“And forward,” he murmured in my ear, his hands directing me. His cock nestled right up against my ass as my knee came forward and up.
We stayed there for long seconds, me balanced on one leg and supported by his hands, his body molded to my back. I could feel every slow breath he took.
“You know I didn’t want to kiss him,” I whispered. “I mean: not at all. I didn’t go out there for that. I don’t even like him.”
I felt his slow nod... and with it, a shift in his body as he relaxed. He had been jealous, and hurt.
I lowered my leg and turned to face him, looking up into his eyes. The tension had never been this thick, this heavy in the air. I realized we were breathing in time. I could see the struggle in his eyes: he did want me... and he was straining against whatever it was holding him back. I saw his hands flex and then tighten into white-knuckled fists. He’s having to force himself not to grab me.
Very deliberately, he took a step back. The air that rushed in to fill the gap between us was freezing. His eyes said, we can’t.
And I felt my own eyes go hot. I turned away before the frustration and hurt could spill over. I knew it was something inside him, or maybe the gulf between us, not me... but that didn’t stop it feeling like a rejection.
“Why did you go out there with him?” Kian asked. His low voice vibrated through me, those slivers of shining Irish making the back of my neck prickle and my breath catch.
“It was Kerrigan,” I said.
“Kerrigan?”
I took a step away from him—I had to, or I was just going to throw myself at that big, strong chest and wrap my arms around him. I shook off the scarlet fog of lust in my brain—I had to physically shake my head to clear it and even then, when I answered, my voice was strained. “I went out there to listen to him on the phone.”
Kian gave me a look.
“He didn’t know! Giggs was my... cover.” It sounded stupid, now. “It worked! I heard him!”
Kian nodded and crossed his arms. “Okay... what did you hear?”
I looked up into those clear blue eyes and opened my mouth... then hesitated. It sounded ridiculous. He was going to laugh at me... or think I was crazy. That’s why I hadn’t said anything, until now.
He tilted his head to the side. “What?”
I looked at my feet. A second later, he took a pace towards me and I felt his warm finger under my chin, tilting my head back up. His voice was low and serious, but with just enough teasing to make me smile. “If you build up to it like that and then don’t tell me, I’m going to take you over my bloody knee.”
I stared up at him. He wasn’t going to laugh at me. He was the one person who wouldn’t.
I took a deep breath and let it out. “I heard him talking to a guy, telling him to go ahead with the next piece of business.”
“Okay...” said Kian.
“But—and I know this sounds crazy—”
He nodded and waited, his patience helping me through my nerves.
I took a deep breath and then said it in a rush. “The guy he was talking to was the second shooter from the park.”
I watched him go through a whole range of emotions. Incredulity. Disbelief. Fear... for me. He finally put his big hands on my shoulders and said, “You’re sure?”
I nodded. Saying it out loud had made me even more certain. “I’ve heard that voice over and over in my head, ever since the attack. Definitely him.”
Kian turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He took a few slow breaths as he gazed around the room. “Fuck,” he said at last.
“That was my reaction, too.”
Kian rubbed his chin, then scowled. I got the feeling he missed his stubble. “You know what this means?”
I shook my head. “Don’t say it.” It was too big, too shattering. I’d tried to go there in my head several times since the party and I just couldn’t—my brain refused to process it. I sat down on my bed, pulled my legs up and hugged my knees.
“Kerrigan’s—”
“Don’t.” I buried my face in my knees. “It’s crazy.”
“Kerrigan’s working with the Brothers of Freedom.”
I could feel him looking at me. I lifted my head just enough to look up at him. “I must be wrong,” I said. “It must have been some guy with a really similar voice.”
He stared right back at me. “Are you wrong?”
I thought about it... willed it not to be true. But the certainty was iron-hard, had been since the second I’d heard the voice again. “... no,” I said in a small voice. Saying that one word was like casting a spell. The temperature seemed to drop by several degrees—goosebumps stood out on my bare arms.
The White House didn’t feel safe, anymore. Kerrigan had brought the danger right inside.
Kian let out a long breath and leaned against my closet. “Fuck,” he said again. He stared off into space as he worked through the implications.
I was growing colder and colder. I’d never felt so alone in my life. “What are we going to do?” I asked. And then realized I’d said we when I meant I.
Kian looked right at me and I suddenly realized it was we after all. A little glow of warmth bloomed into life right in the center of my chest. “We need to go to your dad,” he said. “Right now.”
I shook my head. “We don’t have any evidence. You’re the one who warned me about causing an incident and embarrassing my dad.”
“That was when we were talking about Kerrigan wanting to turn America into a police state. That’s politics: this is actual crime. Jesus, we’re talking treason here, he’s involved with terrorists! And if they’re planning something else....”
I shook my head again. “No. Listen to what we’re saying. Its nuts.”
He hunkered down so that he was at my eye level. “Truth is, if we follow this thing to the logical conclusion, it's worse.” He took a deep breath. “The guys at the park—they weren’t militia thugs, they were ex-military. The sort of guys Rexortech has thousands of. And the attack in the park gave Kerrigan exactly the excuse he needed to push the Guardian Act. Put it all together: I don’t think Kerrigan’s just working with the Brothers of Freedom; I think he set them up.”
