When the photographer was finished, he thanked her and she left. What, she wondered, had ever happened to the photographs? Now, she couldn’t remember the man’s name, although she did recall it was something that sounded poetic. She probably still had his card somewhere. The next time she was in Toronto she might look him up. As long as he hadn’t moved she could probably find him.
What a mess she’d been back then and what a long way she’d traveled. Elizabeth fingered her scar. It was barely perceptible now, a small bump of raised tissue on her neck. It still served as a reminder of unexpected things that could go wrong. Elizabeth shivered. Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. It’ll find you soon enough. Best to enjoy the perfection of this particular moment.
“Mummy, mummy” Elizabeth heard Jack’s voice and turned to him. He was holding up a small piece of coloured glass turned a soft aqua by years spent in the sea. The twins ran towards her, intent on showing her this newfound jewel. She exclaimed over it, and promised they would put it with the collection of sea glass in a jar back home.
Camille looked at her mother, her green eyes filled with seriousness. “It’s a treasure,” she whispered.
“Yes, it is my darlings,” said Elizabeth. She gathered the children into her arms. She and Declan had created clones of themselves in these two children. Camille, with her green eyes and pale red hair, and Jack, with his father’s dark locks and intense blue eyes, would carry their DNA into the future.
Elizabeth ruffled the children’s hair and kissed their heads.
“The real treasure is you two,” she said.
“No” said Camille seriously. “We’re not treasures because we don’t come from the sea.”
Jack began spinning wildly on the damp sand yelling, ”reasures come from the sea. Treasures come from the sea,” until he collapsed with dizziness. Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh at his childish exuberance.
After two hours on the beach, the twins were getting tired so Elizabeth packed everything up and headed back to the house to put them down for a nap. When she got there, Declan was in a fine mood. Having worked out a new song, he insisted on playing a few bars to them.
What good is help
If you don’t take it?
What good is love
If you don’t make it?
What good’s a promise
If you have to break it?
Where did you go?
Flying low
So low down
Never touching ground.
The children listened intently as they always did whenever Declan played. As soon as he finished, Jack said, “My song.” Camille gave Jack’s hair a tug. “My song,” she wailed.
Elizabeth gave Declan a knowing look.
“Time for naps.”
Both children began to howl in protest but within seconds of lying down were soon asleep, their cheeks fresh and rosy from the seaside air.
The cottage was blissfully quiet. Even Django curled up in his dog basket and was soon asleep. The sound on the television was muted while the President of the United States was making a speech.
“He’s a good-looking man, don’t you think?” said Elizabeth as Declan began nuzzling into her hair.
“What would I know about good-looking men?” he murmured, “but if you find him attractive then I think that’s kind of interesting.”
“Oh you do, do you?” laughed Elizabeth, turning into Declan’s embrace and kissing him. She pulled back, his piercing eyes locking into hers in a way that still gave her a thrill. Her fingers combed through his thick, dark hair. She knew what was coming next. She would create a fantasy for Declan to enjoy and share with her. It had been the key to their sexual relationship. Prior to Declan she had kept her secret fantasy world to herself, but he’d unlocked her secrets and made her tell him everything. Clearly this next fantasy would be with the ultra sexy President of the United States.
CHAPTER NINE
Elizabeth found herself in the pressroom of the White House, notebook in hand. She’d been scribbling furiously as the President pledged to spend more money on re-building America’s crumbling infrastructure.
“We need better roads, we need to repair bridges, we need to update our antiquated water delivery systems,” intoned the President. “That way we can be more efficient and put our country back to work.”
Elizabeth raised an arm. She noticed the President always took her questions. The handsome black man on the podium looked at her, a slight smile playing around his generous mouth.
“Yes Ms…er …Harding isn’t it?”
Elizabeth stood. “Yes sir. I’m wondering if you’ve given any thought to light rail transit between major cities to discourage the use of cars?”
“I think you might mean high-speed trains Ms Harding,” said the President. “Light rail could scarcely cover the distances in this vast country of ours.”
The press corps tittered. Elizabeth blushed and gave herself a mental kick for her gaffe.
“Yes sir, that’s what I meant,” she said.
