Saving Liberty (Kissing #6)

by Helena Newbury

  As she filled me in, I saw some of Emily’s old spark return. It was the first time I’d seen her really fired up about something since the park and it felt amazing. She was still terrified, but she cared so much about this she was able to push back the fear, if only for a moment.

  When she’d finished, I wanted to knock my head against a wall: this whole thing had been happening right in front of me, played out on the nightly news, and I’d barely noticed. And the few times I had paid attention, I’d actually thought it sounded like a good idea: anything that made life more difficult for the terrorists was good, right? “I’m an idiot,” I muttered grumpily. I felt like a big dumb ox, next to her.

  But then Emily’s face softened. “You’re not an idiot. You’re a patriot. Kerrigan’s good at playing on that.” She held my gaze for a second and I felt a little less dumb. A look passed between us: I was on her side, now, and that felt good.

  “What about your dad?” I asked. “I mean, no way is he going to let this come to pass.”

  She shook her head... but doubtfully. “A month ago, no way. But since the attack, he’s been under a lot of pressure. The media started off giving both sides, but they’re leaning more and more Kerrigan’s way. And it’s tough for the grassroots protestors to fight: they try to organize a march or a rally and people scream that they’re supporting terrorists. Plus, Kerrigan’s smart: he’s made some powerful political friends. I’ve heard him talking to senators, promising Rexortech factories in their state if they’ll back him.”

  I tilted my head to one side. “You’re eavesdropping on him?”

  She flushed and looked at the floor. “Not eavesdropping. Just... you know, it’s easy for me to overhear things. I kind of blend into the background, around here. People don’t really notice me.”

  That made a hot pulse of anger stab up inside me. I put a finger under her chin and gently lifted it so that she was looking up at me. “They should,” I said quietly.

  And then I was looking down into those big green eyes and I felt myself sliding inexorably as I leaned down to kiss her….

  Emily

  I drew in a shaky breath as Kian leaned down towards me, his big body hulking over me. I tilted my head back, my eyes began to flicker closed—

  And then he was drawing back sharply and looking away, refusing to meet my eyes. He took a full step back and cleared his throat. “Will you, um... be needing me before tonight, ma’am?” He asked.

  I stood there gaping. Had I just imagined that he’d been about to kiss me? I waited until he finally looked at me: no, I could see it in his eyes. He was giving me a look that sent heat rippling down my body to pool at my groin. He did want me. But he was holding back.

  And realization hit me, making my cheeks go hot. What are you doing?! He’s your bodyguard! I looked away as well. “No, Kian.”

  “Then I’ll see you later, ma’am.” And he strode over to the door and was gone before I could stop him... or maybe before he could change his mind.

  I closed the door and leaned my forehead against it while I tried to make sense of it all. I wanted to scream in frustration. God, he was gorgeous... on a whole different level and in a whole different way to Senator Giggs’ bland good looks. Dangerous. Exciting. And ironically, it was seeing Kian get all worked up about Senator Giggs that had cemented my belief that the dark-haired giant was into me. Into me in a way no one ever had been: he permanently looked as if he wanted to rip my clothes off.

  And he was angry. Thick, dark rage bubbling away just under the surface, always ready to explode. I’d heard about his “outbursts” from Miller: it had been one of the many arguments he gave for not wanting to reinstate him. But now I’d seen Kian’s rage for myself and it didn’t scare me: I couldn’t imagine him ever hurting me. In fact, the thing that seemed to make him angriest of all was when someone threatened me. What I wanted was to help him... heal him. I got the feeling that anger came from pain, the same deep scarring that made him keep pulling away from me. Could I ever get to know him well enough that he’d let me in?

  Even if I could, it didn’t change the fact that he was my bodyguard. If people started to suspect something was going on between us, the Secret Service would kick him out faster than we could blink and I didn’t want to see that happen. Already, both my mom and Kerrigan probably had suspicions. We were going to have to start being a lot more careful.

  Because if Kian wasn’t around... he wouldn’t be able to protect me. And already, I was addicted to the feeling of safety he gave me. It was like cool, clean air after a solid month of stifling imprisonment. Whenever he was by my side, especially when he touched me, I felt like the old me again.

  And that wasn’t all that happened when he touched me. Right alongside that feeling of security there was the constant, electric sexual tension. Just being close to him made it difficult to focus on anything else. I’d never felt anything like it, never felt my whole body thrum to a silent rhythm whenever he was around, longing for him, aching for him. There was something about Kian, a raw maleness that the guys I’d known before just didn’t have. He looked great in a suit, but he might as well be a spruced-up caveman for all he had in common with the political types I knew. I was used to bullshit and mind games but with Kian there was none of that, just the sense that, if his self-control wavered even a little, he’d throw me down on the nearest available flat surface and—

  I slowly turned, pressing my back to the door. To feel safe, I needed him close to me. To avoid screwing things up for both of us, I had to keep him at arm’s length.

  Maintaining that balance was going to be impossible.

