Family Secrets: Books 5-8

by Virginia Kantra

  And were going to the White House. Ill be surrounded by Secret Service all night.

  Her shoulder brushed his arm. It was warm and very hard. He didnt say anything.

  Its not as if Im in any real danger, she said.

  His smile faded. Yeah. You are.

  His softly spoken warning shivered through her.

  Samantha knew she was a target of both DeBruzkya and the criminal faction that profited from his regime. The Coalition, they called themselves. But it was hard to concentrate on the foreign general and his shadowy coconspirators when her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding from a very different threat.

  Marcus Evans threatened her. He compromised her dignity. He jeopardized her composure. He assaulted her senses.

  He followed her onto the elevator and she felt almost faint at how warm he was. How close. She was five foot eight and wearing heels, and he still dwarfed her. He was only an inch or two over six feet, but there was a lot of him packed onto those long, strong bones. A lot of strength. A lot of power. She was dizzy with his nearness, drunk on the scent of shaving cream and starch and skin. He smelled wonderful.

  She wanted to turn her face into his jacket and inhale him.

  Oh, dear Lord.

  The mirrored elevator doors rolled shut. She closed her eyes so she wouldnt have to meet her own gaze in their reflection.

  She couldnt possibly be developing a crush on her navy bodyguard. Yes, he was sweet and funny and conscientious and had a body to die for. Now that she knew his real age, he wasnt even too young for her. Three years wasnt that much.

  But he was so not her type.

  She moved among Washingtons elite. She had always been attracted to men who were older. Educated, sophisticated, knowledgeable men. Powerful men. Men like Stan.

  Maybe that was her problem. She was thirty-six years old and her husband had been dead for thirteen months. Maybe she simply missed being married, the intimacies of shaving lotion in the bathroom and please-pass-the-paper over the breakfast table, the warm body breathing in the bed beside her. She missed Stan.

  Missed sex.

  She opened her eyes, startled by the truth.

  Oh, dear. Well, at least now that shed admitted it to herself, she could begin dealing with it. And the way to deal with it was not to start sniffing men in elevators. No matter how good theyhesmelled.

  She inhaled carefully and held her breath the rest of the way down.

  But when they reached the lobby, Marcus was all-business. He didnt offer her his arm. He didnt guide her with a warm hand on her back. He walked five paces ahead of her, his head turning to scan the scattered couches, the uniformed attendants behind the registration desk and the guests in evening dress waiting on the hotel curb.

  She appreciated his professionalism. Of course she did.

  But when he shut her into the back of the limo and slid into the drivers seat, she frowned and leaned forward.

  Wheres Eric tonight?

  Marcus turned his head. His face was shadowed by the roof of the car. All she could really see was the angle of his jaw and the jut of his nose. He never showed. Maybe he caught the same bug as Walker.

  She relaxed. Of course. And how do you feel? she asked, teasing.

  His shoulder lifted. I never get sick. Is it okay if I drive you?

  Do you know the way?

  I think I can find the White House. But if you want me to arrange for another driver

  No, she decided. I dont want to be late.

  What time do you have to be there?

  Dinner is at nine. It was only seven now. But there are people, friends, Id like to talk to.

  They expecting you?

  She wasnt used to having to account for herself. But it made sense, since Marcus was responsible for her security, that he would need to know her schedule.

  Im sure Ill be seated with Matt at dinner. White House advisor Matt Tynan was an old friend and political ally. Theyd attended the same high school, and Samantha had been delighted to renew the acquaintance years later. As two of the youngest movers and shakers on the D.C. scene, they tended to stick together. But Id like to arrive early. Once these things get started, its too easy to miss friends in the crowd.

  Marcuss dark profile went very still against the bright windshield. Her heart hitched foolishly. And then his teeth gleamed over his shoulder.

  Better roll, then.

  He pulled the limo along the curving drive and edged into the street. She settled back against the soft leather.

  She certainly had enough room tonight. Room and privacy. She felt as if her silk-clad, beaded butt would slide right off the seat next time they rounded a corner.

  Amazing how accustomed shed grown to Marcuss presence in just a few days. She rather missed his solid, reassuring bulk beside her. She feltalone.

  Which had to be the stupidest claim made in Washington since I didnt inhale. She wasnt alone. She was never alone. She was surrounded by people all the time. Wait staff, secretarial staff, diplomatic staff, security staff, people who wanted recognition or recommendations, direction and advances.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay, so those were all people who worked for her. It was natural for them to want a piece of her. But she knew plenty of other people, she thought bracingly. Other diplomats. Colleagues who valued her opinion, who wanted her help, her influence or her consent.

