by Radclyffe
It was worse than she expected. Wall to wall people, jostling bodies, smoke hanging in clouds below the dim spotlights, the air heavy with sex and booze. Cam pushed her way into the shadowy depths of the long room, hoping that each blonde she saw would be Blair.
Blair watched her drawing closer. She stood leaning against the wall in the narrow passageway leading to semi-private alcoves and niches which women were using for quick assignations and frantic couplings. She had been watching a young tough in tight black leather pants swagger about at the bar, trying to impress her friends with her bravado. Blair thought she might be fun to toy with. It was always so satisfying to humble the butches, and she made a bet with herself that she could make this one beg. She was about to go over when she caught sight of Cam. Taller by a head than most of the women, she cut a swath through the crowd like a sleek cutter through the sea. In a light windbreaker, dark polo shirt, the signature faded jeans and boots, she should have looked ordinary, but she was easily the sexiest woman in view. She moved with certainty and grace, lithe and powerful, a hunter searching its prey. It was only the darkness in the hall that gave Blair the advantage. As Cam moved closer, Blair’s pulse quickened. This time the hunted would have the hunter.
Cam stepped through the archway into the hall just as the countdown to midnight began. People were crushing in around her, searching for that elusive partner to claim at the dawn of a new year. Blair caught her by the arm and spun her against the wall, pressing into her, her hands around Cam’s waist. Cam was momentarily stunned. Blair’s breasts were soft against her chest, her breath hot on Cam’s neck, Blair’s thigh tight into her crotch. Cam hadn’t been close to a woman this way in a year and her body surged with reawakened sensation. She caught her breath as a stab of desire pierced her. Her clit swelled, hard and ready in an instant.
“Happy New Year, Commander,” Blair breathed into her ear, grasping Cams head and pulling her down into a kiss. Cam gasped in surprise as Blair pushed into her, fusing their bodies in the press of the milling crowd.
Can groaned as Blair’s searching tongue invaded her mouth, adding heat to the fire that raged through her. Cam kissed Blair back, she couldn’t help it. For an instant she forgot who she was, or where she was. All she knew was the pounding in her head, and the ache in her belly, the throbbing in her clit driving her quickly toward climax. Blair pushed her hand between Cams legs.
“Oh Jesus!” Cam gasped, pulling her mouth away so abruptly her head banged against the wall. Her legs were trembling. She grasped Blair’s hand, dragging it away from her body. “No, goddamn it! That’s enough!”
“Are you crazy?” Blair exclaimed, her voice thick with her own urgent need. “You’re so hot I can feel you through your jeans! You’re almost there—let me do what I know you want!”
That moment was all Cam needed to find her control. She pushed Blair back a step, breaking their contact.
“I want to get you out of here.”
Blair’s eyes blazed dangerously. She had come close to humiliating herself. The fire in Cams body had ignited her own, and she had been very close to coming herself. She throbbed still. “Go fuck yourself, Agent Roberts!”
As she tried to walk away, Cam grasped her arm. “Ms. Powell—please!”
“Leave me alone. No one knows I’m here.”
“ I know.”
“Then pretend you don’t,” Blair snapped, trying to escape into the crowd. She couldn’t move very quickly through the mass of revelers, and Cam stayed right beside her.
“I can’t,” Cam stated with finality.
Blair turned to face her, her body rigid with fury. “Then do your job, but stay out of my way!”
Cam nodded, accepting the slight concession. She let Blair move ahead of her, wishing she could reach Mac for backup. The best she could do was stay close to Blair until she settled for the night, and then call for another team.
Which is how she came to find herself on the phone in the lobby of the Franklin Hotel at two am. “Mac?”
“Yeah, Commander. Tell me you got her—please.”
“Send two of our people, not the White House detail—to the Franklin Hotel on the parkway. I’ll wait ‘til they get here. She’s in Room 1302, and I think shell be here for the night. I need someone in the room across from hers—I’ve booked it—and a car downstairs. And Mac, keep this quiet for Gods sake. If the White House press corps catches on to her little foray, they’ll be all over us.”
