So normally it’s three drinks. But tonight it was four because I was mad. I’d been about to leave the bar when the TV had flicked to a recap of last night’s clusterfuck outside the concert. I’d watched as the Secret Service agents tried to calm Emily down and then finally bundled her into the car, watched by about a million people. It wasn’t that they’d reacted particularly badly, given that they’d been taken by surprise. It was that they’d been taken by surprise at all. Why couldn’t they see that something was wrong the second she climbed out of the limo? I’d seen it written all over her face. Hell, why was she even at an event like that? Clearly she wasn’t ready. I imagined how terrified she must have been, to bolt like that, and my guts twisted.
Hence the fourth drink. It helped me slide away from a sensation I didn’t want to ever feel again: the feeling of watching someone you care about get hurt.
Stupid. I barely knew her.
So why hadn’t I been able to get her out of my head since the park?
I lived a pretty simple life. I got up—usually not before noon—met the asshole who thought he needed protection, stayed by his side all evening and saw him back to his five-star hotel room and then went down to the bar. Sometimes it was DC and sometimes it was New York and sometimes it was even Sao Paulo or Paris or London. But five-star hotels are pretty much five-star hotels the world over. So are their bars and so are the women I found in them. Female executives traveling on business: single, lonely, with no time to date outside work and terrified of dating someone inside work and risking “complicating things.” Sex with me was uncomplicated. They knew they’d never see me again, that I wouldn’t show up at their corporate headquarters and embarrass them. There was never any pretense that it was anything other than a one night thing. We hooked up, had fun and I was gone long before the sun rose. That had always done me just fine until this last month.
Now, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about soft, mahogany hair. About a body that was just the right combination of hard and soft with a rounded ass my palms had caressed a million times in my mind. I only had to think of those soft pink lips and I was instantly hard. All of which at least kind of made sense: Emily was hot as hell.
What didn’t make sense was that I kept thinking about her energy, too, that spark that lit up rooms. I wanted to see her smile again. I wanted to see her laugh. I wanted to make her laugh. When I’d seen her on TV, outside the concert, she’d looked not just deathly afraid but different, as if the life had been sucked right out of her. That bothered me on a much deeper level, one that I hadn’t felt in years. One I hadn’t thought I even still possessed.
It killed me that she’d been hurt. Not just the physical wound: that would heal. But the damage I could see all too clearly when I watched her freeze, turn and finally run. I recognized that sort of damage.
I was intimately familiar with it.
And the fact it had happened to someone as sweet and good as Emily tore me apart. I’d failed her. If I’d gotten to her sooner, if I’d been able to get her out of the park instead of being forced to take cover….
I downed the fourth drink and got a fifth. But I still clocked the Secret Service agent as soon as he walked in. I didn’t recognize him but I knew the suit, the coat, the earpiece. Then his buddy joined him and they came over to my table.
“I’ve already given a statement,” I told them. “More than one. The cops, the FBI, you guys... how many times do you want me to go through it?”
“That’s not why we’re here, sir,” said the first one. The sir confused me because they were Secret Service and they must have known who I used to be... and what happened to me. I looked closer and... yep, their faces were carefully neutral but I could see the barely-contained sneers in their eyes. They hated me, as I’d expected. The fact they were being polite must mean they were here under orders....
No way.
“She’s outside, sir,” confirmed the second one.
Part of me wanted to tell them where to go, just to piss them off. But the chance to see her again easily overrode my ego. I slowly stood and followed them to the parking lot.
Three black SUVs were there. They searched me and confiscated my gun: I glared at them but didn’t argue. And then they opened the rear door of the center SUV and there she was, sitting in the middle of that huge backseat looking even smaller and more vulnerable than I remembered her.
“Hi,” said Emily.
Kian
I slid onto the seat next to her and the agent outside slammed the door. The driver stayed in place up front, in case we needed to get out of there quickly, but he was behind a layer of glass and couldn’t hear us. Outside, the agents faced outward, watching for threats... but they glanced over their shoulders to let me know I was being watched, too.
“Ma’am,” I said cautiously.
“You’re not on duty now,” she said. “Emily.”
Emily. I wanted to say it. I wanted to whisper it, pant it, growl it. But down that road lay disaster. I just nodded.
“I never got a chance to thank you,” she said. Her hands were twisting together in her lap, her fingers never still. Even in a bulletproof SUV, surrounded by agents, she was scared witless. How hard had it been for her to come all the way out here, to this dive of a place?
“Not necessary,” I told her. I didn’t say I’m glad you’re okay because she wasn’t. Clearly, she wasn’t.
I’d seen it on TV but I’d hoped it had just been momentary. Now, in the flesh, I could see the change in her. That energy I liked so much had gone, the light cruelly extinguished. She looked more fragile. And she didn’t light up the room, anymore. She hid, even when you were looking right at her.
That didn’t change her beauty but it changed how I reacted to it. Before, she’d been so damn pretty it had hurt. That face, that body... they brought out an animal need in me to grab her and kiss her harder than I’d ever kissed anyone, tear that white blouse off her button by button and then start working my way all the way up those long legs with my lips. But I liked her way too much to make her a one night stand and I couldn’t offer anything else... not anymore. So it had hurt, knowing that I could never have her.