  The thought made her tired.

  But she had friends. Not women friends. For some reason shed never had the knack of making women friends. She had no confidantes. No sisters.

  But she had lots of male friends. Good friends, not just escorts. There was Ethan Williams, whom shed dated briefly when she first arrived on the Washington scene. Hed likely be at the dinner tonight with his beautiful bride, Kelly. Samantha smiled. His beautiful, younger bride, Kelly.

  And there was always Matt, unmarried Matt, her oldest and closest friend.

  Who, now that Samantha thought about it, had just gotten himself engaged to his sweet, wholesome and much younger secretary, Carey. Which left his old, dear friend Samantha widowed and alone in the back of a limo, without a date for dinner at the White House.

  Samantha bit her lip. Oh, dear. Now she was leaving stupid and moving rapidly into pathetic.

  And while she was on the subject of the White House and moving, shouldnt they be there by now?

  She glanced out the window. She never drove herself in the city, but

  I dont think we should have gotten on the freeway, she said.

  Marcus didnt turn his head. Its okay. I wanted to use an alternate route. You know, in case anybodys going to make some kind of attempt on the way.

  She sat back, only partially reassured. Well, this is certainly an alternate. Didnt we pass the turnoff for the Kennedy Center?

  Did we?

  You know we She broke off as a new suspicion struck her. Are you lost?

  Hey. Dont you trust me?

  She smiled. Im not sure. Do you have a map up there?

 
Give me a minute. I can get us where we need to go.

  Possibly.

  Except it looked like they were entering Virginia. She squinted through the dark. She was sure that wasYes, there was a sign for I-66. Even if they turned around right now, she wouldnt reach the White House until almost eight oclock.

  She regarded the line of his military-style haircut across his broad neck and the backs of his perfectly shaped ears. He was a warrior trained in infiltrating enemy lines and making his way through hostile territory. Could he really not negotiate traffic in the capital?

  Samantha smiled to herself in the back seat. Apparently not.

  After five more minutes spent watching the lights of the city fade away and the occasional streetlamp take their place, she spoke up. Should we stop for directions?

  As if he would. Stan would never ask for directions.

  But Marcus surprised her. He turned the limo into a public lotshe thought she glimpsed a Metro signand slowed.

  Well stop here.

  She peered doubtfully at the dim, deserted lot. Most of the commuters had already collected their cars and gone home. There was a line of vehicles pulled close to the platform and a few cars scattered at a distance. Maybe he intended to go up on the platform to ask for directions?

  But he drove past the stairs and over the empty white lines to the far end of the lot. He parked beside a plain dark sedan.

  Samantha looked for the driver, but there was no one in the front seat. No one in back. The first faint prickle of unease ran up her spine.

  Marcus turned and addressed her over his shoulder. We need to get out of the car.

  To get directions?

  Why? she asked.

  I cant leave you here alone, he explained patiently.

  Well, no. And she trusted him. She ought to trust him. But

  Maybe we should try someplace else, she said.

  Were here now. He took off his jacket, struggling a little in the confines of the front seat, and passed it through the open privacy window. Put this on.

  Im warm already.

  Itll help hide your dress in the dark. Put it on.

  Why did that matter? Although he did keep insisting she was a target, she reminded herself.

  Wordlessly, she slipped her arms into the sleeves. The silk lining was warm against her skin. The jacket smelled like him, like hot male and clean starch. She shivered in reaction.

  Okay. He sort of flowed out of the car. Samantha blinked. For a big man, he certainly could move quickly. He opened her door. Lets go.

  She swung her legs out and stood slowly. Go where?

  ListenOh, hell.

  She flinched. What?

  He turned his head, and she saw what he saw: a well-dressed, middle-aged couple strolling across the nearly empty lot to their Lexus parked a few rows away.

  Samantha opened her mouth, still unsure what she would say. Hello, Im Ambassador Barnes, can you give me a ride to the White House?

  Marcus grabbed the lapels of his jacket and dragged her against him. Off balance in her heels, she stumbled into his chest. His broad, solid chest. His hard arms wrapped around her.

  Make this look good, he whispered hotly against her lips, and crushed his mouth to hers.

  Five

  S he couldnt breathe.

  She couldnt think.

  Response was out of the question.