I stared at him. I knew it made sense, but I didn’t want to believe it, not even of Kerrigan.
The Vice President was responsible for the attack in the park. For six deaths. For me getting shot.
“We can’t go to my dad,” I said. “We can’t. Not without any evidence.”
“Emily….”
“No!” I was so worked up, it didn’t even hit me that he’d called me Emily. “Put yourself in my position. Everybody already thinks I’m crazy—”
“They don’t.”
“They do! Think about how this’ll look: messed up woman accuses the VP of treason. No one’ll believe it and—” I broke off and swallowed, choking back a sob. “What if I am wrong? What if it wasn’t his voice, what if it’s just my mind playing tricks on me?”
He sat down beside me on the bed, the mattress sinking under his muscled bulk. I’d leaned forward, my hair falling over my face like a curtain, but suddenly his big, warm hand was there, fingers sliding between the strands and pushing it back. “I don’t believe that,” he said softly. He left his hand there, palm nestled against my cheek, and I could feel his strength throbbing into me.
“I wake up,” I whispered, “every night clutching at my throat because I felt it cut, or grabbing at my chest because I felt the bullet go through, or—” Tears sprang to my eyes. “Or I’m curled into a ball because I’ve just lived through them stripping me and—”
His hand slid from my cheek. He wrapped his arm around my back and hugged me into his side. His whole body had tensed with anger, every muscle rock hard. I leaned across him, resting the back of my head against his chest. “I think I am crazy,” I whispered. “You’ve helped me cope. But I don’t know if I can trust myself anymore. We need proof. I need to know I’m right before we tell anyone.”
/>
I felt his nod. “Okay,” he said at last. “How do we get proof?”
“He told them to use S32. Like it was a place.” I shook my head. “I’ve got this feeling... I recognize that from somewhere but I don’t know where. It’s been going round and round in my head. I’ll keep thinking about it.”
He nodded again. “We’ve got one thing on our side: Kerrigan doesn’t know anyone suspects.”
Shit.
He must have felt me tense up because he pushed me back so that he could look at me. “What?”
“When you beat up Giggs... Kerrigan heard all the noise and came to look.”
“You think he knows you heard?”
I slowly nodded. “Maybe.”
Kian put his hands on my shoulders again. This time, he gave them a squeeze. When he spoke, his voice was more scared than I’d ever heard it—scared not for him but for me. “You have to be very, very careful. Don’t go near Kerrigan. No more digging into stuff on your own.”
“You think he’d hurt me?” As soon as I’d said it, realization hit and I closed my eyes. Of course he would. If I was right about all this, he’d already plotted to have me killed at the park. That whole brutal attack, just to scare the public into accepting the goddamn Guardian Act. My stomach suddenly twisted. Kerrigan had already gotten most of the country on his side—how much worse would it have been if I’d been killed along with the six others? The President’s daughter, slain by terrorists... a big public funeral... there would have been outrage. And my dad, grief-stricken, would have gotten behind the bill himself.
That’s why Kerrigan had targeted me. It was the one way he could get my dad on his side, the only way he could guarantee his bill got passed. It would have worked, if Kian hadn’t been there.
I opened my eyes and nodded to Kian that I understood. I could see the pain in his eyes: like he’d trade places with me in a heartbeat if he could. “I’ll stay away from Kerrigan,” I said.
Kian nodded and rose, then turned to face me. “It’s late,” he said. “I should go.”
I checked my phone and it was after midnight—I’d lost track of time. “You should go,” I agreed. And then, for some reason, I stood up and took a step towards him. I was almost touching him, chin already lifting, when I realized I’d been moving instinctively to kiss him goodbye. That’s how strong it was, between us: I couldn’t bear to just let him go.
He looked down at me, those big blue eyes infinitely sad. And he shook his head. We can’t.
‘You do... like me?” I asked, a lump in my throat.
His eyes widened, as if aghast that I’d doubt it. “Jesus!” He looked away for a second and I could see him fighting with it, the words difficult to say after so many weeks spent bottling them up. Then he looked right at me. “Yes!” he blurted. “I’m so into you it would scare you, if you knew how much.”
I bit my lip. “Then tell me why,” I whispered. “I know it’s not just the job. I know it’s something that happened to you. Tell me.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then shook his head and looked away. “Doesn’t matter what it was,” The Irish was thick in his voice, now.
“It does!”
“It doesn’t!” He took my hands and squeezed, then sighed. “I’m not someone who can do…”—he indicated me and him—”this.” And he turned, pulling roughly away from me, and opened the door.
“I don’t want you to go,” I said. I wrapped my arms around me, suddenly cold.
He hesitated on the threshold. “I’ll be right outside the door,” he said. And he was gone.
I leaned against the door and stared at the white-painted wood, not seeing it. I saw him, outside, standing there staring back at me, hands folded behind his back.
The feelings were too strong, out of control. This can’t go on.
I was right. The next day, those feelings exploded.
