The Sweet Thief

by Temple Madison

“Where, for god’s sake?” Griff yelled as he shook the agent.

  “I’m sorry, s-sir.” The agent looked at Griff as if he’d lost his mind. “I don’t know.”

  “You agents are nothing but a bunch of jackasses,” Griff hissed, as he released his collar, then pushed the agent backward.

  “Yes, sir,” the agent said as he rubbed his neck and stretched it.

  Griff reached the door and turned. “Next time, I’ll expect you to be more informed, Jack.”

  “Jake, sir.” The agent strained forward, yelling at Griff as he left. “My name’s Jake.”

  “You’ll always be Jack to me,” Griff murmured sarcastically as he slammed out and hurried back to his room. He quickly threw on some clothes, then called for the limousine. When he slammed into it, he asked the chauffeur, “Where is my wife speaking tonight?”

  “Embassy Suites, sir.”

  “Get me there as fast as you can.”

  He looked around puzzled. “Isn’t Chase...”

  “I ducked him. I don’t need any goddamned shadow everywhere I go.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After a ride that seemed to take forever, they pulled into the circular drive of the prestigious hotel. When Griff slammed out of the limousine, the chauffeur promptly followed behind him. Griff quickly whirled on him. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “With you, sir.”

  “Stay by the limo unless you want your front teeth for Christmas.”

  The chauffeur gulped. “What-whatever you say, sir.”

  Griff rushed into the hotel that seemed to be almost vacant. A hush filled the air.

  Where the hell was everyone?

  He looked around for a moment, then saw a sign on a tripod that listed the events taking place that night and in what public rooms they were being held. He was puzzled when he saw a large red Cancelled sign stamped over every one. As he examined it closer, he saw a note that said these meetings were cancelled in lieu of hearing the First Lady speak in the Presidential Ballroom.

  “Where the hell is the Presidential Ballroom?” he muttered to himself, then looked around when he heard the soft sound of laughing voices and a smattering of applause.

  Finding himself almost in front of the room, he strode down the hall quickly and stared at two closed doors. When he pulled on them, they opened easily, and he could hear her voice echoing through the microphones. He slipped in unnoticed and couldn’t believe the crowd that was there. He had to elbow his way past the standing-room-only crowd as best he could, and since everyone’s attention was on Lorelei, no one noticed him. He carefully scanned the platform and saw Dash standing against the curtain watching the people in case of trouble.

  Dash doesn’t know it yet—but trouble just walked in.

  Griff began a determined stride down the aisle, each step bringing him closer and closer to the platform. Slowly, he got the attention of the audience, and a loud buzz erupted from the curious spectators. He stopped about midway down the narrow walkway and shouted out loud, interrupting Lorelei’s speech. “May I ask Madam President a question?”

  Lorelei paused and turned her eyes toward him. Then her mouth dropped open.

  Dash was immediately at her side. “Do you want me to handle this?”

  “No, it’s okay, I can handle it.” She had whispered, but the mikes had picked it up. “Yes,” she said out loud in a steady voice. “Of course.”

  “You’ve been causing quite a stir in Washington. How has it affected your husband?”

  “My husband,” she said the words sarcastically. “... couldn’t care less.”

  “You mean he doesn’t care about where you go and what you do?”

  Whispering voices rose and fell.

  “My husband only cares about two things—himself, and how long it’ll be before he gets another woman into his bed.”

  Griff wasn’t prepared for her candid answer, so, slightly embarrassed, he glanced around and saw the heads of the audience turn toward him and then to each other with a murmur. A host of photographers had pushed through the crowd and surrounded Griff. They rushed around taking pictures of both him and Lorelei at different angles, but he paid them no mind.

  When Griff had regained his composure, he continued. “You paint a pretty grim picture of your husband. Aren’t you being a little hard on him?”

  “Not harder than he’s been on me. Now if you’re through with your questions—”

  “But I’m not through.”

  Lorelei licked her lips, then glanced around uneasily at the audience. “As I was saying—”

  “You say he’s been hard on you,” Griff persisted. “In what way?”

  Lorelei hesitated, then looked back over at Griff, her eyes slowly filling with tears. “He’s lied, he’s cheated, he’s humiliated me and even cheapened me.”

  “Doesn’t sound as if he cares.”

  “No,” she sobbed. Tears flooded her eyes and crept slowly down her cheeks. “No... he doesn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lorelei’s trembling lips opened, but she struggled to speak. “He told me...” The microphone carried her sobbing voice to the darkest corners of the room. “On our honeymoon.”

  “Tell me, do you love your husband?”

  “I did once, but he killed it,” she answered as everyone looked on with rapt attention. “I went to him with love and he stepped on it, ground it into the dirt. And then...” She hesitated, then leaned forward and spoke clearly into the microphone. “The bastard rubbed my face in it!”

  Tears swam in Griff’s eyes, and when he responded, his voice cracked in an emotional whisper. “Would it help to say I’m sorry?”

  The drone of the audience lifted, and cameras flashed like lightning bolts.

  “It would have once, but not now. Th-They’re just words,” Lorelei retorted, wiping at her tears. “Empty words.”