  Samantha Barnes was simply not the sort of girl woman men grabbed. Intimidating was how one high school boy had described her. The description had stung at the time. Intimidating did not get you a date to the prom; who wanted to be intimidating when cute and sweet and pretty were so much more popular? But by the time shed graduated from Stanford shed prided herself it was true.

  So it was surprise that hurtled her heart to her throat when Marcus grabbed her. It was shock that paralyzed her when he hauled her against himhe was huge and hard and hotand ground his lips on hers. It was outragewasnt it?that made her hands ball into fists and her blood roar along her veins like a train going into a tunnel.

  She was almost positive it was outrage. It certainly wasnt fear. And she couldnt allow it to be anything else.

  His mouth cruised from her lips to her cheek to the sensitive underside of her jaw, robbing her mind, stealing her breath, plundering her control. He filled her senses. His hair smelled clean. His skin smelled hot. His beard prickled the side of her face. His lips were warm.

  Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my.

  She opened her mouth. To gasp? Or to protest? Marcuss finger touched her upper lip, rubbed her bottom one. His finger tasted like salt.

  Shh, he said against her throat, making the nerve ends there vibrate. You could try helping.

  It was so not what she was expecting that her jaw dropped.

  Why would I want to help?

  He raised his head and smiled. In the shadows cast by the security lights, his normally blue eyes were deep and dark.

  Because we want those nice people over there to get in their car and drive away. As long as we look like a couple necking in the parking lot, they wont come over. If were lucky, they wont even stare too much.

  But

  His arms hardened around her. I think they need convincing, he said huskily, and her whole body tightened in response. Lets try it again, okay?

  It was not okay. She was sure something was wrong, that he was wrong, that she should not be kissing her bodyguard. Kissing Marcus.

  Her heart pounded. She was going to object. She was going to demand an explanation. She was going to insist he drive her to dinner at the White House.

  He bent to her and the shape of his head blotted out the night sky behind him. Samantha felt dizzy. Yes, she was going to do all of those things.

  Later.

  She parted her lips again and he moved his mouth over hers, molding, tasting, possessing. Her tongue touched his shyly. His tongue thrust into her mouth. He was breathing faster. So was she.

  She hadnt kissed a man like this since Stan died.

  She had never kissed a man like this.

  Dear Stan had been average: average build and average weight, middling tall and middle aged.

  Marcus was distractingly large, disconcertingly hard, demandingly intent. He felt solid. Strong. Alive. His kisses were deep and fierce. He devoured her. And she locked her arms around his neck and held on, held tight, as if she could inhale him, as if she could consume him, as if she could absorb him through her skin, all his vitality and strength, and keep it to warm the cold and empty places inside her.

  He made a sound low in his throat, crowding her against the car, and she moaned because he felt so good, real and hot against her.

  Oh. Oh, my goodness.

  How embarrassing.

  She tried to stiffen, to pull away, but he only slid his big, warm hands down her back and grasped her behind, fitting her more firmly against him.

 
Thats good, he said encouragingly. His breath stirred her hair. Very convincing.

  Convincing?

  Her face flooded with heat. She could feel him, thick and insistent, against her belly.

  She needed control. If not of him, if not of the situation, then of herself. She couldnt just stand here throbbing like one big gland.

  Yeah She cleared her throat and tried again. You can let go of me now.

  He turned his head. She followed his gaze toward the departing car, the sweep of its headlights on the black asphalt lot, its beady red taillights as it pulled onto the road.

  His hands lingered on her butt, weighing, caressing. She sucked in her breath. Sure?

  No.

  Now, she said.

  Right. He gave her a final squeeze before his hands slid away. Better get a move on.

  Her thoughts struggled against the warm tide of desire. Move onto the White House?

  He hesitated.

  She fought an eddy of apprehension. Im not going anywhere with you until you tell me what this is about.

  There. That sounded firm. In control.

  He shook his head. No time. Weve got maybe an hour before somebody notices you havent shown up for that fancy dinner of yours, and after that Im going to have a hell of a time getting you away.

  An hour. Matt would notice if she didnt show up in an hour. And the president.

  Away where? she asked.

  Cant you trust me?

  Yesterdaythis afternoonforty minutes ago she would have said yes. Now she couldnt even trust herself. She crossed her arms against the beaded bodice of her gown. Give me one good reason why I should.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Well

  Her toes curled in embarrassment. If he mentioned that kiss

  You dont really have any choice, he said.

  She lifted her chin. Of course I have a choice.