Saving Liberty (Kissing #6)

by Helena Newbury

  Horses were the best thing about Camp David. There weren’t stables on site, but there were enough quiet paths to ride on and a local riding school had been more than happy to lend us Rudy and Snowdrop for the day. My dad had raised an eyebrow when I’d asked if we could get two horses. “I need a bodyguard with me everywhere I go, right?” I’d countered. “What do you want him to do: drive alongside really, really slowly?”

  He’d given in pretty easily: the truth was, I knew he’d probably take Rudy out himself at some point. You can take the man out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the man. The same went for me. Riding reminded me of home: happy days spent riding, hiking and shooting guns with my dad. I was noticing things I hadn’t even realized I’d been missing, like the rustle of trees and the birdsong. The fear was still present, but it felt like it had been held back at the perimeter of the camp. I could feel the outside world and its constant threats just beyond the trees, but as long as I didn’t focus on it, I felt as if I could escape it for a few days. It was the happiest I’d been since the attack.

  Plus, it was a chance to spend a couple of hours alone with Kian.

  Was that selfish? Wrong? I knew nothing was going to happen. He wouldn’t let it; I wouldn’t let it. But I wanted to be near him and it not be about protecting me, for once. It honestly wasn’t about lusting after him.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The forest was so close on either side that we were in a green tunnel, with shafts of sunlight lancing down between the branches. Kian was trying—and failing—to look relaxed as he bounced up and down atop Snowdrop. It was difficult to look at him like that, sitting high in the saddle with his plaid shirt stretched tight over his chest (I’d insisted he lose the suit for once) and not think about him on top of me, with me lying back in the long grass as he smoothed those big hands over my breasts…

  Okay, it was a little bit about lusting after him. But mainly, I wanted to get to know him better. I was hoping that being alone would give him a chance to relax... and maybe lower his defenses a little.

  Ten minutes into the ride, he coaxed Snowdrop to come almost alongside Rudy and said, “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about Kerrigan. I just didn’t want you to get in trouble.” He kept his eyes straight ahead as he said it, too embarrassed to look at me. But right at the end, he glanced my way and I saw the concern in his eyes. He really was just worried about me.

  And there was something else: he hadn’t finished with ma’am. Each occasion when he’d missed it off was lovingly transcribed in flowery, girlish script in my mind. I hated that I did it, but I did: I couldn’t help it. Each time he forgot to say ma’am, I could kid myself that he wasn’t my bodyguard, that maybe something could happen. And pride of place in my little mental book of The Utterances of Kian, in purple ink and silver glitter, was the time he’d called me Emily.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “You were right. It would be really bad for my dad if it got out that I don’t trust the VP. I just didn’t like feeling like... you thought I was the little rich girl playing Nancy Drew.”

  He coaxed Snowdrop on a little so that she was right up alongside Rudy. “I didn’t think that,” he said, and there was just a hint of Irish silver edging the roughness of his voice. It made me unconsciously press myself down into my saddle a little. Our eyes met and, like a switch had been thrown, all the nervous, wonderful tension between us was back, rising and swirling in the air around us, drawing us together.

  My eyes flicked down to his lips. I was still getting used to the new, clean-shaven Kian: without the stubble, those gorgeous lips seemed to stand out even more, rugged and very, very kissable. It was utterly quiet and there was no one in sight. The horses were practically touching: all we had to do was lean towards each other….

  And then Kian was blinking in surprise as Snowdrop passed by Rudy, taking the lead. He’d sped the horse up to catch me, but, “Um... how do you slow it down?” he asked with fake nonchalance.

  I tried to tell him, as Snowdrop began to trot off into the distance, but then I heard him mutter, “Slow. Slow down. Slow, you daft feckin’ mare!” and I started laughing too hard to speak. I tossed the reins, Rudy gamely sped up and I caught them a little way down the path and showed Kian how to slow down.

  A half mile further on, he was getting the hang of it. And while he was focused on riding, I threw in, “So... why did you leave the Secret Service?”

  I’d meant it to sound casual but I’ve never been good at this stuff. I’m not a diplomat like my dad or a master manipulator like my mom. It came out loaded with curiosity and Kian gave me a look that told me he was onto me. I felt my face flush. I went red a lot around this guy.

  “You didn’t read it in my file?” he asked after a moment.

  He didn’t say “ma’am” again. “Nope. I just saw there was trouble and you left,” I said. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

  He stayed silent as we passed the next tree and the next. Four trees, five. Say something! I could see his body tensing up, that famous anger coming back. I just wasn’t sure whether it was me he was angry at. At last, he ran his hand down his cheek and over his jaw. I wondered if it felt weird, to feel the smooth skin after so long with stubble.

  “We were in New York,” he said. He faced front as he talked, eyes on the path ahead. “A group of ambassadors were over for a UN conference. I was assigned one from some tiny country in central Europe you’ve never heard of. Pretty typical day: take him to the UN building, pick him up, take him out on the town, keep him safe while he gets wasted on five hundred dollar bottles of brandy... I get him back to his hotel and into his room. But a half hour later, a woman shows up.” Kian sighed. “He’d arranged an escort, sometime earlier that day, probably slipped some cash to the concierge at the hotel. Pretty little thing. Black hair. About your age. I don’t like it, but she promises she’ll be very discreet and he whisks her into his room.”

  I was watching him intently, but he didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes firmly forward and, as Rudy pulled ahead a little I suddenly saw why it was: the rage was boiling away inside him and, with his body motionless, it was escaping in the only way it could: as a bitter, hate-filled stare. He wasn’t looking at me because he didn’t want to turn that look on me.

  “I give it ten minutes,” he said. His voice was strangled, now. “Then another five. I’m pacing the hallway outside his door because I can feel something’s wrong, but…”—I saw his knuckles turn white where he gripped the reins—“...but I knew if I burst in on them, he’d go to my boss and I’d get torn into. We’d all had it drilled into us that the ambassadors had to be kept happy, no matter what. So I waited.”

  His whole body had gone hard as rock—he was almost shaking with anger and it was agonizing to watch because I knew the anger was directed at himself.

  “Then, after maybe twenty minutes, I hear a noise. A sob. I don’t bother pounding on the door: I kick it in and run in there and she’s…”—he swallowed—”she’s on the bed, naked, with him on top of her and his belt around her throat. Her lips are turning blue. Tears are running down her face and she’s got... marks on her breasts. Cuts. I don’t know what he used, a knife, I guess. And instead of looking shocked that he’s been caught, the ambassador looks angry that I’ve interrupted. He honestly doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong.”

  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 t
o 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 goi
ng 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.