Liz stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cold lips. "I'm already freezing because of you," she said softly.

"No, you're not. Forget about it. We still need to make a snowman and snow angels and build an igloo."

"I am not building an igloo," she said with a shake of her head. "You're nuts." She turned to head back inside. No way could she stand the cold much longer. Her nose was already an ice cube and she hadn't even been out that long.

Hayden grabbed her arm and stopped her progression. "You can't leave already. At least help me with the snowman," he pleaded. His eyes were wide and almost green in the light. His cheeks and nose were flushed pink, and the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Win."

"I always win," he said. "What did I win?"

"Where do we start on the snowman?" she grumbled.

The afternoon disappeared in the blink of an eye. One minute they were building a lopsided snowman with a pickle for a nose and Oreos for eyes, having a s...o...b..ll fight, and finding enough extra s.p.a.ce to create snow angels. The next minute Hayden was helping her peel off her wet outer layers of clothing while she desperately tried to bring feeling back into her fingers and toes.

Snow started to fall again as Liz snuggled up next to Hayden on the couch. The fire was roaring before them and each had a mug of hot chocolate cooling on the coffee table. They popped in a movie and Liz nestled deeper under the mountain of blankets they had dragged from the closet. Hayden stroked her hair softly and Liz fought sleep.

Despite what had happened last night and how awkward the morning had been, she felt content. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so happy and satisfied. She didn't need anything else in that moment but Hayden's arm wrapped around her while she was lying back against his chest.

She felt peaceful, as if all her concerns had momentarily vanished and she was awash with a newfound belief in her own relationship. She fit with Hayden as perfectly as she did in his arms. It all just made sense.

Hayden's lips found her ear and kissed softly down to her earlobe. He sucked it into his mouth and she breathed out heavily, her body instantly pushing back against his on the couch. His hand trailed lightly down her side as his mouth moved to kiss along the gentle curve of her neck.

Liz's heart picked up tempo quickly. The sleep she had been fighting to hold back disappeared entirely when his hand skimmed the front of her pants. Her body arched against him, urging him to continue. Taking her invitation, he delved beneath the material and slid his finger against the soft material of her thong. Liz swallowed hard, unable to keep her breathing under control. His finger brushed against her c.l.i.t and she moaned in the back of her throat.

Ignoring the desperate bucking of her hips to get him to return to that spot, he ran his hand slowly up her right thigh and then the left. Her body arched against him. She was already turned on from his teasing kisses against her neck and the way he was moving his hands just out of reach.

Then he was there, slipping his finger under her thong and swiping it against her already wet lips. f.u.c.k! How was she so turned on? She could feel the beginning of an o.r.g.a.s.m already rippling through her body, but with those teasing touches, Hayden could hold her off as long as he kept it up.

He circled her sensitive area with his thumb and she dropped her head back. Her eyes closed of their own accord. All she could think about was how close she was. She wouldn't even need his tongue at this point. If he just put his fingers up in her, she would find the release she so desperately craved.

"Hayden," she murmured as he kept up the gentle swirling motion. "f.u.c.k! I'm so close. Finger me."

He turned his head toward her and they started kissing just as he plunged two fingers deep inside of her. She gasped at the feel of him, and he used the opportunity to stick his tongue inside her mouth. They kissed as he started to move in and out while continuing to press her toward the edge. Her body shuddered from the pressure as a climax hit her and she clenched around his fingers.

"You're kind of hot when you tell me what to do," he whispered against her neck.

Liz smiled lazily and adjusted how she was sitting. Her a.s.s rubbed against his d.i.c.k and her breath caught. s.h.i.t! He wasn't kidding. He was rock-hard through his pants.

She rolled over to face him and started kissing him again. Her hand moved into his pants. She gripped his d.i.c.k in her hand and he groaned her name. It was seductive-she really f.u.c.king liked the way he said Lizzie. She pumped her hand up and down a few times before brushing her thumb against the tip. He responded instantly, bucking against her hand.