  “Please give me a chance,” Griff pleaded. “You have to understand. This is... well, it’s something new to me.” His voice dropped and became shaded with love. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  Her gaze shifted toward him, the tears gleaming in the lights. “Like what? Tell me how you feel.”

  “I can’t describe it. I feel like I’ve been running... running from a feeling I don’t understand.”

  Just then, someone apprehended Griff from behind, jarring him.

  “Let him go!” Lorelei shouted through the microphones. When they began dragging Griff out, she shouted again, louder. “I said, let him go!”

  Dash was instantly beside her with his gun drawn and pointed toward the ceiling. A shot rang out, and then he grabbed the microphone and shouted into it. “Madam President said to let him go!”

  When Griff was abruptly released, he looked at Dash standing beside Lorelei and pointed up at him angrily. “That bastard is just using you!”

  Lorelei grabbed the microphone back. “And that makes him different from you, how?”

  “Well, b-because I... I...”

  “Come on, Griff, say it. I dare you.”

  After hesitating and sputtering badly, he lifted his hands toward her and said, “I love you.” As soon as he said it, a thunderous applause lifted from the audience, causing him to feel stronger, more determined. With a sudden lunge, he began a determined stride down the aisle, knocking the photographers and news media aside. When he got to the platform, he ran up the steps two at a time and found Dash blocking his way. Griff reached out and roughly pushed Dash aside. “Move over, sonny, and let a man through.” He was on his way toward Lorelei when Dash’s hand pulled at his shoulder. He turned around and grabbed Dash’s collar. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, junior?” When Griff’s fist met Dash’s chin, he tumbled hard down the steps. Then Griff turned and grabbed Lorelei, lifting her up over his shoulder.

  “Sorry, everyone,” he said grabbing the microphone. “But the show is over.”

  Lorelei screamed, and the media swarmed them. The flashbulbs flashe
d incessantly and humming mini-cams popped up everywhere.

  As Griff neared the exit doors, Lorelei screamed again. “Dash, no! Don’t!”

  Griff turned his head just in time to see Dash close at their heels, lowering his drawn gun.

  Griff threw the outside doors open, and while holding his struggling wife in his arms, he hurried toward the limousine while trying to get past a persistent photographer walking backward in Griff’s path, clicking his camera in quick succession. “Get out of my way!” Griff bellowed. When the photographer persisted, he shifted Lorelei around, brutally grabbed the photographer’s collar and shoved him against the rough brick wall. With a dangerous snarl curling his lips, he leaned into the photographer’s face and groused, “If I have to say it again, I’ll bury you.”

  Griff let go of him abruptly, unbalancing the photographer and sending him to the ground. Griff then pushed Lorelei into the back seat of the vehicle, struggling with her as she continued to scream and claw at him wildly. In the middle of their scuffle a rough hand grabbed at his shoulder, and he turned and saw Dash. He brutally pushed his hand in the agent’s face, sending him staggering backward to the ground. “You can find your own damned way,” he yelled at him, then closed the door, and barked at the chauffeur to go.

  * * * *

  Back at the White House—

  “Well, I hope you’re happy!” Lorelei yelled at Griff as she paced up and down in his bedroom. She pointed toward the blaring TV. “Every goddamned station in the city is talking about how you kidnapped me from the Embassy Suites, and what an ass you made of yourself.” She saw Tula moving her things into Griff’s bedroom. “That stuff goes back!” she yelled at the tired maid while pointing at her room.

  Tula stopped in her tracks and shot a questioning look at Griff.

  “It’s okay, Tula. You can do it later.”

  “She will not do it later, Griff. I’m not moving in here today, tomorrow or ever.”

  Griff heard a shuffling noise and looked up.

  Dash stood in the doorway. He looked at Lorelei. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said softly.

  “Do you want me to wait?”

  “Hell no, she doesn’t want you to wait!” Griff yelled, jumping to his feet. “You don’t have to be with her every second, Dash. She’s with her husband now, so she couldn’t be safer!”

  Dash purposely ignored Griff and waited for a nod from Lorelei, then left.

  “That goddamned arrogant bum.” Griff turned toward Lorelei. “What the hell does he think I’m gonna do to you?”

  “Well, after the display at the Embassy Suites, I’m sure he’s just taking precautions.”

  “Speaking of precautions... did you or he...”

  “Oh, shut up. I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Well, I sure as hell don’t want any blond-headed brat runnin’ around here makin’ my life miserable.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She turned abruptly and looked at him with fire in her eyes and pointed toward a window. “How many little Griff Nyles do you think might be runnin’ around out there? Probably enough to populate another planet, you bastard, and you’re worried about my one little fling?” She turned to leave. “Go to hell!”

  Griff reached out and caught her arm. “Don’t leave.”

  “Why? You want to yell at me some more? Embarrass me, maybe? Make me feel cheap, degraded, or just plain rejected?”

  “I want to...” He struggled to say what was on his mind.

  She looked at him. “Well, what?”

  “I... well, I thought we could...”

  Lorelei glanced toward the bed. “Forget it, Griff. A good book and a bottle of champagne is waiting for me.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “My god, you don’t want us to sleep together?”

