Honor Bound

by Radclyffe

  “No,” Blair said, her mind still on the image of Cam standing outside, alone in the dark, the night wind ruffling her dark hair. Once she had been challenged by Cam’s solitude; now she was wounded by it. The change was not a welcome one, and she brushed the reflection from her mind.

  “Another dance?” Marcy asked, lightly taking Blair’s hand in hers.

  “Sure,” Blair answered absently. At least it would distract her from the way her body still vibrated from the brief touch of Cam’s fingers. Or so she thought.

  She stepped into Marcy’s arms, rested her cheek lightly against the other woman’s shoulder, and closed her eyes. The music was something slow and sultry—perfect music to get lost in. She wanted to be lost for a while. Not to think, not to struggle, not to mourn. To want nothing was to never be disappointed.

  Marcy’s body was sleek and sensuous, and she moved against Blair with practiced intimacy. It had been like this countless times before, with other bodies, other faces. Brief diversions, momentary escape. The act of pleasuring was satisfying in itself, but Blair was careful always to remain in control. Safe, simple, emotionally unencumbered. No promises—just pleasant, mutually satisfying biological proceedings.

  As Marcy pulled her a little closer, rotating her hips slowly, insistently, against Blair’s, there was a subtle shift of pressure that she almost didn’t notice at first. And then something unexpected happened. Without realizing it, without consciously willing it, she was becoming aroused.

  A year ago, even six months ago, she would never have noticed the first spark of fire. And even if she had, she would have been able to ignore it. The excitement would have settled into the back of her mind like a pleasant afterthought, untended and unanswered. Now her nerve endings were raw and acutely sensitive. And she was afraid she knew why.

  Since Cam, something had changed. Something she had been able to contain for many years had been unleashed. The practiced disconnection she had so carefully constructed between her emotions and her physical self had dissolved with the first touch of Cam’s hands.

  She knew her breathing had gotten erratic, and she felt Marcy’s heart beating rapidly, echoing her own. When Marcy cupped her breast as she had done briefly earlier that evening, her nipple stiffened against Marcy’s palm. She bit her lip to keep back a moan and tried to concentrate on something other than the liquid heat surging between her legs.

  Marcy lowered her head, her lips brushing the outer edge of Blair’s ear. “You are a great dancer,” she said, her voice throaty and slightly breathless. As she spoke, she rubbed her fingers very lightly over Blair’s nipple.

  Blair gasped as a ripple of excitement flickered through her, running down her spine and coiling in her stomach. The sensation was so unusual it took her completely by surprise, and before she was fully aware of it, she had parted her legs and pressed harder against Marcy’s thigh. The pressure against her swelling clitoris was exquisite, and for a moment, she couldn’t think of anything at all.

  “I’d like very much to be alone with you right now,” Marcy continued, deftly directing them closer to the hallway that led back to the guest room in Diane’s apartment. “I want to touch you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

  Blair flashed on the last time she had been in that room, and almost instantly, Cam’s face, intense and consuming, filled her mind. For a moment, it was Cam’s hand on her breast, and Cam’s leg between her thighs, and a spasm shuddered through her as her arousal escalated. She stumbled slightly, trembling.

  “I don’t usually do this sort of thing in other people’s houses,” Marcy said urgently, closing her arms around Blair. “But if I don’t do something soon, I’m in danger of exploding.”

  By now they were in the hallway, alone, and Marcy had maneuvered Blair up against the wall. She had both hands under Blair’s sweater, on her breasts, squeezing them as she worked Blair’s nipples between her fingers.

  Struggling to stay upright, Blair pressed her palms flat against the wall, her head tipped back, her eyes closed, verging on orgasm. She wasn’t thinking of the woman who touched her now, but of the woman who had done so much more than just touch her body.

  “Blair,” Marcy whispered.

  Not Cam.

  “Marcy,” Blair groaned, forcing her eyes open, backing away from the edge through sheer willpower. “We...should...stop.”