“Any info on who she’s with?” Mac asked hesitantly.
“No,” Cam said curtly. Except that she was young, recklessly beautiful in an androgynous way, and had followed Blair without hesitation when Blair walked up to her, kissed her by way of introduction, and said, “I’m leaving. You coming?”
Cam had followed them the few blocks to the hotel at a discrete distance, hanging back in the shadows every time Blair stopped to grope and fondle her leather clad conquest. Blair never looked in Cams direction, but she had to know Cam was there, watching the display. If the seduction was meant to anger Cam, it did, but probably not for the reasons Blair intended. Cam was infuriated at the risk Blair was taking by picking up a stranger and checking into a hotel a few blocks from the White House. It was dangerous on more levels than she could count. Blair Powell was beautiful, bright, and talented. She didn’t need to waste herself on one-night stands. It was physically hazardous, politically suicidal, and willfully self-destructive. Cam came close to breaking up their little tryst at one point, but she reminded herself that Blair Powell had every right to do what she was doing, and any effort to intervene would only make her more reckless. The last thing she had seen was Blair backing her girlfriend up against the door to their room as she fumbled to fit her card in the lock behind them, kissing her with an intensity that echoed in Cams body. The door finally swung open and they disappeared breathlessly inside.
“Boss -you still there?” Macs voice interrupted her reminiscences.
“Yes,” she retorted, her voice thick with the memory.
“I’ll have someone there in five minutes.”
“Good.”
———
Cam was still seething when she stepped off the elevator into the foyer in front of her apartment. She stopped in surprise when she saw the stately blond put a book aside and smile in her direction.
“My god!” Cam exclaimed. “I didn’t mean for you to wait out here in the hallway!”
Her visitor stood, sliding the book into a stylish leather bag. “I know, but my evening was already planned, and it’s safe enough. I know I’m presuming, and I can leave if you like. But you did book the whole night.”
“No,” Cam said as she unlocked her door. “Come in.” She hit the dimmer switch inside the door, giving them just enough light to maneuver by. She turned to the woman who stepped inside after her. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be,” the blonde said, touching Cams cheek lightly. She felt the tremor, and the heat. She knew the signs.
“You need some attention,” she whispered throatily. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed Cam gently back against the door as she worked loose the buttons on Cam’s fly. She heard the swift intake of breath, a wordless assent. She leaned one arm along the wall beside Cams still form and reached into her jeans.
Cam grasped the handle for support, closing her eyes. She was aching, had been since the bar, and her body had never quieted. The first touch was excruciating.
“Oh god,” she groaned, praying she could stay standing. The strokes were certain, commanding, relentless, and she heard herself moaning. She pushed back against the wall, rigid with the effort to control the mounting pressure as her hips bucked forward into the waiting hand.
“I’m losing it,” she gasped, clenching her jaw until it ached. She cried out as the explosion spread through her, her head rocking from side to side with the pulsations. When it subsided she was amazed she was still upright.
“Oh, Christ,” she gasped breathlessly. “I didn
’t mean for that to happen so fast.”
“I don’t think it was up to you,” her companion laughed softly, moving away discreetly so Cam could regain her composure. The arousal certainly had nothing to do with her, which she suspected was most often the case.
“Will you have that drink now?” Cam asked dryly as she fumbled with the buttons on her jeans. Her hands were trembling.
“I would definitely like that,” the blond said with a smile.
Cam moved over to the bar and poured them both a drink, then settled on the sofa in front of the floor to ceiling windows. They sat in silence in the near darkness for a few moments, each privy to her own thoughts.
“Does it bother you?” Cam said at length. “The lack of reciprocation?” When her guest failed to answer, she added quietly, “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and none of my business.”
“No, it’s all right,” came the soft reply. “I don’t expect any reciprocation, and most of the time I wouldn’t want it.”
It was Cams turn to be quiet. As many times as they had met, they had never talked of anything personal. She had never wanted to know. She had no idea why she was asking now.
