Traffic was light on the way back to Bridgetown. Simon insisted Mary return with him as they were both going to the same place and travelling by highway was easier and faster. Emily waited for her at the lake house, informing their father Mary wouldn't be coming back to Washington as planned.

Mary wasn't sure she wanted faster. Their morning together had been lazy and glorious. Ravenous from the night's activities, they'd inhaled the delicious breakfast, fighting for the last bite of the French toast. Even the coffee tasted out of this world. They'd shared everything, just like they had last night. And this morning.

From the moment she bumped into him in the hotel lobby yesterday, everything felt almost magical, like she was in a movie, the best version of what her life could be like. A man she thought of as a satisfying way to scratch a sexual itch had become Simon, the man who satisfied her every want, need and whim. Mary shifted in the passenger's seat, her body aching in a most glorious way from their late-night endeavours.

"Are you okay?" Simon squeezed her thigh. Once they'd weaved their way through the congested streets of New York and joined the interstate, Simon's hand found her thigh and remained there. His touch both calming and exciting. "Do you need a break?"

She smiled at him. And at his kindness. It felt good to be taken care of, to not have to fight every moment, to be something she wasn't or didn't want to be. "I wouldn't mind stretching my legs."

Although he never took his eyes off the road, Mary knew what she'd see there if he faced her. The blue lightening in his eyes that turned her insides to lava. She'd seen the look this morning, the last romp in that king sized bed had been different. Beyond sex, there had been something more in the exchange between them, a vulnerability, an honesty, a give and take like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

And then he'd said those words.

Simon says love me.

It took every ounce of strength she had to not move, not look into his electric eyes and tell him she did. Saying the words would have been easy, her heart full, her soul content. But that small voice in the back of her head shouted loudly that now was not the time. She needed to think. To sort out what last night... and this morning meant. It was easy to love Simon, yet was it the right thing to do?

Instead of spilling the contents of her heart, Mary had maintained the illusion she was asleep. Until Simon woke her, all smiles and offering coffee and food.

They ate in bed, wrapped in the plush hotel robes, platters of food between them. Since licking the plates seemed a tad overboard, they relented to leaving the bed and the hotel room. Simon lent her a shirt, which she wore as a jacket over her crumpled dress, cinching it around the waist with one of his belts. In an attempt to wrangle her unruly hair into some semblance of normal, since the hotel lacked a hair straightener, she borrowed one of his ties and used it like a headband.

In the bathroom, Mary sat on the counter, her leg pressed against his thigh as he shaved. Watched the slow, purposeful strokes of the razor across his jaw, chin, and neck, through the white shaving cream, reminding her of his gentle touch.

"Can I?" She reached for the razor.

Without hesitation, he passed her the blade. She rinsed it in the warm water from the tap, shifted so he stood between her legs, tilted his head up and gingerly scraped the razor along the underside of his chin. Fingertips found her hips and staked their claim as she continued removing the fine stubble he'd grown over night. Line by line drawn over his skin, Simon stood patiently as she stripped him bare. The sense of control paired with trust was heady.

When she finished, Mary picked up a towel and patted his face to remove any remaining residue. He laughed at her gentle touch, taking the material out of her hands and making quick work of the task.

"Shall we venture out and find you something to wear?"

Her dress did itch, the material stiff from the rain it endured last night. How did Simon do that? Could he read her mind? She nodded yes and hand in hand they took to the streets of New York for an impromptu shopping trip.

The rain last night had cleared the city of smog, leaving the air fresh and crisp. Sunshine peaked its way between the sky rises causing long shadows on the sidewalks. The city that never sleeps teemed with men and women in business suits, strutting purposefully down the street, cell phones attached to their ears, nannies pushing strollers and socialites dressed to the nines picking their way down the pavement like they were walking the runway in their stilettos. Mary pulled at Simon's shirt, conscious of her unglamorous attire, lack of makeup and untamed hair.

Simon leaned in. "You're beautiful."

Sure her cheeks were turning red, she leaned against his shoulder to hide them. "I look like I'm doing the walk of shame."

He halted, forcing her to stop, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, right there in the middle of the street. A proper toe-curling kiss that made Mary forget what planet she was on, never mind the women giving her the side-eye earlier. Of their own accord, her hands found the back of his neck, fingers sinking into the fine hairs she liked to play with.

Somewhere in the world that existed outside of Simon's kiss, someone catcalled "Atta boy" followed by another voice complaining "Get a room."

Oxygen became necessary, and they broke apart. Senses like sight and hearing came back, the city life encompassing her once again. "What was that?"

Simon shrugged. "Distraction?"

"Hmm. Not fair Mr. Wainwright."

"Sorry." He grinned. "Not sorry. Miss. Montgomery." He let go of her but left his hand on the small of her back. "Let's find you some clothes and then take that man's suggestion."