  Marcy’s lips were on Blair’s neck, biting her lightly as she pressed harder against her, one hand pushing under the waistband of Blair’s pants. “Oh God, I don’t want to.” She moved her hand to the triangle between Blair’s thighs and squeezed rhythmically. “God, I know how close you are. I can feel it.”

  With effort, Blair pulled away as much as she could, struggling to contain the surging pressure building between her legs, knowing that in a second, she would lose the fight. Dimly, she wondered why it mattered, and she did not want to know the answer.

  “Stop now, please.”

  “I’m sorry.” Marcy brought her hands to Blair’s waist, holding her but not pushing her any further. She shuddered, gasping, her forehead resting lightly on Blair’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Neither do I,” Blair laughed shakily, “but you don’t need to apologize.”

  “I usually have better control than that.” Marcy leaned back, her eyes still molten with desire. She smiled a little tremulously. “But I don’t think anyone has ever done that to me before.”

  “You mean teased you quite so unmercifully?” Blair laughed, with more strength this time. “Maybe I should apologize.”

  “Oh no, don’t even think of it.” Marcy ran one finger along the edge of Blair’s jaw. “What I meant was, no one has ever made me so hot so fast. No one ever made me lose my mind like that.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.” Blair stepped sideways enough to put space between them. “It took me by surprise, too.”

  Marcy brushed her shoulder-length blond hair back with a still-trembling hand. “I think we should go back into the other room. I seem to be dangerous out here.”

  “A very good idea, Dr. Coleman.” Blair took her hand in a friendly but not intimate gesture, and laughed. “Come on.”

  “I’d like that to happen again,” Marcy said just before they rejoined the others. “Somewhere, some time, when we won’t have to stop.”

  Blair did not look back, and she did not answer.

  “I didn’t intend to send her any kind of message at all. ” Blair started to walk. “Nothing happened.”

  “That’s not the way she tells it,” Diane said offhandedly. “To hear her, you are the answer to a woman’s dreams. She appears to be in danger of spontaneous combustion just from being in the same room with you.”

  “I can’t help that,” Blair said in irritation. “I can’t control what other people fantasize.”

  “I absolutely agree, Blair,” Diane responded, her tone uncharacteristically serious as she followed Blair through the crowd toward the start line. “I like her, though. I like you, too.”

  “You have a point here?” Blair challenged her with a look.

  “I thought I did. God knows, I’m the last one to give advice. Just be careful with her. Especially if you know there’s no chance.”

  Blair looked back and, just beyond Marcy, saw Cam. The contrast was striking—one blond, the other dark; sunlight and midnight. Her heart hammering, she said, “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  Chapter Ten

  Stark glanced over at Savard and grimaced. She hoped her lithe companion, running effortlessly beside her, could not see her struggling to catch her breath. Running. I hate running. Stupid form of exercise. Terrible for your feet. Murder on your knees. Give me a bike, or better yet...rollerblades.

  Savard cast her a sideways look and grinned, a surprisingly charming grin. “Isn’t this great?”

  “Oh yeah, fabulous! Love it.” Stark hoped she sounded appropriately excited. No way was she going to let the FBI agent think she couldn’t
keep up. She’d run on bare feet first. Just to prove it, she picked up her pace a little bit.

  “Could be worse duty,” Savard commented, not even breathing hard. Or worse company.

  She was enjoying her posting with the Secret Service more than she had imagined she would. She missed the prevailing sense of urgency that permeated everything the FBI seemed to do, even if it was just a routine wire tap, but she couldn’t deny that Roberts and her team ran a tight, well-organized operation.

  And she also had to admit that Paula Stark was an interesting combination of straight-arrow dedication and startling naiveté. She couldn’t help but wonder if her refreshingly unsophisticated counterpart really had no clue as to how attractive she was or the fact that other people might think so. Savard reminded herself to stop watching Stark’s butt and keep her eyes on the main target, who, come to think of it, had a very nice butt herself.

