Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (19 page)

“OK,” I heard Kerrigan mutter. “Go ahead. Keep it short.”

I stepped back until I was pressed right up against the hedge—fortunately, that took me off the gravel and onto the grass, so I made no noise at all. Now I could hear even better.

But Giggs grinned and stepped forward, too, until we were almost touching.
Oh, great—now he thinks I want to make out.

“What?” asked Kerrigan. “It’s a shitty connection, I can’t hear you. Say that—”

And then, just for a second, I caught a break. The guy on the other end raised his voice and the connection cleared up at the same time. Even so, I wouldn’t have heard it unless I’d been pressed right up against the hedge. “—next piece of business?” asked the caller.

I went absolutely still. The darkness around me flared into light. Balloons against a brilliant blue sky. I knew that voice. I’d heard it almost every night for the last six weeks. I could see the man standing over me, leveling his gun at my head.
“It’s just business.”

Kerrigan was talking to the second shooter from the park.

I couldn’t process it, didn’t even know how to begin. And then, as I was standing there frozen, Giggs leaned in close to me, his lips coming down to brush mine.

That snapped me back to reality. I twisted to the side and gave a quick, violent shake of my head.

Behind me, Kerrigan said, “Start your planning. Use S32, it’s quiet.”

Giggs frowned at me, as if telling me not to be foolish. He moved in again to kiss me and I twisted away again, still desperate to avoid making any noise.

“Keep me posted,” said Kerrigan. And I heard him end the call and walk away. I let out a long sigh and turned back to Giggs just in time for him to kiss me.

My arms came up automatically, but my hands just grabbed at empty air: I didn’t know what to do. I tried to step back, but I was already right up against the hedge and all I did was scratch my bare shoulders. Giggs’ lips were rubbery and wet and, as I opened my mouth to protest, his tongue slid into my mouth.

I shoved him away as hard as I could. “No!” I hissed. I still didn’t want to make too much noise: partially because Kerrigan was probably still within earshot and partially because I was scared of making a scene—there’s no worse crime, in polite DC society.

Giggs stared at me, confused, then grabbed my waist with both hands and pulled me close. I twisted out of the way of his kiss, but his lips landed on my neck, instead.

This is my fault. I asked him out here. He thought I wanted this.
I felt so stupid, so ashamed, that I didn’t think to be angry. His lips worked their way down my neck and across the bare skin of my shoulder: wet and slimy and horribly invasive. I squirmed and kicked. “No!” I said insistently. I felt him nudge the shoulder strap of my dress off my shoulder. “No!” I said again, right in his ear.

He drew his head back and this time he looked mad, as if I’d worn out his patience. He actually shook his head at me warningly. “Don’t be a bitch, Emily,” he chided. And he squeezed my ass with both hands.

And then there was a presence next to us. One with enough strength that just being near it lent some to me. Giggs and I looked around just as Kian’s fist connected with Giggs’ face.

Giggs flew backward and crashed down on the gravel path. As Kian marched past me toward him, Giggs reeled and made the mistake of getting to his feet.

So Kian hit him again. This time under the chin. I saw Giggs’ feet lift clear of the ground and he went down again, spitting blood and possibly teeth. Kian grabbed the collar of his shirt and hoisted him off the ground. He would have hit him a third time if I hadn’t run over and grabbed his arm. “
Stop!”
I told him. “Please.”

Kian looked over his shoulder at me. The arm holding Giggs didn’t waver an inch—he could have held the guy there all night long if he’d wanted to. There was so much anger in his eyes—the only reason it wasn’t terrifying was that he was on my side.

I checked behind me. People were rushing over from the party to see what was going on. I could see three Secret Service agents ramming their way through the growing crowd towards us and my mom was close behind them. “
Please,”
I whispered to Kian.

Kian dropped Giggs to the ground. A Secret Service agent grabbed each of Kian’s arms and I saw him tense... but a pleading look from me made him slump and he let them lead him away, resigned to his fate. The third Secret Service agent hauled Giggs off the ground and led him away, too.

My mom ran up to me, shooing everyone else away and bombarding me with questions. But my eyes were on Kian. I had to speak to Miller, or my dad. I had to explain what had happened.

And then, at the back of the crowd, I saw Kerrigan. Everyone else was watching either Kian or Giggs being led away, but his gaze was firmly fixed on me. Then I saw his gaze move from where I was standing to the spot where he’d made his call.

He knows.

Kian

A half hour later, I was back at the White House. I waited in the anteroom outside the Oval Office for another half hour before finally being called in. I braced myself, expecting Miller to be there to formally end my career—I’d already assumed I was fired, but I wasn’t looking forward to his gloating at having been proved right about me.