  Emily

  I didn’t see him for several hours, until it was time to go to the reception. He knocked on my door and I opened it wide. “Okay,” I said, checking my purse to see that I had everything. “I think I’m ready. Let’s head over to the—” I looked up and broke off. Kian was standing there just staring at me. “What?” I looked down at myself. Had I spilled nail polish all over myself or something? I couldn’t see anything wrong. I checked Kian again, but he was still just standing there. “What?” I asked again.

  He took a deep, slow breath. “Nothing, ma’am.” he said. “I just haven’t seen you…”—he lifted a hand to indicate me—”like that.”

  I looked down at myself again and realized it was the first time he’d seen me dressed up for the evening. In the park, I’d been in a summer dress. Since then, I’d been in a blouse and skirt. Now, I was in high heels and a deep green cocktail dress: it wasn’t too low cut (there’d be an outcry if the President’s daughter was seen in anything the media could call slutty) but now I looked at it, it did show quite a lot of leg. And I was beginning to realize Kian had a thing for my legs.

  I flushed. No one had ever had a thing about any part of me.

  “Okay,” I said again. “Let’s go.” I stepped out into the hallway, Kian followed me and—

  We both did it at the same time. I raised my arm to slip it through his and he crooked his elbow to offer a loop and it was only when we were just about to do it that we both froze... looked at each other... and quickly dropped our arms and looked away. I flushed again. Idiot! He was my bodyguard, not my date! But it had just felt so right, so natural, with him in the suit and me in the cocktail dress, and him picking me up to go out….

  And he’d made the same mistake. The implications of that made my chest go tight.

  Then we were walking down the hallway, eyes front, not daring even to touch. And that gave the fear a chance to come back.

  It started in my stomach, a sensation like falling. A gathering, sickening blackness that swallowed me up from the inside, draining my spirit until I felt tiny and weak. Down at the end of the hallway, I saw my dad and the Secret Service detail gathering and I felt my steps slow. One of the agents glanced at me and spoke in a low voice to Miller, who was going to be heading up the detail tonight. Miller gave me a reassuring smile. In fact, all of them did. Everyone was being so nic
e and understanding but I knew that all of them were on edge after how I’d freaked out last time. None of them wanted to get reprimanded because the President’s daughter went loco again and they handled it badly. I could feel the pressure piling up and up: I didn’t want to let anyone down. “They must hate me,” I muttered under my breath.

  Kian put his hand on my arm, slowing me to a stop. He waited until I looked at him before he spoke. “No one hates you,” he said sternly. “Everyone understands. They’ll take care of you. This is what they do.”

  I gave him a weak smile. He sounded so sincere... and I knew it must have taken a lot for him to say that, given the differences between him and the Secret Service. But as I looked at Miller, quietly giving his agents a last-minute pep talk, I didn’t feel any better. It still felt as though they were movers, discussing how best to transport a fragile grand piano. They cared about getting the job done right, but they didn’t care about me.

  As if he’d read my mind, Kian leaned close. “I’ll be there too.”

  And the fear retreated just enough for me to breathe.

  This time, my dad rode in one limo with Harlan and the rest of his detail while I rode in a second one with Kian, Miller and the rest of mine. I figured this was so they could whisk me away more easily if anything went wrong: after last time, they probably had all sorts of contingency plans for if I freaked out. Knowing they’d gone to all that trouble only made me feel worse.

  I had to get through this.

  We settled into our seats, Kian beside me, and we pulled away. As we left the safety of the White House and slid into the dark streets of DC, I felt my heart begin to speed up. It felt like setting off from a safe port across a bottomless black ocean. I looked down at my hands, knitting together in my lap. I willed them to keep still but I couldn’t stop. I glanced down at Kian’s massive hands, gently resting on his powerful legs. What I really needed was for him to hold my hand. But that would be totally inappropriate and, when I checked Miller, he was looking right at us and giving Kian a look of open disdain—

  Warm, strong fingers captured my left hand and squeezed. I looked down and saw my hand in Kian’s, then glanced up disbelievingly into his eyes.

  He just nodded at me, as if to say, I got you.

  I glanced at Miller again. He was staring down at our joined hands. As I watched, he lifted his eyes and gave Kian a what the hell do you think you’re doing? look.

  Or he tried to. Because when I looked up at Kian again, he was still looking at me, ignoring Miller completely. That’s when I knew he’d do whatever it took to take care of me. I squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. I could feel his strength flowing into me, forcing back the fear.

  But when the limo purred to a stop, my panic went into high gear. Each sound pushed me a little further towards the edge: the slamming of doors as my dad got out of his limo; the rising cheers of the crowd as they saw their president; the click-click-click of cameras. I could feel it all pressing in on the outside of the limo, the outside world so big and powerful and deadly that I swore I felt the car shift on its suspension.

  The door of our limo opened. That huge, dark ocean of fear swept in: the noise, the camera flashes, the people. So many strangers. It felt like freezing water rising around me, filling my mouth and ears, drowning me. I wanted to slam that door and cling to my seat all the way home... and instead, I was going to have to go out there. I was going to have to go out there!

  Miller climbed out and did a last-minute check of the scene, then leaned in again and nodded to me. My turn. My eyes bugged out. Out there?!

  “I can’t,” I whispered.