"Suggestion?"

"Get a room."

Simon led her into a store which could only be described as a cornucopia of convenience. Tall columns of sunglasses, key chains and magnets merged into racks of T-shirts, sweaters and other clothing items. Mary spotted a collection of flimsy but cute summer dresses and began searching for something appropriate. Pink polka dots called to her, and she pulled out a romper style outfit with thin straps and a heart-shaped neckline.

A hand touched her shoulder. "I like it." Simon's voice sounded low and sultry from behind her.

She held the dress up to her and turned to him. Hooded eyes met hers, and she swallowed at the sight of him. Biting the inside of her cheek to gain some control, she lifted her chin. "It'll do."

Simon insisted on buying the outfit and added a pair of sunglasses. The white frames of the tacky glasses reminded her of a pair she'd worn as a teenager. Or maybe it was for the first time in a very long time the pressures of life that had weighted her down since her mother had died, since she'd had to restore the family reputation seemed far away.

Back at the hotel, Mary reluctantly exchanged Simon's shirt for the new dress, adjusted her hair and sprang out of the bathroom to find Simon sporting dark jeans and a baby blue 'I Love New York' T-shirt. A giggle escaped her lips at the sight.

"What?" The corner of his mouth tweaked to the side.

"Nothing. It's a good colour on you." She reached for her purse and pulled out her favourite pink lipstick, twisting the bottom to reveal the deep fuchsia colour.

A hand touched her wrist, pulling the lipstick from its intended goal. "You don't need that today."

Mary looked at Simon, then at her reflection in the mirror, and hesitated. Lipstick was part of her daily ensemble, part of her defence against the world.

A hand caressed her cheek as Simon turned her face to him. Soft lips grazed her naked ones. A light touch, a hint of what once was, what could be. "It's up to you." He touched his forehead to hers briefly before stepping away.

Cap returned; the lipstick clinked when it dropped against the metal case of her phone in her purse. Mary pursed her still naked lips, grinned at the carefree woman she saw in the mirror, and followed Simon out of the hotel room.

He pulled off the interstate and followed the instructions on the GPS to a main thoroughfare full of storefronts and angled parking that reminded her of Bridgetown. The streets of New York felt very far away here, the people different. Suit jackets turned into plaid shirts, nannies to old ladies and socialites to local teens hanging out on the corner.

"I'll get gas first." The truck came to a stop at a small station with four pumps.

Mary nodded, not trusting her voice. She stayed put as Simon crawled out of the truck and filled the tank. She watched him in the side-view mirror. He was relaxed and fit right in with this middle of nowhere town, not a care in the world. Her stomach twitched, and she stared out the windshield at the cars turning left at the stop sign up ahead.

Just hunger, she thought. Breakfast was hours ago. Maybe they could get lunch. Anything to delay their return to normal life. Mary turned to ask Simon, but he wasn't there, probably disppeared into the station to pay for the gas.

Her purse vibrated, and she fished out her phone, hoping it was a text from Sophie. These visits to the Harrington's always took a toll on her friend and left her in a funk. The family were wonderful, but Sophie said the hollow in her heart left by the loss of Thomas was a wound that would never heal, but gaped after spending time with his family. 

The message was from her father.

Dad: How were the Harrington's? Did you talk to them about Hunter?

Before leaving for New York Mary endured a thirty-minute lecture from her father on the benefits of having Christopher Harrington endorse Hunter. The older man's political influence meant the world to her father. If the Harrington dynasty so much as mentioned Hunter Locklear casually at a luncheon, it would set him apart and push his political career forward by years. He could move from Chief of Staff to a run for Senator himself in record time.

Another text.

Dad: Hunter has what it takes to go all the way. He's a good choice.

Her father had high hopes for Hunter. And for her. As his wife, Mary would have political sway herself. Something her father coveted but could never attain himself. And making her father happy, seeing him smile again was something she'd desired for years. After his wife, her mother died, Phillip Montgomery spun out of control and it scared Mary. His run for political office had steered him back on the the straight and narrow path and they'd both chased that dream since then. Without politics, Mary didn't know what her father would do or how he would react. 

Dad: When is Hunter back in town? We should take him out for dinner.

Mary bit the inside of her cheek and threw her phone into her purse, not wanting to deal with any of that. Pulling on the handle, she opened the truck door, set her feet on the cracked concrete and slid out of the passenger's seat. Her legs wobbled, either from sitting for such a long period of time or from the high-intensity exercise she and Simon had engaged in. She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms over her head, bent to the right and then bent to the left. An old man sitting on a bench outside of the gas station grinned at her.

Mary turned away and watched as a silver SUV pulled up to the other set of pumps. The driver obscured at first behind the tinted windows, but as she bent forward, Mary noticed perfectly manicured hands on the steering wheel. Something about them looked familiar.