Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (16 page)

Rudy started to slow to a stop because my hands had gone slack on the reins. Snowdrop noticed and started to slow as well. I barely noticed: I just sat there gaping at Kian.

“Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve pulled him off her and I’m hitting him. Over and over. The woman gets the belt off her neck and starts pulling her clothes on. By the time the other Secret Service agents hear the noise, she’s long gone.” He drew a deep breath and let it out. When he spoke again, he sounded tired. “I don’t hurt him all that badly. Fractured jaw, black eye... nothing like what he deserves. There’s a lot of blood, though, because I split his lip, so it looks worse. They rush him off to hospital and I’m taken into custody.”

“
You?”

The horses had stopped. He finally turned and looked at me. The rage was still there in his eyes, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me. “The ambassador swears there was no escort. The concierge swears he knows nothing. The hotel clams up: they don’t want people to think that sort of thing is going on there. I looked for the escort but I couldn’t find her: probably, her madam had convinced her not to talk to the cops so she never pressed charges. So we’re left with an ambassador who says I broke in and assaulted him.”

“And they
believed him?!
But there must have been evidence—”

“There was. Blood on the sheets. Mascara on the pillow where the woman had cried her heart out. But everyone knows the ambassador has diplomatic immunity: he’s not going to face any charges no matter what happens. No one wants an international incident. Easier to keep it simple. They kick me out, the ambassador doesn’t press assault charges and it all goes away.”

I blinked at him, my eyes suddenly wet.

He shook his head. “I should have gone straight in,” he muttered. “Five minutes,
one
minute... I should never have let her go in there.”

Now I got why he didn’t trust the Secret Service, why the rules drove him crazy. It wasn’t just that they’d wronged him. It was
guilt.
Guilt that he’d let the rules hold him back, that night, if only for a little while.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just wanted to wrap myself around that huge, strong body and give him an enormous hug. But before I could, he’d turned away and managed to coax Snowdrop into walking on.

I sat there in silence watching his retreating back for long seconds before I finally worked out what to say. “Kian?” I called after him.

He turned to look over his shoulder. “Ma’am?”

“I’m glad you came back.”

He held my gaze and I saw a little of the pain and anger fade away. “So am I, ma’am,” he said at last.

Kian

When we’d finished the ride, Emily showed me how to tie up the horses and brush them down. Standing there brushing a horse was about the furthest thing I could imagine from my normal life. No danger. Nothing to protect her from—not even the press. Being out of my suit for the first time in weeks made it feel even more like a vacation. And Emily looked so goddamn gorgeous... the perfect Texan cowgirl: tight blue jeans that hugged that soft rump perfectly, red and white plaid shirt, the breeze plucking at the collar to show glimpses of smooth tan cleavage…. She’d left her hair long and loose and the shafts of sunlight made it sparkle and shine every time one hit her. She was breathtaking.

My hand tightened on the wooden brush handle. Breathtaking and
not mine.
It was getting more and more difficult to remember that. It felt like we were on some romantic weekend away together. It wasn’t just the lust, anymore: it wasn’t just that I’d been watching that perfect ass bounce up and down in the saddle for mile after mile, or the fact there were
far
too many moss-covered trees in this forest and every one of them made me think of pushing her up against one and having her stand there, clutching at a branch above her head, while I stripped off her jeans, pushed her thighs apart and went to work with my lips and tongue. I’d started to feel things. I’d told her about what happened in New York, something I’d never planned on doing. We were getting too close, just like I’d been afraid of. But how could I pull away when it felt this good?

We thanked the guy from the riding school and headed back to the main house. Less than an hour later, I got a rude awakening.

Emily was swimming laps in the big, kidney-shaped pool and I was keeping an eye on her from the poolside. Standing there in the warm sun, watching her lithe body cut through the water was just about the best way I could think of to spend an afternoon. Or at least the best that involved her keeping her swimsuit on.

So maybe I was looking too hard, being too obvious. Maybe I was
gazing
when I should have been just watching.

My first warning was when a shadow fell across me. “Mr. O’Harra,” said a female voice. “Could I get your help with this?”

I looked around and saw the First Lady standing less than six feet away, giving me a
I know exactly what you’re looking at
look. As always, her dress and hair were perfect: she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a catalog and I was standing there in casual clothes, looking as if I was slacking off.
Dammit!
How did they all creep around so silently? Was everyone in DC ninja-trained? “Sure,” I said, and followed her.

She led me over to a huge barbecue that looked like it dated from Roosevelt’s era. It was wedged into a corner of the porch. “Can you get this out onto the middle of the deck for me?” she asked.

The thing looked as if it weighed more than I did: it hailed from an era where things were built from cast iron and girders. But I was all too happy to bend over and wrap my arms around it: it gave me an excuse to not look her in the eye. “No problem, ma’am.” I started to grunt and heave it away from the wall.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the First Lady turn and look at her daughter, now doing backstroke in the pool. I looked, too. The surface of the water was lapping lazily over the black, glossy hillocks her breasts formed in her swimsuit.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” asked the First Lady in a carefully neutral tone.

