine and leaned into his shoulder. “There’s something different about this.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“We’ve been back for ten whole minutes, and my act-first-and-talk-later boyfriend hasn’t jumped my bones.”

Brady reached for her wine and set it on the coffee table. “I could fix that,” he said, nuzzling into her neck. He pressed her back into the sofa and soon they were kissing. So much of the tension fell away and she just enjoyed the feel of his lips against hers, the electricity that sparked between them, and the unending need to be closer to him.

After the trials of the last year, it felt like a miracle for them even to be sitting happily in the same room. It hadn’t been that long ago when the tension—sexual and otherwise—had rolled off of them, when they hadn’t been able to be around each other, when they had said cruel things just to keep their feelings at bay. Now having him here—Brady kissing her, smiling at her; enjoying each other’s company—it felt as if all of those things had just been what they’d had to endure to get back to each other.

They had both made stupid decisions along the way. But since neither could deny what was happening, they had inevitably ended up here once more. She couldn’t be without him. He couldn’t be without her. She knew time would only tell the depth of the truth in that assessment, but she couldn’t envision it any other way.

Brady tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave her another sweet kiss. “You’ve had a stressful day. Tell me how to make it better.”

“I can think of a few ways,” she murmured.

“We should talk about what happened.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind.” She gave him a sultry look, as if he didn’t already know what she was talking about.

“All of this has happened really fast for you. I’m used to the spotlight. I want to make you more comfortable around it. It’s not going away.”

“I know,” she said, conceding to the deeper topic. She ran a hand back through her hair.

“I have faith that you know how to handle reporters. You’re a damn good reporter yourself.” He had that proud look in his eyes that he got when talking about her accomplishments. She had seen it before, when he had found out that she was a Morehead scholar, the highest scholarship on UNC’s campus, and when she had accepted the job at the New York Times.

“I understand reporters,” she said with a shrug. “I was just bombarded today.”

“Yeah. You weren’t prepared for that, but you will be next time. I think that’s half of the battle.”