“How long has your da been in the government?”
“My whole life. It’s in our family’s blood. My grandfather marched with Dr. Martin Luther King. There are pictures of him holding my dad as a toddler at rallies. He died before I was born, but he really made a difference. Dad grew up believing he could change the world if he stuck to his morals and tried hard enough. He went from a small-town mayor to Senator in kind of a fluke thing, but once he was in, he really gave it his all.”
“How’s it feel, bein’ the Secretary of State’s daughter and all?”
“It’s not always great. I get an email or phone call from Dad’s PR manager at least once every other week, asking me to please not do this, could I tone that down.” She rolled her eyes.
“That must be tough.”
“It’s a big reason why I’m trying to transition out of the limelight. Make more costumes, do stuff that won’t have the attention on me as much. Sucks, but...I get how what I do will always reflect on him. Sam got the worst of it I think.”
“How so?”
She stared at him.
How could he not know?
“My...sister, Samantha?”
“Sam, right?”
“The one that was in the news?”
He blinked at her.
“You live in DC. How do you not know?”
“I...don’t watch the news?”
“Oh my—Sam was the PR person for a Maryland Senator. First term guy. Real dick. And he fired her when Dad was made Secretary.”
“Shut up.”
“And—you seriously do not know?”
“Sorry.” He shrugged.
Which meant he also didn’t know about the sex scandal and the fake engagement and...well, no one knew about the kidnapping, and they wanted to keep it that way. Poor Sam had already been through way too much.
She really needed to go back to her side of the sofa. The TV began to play the credits on the episode neither of them had watched.
“I want to live under a rock like you someday.” She grinned and prodded him in the ribs.
“Hey—hey!” Declan shifted like she’d jabbed him with a hot poker.
“Are you ticklish?” She prodded his side again.
“A bit.” He captured her hand in his, his expression fierce.
Someone didn’t like to be poked, and she had just enough devil in her to want to pester him.
“I’ll stop,” she said, laying on a bit of fluttering eyelashes.
“Yeah, I believe you will.” He didn’t seem to, which was smart.
“Are you scared of little old me?” She twisted her wrist in his grasp, not sure if she liked the dominant hold. Declan was...well, he ticked a lot of her boxes, but they were working together. She shouldn’t want him to hold onto her like this... It had to be her libido talking. Ever since Sam landed on her couch, mooning over Oliver, and the other girls all hooked up with their guys Rashae was...lonely.
“Scared?” He chuckled and his gaze narrowed. One side of his mouth hitched up.
That one little micro expression changed everything.
She was in trouble.
She didn’t know how—but she was.
Her pulse quickened and she dug her fingers into the cushions.
“I can tell you about scared.” His thumb caressed her wrist, just over her veins, taking her heart rate.
Sherlock and The Woman did this; it was how he’d seen through her. Taking her pulse. Feeling the way her heart raced. But the words—he was still talking. They were wrong. And right.
“Your heart is beatin’ so hard I can feel it. There’s so much fear pumpin’ through your brain it’s like rocket fuel. Right now, you could sketch faster, you could tackle a snow drift, you could...beat me at a game? You’re so aware, it’s like you could slow time.”
“What’s wrong with scared?” She finished the Doctor Who line, grinning and a little breathless. Oh, she wanted him. Wanted him in a way she shouldn’t, that wasn’t nice.
“Scared is a superpower.” Declan winked.
At some point, he’d slid his hand down, and their fingers twined together.
She got a little breathless when a man recited Doctor Who at her. Okay, so he’d fudged a few of the lines, but...that didn’t matter. The way he was looking at her... How he made her feel... It’d been a long time since a guy left an impression on her like this, and she wanted to hold onto it. They couldn’t work out, she didn’t have time for a man in her life, but for right now...she wanted to touch him.
“Are you cold?” His fingers stroked her hand, his touch not just warming her palm.
“A bit.”
“It’s damn drafty in here, sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” She was staring at his mouth now, the way his lips moved, how he spoke. The way he said about sounded more like a-boat. It hadn’t earlier, but it did now.
“I’ll put another log on.”
“Okay.”
Yet he didn’t move.
And neither did she. Well, she couldn’t because her hand was on his thigh, his fingers stroking her skin.
Had she said it was cold?
Well, it wasn’t anymore.
Rashae was sweating, or about to.
Oh, fuck this will-he-won’t-he shit.
The way he was looking at her, she knew he wanted to, and so did she. Merry Christmas to them.
She leaned forward, just a bit—they were already close. His mouth was hard and warm. The instant they touched, his hand tightened around hers, tugging her closer. His head tilted a bit and—was that—yes, that was his tongue.
His arm wrapped around her waist and he turned toward her, thrusting his tongue between her lips. He deepened the kiss, pressing her back against the cushions. One moment, he’d been the gentleman host, now...she didn’t know what he was but she wanted more. The feel of his mouth on hers, his hands. Her heart had never raced like this at a simple kiss.
She twisted her wrist out of his grasp, but only so she could get a handful of his hair, his shirt. His lips trailed kisses across her jaw, to the sensitive spot just behind her ear. He licked the spot—how did he know about the spot?