Now, though, it was different. Now, it was goddamn heartbreaking. The fear was owning her, draining the life from her and making her shy away from everyone. I hadn’t kidded myself she could be mine... but the way she was spiraling downward, she wasn’t going to get to be happy with anyone, even the asshole oil tycoon I’d imagined her with.
It wasn’t fair. She’d done nothing wrong. She hadn’t asked to be born into this life and these risks.
I knew I was staring at her, losing myself in those soft green eyes. But I couldn’t stop. I figured this was probably the last time I’d ever see her and part of me wanted to just selfishly drink in as much of her as I could.
Meanwhile, she was staring right back at me. I could feel her fear easing, like when you pet a nervous animal and it slowly stills. Except I wasn’t touching her. I wasn’t doing a damn thing except being near her. And the longer we looked at each other, the more I could feel a different kind of tension building. Part of me wanted to warn her off, to tell her that she had no idea what she was getting into.
Part of me just wanted to dive across that seat, push her back on the upholstery and own her.
“How did you find me, anyway?” I asked. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
She swallowed. “I didn’t. The agents asked at your apartment building. Then we went around the bars people suggested. This is the fourth we’ve tried.”
She must have been cruising around the neighborhood for a full hour, all while scared out of her mind. However strong of a hold the fear had on her, she wasn’t giving up easily. “All just to say thank you?” I asked, deliberately gruff.
“No. Not just to say thank you.” She looked right into my eyes and something passed between us. We both knew, in that second. We glimpsed the future: tangled sheets and clothes torn off, kisses so deep and g
oddamn desperate you don’t want to stop to come up for air. It was like looking down into a ravine. The sensible thing would be to turn around and walk away from the edge; the sensible thing would have been to get out of the car.
Neither of us moved. I’ve never felt so helplessly drawn to anyone my entire life. I watched as she finally dropped her gaze, the car so quiet I could hear every breath she took, and I knew she felt the exact same way.
“I need protection,” she said. And lifted her gaze to see my reaction.
She was right. Unlike all those assholes I’d been guarding, she actually did need someone. Not just from the physical danger, although that was definitely true. From the fear. She was sinking fast into a blackness I’d seen claim too many good people—a blackness that claimed me, in a different way. She didn’t just need safety, she needed protection and she needed it on a deep, base level, the only level that could counteract the fear.
I understood that, because my need to protect her was just as basic, just as primal. And I knew that I couldn’t.
I could look after assholes in suits all day long because I didn’t care about them. I’d do my job, even take a bullet for them if I had to, but I didn’t feel anything for them. That was the way it had to be. I’d made that decision a long time ago, learning twice that caring for someone brought nothing but pain. I wasn’t going to make that mistake a third time. And I knew that being around Emily for any length of time was going to end with me caring way, way too much for her.
“You’ve got the Secret Service,” I told her. “That’s their job.” Then, despite the bitter taste rising in my mouth, I managed to add, “They’re the best in the world.”
“I don’t want the Secret Service,” she said. “I want you.”
Those final three words, in that wonderfully soft voice, almost burned through what was left of my self control. I could almost feel the fabric of her skirt under my palms: I’d grab her and pull her along the seat towards me so she flopped down on her back, mahogany hair streaming down over the edge of the seat like a waterfall. I’d hunker down atop her, one leg sliding between her thighs, making her gasp into my mouth as she felt the hard bulge at my groin. Then those soft lips would be under mine and—
Maybe I’d hear that gorgeous voice whoop and holler after all.
I forced the sound of her screaming her orgasm out of my head. “There are rules about this stuff,” I told her. “The President’s family is guarded by the Secret Service. I’m just a private contractor.”
She twisted a little more in her seat so that she was facing me more fully. That meant crossing her legs and the hem of her skirt rose a half-inch or so. Damn it, how could she manage to be so innocent and earnest and sexy as hell?
Her next words cleared all those thoughts from my mind. “But you used to be Secret Service.”
I think my mouth actually dropped open. “You dug into my background?” I felt the anger start and not just the usual slow-burning resentment over what happened. This was sharper and fresher, making my face heat.
Shame. I didn’t want her knowing. I wanted to be perfect in her eyes, which is so ridiculous it would have been laughable if it hadn’t hurt so much.
“I read up on you, yeah,” she said, crossing her arms. “I could pull some strings and get you reinstated.”
I sat there and stewed for a few seconds. Okay, so she knew. Nothing I could do about it now. And at least it provided a way out of this whole thing. “If you’ve read up on me, you know they don’t want me back,” I told her. “I got anger management issues.”
“You don’t seem angry.” She stared at me with those big, innocent eyes.
“Well, you’ve never seen me upset.”
We locked eyes again and, just to make her drop the whole thing, I let her see just a hint of that anger that burned inside me. Not just the surface stuff from what happened with the Secret Service, but the stuff from deep down inside, the stuff that’s so dark and thickly black it has no shape, no detail, just a boiling mass that’ll obliterate anything it touches.