I focused on the barbecue. “Yes, ma’am.” What else was I supposed to say?

“I’m glad you’re helping her,” said the First Lady. “She seems happier. Stronger.” She watched as I began to haul the barbecue along the deck. “I expect your services won’t be required much longer.”

The edge in her voice sent cold shooting right up my spine, followed by a stab of anger at the threat of us being split apart.  “I guess that’s up to Em—Miss Matthews, ma’am.”

She said nothing for a moment, but I could feel her cold gaze on me. I tried to concentrate on heaving the barbecue towards the center of the deck.

“I hope she can see clearly,” said the First Lady at last. “You know how women can get attached. Even infatuated. The wrong sort of man can seem like the right sort of man.”

The barbecue slid into position and there was nothing else I could do to avoid it: I straightened up and looked her in the eye. When she spoke again, she didn’t sound unkind, so much as worried. “I’d hate to see you thrown out of the Secret Service a second time, Mr. O’Harra.” She crossed her arms. “My husband will do anything to protect Emily: even hire you. But
I’ll
do anything to protect her, too. Remember that.” She glanced down at the barbecue. “Thank you,” she said, dismissing me.

I turned away and headed across the deck. Up until she’d come over, I’d been enjoying the feel of the sun beating down on me. Now the warmth was no longer there: I felt as if I’d been dunked into a bath of ice water. How could I have been so stupid? Of course she’d have noticed the way I looked at Emily and the way she looked at me. I’d been far too lax about things: the horse riding had probably been the final straw. Now I was damn close to being fired and, if that happened, I’d never see her again.

I’d have to get some distance between us. I’d have to make sure I was nothing but absolutely, one hundred percent professes—

At that second, Emily climbed out of the pool right in front of me. Her one-piece black swimsuit left her tan shoulders bare and revealed a mouthwatering scoop of glistening cleavage at the front, little jewels of water trickling down her skin. She looked up at me with those lush green eyes and there was just a hint of a smile on her lips. She knew I was looking at her and, dammit, she was letting me know she liked it.

I felt the First Lady’s eyes on me from the other side of the pool. I tore my eyes away from Emily and strode away, not stopping until I’d turned a corner and was out of sight.
Shit!
I didn’t give a damn about breaking the rules or what her mom thought was best for her but I couldn’t risk getting fired. Being close to her like this was unbearable... but not seeing her at all would be unthinkable.
What the hell am I going to do?

Emily

I didn’t know what time it was. Late enough that Camp David was quiet and still but dawn must have still been a long way off because, when I opened my eyes, my bedroom was black.

I lay there half-awake in the darkness, wondering what had woken me. I strained my ears. A noise from outside? I couldn’t hear anything now.

Then my eyes adjusted enough to make out shadowy shapes in the gloom. The dresser, the closet... and a shape that shouldn’t be there, standing near the end of my bed. A huge, tall shape.

A man.

He started towards me, his feet silent on the thick carpet. I filled my lungs to scream... then froze.
It’s Kian!
Finally, he’d stopped holding back. He’d come to me in the night like some fairytale prince. I was going to get the kiss I’d been aching for and then he’d climb silently into my bed and—

I started to grin, my heart thumping with anticipation. Then a cloud cleared the moon outside and I glimpsed the man’s face.

It wasn’t Kian. It was the man from the park, the one who’d pointed a gun at my head.

I opened my mouth to scream, but now I’d missed my chance: a hand slapped down across it, sealing tight against my lips. I sucked in a panicked breath through my nostrils as he rammed my head back down on the pillow. My cries were muffled and pathetic—I wasn’t sure they’d even carry through the heavy oak door.
Where was Kian?

I lashed out with my hands, clawing at him, but suddenly my hands were caught. I could make out another man, now, on the other side of the bed, and then I was being rolled on my side and my hands were drawn painfully behind my back, my wrists cinched together and bound brutally tight. Even as I remembered to kick, someone grabbed my ankles and they were tied, too. The hand was removed and my mouth was stuffed full of cloth. I felt the tape pressed across my cheeks, trapping strands of hair against my skin and sticking to my lips, and however hard I screamed it came out as just a muffled grunt.

Then they picked me up, wrapping their arms under my back and knees, and carried me across the room. I could feel a breeze blowing through the drapes: somehow, they’d got the glass doors that led onto the deck open. Why weren’t the alarms going off? Where was the Secret Service?
Where was Kian?!

I squirmed and thrashed, trying to see where they were taking me, but the moon had gone behind the clouds again and all I could catch were glimpses of grass and trees. Then I was dumped into the trunk of a car and the lid closed, plunging me into total darkness. Seconds later, I was speeding away from Camp David, heading God-knows where, and no one even knew I was missing!