Bending down, Liz started pulling his pants off his hips and down his legs. Then her mouth found the tip and she swished her tongue along the sensitive skin. She brought him all the way into her mouth and then started up a rhythm-in then out, swish, in and out. His body responded wonderfully to the way she pulled all the way back and then wrapped her lips around him until they met the base. He must have been really f.u.c.king turned on, because his body was already telling her that he was close.

"Lizzie," he said, stilling her where she sat.

She almost ignored him, but something in his voice made her pull back.

When their eyes met, he smiled with a knowing glint in his eye. Then he rolled her over on the couch until her body was pressed underneath. He pulled her pants down her legs so she was lying before him in just her underwear, and then started grinding against her.

Her legs came up immediately to wrap around his waist as he thrust forward against the thin material of her thong. She was soaking through from her earlier o.r.g.a.s.m and all she could think about at this point was the way his d.i.c.k was rubbing up against her.

"Hayden," she moaned, her eyes closing as the material shifted and he slid against bare skin. Oh G.o.d! She could not contain how badly she wanted him in that moment, and she didn't want to. Her fingers brushed at the side of her underwear. He seemed to understand her meaning. He yanked them to the floor, found a condom, and rolled it on.

She brought her hips back up to meet him, so ready to feel him. Her body was shaking with the antic.i.p.ation.

He moved his c.o.c.k down before her opening and she whimpered. Four months. She had waited four months. An interminable period of time. She wanted him to take her. She wanted to be his, mind, body, and soul.

His eyes met her for approval and she lifted her hips to meet him in response. Then he slid easily deep into her.

Hayden felt amazing. Perfect. Just as she had always expected him to. And the moment was right. Perfect. Just as she had always wanted it to be with him.

He started up a slow rhythm, feeling her walls expand to let him fill her and then pulling back out. Then he thrust back into her over and over and over again. She could feel her body crumbling, falling apart, giving in to Hayden's every movement. Her breathing was uneven and her mind blissfully empty, save for the pa.s.sion and energy radiating from her and the need she felt for this man.

Liz met him for each stroke, but both of them were already so close. She could feel her body tightening around him each time, aching to let loose. She opened her mouth to tell him how close she was and then she exploded around him, her lower half pulsing around his c.o.c.k. Hayden's entire body shuddered and then he came deep inside of her.

He dropped forward and rested his head on her shoulder. Neither one could even begin to try for coherent speech. All Liz could think about was how incredible that had felt.

She knew this changed everything.

But she was glad for the change. Finally glad for the change.

Chapter 9.

Q&A.

A month after the snow day, Liz sat in front of a crowded auditorium for the first-ever colloquium on political journalism at UNC. Today was the big day that she and Professor Mires had been working toward all year. A year of work culminated in one day of activity, and all Liz could think about was the fact that she had to give a speech. Her palms were sweating, her throat felt as if she had swallowed a bottle of cotton b.a.l.l.s and her wavy blond hair was sticking to the back of her neck. She hated public speaking. Hated it. She always had.

That was part of the reason she wanted to be a reporter. She was fantastic one-on-one or even in a crowd of reporters, and even better on paper. But she hadn't signed up to speak in front of a large group of people and have them all stare at her. She had purposely avoided broadcast journalism, because she would rather be behind the camera than in front of it. How did people become so comfortable doing this?

She was about to present her research with Professor Mires to a roomful of distinguished professors in their fields, some prominent reporters for big newspapers, and who knew who else could be in attendance. She thought she might be sick.

Sure, she knew the education policy material like no other, and she had worked her a.s.s off to make everything perfect, but she still felt like a really small fish here. It was a feeling that she didn't like.

"Okay. Let's get started," Professor Mires said, quieting the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for attending this panel in undergraduate research. I would like to start off this session with one of my own students, Miss Liz Dougherty. She will be presenting her paper, 'Education Policy and New Media in Political Journalism,' to you today. Take the floor, Liz."

"Thank you, Dr. Mires," Liz said. She stood demurely and smoothed out her knee-length cream pencil dress, which belted around the middle with a black buckle. She had taken off her matching black blazer, because the room was warm enough without her freaking out. Her black heels clicked across the hardwood floor as she took the stage. Her eyes roamed the room, but she took it all in in a haze.