I waited for her to back off. It always works. I’ve had Russian gangsters and Mexican drug lords take a step back when I give them that look. And at first, I thought it had worked on her, too. She shrank back, her eyes growing even bigger, and I felt bad.
But then it all went wrong. She rallied and leaned in towards me again and the look in her eyes was—
No! I don’t need your sympathy, dammit!
I closed my eyes and turned away, groping for the door handle. “Answer’s no,” I growled.
Emily
I put my hand out, but hesitated just before I touched him. God, he was so big, and right now every muscle was hard under his shirt. I’d gotten him angry and right now he put me in mind of one of the bulls back on my dad’s ranch when I was a kid. Once they got riled up, it was really dangerous to go near them.
There was another problem, too. Ever since he’d climbed into the car, I’d been trying to focus, trying to drag my mind away from fantasizing about what it would be like to touch him again. I hadn’t admitted to myself, until I saw him, just how deeply those blue eyes and those thick, sculpted forearms had etched themselves into my mind. It was only when I saw him again in the flesh that I realized how much I’d been replaying the memories... and the memories didn’t do him justice. He’d seemed big outdoors, at the park, but here in this confined space he seemed huge. He was wearing an eggshell-blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and the contrast between the blue and the tanned, hard flesh of his arms was amazing. The attraction was so strong it was almost frightening, as if just looking at him short-circuited every rational part of my brain. Did I actually dare to touch him?
He shifted his weight on the seat, about to push the door open and climb out. Did I dare not to?
I reached out and brushed my fingertips against his shoulder. He was incredible: so solid, powerful muscle bunched and taut under warm skin. I felt him stiffen at my touch…and then he relaxed. Only minutely and he let out a little hiss of frustration as it happened, as if he didn’t want to relax, as if his body was obeying me despite his wishes. He was fighting it: I’d bought myself a second or two, then he’d be out of the car and gone.
“I can’t sleep,” I blurted.
He said nothing. He was still gripping the handle and the door was open a half-inch. I could see a couple of Secret Service agents turn towards the car, unsure whether my visitor was about to leave.
“I can’t go out,” I said. “I’m not just scared: I can’t. I can’t make my feet move to walk towards a crowd. I can’t function like this. And it’s getting worse.”
He was still facing away from me but, if I angled my head just right, I could glimpse his reflection in the door’s glass. His jaw was set and I could see that massive chest rise and fall as he drew in angry, shuddering breaths. I knew I should be scared of him, especially when he was in this mood. He could twist around and lash out with one of those big fists and just one hit would be enough to do me serious damage. But I wasn’t scared. I don’t know why, but I had this deep, unshakeable certainty that he’d never, ever hurt me.
“I’m sorry I dug into your background,” I told him. I meant it. As soon as I’d seen the pain in his eyes, I’d regretted it... and I’d just wanted to take that pain away. “But I needed to know if you could help me. I think you can.”
Still he didn’t turn around. But in the reflection in the glass, I saw him close his eyes.
“I have nightmares and, when I wake up, I can still feel them. I can feel the knife going in or the bullet hitting me or the rope they’re using to strangle me.” I swallowed. “Sometimes, they do worse things. I wake up and I can still feel the guy on top of me—”
He suddenly snapped around to face me, eyes open, and gave me a look of pure, murderous rage that made the hint I’d seen before seem like nothing. It was so fierce, so uncontrolled and base, I felt it as a scalding heat against my skin. But again, it didn’t feel frightening because
it didn’t feel like it was me he was mad at. It was like walking into a nuclear blast, gale-force winds made of fire that would annihilate everything in their path... but the energy was directed around me, slamming into the faceless men who pursued me and turning them to ash. The mere idea of someone hurting me, violating me, even in a dream, was enough to make him want to kill.
And that was exactly what I needed. It was the first time since the park that I hadn’t felt totally alone. I stared right back at him as all that rage flooded around me and prayed that he understood.
Kian let out a long, slow breath as his anger cooled, his eyes never leaving mine. And just for a second, I saw it in his gaze: he did understand.
But then he pushed open the door, bathing me in night air that felt shockingly cold. He was out of the car so fast I barely had time to react. I lunged across the seat after him, already missing the closeness.
“Okay,” he muttered, already turning to walk away.
“Okay?” I echoed.
“Talk to the Secret Service,” he said without turning around. “If you can get me reinstated, I’ll do it.” He wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t let me see his expression.
I swallowed. “Thank you, Kian.”
He took a deep breath. “Ma’am.”
And he was gone.
Kian
What the hell am I doing?
It was dawn. I’d gotten the call the night before, just one day after Emily had sought me out, telling me to report for duty that morning at eight. I needed to get going if I was going to make it on time. But….
But I looked at the guy staring back at me from the mirror and just shook my head grimly. I hadn’t been right for the Secret Service back then. I sure as hell wasn’t now. None of it fitted: not the big, muscled body, not the tattoos I’d picked up in the Marines, not the gleam of resentful anger in my eyes, like a burner turned to low. I couldn’t even imagine taking orders again. Not from them.
Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) Page 5