  “No... I mean yes. Sure, you know I do, but that’s not what I was going to suggest.”

  “Then what the hell is it, Griff? Spit it out, for god’s sake, my arteries are hardening.”

  “I’d like to...” He paused, embarrassed. “I don’t know... take you out to dinner maybe... and a show.”

  “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

  “No, not necessarily. We missed so much. You know, pushed together, no date life. We didn’t really get to know each other.”

  “And whose fault was that?”

  “I know, I know,” he said with a pleading tone. “Let me make it up to you.”

  She just looked at him for a moment. “Well, hell, why not?” Then her eyes narrowed. “It’ll be quite an experience seeing if you can make it through one dinner without having to go to the men’s room.”

  “Why in hell would you bring that up now?” Griff asked, frowning.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe because it’s true?”

  He exhaled with annoyance. “Tomorrow night?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight, okay?”

  “Pick me up?” She laughed derisively. “Sure you won’t get lost?”

  His mouth twitched with amusement. “I think I can find it.”

  Giving him a scathing look, she turned to leave, and once again, Griff grabbed her arm. She looked up at him with a frown. “Now what?”

  “Could I kiss you good night? Just a small one, and I’ll have all your things returned to your room.”

  “Griff, I do—” she began.

  He covered her lips with his. With a gentle touch, he tenderly pulled her near while his hands slipped softly up her arms, and brought her closer to him. Her hands, which had been locked between them, slowly moved upward until her fingers found his head, and she laced her fingers into his hair. When their lips parted, Lorelei leaned against the doorframe, her eyes shut, her lips bruised, and her eyes only half open.

  Griff looked down at her, smiled smugly, and whispered, “Good night.”

  * * * *

  Just before he closed the door, she glanced toward the bed, and an ache settled in her heart for the many nights of passion she’d missed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With certain precautions, Griff’s doctor gave him the go ahead to resume his duties as president. This pleased him, since he was getting tired of being restricted to the private residence. After making the necessary phone calls to announce his decision, the next day Griff sat down at the desk in the Oval Office and buzzed his secretary, instructing her to contact Lorelei’s couturier and arrange for him to see her. When she came in sometime later, he welcomed her with a big smile and invited her to sit on the couch. He had his secretary bring in tea, and then Griff got down to business.

  “I want the loveliest gown in Washington to be delivered to Lorelei before seven this evening,” he told the dark-haired woman. “Can you take care of that for me? Cost is no object.”

  “I know just the one, monsieur,” she said. Standing, she began describing it with exaggerated movements of her hands flailing down her body. “The lines will accent her beautiful figure perfectly. She will be covered in tiny, sparkling jewels, and around her beautiful white shoulders, a soft, delicate fur will move gently with the breeze. Ahh, yes,” the woman added, her French accent deep and sensuous. “She will sparkle like a beautiful diamond in the night.”

  As she sat back down, she looked at Griff with a dazzling smile. “A special occasion, perhaps? Anniversary? Birthday?”

  “No, not really. I’d just like to spoil her a little. She did such a good job carrying on in my place, it’s my way of saying thank you.”

  “Just merci? Nothing more?”

  “Well... I was hoping we could hit the sheets.”

  “Ohhh,” the woman’s deep voice rumbled at him. “So vulgar.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” she said, lifting a hand in the air. “Just the way you put it. You American men. What is wrong with you?”

  “Vulgar?” Griff asked, not sure he had heard right. “
I’m vulgar?”

  The sagacious eyes of the couturier looked at him. “May I say something... be completely honest with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “You are a very handsome man, but your hormones...” She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “They are leading you around by the...” Her eyes looked downward. “You know.”

  “But I thought the French were very... well... sex oriented.”

  “Of course, but sex, it is... uh, how you say... the finale. It is the...” She kissed her fingers, then sprang them outward. “Reward.” She turned her eyes toward him with a rapturous look on her face. “It only comes after—”

  “After foreplay?”

  “Ohhh,” she complained. “There you go being vulgar again. You may call it that if you wish to be crude, but I, Madame Jacqueme, prefer to call it r-r-romance.” The word was pronounced with a rolling r and with guttural passion.

  “Madame Jacqueme...”

  “Call me Yvette, darling.”

  “Yvette... may I be as honest with you as you have been with me?”

  She shrugged. “But of course.”

  “I’m actually trying to court my wife.”

  Yvette frowned at him. “Court... I do not understand.”

  “Date... uh, go out together... romantic evening...”

  “You are married, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you waste your time... uh, how you say... courting?” She leaned toward him, and with a seductive gleam in her eyes, her voice became husky. “If you want her, why do you not just take her like the French do?” She shrugged. “She is your wife, after all.”

  “Believe me, there’s a reason, but it’s very complicated.”

  “Ahhh,” she said as if she understood. “An argument, is that it?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  She shrugged again. “Again, I do not understand.”

  “Yvette, my wife and I... well, we’ve never...” He looked at her, raised an eyebrow, then cocked his head.

  Yvette’s eyes widened. “I do not believe it. It is impossible. How long have you been married?”