  At that moment, Stark was doing the same thing, but without quite the same appreciation. The commander and Egret were a few feet ahead of her, and neither of them looked as if they had even broken a sweat. In between ignoring the pain in her calves and attempting to look consumed with zeal for this madness, her primary responsibility for the day was crowd surveillance. Another nearly impossible chore, but a far more achievable goal than pretending enthusiasm for the next only-God-knew how many miles.

  The entire security team had been provided with photos of individuals expected to be in Blair’s immediate vicinity during the run—primarily the race organizers, representatives of cancer organizations, and various political dignitaries. When Stark occasionally spotted someone she didn’t recognize, she radioed a verbal description to Mac in the communications van that was following behind the mass of runners. More often than not, he made an immediate identification. If there was any question or concern, she could beam him an image from her handheld personal unit.

  He and several other agents conscripted from the local office for this particular event had been on site since daybreak, quietly photographing individuals as they arrived in the park. They ran all unknowns through computer links to the DMV, Armed Forces directory, and the state police files. She didn’t know for sure, but she assumed that the FBI were doing the same thing from their own van as well. It would have been more efficient to combine their search capabilities, but the FBI hadn’t offered access to their databases. So much for interagency cooperation. Huh—what else is new.

  Not all of this was routine. The fact that Egret was now considered a high-risk subject dictated the extra precautions. Stark shifted the weight of her pistol in the quick-release fanny pack she wore and said a small prayer of thanks as they crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. She looked ahead, never so grateful in her life as now to see the Bowery.

  Cam kept pace to Blair’s right and just a half step behind her, a vantage point from which she could see anyone approaching from the right, left, or rear. What she was watching now, however, was Marcy Coleman leaning close to say something to Blair, her hand resting casually on the small of Blair’s back. It might have been a friendly gesture, but Cam didn’t think so. Not from the way the blond doctor had been looking at Blair for the last few miles.

  Cam had seen Blair with other women before. Hell, she’d seen her have sex with other women. It had been different then. She hadn’t particularly enjoyed watching her have casual sex with strangers, the biggest reason being that she had always thought Blair exceptional, and she couldn’t help but think that she deserved something more than anonymous couplings. But it hadn’t been her business then, and she had been able to put it out of her mind enough to work around it.

  It still wasn’t her business, but the problem now was that she carried the imprint of Blair’s skin branded into her nerve endings. She had surrendered to her and taken her, and she knew the wonder of holding her when she was completely without her usual defenses. Now it was intolerable to see another woman touch her.

  She looked away, scanning the nearby faces, forcing herself to review yet again the details of the rest of the day. As she took refuge in her responsibilities, she settled back into a comfortable rhythm, mentally and physically. They were approaching Fifth Avenue, and before too long, they would enter the south end of Central Park. Once there, security would be at its most difficult, and Blair would be at greatest risk.

  Just like every day, the park was filled with people—runners, bladers, people pushing strollers, and tourists of all size and description. Students picnicked on the grass, and lovers trysted amongst the outcroppings of rocks. The race ended in Sheep Meadow, a huge open field where a stage had been erected, equipped with sound and video for the closing activities. Blair, the mayor, members of the American Cancer Society, and a few celebrities would be speaking.

  The area was impossible to isolate and contain. Blair would be exposed on the podium the entire time, particularly so when she gave the keynote address. The anticipated crowd would number in the thousands. The New York State Police would be providing the NYPD with additional troops for crowd control. That would leave the mayor’s security detail to concentrate on the area directly around the speaker’s stands. Cam had met the mayor’s security chief before, and she was good. That was a plus. She intended to make full use of all of the additional manpower. Her mental planning was interrupted as Blair dropped back to run next to her.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Commander?” Blair was actually surprised to find that she was. She loved the exercise, but the event itself took a toll on her emotionally. It reminded her, even after all these years, of the horrible year when she was nine and everything in her life seemed to change overnight. She focused on Cam’s face and let the memory slip away. “Beats sitting in front of the video monitors, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Cam agreed, smiling when she looked at her because she couldn’t help it. There was a faint sheen of sweat on Blair’s face, and her T-shirt was damp between her shoulder blades. She looked healthy, strong, and altogether beautiful. “Can’t complain about a chance to spend a few hours like this outside.”

