Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (14 page)

A soft, female hand landed on my chest, halting me. I smelled Emily’s perfume. She’d been waiting there for me in the darkness.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for hitting him. I’m sorry you got in trouble.”

And all the anger just melted away. It was as if cool, healing
peace
was throbbing out of her palm and into my body. “That’s okay, ma’am,” I said at last, trying to keep my voice gruff.

I felt her hesitate for a second—I imagined her biting her lip—and then there was a sudden rustle of fabric as she went up on tiptoe and... her lips pressed against my cheek, that soft mahogany hair like silk against my neck. Then she was gone, pushing through the doors, and I was standing there blinking in the sudden light, looking out at the packed hall.

I got my feet moving and followed behind her, every inch the professional bodyguard. When she reached her table, I drew out her chair and then stood behind her, watching for threats. It was only after a few minutes had passed and I was sure no one could make the connection that I lifted my fingers to my cheek and brushed the tingling spot where she’d kissed me.

Okay, then.
I stared at Emily, unable to take my eyes off of her. I wouldn’t quit. Somehow, for her, I’d make this work.

Kian

The next morning, standing in front of the mirror, I made a decision. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it
right.
Miller was looking for any excuse to fire me and, if he did, I wouldn’t be able to protect her.

So I was going to take away all his excuses.

I lathered up my face and then, for the first time I could remember, I shaved completely clean. When I was done, I blinked at myself. I looked... well, not exactly
good
or
wholesome, but
, once I put on a shirt and covered up my tattoos, I could just about pass for a Secret Service agent. I tried to neaten my hair up a little, but it settled straight back into
tousled:
misbehaving seemed to be grown into it right along with that coal-black Irish color, so I gave up.

When I got to the White House, I retrieved the file Miller had given me from my locker and started reading. Whenever Emily didn’t need me, I’d be in the Secret Service ready room, trying to memorize radio procedures and codenames. Each time Miller glanced in and saw me reading, he looked surprised and a little cynical, but he didn’t say anything.

Two weeks passed. I mostly worked the day shift, because that was when she needed me most, but if she had to go out at night I’d work a double and make sure I was there right up until she turned in for the night. I took Emily out in public four more times: a fundraiser, a gallery opening, a charity event for disabled kids and a horse race. Each time, I kept a hand on her back or on her shoulder and, each time, she seemed to be able to push the fear back a little more. She was still a long way from being back to her old self: sometimes she’d just freeze and I knew she was flashing back to the park. Once, she bolted and I had to race after her, gripping her by the shoulders and telling her it was okay. But each time, with the right word in her ear, she slowly came back to herself and was able to carry on.

That was difficult, those words in her ear. Leaning close to her, smelling her perfume, feeling that soft hair blow across my face and tickle my nose... all I wanted to do was to bury my face in her neck and kiss all the way down it to her shoulder, then on down her body. I wanted to wrap my arm around her waist, pick her up and press her against me and never let go. Instead, I had to tell her it was okay... and then draw back again and be just her bodyguard.

It was almost unbearable. Whenever there was someone around, we had to pretend there was nothing between us. But it was even harder when it was just the two of us, in her bedroom or in an elevator, when there was nothing to hold me back... except the certainty that I would destroy her, if I gave in and kissed her. Once wouldn’t be enough and what else could I offer her: a
relationship? Me?
Even if that was remotely plausible, given our stations in life, I didn’t dare open myself up to her: I was too afraid of the pain that would follow, if I lost her. I couldn’t give Emily anything long term. And I wasn’t going to use her and leave her—she was worth more than that.

Already, I was worried by how much I’d come to care about her. And every day, it grew worse: whenever we walked together, we both unconsciously veered inward until our hips and shoulders were brushing. Each time I touched her, to guide her or reassure her I was there, I found it harder to lift my hand away again.

And then came Air Force One.

She was dozing in one of the huge, comfortable seats as we descended towards Andrews Air Force Base. One of the quirks of being on the President’s own plane is that they don’t have rules about having to be seated for take-off and landing, so I was standing as I watched over her. She was in too shallow a sleep for the nightmares to take hold, a tiny smile on her face as her soft breaths blew strands of hair back and forth in front of her lips. She murmured something in her sleep and, unable to resist, I leaned close.

She murmured it again:
Kian.

I took a long, shuddering breath and stared at her, our faces only inches apart. Her lips were right there, softly pink and perfect. As I watched, they parted a third time, showing gleaming white teeth and that quick pink tongue. The temptation to kiss her awake was like a physical force, pushing my head down towards her….

I straightened up, folded my hands behind my back and looked away. Seconds later, the wheels hit the runway and she woke.