  I’m not sure if I meant it for myself or Kian, but it didn’t matter. He put his big, warm hands on my shoulders, cupping them, and said. “I’ll be right here with you, Emily.”

  I knew I was meant to breathe—that was supposed to help—but when I sucked in air it didn’t seem to contain any oxygen. I stared at the scene outside: faces and camera flashes and noise and—

  I felt Kian’s hands on my shoulders—not forcing me, not pushing me... it was almost as if they were magnets and he was drawing me up out of my seat, me the puppet and him the puppeteer. “We’re going to do it together,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m going to have a hand on you the whole time and I promise I won’t leave you. Okay?”

  I took another deep huff of air and this one contained a faint trace of oxygen. I felt myself nod.

  “One,” he told me, guiding me towards the door. My legs felt like wax and I almost stumbled. But he was like a warm lantern casting a glow around both of us, pushing back the darkness. As long as I stayed within that circle of light, I was safe.

  “Two,” he said. Just a hint of Irish in his voice, shining like silver. It only came out when he was really under pressure.

  “Three.” He said it with so much finality, so much confidence, that I believed we could do it.

  I stepped out of the limo.

  Kian

  My chest tightened up at how brave she was being. I could see how terrified she was and I knew that asking her to step out of that limo was like sending a wounded soldier right back into a war zone. That’s why I hadn’t asked: I’d told her how it was going to be. I had to help her beat this thing. But when I saw the crowd, even I was taken aback.

  When I’d guarded foreign dignitaries, it had been about looking for the assassin, the lone shooter. The public doesn’t care at all about foreign ambassadors and minor royals from far-off nations, so I’d never had to cope with crowds like this. But I knew from Iraq how dangerous a big group of people can be. Get enough people in one place and they stop acting like individuals: a pack mentality takes over and they operate like one massive creature. That’s how riots start and stampedes happen: panic and anger spread instantly and the mood can shift in a heartbeat.

  The crowd was restrained by waist-high metal barriers and, if they tried to get over them, by a line of Secret Service agents. But even armed as they were, they weren’t going to be able to stop a rampaging mob of thousands if things went wrong.

  It wasn’t a hostile crowd. People were cheering and waving as the President slowed to greet them and there’d been a big wave of applause as Emily and I emerged. But they were hungry. Every single one of them wanted a piece of her—they felt like they deserved that, they were entitled. It was like being next to a tank of piranha eager to gnaw you to the bone.

  We began to move along the red carpet, my hand on her back. God, she looked even smaller and more fragile in the middle of all this noise. Ahead of us, the President was just entering the building. Miller was walking backwards a few feet ahead of us, watching us closely. Emily took slow, cautious steps, as if she thought the ground might disappear under her feet at any instant. And the whole time, on either side of us, the crowd roared.

  I wanted to get her inside as fast as possible. I heard the sigh of disappointment sweep through the throng as they saw us make a beeline straight for the building and I ignored them. But Emily slowed, gazed wide-eyed at the crowd... and stopped. “No,” she said.

  I had to lean close and put my mouth almost to her ear so that she could hear me over the noise. “It’s okay,” I told her. “You don’t have to.”

  She looked at the crowd again. Her face had gone ghostly white with fear, but her jaw was set in a way I recognized from her father. “Some of them have been waiting for hours.”

  And she looked down at her feet for a second. I realized then just how frightened she was: she was having to will herself to walk forward.

  Step by shaky step, she moved closer to the barriers. The crowd noise doubled as she approached, until talking was impossible and even thinking was difficult. I put my hands on her shoulders again. I didn’t give a shit if someone thought it was inappropriate—I wanted to communicate with her not to get too close. I scanned back and forth along the crowd, looking for any possible threat.

  At this range, the crowd broke up into individuals again: guys who wanted her, g
irls who wanted to be her. Hands stretched out, desperate to touch her, even if it was just a brush of her dress, but I made sure she stayed just beyond their reach, in case someone grabbed her and dragged her forward, or whipped out a knife or a syringe. I was getting madder and madder: these people were meant to be her fans, but they were so selfish: it was like they felt they owned her. Couldn’t they see how scared she was? She was physically shaking with fear: I knew that she couldn’t even hear what they were saying to her over the roar, but she was nodding and smiling, doing her best to satisfy them. God, she’s so brave….

  Suddenly, a guy about her age hurled himself forward over the shoulders of the people in front of him, as if he was crowd-surfing. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he spat, his voice slurred with alcohol. A big hand, weighted with rings, reached for her, and his arms were long enough that he was in range.

  All of my anger welled up inside me. I slammed my fist into his jaw with all my strength, and he flew backward. The crowd opened up, shying away from his drunkenness, and he crashed down hard on the sidewalk. As I drew Emily away, he staggered to his feet holding his jaw. “You sonofabitch!” he groaned. “I’ll sue!”

  I barely heard him. I grabbed Emily’s shoulders and twisted us around so that I was between her and the guy, then gently pressed her forward towards the doors. But she stood stock still, her body rigid under my hands. I knew she was back in the park. Another few seconds and she was going to bolt. That idiot in the crowd had ruined everything.

  I gently rubbed her shoulders. “I’m here,” I said in her ear. “I’m right here. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”