“Matter of fact Ms. Harding,” said the President, "I’ve just commissioned a study to look into that very thing. High-speed trains are in use all over Europe and Japan. It’s something we’ll be taking a good, close look at. Thank you ladies and gentlemen.”
The President turned from the podium but not before shooting a glance in Elizabeth’s direction. She could have sworn he winked at her.
The room quickly emptied as reporters rushed to file stories. Elizabeth stood, smoothing her tight black skirt and form-fitting jacket that revealed just a hint of pale cleavage. She was wearing extremely high heels that showed off finely muscled calves. Underneath her skirt she wore the briefest of thongs and a French lace garter belt that held up seamed black stockings. She liked to dress in a sexy way during press conferences, not too sexy because that would seem unprofessional but just sexy enough that the President noticed, or at least she thought he did.
Much had been made in the media of the President’s recent divorce. His wife had become tired of the pressures of political office. She’d urged him not to run again but he felt he had a duty to serve the American people. He had stayed. She had left. The President was single.
Declan interrupted. “The President’s not single. He’s perfectly happily married as far as we know.”
Elizabeth frowned at him. “This is my fantasy. I’d never consider having sex with anyone who was married, even in my imagination.” Elizabeth stopped, “unless it was you.” Declan gave her a gentle kiss and began slowly running his hands over her ass.
“And what about children? Do you have children in this fantasy?” he asked.
“No, I don’t,” said Elizabeth. “I’m single with no children. He’s single with no children. Got it? Fuck’s sake Declan. Stop asking questions. You’re ruining it.”
“Sorry, go on.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and lay back feeling the warmth of Declan’s skin against her body. It took her a few minutes to re-enter the world where she was in complete control.
Now the pressroom was empty. Elizabeth strode to the podium and stood behind it, running her hands along its oaken edge where the President’s hands had rested. She looked towards her seat and imagined the President seeing her, a confident red-haired woman in her forties who exuded sex appeal as some other women exuded disappointment. She was smoking hot. The President hadn’t failed to notice. He had exited through the door behind her. She pushed against it and found herself in a wide carpeted hallway. Strangely, there was no one about. Elizabeth slipped off her high heels. In stocking feet she tiptoed towards a set of double doors leading to where? The President’s study? The Oval Office? His bedroom? Imagine if she could get an interview with the President personally. That would certainly be a coup.
“Who do you work for?” murmured Declan as he began nibbling her ear.
“Honest to God Declan. The New York Times. C.N.N. The Daily Planet. What do you care? You’re ruining the mood.
”
Declan slipped a finger between her legs and laughed.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not to judge by how wet you’re getting.”
“Do you want to hear this fantasy or not?” demanded Elizabeth.
“Continue,” he said.
“No more interruptions?”
“Promise.”
Elizabeth was just about to make her way through the double doors in the White House when she felt a hand grip each elbow.
She gasped. Two security men flanked her on each side. They were lantern jawed giants in expensive suits and sunglasses.
“M’aam, you’ll have to come with us.”
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Honest. Just curious is all,” she stammered.
“It’ll be up to the President to decide M’aam.”
“The President? Do you mean…?”
As they were talking, the security men hustled her along several more hallways, before knocking on a vast, oak-paneled door.
“Come in.”
Elizabeth recognized the voice. My God, she was about to enter the Oval Office.
The President sat behind a mammoth desk, familiar from shots of it on television. He was finishing up a call.
“Okay Vlad. Nyet. Nyet.”
Elizabeth was familiar with the name and the last two words of Russian. He’d been talking with the President of Russia. She felt weak at the knees.
The President glanced at the security men, then at her. A slight smile played around his generous mouth.
“What have we here gentlemen?”
“An intruder sir. Lurking in the hallway behind the press gallery.”
“An intruder you say? One I believe I recognize. You can let her go.”
The President’s deep brown eyes crinkled in amusement. He got up from his chair and settled in an easy fashion on the edge of his desk with one foot on the floor. The other leg dangled as he clasped his hands in front of him.
“It’s Miss Harding I do believe. From the Daily Planet,” he said.
“Yyyess sir,” said Elizabeth.
