Liz recognized him as Senator Mark Abbot. He had already announced his retirement, and individuals were clamoring for his seat, posturing for contention in the primary, and aligning themselves to be viable nominees.

“Welcome to the fifty-third annual Jefferson-Jackson gala,” he called gruffly into the microphone. The crowd erupted into applause. Liz clapped politely along with them.

“Now I know you’re all thinking, I was probably at the first Jefferson-Jackson gala.” Light laughter ensued. “But I’ll have to disappoint you in that regard. I have been to quite a few of these events, and I’ll be the first to admit it’s a damn good party. So thanks for coming out.” Another round of applause followed. “You’re probably all starving out there, wondering when this old geezer is going to shut his trap, but I do have to allow one more person to take the stage before we let you off the hook. I’ll apologize up front that it’s not steak, so you can all hold your complaints.”

Liz chuckled. She had heard Senator Abbot speak before on campus, but she didn’t remember him joking at all. Retirement must have really been calling his name.

“It’s my pleasure to introduce my partner in crime on the Hill. We don’t always agree on everything. Actually, if you look at our roll call records, we don’t agree on much, but he’s a good guy. In the political climate we find ourselves in these days, it’s hard to find someone who can see the other side of the aisle, reach over, shake your hand, and politely say, ‘I disagree with you.’ No name-calling. No jabs. No animosity. I mean, I go get lunch with this guy once a week. And I’ll miss that lunch when I’m sitting happily in my beach house in Wilmington ignoring politics.”

Man, he was really working the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Senator Brady Maxwell Jr.”

Liz swallowed in anticipation. If Brady’s father was here, then surely Brady would be in attendance. She didn’t let her eyes wander away from her work to search to see if he was here. But she would be lying to herself if she hadn’t been anticipating his presence. Maybe even hoping for it.

The crowd applauded as the two gentlemen met halfway across the stage and shook hands. Liz noticed that they said something to each other and laughed before parting. Senator Maxwell was astonishingly handsome for an older gentleman. It was clear how much his son strongly resembled him. He was tall and distinguished, with dark brown hair growing in salt and pepper around his temples. His smile was infectious, and it wasn’t hard to guess that he had the charm of his son. His black tuxedo was pristine, with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Senator Maxwell called out, quieting the crowd. “I’d like to take a moment to thank Senator Abbot for his kind words of welcome. I have a feeling I’m going to miss those lunches more than you are.”

After a short pause to let the clapping die down, he continued. “Thank you again for coming out to the fifty-third annual JJ gala. I’m pleased to be the opening speaker for the night, especially since this event has so much personal connection to my family.

“Many of you probably don’t know that my middle name is Jefferson, or why my great-grandmother insisted that it continue throughout the years. The firstborn son’s middle name was Jefferson in every generation since the seventeen hundreds on her side of the family, and she can trace back her own lineage to President Thomas Jefferson himself. I am very proud to be Brady Jefferson Maxwell Jr. and that my son, Brady Jefferson Maxwell III, has similarly taken up his namesake and entered politics.

“As a descendant of the Jefferson household, I would like to formally welcome you. The gala has always held a special place in my heart for the rekindling of the past and the mingling of political company from both sides of the political spectrum. Our differences and how we handle the compromises make this country what it is today. I’m proud to be here tonight celebrating the achievements of the United States and this great state of North Carolina. A toast to you,” he said, pointing at the crowd. “Enjoy the evening.”

Now that his speech was over, Liz allowed her eyes to drift away from the elder Maxwell and out across the crowd of tables. She was excited and afraid to find him. Mostly because she hadn’t called him.

The card had been sitting in her wallet all week, screaming her name. She couldn’t allow herself to call, and certainly not after the article she wrote. What had she said about him? Hypocritical. Power hungry. No vision. Interests lying in how deep his pockets could stretch, not with the people. The comments were true. His record showed as much, and his ambitious desire to move up the political chain so quickly screamed that he was a man after power. Just like every other politician out there. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face and charming speech.

Speaking of a pretty face, there he was.

Brady was seated at a table a row in front of hers on the other end of the room, and they were facing each other. He was matching his father in a tuxedo, and he looked perfectly put together. Her heart accelerated all on its own. Liz wondered if he knew she was here. It was unlikely, and she felt as if that gave her the upper hand somehow.

Dinner was served a moment later, and the room fell into hushed conversation mingled with the sounds of forks scraping against plates, glasses being refilled, and waiters’ hurried feet. Liz tried to get into the conversations at her table, but none of the women was working on campaigns she was going to be following, and so she spent a lot of her time staring off at the handsome man across the ballroom and enjoying her roasted chicken.

The plates were cleared away, and the keynote speaker, Jeffrey Bakker, founder of the bipartisan organization People for a Better North Carolina, took the stage and delivered the final speech of the evening. Liz was surprised that he was such a good speaker and was able to engage the audience so easily. She wouldn’t have expected these events to be entertaining. As he spoke his final words and walked offstage, the lights dimmed slightly and the party began. This was what she had been waiting for, the part where everyone finally socialized.

