He raised his head off her chest and met her gaze, lifting a rakish brow. “Sir? Now that sounds intriguing.”

Laughing, she said, “You’d better get off me and let me start the beauty program, unless you want a hag holding the Bible for you today. And P.S., if I’m going to have to do this Bible-holding business twice a year, I ought to get paid a special stipend.”

“I just made a deposit.”

Snorting with laughter, she pushed at his shoulders until he relented, withdrew from her and let her up. With a glance over her shoulder, she noticed he was still as hard as he’d been before they made love. “You ought to do something about that before you get tagged as the randy VP or something equally unsavory.”

He looked at her with intent and purpose as he came after her. In the shower he enticed her into helping him solve the “problem.”

* * *

They got Scotty up and pointed him in the direction of his “work” clothes, which was what he called the navy blazer, khaki pants, dress shirts, ties and boat shoes they’d bought him to wear when he accompanied Nick on the stump during his reelection campaign.

Sam had bought a new red suit for the occasion, and she’d made sure this time that her substantial cleavage was well covered, unlike the day Nick was sworn in to finish out the last year of John O’Connor’s term and she’d worried about flashing the chief justice with her sexier-than-intended outfit.

Today she was all about being conservative. She wrapped her hair up in an elegant twist, which she secured with several small clips. Next, she fastened the diamond key necklace Nick had given her as a wedding gift. Checking the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door, she decided she wouldn’t embarrass him on national television.

He came into the room fully dressed except for the suit coat he’d left on the foot of the bed when he went down to get coffee for both of them. “Wowza,” he said when he took in her outfit. “Hot, hot, hot.”

“Not too hot, right?”

He put the mugs on the bedside table and went to her. “No such thing, but if I had my wish, the hair would be down.”

“Really? It’ll look awful on TV.”

“No,” he said, releasing the clips she’d strategically placed, “it won’t.” Her hair fell down around her shoulders and he nodded with approval. “Perfect.”

“I’ll let you get away with that, but only because it’s your big day and you get anything you want.”

Once again he raised that rakish brow. “Anything?”

“You’ve already gotten that—twice—and made us late in the process.”

“We’re not late. We’re right on schedule, and anything presents a wide variety of options for our private celebration later.”

“Don’t you ever get enough?”