Every day was like tiptoeing along a knife edge. I knew it wasn’t just me: I’d catch her looking at me in mirrors, or we’d get too close and
she’d
start to lean in and then catch herself. The tension between us was spiraling upward, unstoppable….

And then, one day in mid-October, everything moved into high gear.

Kian

My morning started off weird and got weirder.

I’d finally started to get used to rising early and I’d gotten into a routine of stopping off at a cafe on my way to the White House for steak, eggs and coffee. For the first time in my life, I was taking an interest in politics: I’d browse through the
Post
while I ate and read about which senators were fighting today. As Emily had said, a lot of the media were siding with Kerrigan. A few columnists were trying to raise the alarm but most were pressuring the President to back The Guardian Act.
Idiots!

A guy sat down next to me, uninvited. “Hey,” he said. “Buddy. Will you take a look at this?”

I frowned, expecting to be hit with some sob story and a plea for loose change, but he didn’t look like he was homeless. He was a big guy, in a faded hooded top and a baseball cap, and he was showing me a crossword puzzle. “Eight down,” he said, pointing. “I’m stuck.”

I sighed.
Do I look like the kind of guy who does crossword puzzles?
I looked at the clue and then shook my head. “I got no idea,” I told him, turning away. “Sorry.”

When I got to the White House, things got even weirder. We’d been invaded by techies: guys in overalls climbing up stepladders, threading bundles of cable into the ceiling spaces and routing them under the floorboards. Twice, I nearly tripped over someone. By the time I reached Emily’s bedroom, I was running late and I was in such a hurry I just went straight in without knocking.

I stopped two steps inside the room. She was topless, her bra in her hands, her mouth falling open as she turned her head to gape at me.

I staggered backwards out of the door, grabbed the handle and slammed it closed, then stood there staring at it, my heart thumping. I couldn’t see the dark oak in front of me. I relived the moment over and over in my mind. She’d been side on to me, the morning light filtering through the drapes to bathe her soft, tan skin. Her breasts, as pert and ripe as I’d always imagined them, had swayed with her intake of breath as she’d seen me, her brown hair falling to brush across her rose nipples—

Emily, now in a blouse, pulled open the door. “Don’t you
knock?”
Like me, she was red-faced.

“Yeah,” I said, looking down at my feet. “Sorry.”

Nipples rose pink nipples with the most gorgeous areolae I’d ever seen—
I tried to push the image out of my head but it was impossible.

She stepped back from the door and I entered. When she’d closed the door behind me, I stood there awkwardly, desperately trying to think of something to say. I couldn’t think of anything except the memory of the soft curve of her naked stomach and how it would feel to kiss all the way down to her navel.

“What’s with all the techies?” I managed at last.

She sighed and crossed her arms, which made her breasts bulge against her wrists in a way that made me catch my breath. “It’s Kerrigan,” she told me. “They’re from Rexortech. He’s refitting the entire White House communications and security system—
for free.
You’ll be getting a new radio, at some point.
My dad had to wave it through—his opponents would have crucified him if he’d turned down millions of dollars worth of free tech and spent taxpayer’s money instead. But now Kerrigan’s company can use it as marketing:
We guard the White House!
He wanted to bring in Rexortech guys as well, have them walking the halls alongside the Secret Service, but my dad nixed the idea.
”

As before, talking about Kerrigan had lit the old fire in her eyes. “The guy’s an asshole,” I said. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s VP: he doesn’t have any real power.”

“He’s not going to stop here,” she told me grumpily, turning away and pacing. “His guys are putting up cameras all over the city. On the streets, in hospitals and stores.
Everywhere.
DC’s going to be a model for how he wants the whole country to be.”

I nodded. “I hear you. I get it.”

She whirled to face me. “No you
don’t!”
she snapped. “No one does!” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I was up late.” She nodded towards her desk. “Look... I’ve never liked the Guardian Act, or Kerrigan
.
And maybe, at first, part of it was that I was trying to distract myself from the fear—I needed something concrete to fight. But it’s more than that, now. I’ve been looking into Rexortech. Something’s not right.”

I moved over to her desk, frowning. Printouts were stacked a foot deep, highlighted, annotated and covered in Post-It notes. “What
is
all this?” I asked.

“Their accounts.” When I twisted to stare at her, aghast, she gave me a look. “I didn’t steal them! I bought a single share in the company a few weeks ago. As a shareholder, I’m allowed to examine the accounts. And there’s weird stuff in there. There’s still opposition to the bill, enough that it could still fail. But Rexortech is gearing up and making acquisitions as if they’re
sure
it’s going to pass.”

I stared at her, horrified. “You shouldn’t be doing this! I agree, Kerrigan’s an asshole, but if anyone finds out you’re investigating him, if you so much as
hint
that he’s involved in something shady... he’s the
Vice President!
The press will crucify you if you’re wrong!”