I looked around in surprise when I opened the door and realized Miller wasn’t there. The President was standing by the windows, looking out across the Rose Garden with a glass of Scotch in his hand. It swept over me again, even stronger than before. I felt...
awed.
“Mr President?” I asked. “Did you want me to get Miller?”

“He just left,” said the President, walking around his desk. “He had a lot to say about you.” He rubbed his ear. “Most of it at full volume.”

“Are you going to yell at me, sir?”

He didn’t reply at first. He came to stand in front of me and then just looked at me. It felt as if every bad and good thing I’d ever done was being weighed.

“I’m going to thank you,” the President said at last. “For hitting that son of a bitch.”

“Yes sir. Even though he’s a senator?”

“If someone tries to touch my daughter, I don’t care if he’s the President of France.”

“Understood, sir.”

We lapsed into silence.

“Miller wants to fire me, sir?” I asked. I had to know where I stood.

“Miller wants you to go to jail,” the President corrected. “Luckily for you, you had an advocate.”

Emily.
I looked into his eyes, but he was unreadable.
Does he know or not?

He swirled his glass, making the ice clink and rattle. “You’re dismissed, Mr. O’Harra.”

I backed out of the Oval Office before he could change his mind. And right outside the door was Emily.

Emily

I practically dived on Kian as he emerged from the Oval Office, then pulled him away down the hallway. “What happened?” I asked. “Are you fired?”

He was looking back in the direction of the Oval Office, frowning suspiciously. “No....”

I felt my shoulders slump in relief. “I’m so sorry. It was my fault. I took him out there and he thought—”

Kian snapped his head around and stared at me. “Wait—
what?”

“I—You know, I said I’d go on a walk with him and he thought I wanted to make out. It was my fault.”

We were still walking. He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me up short, then spun me to face him. “Are you
kidding?
” I could hear the Irish in his voice. “‘He thought you wanted to make out’... so that makes it
your fault?!”

I just stood there gaping at him.

“It was
not
your fault. There’s no feckin’ excuse for what he did!”

I stared at him. I knew it, I’d been trying to convince myself of it... but that wasn’t the same as hearing it from someone else. I finally nodded, a huge lump in my throat. But weirdly, once I couldn’t blame myself, the whole thing felt scarier in some ways. If it had been my fault, I could tell myself I’d be smarter next time. But the idea that it was
him,
that that could be lurking behind expensive suits and designer ties everywhere, anywhere….

Kian’s hand landed gently on my shoulder, right where Giggs had kissed the skin. The warmth of him felt cleansing, soaking away Giggs’s touch. The hand slid smoothly up and cupped my cheek and I felt myself relax into it.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m going to show you something.”

He took me by the hand and led me to the residence, then straight into my bedroom.

“I want to show you what to do, the next time some bastard doesn’t know what ‘no’ means,” he said.

I nodded.

He stood facing me and took each of my hands in his. “Grab him here,” he said, planting each of my palms on his hips. I’d felt his hands on me plenty of times but it was almost the first time I’d touched him. I could feel the power of his hip muscles, huge and solid. If my fingertips slid back just an inch, they’d be holding that tight, hard ass I’d admired so many times as he walked ahead of me.

“Bring one leg between mine,” he said. He sounded calm and neutral, so I tried to be clinical about it myself.
This doesn’t mean anything. He’s just teaching me.
I moved my leg between his.

“No,” he said. “If you do it right in the middle, between my feet, I can squeeze my legs together and trap you.” He demonstrated, closing his legs like a trap. My dress left my lower leg bare and suddenly my calf was pinned between both of his, the heat of him throbbing into me through the thin fabric of his pants. I felt my breath hitch faster in my chest.

He opened his legs again. “Try it again, but this time, press your leg up against one of mine. It makes it harder for me to trap you: I can do it, but I’d have to throw myself off balance.”

I slid my leg between his again, but this time I pressed the outside of my thigh tight against the inside of his. Feeling the heat of him there was very different to feeling it against my calf. And as he shifted his weight, I felt the outline of his cock brush against my inner thigh. He was already half-hard and swelling against me.

“Good,” he said. His voice wasn’t so neutral, now. “Now you need to bring your knee up at just the right angle.
Slowly first!”
He said it so firmly we both laughed and the tension was broken for a second. But as soon as I started to lift my knee, it was back. My dress fell away from my leg as it rose, baring my knee. It moved higher, higher—
that was his cock I just brushed against.
I wobbled—it was difficult to do it slowly, especially in heels—and he grabbed for my shoulders and steadied me, his palms warm against my bare skin.

And then my knee reached his balls. I could feel them resting right on my kneecap, hot and...
heavy.

“There,” he said. His voice was strained and the Irish was the clearest I’d ever heard it. “That’s where you need to be.”

I nodded as if we were discussing the best way to change a tire.