Oh—God—he sucked at the skin and he might as well be sucking other parts of her anatomy.
She gasped, the sound more like a whimper. In a single move, he’d turned the tables. She was putty in his hands so long as he didn’t stop.
“Exterminate! Exterminate!”
Her pocket vibrated.
Rashae yelped, the violent tremors too much for her sensitized body.
“Fuck,” Declan muttered. He straightened, letting her go.
She slumped to the side, not quite stable.
“Exterminate! Exterminate!”
“I’ll put that log on.” Declan stood and stalked to the entry, despite there being a bundle of wood next to the fireplace.
The front door opened and closed.
Holy shit.
Rashae’s hands shook a bit still. She glanced at the phone, prepared to utter curses with Lily’s name attached to them.
Where r u?
I need you.
Rashae couldn’t imagine what was going on for Sam to send her texts like that. Sam wasn’t the kind of sister to say, I need you, unless it was a dire emergency.
“What’s wrong?” Declan was there again, on the other side of the coffee table, snow clinging to his jeans and nearly frozen logs in hand.
“It’s—Sam. I—don’t know.” She pressed the phone to her ear. It hadn’t been that long ago that Oliver had called her to tell her Sam was gone. Kidnapped. If anything happened to her baby sister...Rashae would cut a bitch. “I—I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“You get your bag. I’ll get the car.” He dropped the log on the floor and was gone again.
“Answer the phone, Sam.”
6.
D
eclan was both relieved and grateful when Rashae’s younger sister slid into the back seat with nothing but her m
ascara out of place. He didn’t know where she’d been, but the elegant dress, coat and address didn’t lead him to believe that the harm was physical. His relief was more to do with someone else around to distract him from Rashae. The memory of her lips on his. The feel of her breath on his cheek.
Down, boy.
“What the hell happened?” Rashae didn’t give the poor girl a second to get buckled or anything.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Tears streaked the young woman’s face, though she tried to hide it.
“What did Oliver do?” Rashae’s tone was a snarl, more animal than human.
“Easy.” He patted her hand and pulled the old car into a parking spot.
He knew what distress looked like. The signs. How to tell the kinds apart. This was not a harmed cry. This was...emotion. Deep, potent stuff.
Samantha glanced at him, then her sister.
“How about I get us all somethin’ hot to drink? Hm?” The girls might prefer a moment alone.
“No—sorry.” Sam pressed her fingertips to her mouth and inhaled a deep breath.
“This is Declan, Declan, this is Sam.”
The way Rashae looked at him in that instant made this whole trip worth it. Rashae was a strong woman, that much was clear. The way she gazed at him now, though, he could hang the stars, if he had a ladder tall enough. He knew what it was like to be protective of a sibling. How much they meant. What he wouldn’t give to have his back, obnoxious though they’d been. The very least he could do was help her be there for her sister.
Sam didn’t acknowledge his presence. Her focus was on Rashae.
“He proposed. For real this time.” Judging by her bare fingers, things hadn’t gone as planned.
“O...kay, so what happened?” Rashae glanced at him, her expression as bewildered as he felt.
“I freaked. I walked out...and then I was lost, and crying, and can you please not look at me?”
“Declan can drop us at the closest metro and we can head home.” Rashae turned to face forward.
“How about I take you home instead? It’s late.” He didn’t like the idea of leaving the two women alone this late at night. Especially if Sam was this upset. People would gawk. It would only get worse. Besides, in shoes like that, the lady had no business walking in the snow.
“That’s not necessary,” Rashae said.
“I’d appreciate it, if you really don’t mind.”
“Sam!”
“What? I’m—I need to calm down. I know it’s selfish I just...I’m sorry? Okay, we can walk.” Sam reached for the door.
“Stop it.” Rashae whirled around. “Declan, do you really not mind? I’ll pay for gas. I swear.”
“Not a problem at all.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
They got the GPS going and hit the road, Declan going slow and careful with all the Christmas traffic. No one spoke for a few minutes, but it was a false calm. The storm was coming.
Rashae flipped down the visor, looking at her sister in the mirror.
“Why did you walk out on Oliver?” she asked.
“Because...I don’t know? I wasn’t expecting him to propose.”
“Why not? I was.”
“Seriously, Shae?”
The glare Sam leveled at her sister was pure adolescent disgust.
“What? It’s Christmas. More people get engaged now than at any other point in the year. Besides, you spend all your time talking to or about Oliver. I figured it was a matter of time.” Rashae crossed her arms over her chest.
“What’s—this?” Sam made a face.
Paper crinkled.
Oh—shit.
“Are you immigrating?” Sam asked.
Declan’s stomach dropped through the floor of the car. It wasn’t a secret. He didn’t exactly hide it, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was letting his people down. That by following his dreams, doing the right thing, he was somehow in the wrong.
“Uh, yeah. January-somethin’, it’ll be official like.”
“When were you going to mention that?” Rashae smacked his arm.
“It never came up?” Truth was, he hadn’t talked about it much to anyone outside of his sponsor. How did he even begin to explain what immigrating meant? How he was effectively turning his back on his entire culture?