  “Uh-huh,” Blair acknowledged with a slow smile, thinking that Cameron Roberts had to be the most naturally graceful, physically striking woman she had ever seen. And at the moment, there were shadows in her deep gray eyes. “Then why do I get the impression you’d rather be elsewhere?”

  “I’d rather you be elsewhere.”

  “So I gather.” Blair shook her head, frowning slightly, but her eyes were dancing. “You are nothing, Commander Roberts, if not doggedly persistent.”

  Cam’s eyes became even more serious. “I assume you want me to tell you the truth, Ms. Powell. Especially when it affects you.”

  “I do, Commander.” Blair’s chin came up and her voice was chilly. “I just wish you’d tell me before you decide on something. Especially when it affects me.”

  Cam looked ahead, checking their position. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, for a moment, she looked nowhere but at Blair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes”—Blair could take no comfort from that admission—“you said that before.”

  “I’ll have to review a few things with you once we arrive at the stage.” Cam needed to keep them both focused on what was important for the moment. Later, later somehow, they would talk.

  “I’ll try to spare a minute or two,” Blair answered dryly. Then she picked up her speed and rejoined Diane and Marcy Coleman.

  The area around the viewing stands was controlled chaos, just as Cam had expected. Sound and video technicians were crawling over and under the surface of the stage, running last-minute cables and adjusting microphones. The mayor was taking every occasion for photo-ops, and more reporters were jockeying for a comment than Cam would have liked. The media were easily identifiable by their badges, but it was a simple matter to counterfeit a press pass.

  “Let’s go up the back way to the stage,” Cam suggested as she and Blair approached the area. “There are too many people i
n front.”

  “I should make an appearance here first,” Blair said matter-of-factly, noting the local and national television crews. At Cam’s frown, she added gently, “I am identified with this event. The American people know my life story and the story of my mother’s death. I need to be seen. It’s expected.”

  “You’ll be seen by millions of television viewers in about twenty minutes,” Cam pointed out as she took Blair’s arm and started to move around to the side of the high temporary stage. “That will have to do.”

  “Cam,” Blair said quietly.

  Cam stopped in her tracks at the sound of her name spoken as only Blair could say it.

  “He doesn’t want to hurt me. If he did, he wouldn’t be sending me the messages he’s been sending.”

  At mention of the UNSUB, Cam felt a sudden sense of foreboding and immediately looked over the faces in the direct vicinity, imprinting each on her mind. She saw Stark and Savard already posted at opposite corners of the stage and Mac in conversation with the mayor’s security chief. She was as satisfied as possible that all was as it should be.

  When she looked back at Blair, there were no barriers in her eyes this time. No professional distance, no orders or rules or protocol between them. “I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t know when he’s going to do it. I don’t know nearly enough.” She struggled not to touch her, and for the barest of instants, she brushed her fingertips over Blair’s hand. “Blair, I just want you safe.”

  “Yes, I know,” Blair responded, no anger or resentment in her voice. She could not argue with the honest caring in Cam’s face. This wasn’t how she wanted it—and it was not what she wanted from her—but it was real nonetheless. “And you’ve done what needs to be done to ensure that. Now, I need to go and do this.”

  Cam nodded, knowing she would never be comfortable with it, but accepting that Blair would not let this threat interfere with her life or her responsibilities. “Let’s go see the mayor, then, Ms. Powell. You’ll make the photographers a lot happier than he does.”