Somehow she started speaking. The words tumbled out of her mouth in coherent sentences that made the people sitting in the room nod their heads along with her. A few older gentlemen in the middle stared stonily up at her and she quickly averted her gaze. She hoped they always looked p.i.s.sed off and weren't angry about her presentation.

She had a fifteen-minute time slot, and when she reached the halfway point, Dr. Mires gave her a rea.s.suring smile. It eased more of the tension off of her shoulders and she barreled forward. She could do this. She didn't want to do it every day or anything, but she was doing all right so far.

The door at the back of the room opened and Liz's eyes flicked up to the interruption in her speech.

Brady Maxwell walked into the room.

Her tongue tied, her face flushed, and she stood in front of everyone like a blubbering idiot. He closed the door quietly and stood in the back of the auditorium, his arms crossed, leaning against the back wall.

She couldn't believe he had come to her panel. She knew that he was going to be at the colloquium for a politicians' roundtable this afternoon, but she had expected him to attend his event and then be gone.

But no. Brady was currently in the room for her presentation.

f.u.c.k.

Her memory did not do justice to the man. Even at this distance she could see the contours of his face, the sleek three-piece suit, the confident att.i.tude, those dark brown eyes. Okay . . . maybe she couldn't see those, but her imagination sure filled in the details.

What the h.e.l.l had she been talking about before this?

Education policy. Right.

Liz broke eye contact with Brady across the room and looked down at the paper she was clutching in her hands with a death grip. She took a moment to collect herself. She knew Brady was watching her. She could feel his eyes all over her, and she felt vulnerable and exposed. How long in her dark times after walking away had she imagined him coming to find her and begging for her to come back? How many times had she thought about that beautiful face, reconstructing it in her mind? How many times had she wanted those eyes on her, a.s.sessing her, judging her, loving her?

No. Christ, she couldn't go there today. She couldn't love Brady today. She couldn't love him ever again. She had buried those feelings, buried them in that dark, dank place that she would never be able to access. A drum beat a fast rhythm in her chest as she tried to regain her bearings.

She just had to get through this presentation. Then she could freak out. She could hold it together until then.

Liz cleared her throat and looked back up at her audience. "As I was saying, our education policy as it stands needs to be revamped. Students are skimming by, learning only to take a test, not to think for themselves. Several studies have shown that previous generations performed better in college when the emphasis was on forward thinking and not test taking."

She went through the next few slides, detailing the work of political scientists and journalists who had looked at education policy more closely. Then she outlined her own findings and conclusions about the role of social media and how journalism could improve and refocus the political agenda.

"These changes, with the aid of political journalists in the field as well as the support of politicians, could create major improvements not just in secondary education, but on up through the university system."

Liz concluded her presentation and then took a seat. She felt like a towel that had just been wrung out.

Besides her mishap when Brady had walked into the room, she didn't think the presentation had gone poorly. But Brady hadn't taken his eyes off of her the entire time. In fact, she had felt like those chocolate-brown eyes that had once made her entire body warm with desire were drilling a hole straight through her body. And she was talking about education policy, of all things. She had always been pa.s.sionate about it.

How many times had she argued with Brady about pushing aside education policies that could have benefited the university for some budgetary measure? And she had thought for a long time that he was favoring the donors he so heavily relied on . . . that he was doing this for money . . . that he just wanted to be in the spotlight. It was a sentiment she had never been able to understand, because she had never wanted those things for herself. But then over time she had realized how wrong she was about Brady.

Too late now. She had left. He was with someone else. She was with Hayden.

She didn't hear the next three presenters as each took up his or her own fifteen-minute slot. She knew what they were discussing because of her a.s.sistant work for the colloquium, but the words coming out of their mouths might as well have been gibberish. The only thing she could concentrate on was the person standing stoically in the back of the room.