Most of the room gravitated toward the dance floor as music filtered in through the speakers. She had read about the event from what little information she could glean and knew that the night began with a traditional waltz. Fifty-three years of this event and they were still doing ballroom numbers around the room.

Liz, on the other hand, veered in the direct opposite direction. No way was she dancing. She didn’t exactly have two left feet, but the last time she had willingly danced was when her mother had stuffed her into ballet lessons at the age of five. Two years of that nonsense and she had stripped quickly out of tights and grabbed a tennis racket. At least she could hit things that way.

Instead, she found the dessert table. Her favorite. She stared at the long table of desserts and zeroed in on the cheesecake. There was something about cheesecake. She couldn’t say no to it—and it was Oreo. Double trouble and totally worth it. She didn’t care if she had to spend all weekend in the Rams Head gym and on the tennis courts.

Liz took a piece and began to walk toward a group of people standing off to the side. She recognized one of the women as a press director for the governor’s campaign. Handy person to know.

As she was about to interject herself into the conversation, she felt someone tap her shoulder. She stopped with her mouth open and turned around in surprise.

“Liz Dougherty,” Brady said with a smirk, his big brown eyes staring straight through her.

Liz tried not to miss a beat, but something about him made her insides turn to mush. She hadn’t expected him to address her in public.

“You seem to be everywhere, don’t you?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.

“I try,” she said, trying for nonchalance. “And you’re following in Daddy’s footsteps, Mr. Jefferson.”

“That’s Senator Jefferson to you,” he responded.

Liz laughed. “I didn’t know you were related to the Jefferson family, Senator.”

“Someone didn’t do her homework,” he said, tsking her as if she were a schoolgirl. “Whatever will we do with you?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Liz said, playing along. Her body was humming with the playful banter.

“I’m sure we will.” The sentence hung in the air between them. Liz was holding her breath. His gaze was too intense. It was like the night back at the club when he had fixed her with that same stare.

“I read your article,” he said, ending the silence.

Liz swallowed. Great. Why was he even talking to her after reading it? She hadn’t been mean, but she hadn’t been gentle either. “I bet you loved it,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Love might not be the right word. Is there something stronger than love?”

“Hate?” she offered.

Brady chuckled and shook his head. “I particularly like the part about me being—what did you say?—power hungry with my only interests in money? How did you write that, knowing I have other interests?”

He looked at her pointedly, and she swallowed hard. He certainly had other interests…like throwing her off balance.

“I was speaking politically. Talking about work.”

“Well, are you working tonight? I don’t see your voice recorder. No notepad…”

Liz shook her head. “No, not tonight.” Well, not exactly.

“Good. Then our conversation is off the record?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She wished he hadn’t clarified, but she wasn’t going to write another article about him yet.

“Of course,” she said, holding her hands up to show him she wasn’t hiding a microphone or anything.

“Then would you like to dance?” he asked.

Liz shook her head, glad she had her cheesecake in hand. “No. Uh, no, thank you. I prefer my cheesecake to the waltz.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone likes to dance when they have a good partner, and I happen to know where you can find one.”

“Are you referring to yourself?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Only the best.”

“Sorry, I don’t dance,” Liz told him. She stuck her fork into the cheesecake to emphasize her disagreement.

He gave her a look that said he was calling bullshit on the remark and took the cheesecake from her hand. “You can have this later. Right now, we’re going to dance.” Liz glared. “Don’t look so sad about it. I promise I’ll show you a good time.” The comment was laced with seduction.

He grasped her elbow softly in his hand and veered toward the dance floor. He placed her delicious-looking Oreo cheesecake on a table as they passed by.

“Why can’t you find someone else?” she asked. She didn’t really want him to do that.

“Are there other people in the room?” He placed his hand on her waist and pulled her close. Her breath left her in a whoosh with their bodies so close together, her left hand moving up to his shoulder, and their hands clasping together gently.

“How are the airplanes treating you today?” she managed to ask.

“Much better now that I have you in my arms.”

Liz didn’t get the chance to comment as the next song began and Brady swept her away into the crowd. She knew she was a bad dancer, but he was amazing. Was there anything he wasn’t good at?

His hand held her easily in place and she dared a glance up into his eyes. They were smiling down on her, and she felt like the only person in the room under that gaze. Here she was, dancing with a sitting State Senator.

“I thought you said you didn’t dance,” he observed.

“I don’t,” she told him.

“Well, what are we doing right now then?”

“You’re currently dragging me around a dance floor. I’m not sure I’m actually participating at all,” Liz teased.

“At least you’re humoring me,” he said, pulling her against his chest.

She leaned her head into him and reminded herself to breathe. They were just dancing.

His hand pressed into her back, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh beneath her dress. The electricity rolling off of his fingertips and into her body was like a constant current wherever he was touching her. How was he able to keep their movements even? She was melting in his arms.

“I do have one question,” he breathed into her ear.

“Um…” she hesitated, clearing her throat. “What’s that?” Where were her reporter instincts? Why wasn’t she pushing him away? Why couldn’t she keep her heart under control?