“You should know this is by my choice, and there is absolutely no abuse involved,” the woman added.
Cam nodded—she knew all the details of the operation, right down to how often all the employees had health exams. What she didn’t know was who they were, or what they felt. Both of them kept their identities, and their secrets, hidden. It was a business arrangement, with a veneer of civility, and so far it had worked for both of them.
“So sometimes you would like it to go both ways?” Cam asked.
“I certainly wouldn’t throw you out of bed,” her companion replied gently, her laughter making light of her statement.
“I’m not asking for that—I can’t, I haven’t—” Cam struggled with the words. How to explain that she didn’t feel any desire for women, that the thought of wanting someone terrified her. It was too much, too close—and then to lose it. She swallowed the ache, battling the old pain.
The blonde stopped her with a hand on her thigh. “I don’t need you to make love to me. If it makes you feel any better, I enjoy what we do. Rather a lot. Exactly as it is.”
Cam nodded in acceptance, placing her drink beside her on the table. She stood, reaching out her hand.
“Lets move to the bedroom,” she said, hoping eventually to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Mac looked up as his boss and the First Daughter boarded the plane. The air seemed decidedly chilly. Blair stalked down the aisle and threw herself across the seats at the rear. Cam took the first seat inside the cabin, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Mac figured she hadn’t gotten much sleep. None of them had. Between tracking Blair down, then shadowing the hotel the rest of the night, half the team had worked on the one night they all expected to have off. Blair hadn’t emerged to return to the White House until eight a.m., and that made it all the harder to get her past the press corps without announcing she had been out all night. She looked exactly like she had been out all night, and up all night screwing.
Cam had been called as soon as Blair stepped out of her hotel room, and she had been waiting for Blair at the side entrance of the White House. She didn’t look all that much better than Blair, although her attire was impeccable as usual. Neither of them acknowledged the other as Cam ushered Blair in through the service entrance and down the labyrinth of service halls to the family living quarters. The limo ride to the airport an hour later had been just as frosty.
When the plane landed in New York forty minutes later, Cam escorted Blair to the waiting car and climbed into the back with her. In an hour Blair was due to meet with the Mayor and emcee the New Years Day Parade.
“Where to, Ms. Powell?” Cam asked perfunctorily. Since Blair’s disappearance the night before and her late arrival this morning, their entire schedule had been changed. Cam had no idea of Blair’s plans, and being at such a disadvantage infuriated her.
For once Blair appeared subdued. “I need to go home and change.”
Cam nodded, passed the message along to the driver and the car following them, and settled back against the seat. She clamped down on her anger. She wouldn’t give Blair the satisfaction of knowing how unsettling the interlude in the bar had been for her. The hours she had spent with Claire satisfying her body had not erased the memory of Blair’s mouth on hers, nor the demanding promise of Blair’s hands claiming her. It was not a sensation she welcomed, and the faint bruises around Blair’s lips only served to remind her that Blair had been up all night satisfying her needs with a stranger. Don’t be a fool, she thought in disgust. Anyone will do, as long as she’s in charge. You just happened to be handy!
———
When they pulled up in front of Blair’s apartment, Cam sent Mac for coffee, while she waited in the limo. She closed her eyes and thought of nothing. When the door opened, she looked up and then averted her eyes as Blair Powell slid into the rear seat across from her. The woman who sat across from her looked nothing like the woman Cam had followed into a Washington gay bar the night before. That woman had been wild, untamed and untamable. Blair was a predator, all the more deadly because she was irresistible. She was beautiful in the way of the wild animals, and Cam had felt her power even as she tried to deny it. This woman was elegant, refined, and bore no resemblance to the creature she had been the night before, with the one exception being that she was just as unapproachable.
The ferocious hunger in Blair’s eyes had been replaced by a glacial stillness. If there were thoughts behind the ice blue wall, they no longer showed. Her tailored coat was open to reveal a fitted suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal the flimsy silk camisole beneath. The skirt slid up as she crossed her legs. Cam found her every bit as attractive in this guise as she had been the previous night. She felt no safer, aware of the pounding of her own heart.