Kian
Fuck. I strode down the hallway towards the residence, slamming my feet down as if each step was a curse screamed at the top of my lungs. But no matter how hard I stamped, the soft carpet absorbed the noise. I was powerless.
It was the next day and I’d spent all morning in a Secret Service briefing with Miller. The President was due to give a speech at the Museum of Natural History that night: not a big event, but it still needed a lot of planning. Miller didn’t bother to hide his anger at having been overruled by the President—he wanted me gone for hitting a senator and he let me know it, treating me like an idiot pupil for the entire three hour briefing: have you got that, O’Harra? O’Harra, is that clear? And instead of taking a swing at him, I’d had to suck it up and stay calm. I was on my last warning and Emily needed me now more than ever.
Emily.
I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head since that first day I met her, but now it was much, much worse. It wasn’t just the raw, hot lust anymore: Camp David and her nightmare and now being the only one she’d told about Kerrigan... we were getting closer and closer. She was opening up to me and part of me wanted her to, even as the rest of me screamed that I was being a moron, because I couldn’t do the same for her.
I’d dreamed from the start of grabbing her and kissing her, tearing her clothes off and burying myself deep inside her. That, I understood. But this... I was addicted to listening to her voice, smelling her scent, I was addicted to just looking at her, drinking her in in big thirsty gulps from the second she opened her bedroom door to the second it closed. I wanted to be with her, had crazy dreams of running away together, not just keeping her safe but being happy together. As if I was a regular guy, who could have all that.
More than anything else, I wanted to be that guy. Not some rich guy who could shower her with millions, not the sort of guy her mom wanted her to marry. Just a regular, unfucked guy who could have a life with her. The rage had started the instant I’d left her room, a slow twisting that I knew would build and build. I’d barely slept and then had to suffer Miller’s patronizing briefing. Now the anger was spinning at hurricane speed, a white-hot monster that was slowly shredding what was left of my self control. Walking it off was not working.
I thought of those big green eyes looking up at me, begging me to stay. I thought of the feel of her against me when we’d sat on her bed. I thought of the silk of her hair between my fingertips.
I’d never felt this way about any woman. But it always came back to the same thing: I couldn’t have her. I wanted to scream, but this was the White House: I couldn’t do so much as a growl. Goddammit!
I couldn’t go to her in this state: I’d do something stupid. I veered off and went to the little break room at the entrance to the residence, where agents can grab a coffee. I grabbed a mug, put it under the spout, mashed the button for black coffee and listened to the grind and hiss and—
I grabbed the mug and hurled it at the wall. There was an almighty crash as it shattered. Shards of white bone china printed with the black Secret Service logo rained down. The coffee machine hissed angrily as it shot coffee into the drip tray.
I heard a Secret Service agent run in behind me. “What the fuck?” he asked.
I turned and glared at him. “I dropped a mug,” I said in a voice that told him not to argue.
He backed out of the room.
Fuck. I was almost panting with anger, completely out of control. The rage was spinning so fast that everything was a blur. What the hell am I going to do? I couldn’t be near her anymore. If I so much as saw her, let alone touched her, I’d be lost. But what was I meant to do: call in sick? She needed me.
I marched down the hallway towards her room. A couple of other agents were coming the other way, but they sidestepped and pressed themselves back against the wall as I stormed past. And then I was at her door. I reached for the handle. Jesus, my hand was shaking.
I can’t do this.
I have to do this.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. You’ve done it before: when she’d emerged from the pool at Camp David,
her skin slippery-wet; when I’d felt her lithe hips under my palms, teaching her self-defense; when she’d stood there in that red dress in the garden, wide-eyed as I’d torn Senator Giggs away from her, and I’d just wanted to kiss the hell out of her….
I opened my eyes. I could do this. It wouldn’t be so bad: it was the middle of the day, we weren’t going to do anything, she might not even need anything right now and I could go away and calm down—
I knocked and heard her soft Texas voice tell me to come in. I opened the door wide, looking at the floor as I entered to give me an extra few seconds to get myself together, and—
I looked up to find her standing there half-naked.
She was in a shimmering blue evening gown, on at the front, but the back was unzipped all the way down to the top of her ass. She was facing away from me and all I could focus on was the long, elegant curve of her naked back.
There was a single thread of my self-control left, hair-thin but strong. The sight of her back made it glow red hot like an overloaded wire. “I... knocked,” I growled.
“It’s okay.” I finally looked up into her face. She was looking back over her shoulder at me and I could see it in her eyes: she was as desperate as I was.
Step away. Leave the room.
“I can’t get the zipper,” she said, turning to show me. “I need both hands to hold the damn thing up.” She showed me the loose fabric that formed the front of the thing. She was right: if she let go, the whole thing was just going to fall around her hips. And she wasn’t wearing a bra....
I stepped closer. She lifted her hair up out of the way, exposing the bare skin of her neck. Suddenly, I could smell her, that scent that drove me crazy, warm skin and the wind whipping across huge, open plains. She smelled like freedom, tempting me from my prison. My head spun. The rage—at my situation, at myself—super-heated my lust.
Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) Page 13