"Thank you so much to all of the presenters," Professor Mires said as the last person finished. The crowd applauded and she waited for the room to quiet down before speaking again. "All the students have worked tremendously hard, and we appreciate the effort. Since we have a little extra time, I'd like to open up the floor for questions."

A few hands were raised and Dr. Mires called on people. Liz answered one or two questions, as did everyone else. Answering questions definitely wasn't as hard as giving her speech, though as a reporter she was used to firing them off.

Then she saw a hand rise in the back of the room and her heart stopped beating. What could Brady possibly have to ask? Was it even kosher for him to ask a question?

"Congressman Maxwell," Professor Mires called. She sounded surprised. Liz doubted she had been expecting a politician to ask a question.

All eyes turned to stare at him. If they were all as surprised as Dr. Mires was then they didn't show it.

"Yes, I have a question for Miss Dougherty," Brady said formally.

"By all means."

"As I'm a current member of the Education Committee in Congress," Brady began, his voice smooth and strong, "what would you personally say from your research is the most important factor for me to take back to D.C. regarding education?"

Liz's stomach dropped out. He was on the education committee? She hadn't been following his progression in Congress at all. She had been purposely avoiding it at all costs. She didn't want to know what he was up to and torture herself any more than she already was.

But what would a man who had balanced the budget in the North Carolina State Legislature, whose father was head of the budget committee in the Senate, be doing sitting on an education board? She knew that freshman Congressmen were placed wherever more senior members chose, but this was Brady. His father's name alone would have moved him up the ranks.

And it certainly wasn't his specialty. He hadn't even run on education reform. He worked in real estate, ran his family business, budgeted properties. He wasn't an educator in the slightest. So then . . . why was he working in education?

It made her want to run back to her computer and look up every single bill that he had been working on to find out what the h.e.l.l he was up to.

But first she had to get through his scrutiny.

What would she tell Brady to take back to D.C.? Christ, what a question!

Oh, how a part of her wanted to spit back at him not to favor big donor money for budget reforms in place of education policy. Education was a positive speaking point, but it wasn't something a politician could run on. It didn't distinguish them. It didn't make them stand out . . . not like balancing a budget in the current fiduciary climate.

If only Congress would make education a priority instead of a backdrop, then they could begin to see improvements to the system. But she couldn't say that to him. She couldn't throw words she had spoken to him last summer back in his face like this in public. She couldn't let her answer to the question be personal. Wasn't that what Dr. Mires had been trying to instill into Liz's work all last summer?

"Thank you for that question, Congressman Maxwell," Liz said formally.

They were staring at each other across the room, and she felt her cheeks heating. His face was a mask of indifference, and she was dying to know what he was thinking right now.

"I believe there are probably several answers to this question. Education policy, as you know, is multifaceted and should be addressed as such. So I believe that the strongest thing you should take back to D.C. would be to focus on policy that treats students as individuals. So often they are lost in the standardized tests and labeled as a number, a score; you lose the individual. Finding a way to treat education reform both systematically as well as on an individual level would be a step in the right direction, in my opinion."

Her voice wasn't even shaky when she finished. Because by the end it felt as if it were only she and Brady in the room and she was telling him all over again why this was important to her. The faintest of smiles crossed his gorgeous face before it fell away.

"Thank you, Miss Dougherty. I'll take that into consideration," he said formally.

And then as easily as he had walked into the room, he slipped back out. Liz was left reeling.

The panel concluded without fanfare and everyone filed out. Dr. Mires pulled Liz aside with a congratulatory pat on the back. She knew how much Liz disliked public speaking.

"I have some people I want you to meet," she said, directing her to the back of the room.

Two women and a man stood in a cl.u.s.ter with their heads ducked together, and Dr. Mires guided Liz straight to them.

"Lynda," a woman greeted Dr. Mires. She was a few inches shorter than Liz, with hair graying at the temples even though she didn't look that old. She had keen eyes and a sharp smile. She was someone who wasn't imposing until you caught a glimpse of those eyes, and then they cut you straight through.

"Nancy. It's so good to see you."

The two women greeted each other with a warm handshake.