In defense, Cam decided to focus on the job at hand. This was one of the most dangerous kind of outings for Blair, with her in the public eye and visible to large crowds. When they arrived at the central viewing area, where the mayor and Blair would be commenting on the passing parade, Cam was greeted by the mayor’s chief of security, a serious looking red head in her early 40s.
“I’m Marge Pierce,” the red head said, extending her hand while openly appraising Cam.
Cam nodded in response as she returned the firm grip. “Cameron Roberts.”
Cam surveyed the podium where Blair would be seated. She frowned slightly, noting that the rear of the platform was open on the side where the trucks and vans carrying the sound equipment and other video paraphernalia were parked. Anyone could approach from that direction and she motioned for Mac to station several of their people behind the stand. Pierce noted the maneuver, and quickly dispatched two of her own staff to join the secret service agents.
Blair watched in amusement as the two security chiefs surreptitiously checked each other out, the way two dogs would while surveying common territory. She was pretty sure that Marge Pierce was a lesbian, and from the way Pierce had looked at Cameron Roberts, Blair was even more convinced. For a brief instant she felt a flair of jealousy. There was no doubt that Roberts was one of the most arresting women she had ever seen, and she didn’t doubt that there were plenty of women looking for her attention. The fact that it bothered her even for a second irritated her enormously. She turned her back on their activities, focusing on the mayor and his entourage. She certainly had no intention of allowing Cameron Roberts to occupy anymore of her thoughts than necessary.
She forced herself not to think about the fact that each time she had wrung a cry from her young leather-clad conquest the night before, some part of her wished it were Roberts responding under her hands. She had been keenly aware that the body writhing beneath her was not the lean tight body she had glimpsed at the gym and held against her own for just a fleeting moment in the bar. The desire in Cameron’s body when Bl
air had pressed up against her had been breathtaking. Whether Roberts acknowledged it or not, Blair knew the height of her arousal. Frustratingly, that lightening response was what Blair couldn’t put from her mind. That swift intake of breath against her ear as her palm pressed against Cameron’s crotch had fired her own excitement in a way that no one had been able to do in longer than she could remember. Even thinking of it now stirred her.
Blair could do this sort of event without conscious thought. Since the time she had been an adolescent, she had been in the public limelight. She smiled at the appropriate times, she made the appropriate complementary remarks about the performers, and she was altogether gracious and presentable. To make things even better, the camera loved her. In any lighting, her face looked as if it had been sculpted on a Grecian coin. Because of her personality and her appearance, she was frequently asked to preside at such events. She did it because she had to, and because she cared about her father’s image. Nevertheless, each appearance took its toll. She was aware of the men around her staring at her, and the thinly veiled looks of barely disguised lust. She would not have tolerated it under any other circumstance. Had it happened on the street, where she was not as immediately recognizable, she would have made it very clear she was not interested. As it was, she was the unwilling participant in the charade. It only demeaned her in her own eyes and heightened her anger. She never quite got used to it. Only at night, when she shed her public persona and grasped what little she could of her own life, did she feel genuine. For some strange reason that afternoon, she was acutely aware of Cameron Roberts standing just behind her out of the line of sight of the camera. Cam’s presence reminded Blair of who she really was. The knowledge that Cameron knew the truth about her somehow made the entire event more bearable.
Blair didn’t relax until they were in the limo again on their way back to her apartment. Cameron sat across from her in silence. However, it was not the heavy awkward silence of the earlier ride from the airport, but rather a comfortable regathering of energy after the stress of the afternoon. Blair had to admit that she had felt safe. Despite all the years of these kinds of experiences, she never quite got over the feeling of being vulnerable. There was something about Cameron Roberts’ presence that allowed her to forget for the moment that millions of eyes were upon her. It wasn’t that the dozens of others who had preceded Roberts didn’t take their job seriously, but Blair had always known it was the job and not her they were working for. What made Cameron Roberts so compelling and at the same time so irritating, was that when she focused on you, you knew you had been seen.