“How’s the game going? Tell me something good, please?” Sam relaxed back into the seat.
Rashae began slowly at first. He prompted her when he could think of something to add, but otherwise he let her talk. It was good to hear the project from her perspective. She was a fresh take on something he’d been slaving over. They spent the entire drive to the Grant’s DC home chatting back and forth, for the entertainment of Rashae’s younger sister.
By the time they pulled into the half circle drive in front of the older DC home, Sam was composed, laughing and engaged. He could see the family resemblance when they grinned, but there was only one Rashae.
Men in coats stepped out of the shadows, their stern faces making Declan’s hands itch to grab something.
Secret Service.
“Ah, I suppose I’ll let you ladies out here.” Declan twisted in his seat. “Sam, it was lovely to meet you.”
“You have to come inside.” Her eyes were wide. “What are we going to tell them?”
“Sam can’t tell our dad she was on a date with Oliver because he works for our dad,” Rashae explained. She twisted to look at her sister. “We...were out shopping?”
“Where’s our bags?” Sam shot back.
“We went out to dinner?”
“Then why am I in a cocktail dress and you’re in jeans?”
“Fuck—I don’t know, Sam.”
Sam stared at Declan.
He had a nagging suspicion he was about to be roped into a sister act.
“Can you come in for a minute?” Sam asked.
“Sam—”
“Why? Would that help?” he asked.
Rashae sighed heavily. “If you come in, the Secret Service drones have to do a security thing. Dad will come over and make conversation, while she runs up stairs to put on jeans and pretend all is well. If we’re lucky, head drone in charge won’t say anything.”
“Davis isn’t on shift tonight. Or this week,” Sam offered. “Do you mind? Please?”
Did Declan want to go inside the house?
No.
But he had two women staring at him like a single word answer would make or break them.
“All right, I need to use the toilet anyway, I guess.” He cut the engine and popped his seatbelt.
Rashae was out first, her laughter feigned. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have known that, but now he knew what she sounded like when she was amused. How her breath hitched when she was aroused.
“Thank you, really,” Sam said. She slid out of the car and past the bodyguards, while Rashae kept them entertained.
The Secret Service guards were polite, if brisk. Declan produced identification and was allowed to wait near a heater while they did a precursory check on him and the car. Sure enough, five or so minutes into the process the front door opened, and a man stepped out.
“Shae, who’d you bring home?”
“Hi, Dad. This is Declan. I’m working with him.”
“Oh, that game, right?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Come in, come in.” Mr. Grant pushed the front door open.
The lead body guard scowled.
Rashae shoved Declan up the stairs.
“Sir—”
“If you haven’t found anything on him, yet, you aren’t going to. Go back to your show.” Mr. Grant winked at Declan and held the door for his daughter. “They have the run of the carriage house.”
“Sorry for not being here for dinner.” Rashae smiled sweetly, a completely different expression than what he’d seen on her so far.
“Get much done?” he asked.
“Yes, but we weren’t working today. Declan was hanging out with Sam and I.
”
Mr. Grant held out his hand, clasping Declan’s in a surprisingly firm grip.
“Don’t tell me...” He closed his eyes for a second. “Declan...L...something.”
“Declan works fine, sir.” How in the world did the Secretary of State know his name?
“Call me Timothy. Come in.”
Footsteps thumped down the stairs. Sam descended, clothed in jeans and a thermal long sleeved shirt with matching gray boots.
“Oh, you met Declan already.” Sam smiled. “Did you tell Daddy?”
“Uh...” Rashae glanced at Declan then Sam.
“Declan’s immigrating. Isn’t that awesome, Dad?” Sam’s smile was too wide, too bright.
Bloody hell...
If his father could see him now, he’d be so disappointed. And yet, wasn’t this what Declan was making the change for? To be more than his heritage? To become something else, besides that dirty Traveler boy? If Mr. Grant knew who he was, where he came from, would he toss him out the door?
Declan wouldn’t blame him if he did.
“Is that so?” Timothy turned toward Declan again.
“Sam, that’s rude.” Rashae tossed her sister a glare, then pushed at her father’s shoulder. “If Declan wanted to talk about it, I’m sure he’s capable of mentioning it himself. Dad, out of the doorway. I’m cold, and the whole reason Declan is coming in is to use the bathroom.”
She pointed him down the hall to a wash closet. He didn’t have to piss that bad, but what else was he supposed to do?
This whole thing was a circus.
Deep down, he was still that same con man’s son. If his Da were alive, if he were here now, he’d likely box his ears for—what? Not trying something? Fuck.
Once, his old man had made his sister lure a boy from school out to a pony race. They’d gotten the kid drunk and let him think they were friends. The whole time, Da was bleeding his parents dry in fees, looking for the kid. Rashae would be a golden goose. One look at her and Da would have a whole con laid out.
That wasn’t who Declan was anymore. Rashae was more to him than money or opportunity. She was someone he...cared about. He admired her. And he was totally lying to her. But it was for the good of the game. If they could get traction enough, he could sell the guys on her work. It was possible. He could do this for just a bit longer.
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 5