“I appreciate your questions Miss Harding. You are one of the more…er…insightful members of the press,” said the President.
“Thank you sir.”
“But you have committed a serious transgression by wandering the halls without proper clearance.”
“I understand that. My apologies sir.”
The President eased off his desk and strode towards her. Elizabeth loved his easy rhythm, and the way his perfect suit hung from his athletic body. He lifted Elizabeth’s chin. She found herself held captive by the most famous brown eyes on earth.
“I could have you thrown in jail, you know that?”
“Yes, sir.”
The President’s eyes flickered down to her cleavage.
Elizabeth’s nervousness and fear receded, replaced by a feeling of confidence. She pulled her shoulders back and straightened so her breasts lifted slightly higher.
“But you won’t do that sir,” she said.
“Won’t I? And why not?”
“Because sir, I think there’s something else you’d much rather do with me.”
At that moment in Kinlochbervie, a wild screeching, like a cat being strangled in a set of bagpipes, filled the air.
Declan stopped kissing Elizabeth’s breasts and looked up in alarm.
“What the…?”
The disorienting sound woke the twins who began to wail.
“Christ almighty,” said Elizabeth, leaping from the bed and grabbing a dressing gown. “I’ll see to the twins. You go see what happening.”
Declan threw on a pair of jeans and rushed to the front door. When he saw the source of the sound he began to laugh. Elizabeth joined him, holding her sleepy children in her arms.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There,” said Declan pointing.
Down the peat road, shrieking like a banshee bumped Effie on a rickety old bike. Jimmy Mack ran behind her calling instructions.
“Hold on woman. Keep yer balance. Watch out fer…”
Jimmy Mack didn’t get a chance to add the word ‘potholes’.
The front wheel of Effie’s bike stopped suddenly in a hole while Effie continued, flying through the air and landing with a loud “Oooof.”
Jimmy caught up with her.
“Are ye alright?”
Effie rubbed at her wrist.
“It hurts.”
Seeing the accident, Declan sprinted out of the house towards the couple. He kneeled beside Effie.
“Can you wiggle your fingers?” asked Declan.
Effie made undulating movements with her fingers. She flipped her middle finger in Jimmy’s direction.
“Och, that’s a relief,” said Jimmy Mack.
“Doesn’t look like anything’s broken,” said Declan. “Probably just a bad sprain. Let’s get you up to the house and put some ice on it.”
Some hours later, after Effie downed a couple of drinks to calm her nerves, after she went to the pub with Jimmy and the twins settled for the night, Elizabeth was once more alone with Declan. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he packed for his upcoming trip to New York.
“What do you think of this for Letterman?” Declan held a slim-fitting grey and black striped shirt for her approval.
“Hmmn. Not stripes. They can strobe on TV and it’s distracting.”
“Okay, how bout this one?”
The shirt was the same shade of blue as Declan’s eyes.
“Perfect.”
“Don’t forget your knife,” said Elizabeth.
“As if I would,” said Declan slipping a package of guitar strings and a Swiss Army knife into the pocket of his jacket. The multi-purpose tool, originally belonging to Elizabeth’s father, had been a gift from Elizabeth. Declan took it everywhere.
“You can’t take it on the plane,” she admonished.
“I’ll put it in my case once I get to Inverness,” he said.
“Why don’t you put it in now?”
“You never know what can come up between here and Inverness.”
Elizabeth couldn’t explain why but his words caused a strange unsettled feeling in her stomach that made her want reassurance.
“Declan?”
Something in the tone of her voice made him stop packing.
“What is it?”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
Declan zipped his suitcase shut and sat beside her on the bed.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back in three days.”
“It’s just that if anything happened…” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off.
“Nothing is going to happen. It’ll all be very ordinary and routine.”
“Being on Letterman is hardly routine.”
Declan shrugged. “Not a big deal. It’s all more or less the same. Green room with a plate of sad veggies. Harried assistants fluttering over you.”
“Hmmn. Long as they’re not pretty…these harried assistants,” said Elizabeth.
“Even if they are, I only have eyes for you.”
“I hate to think of you being on the same continent as… that woman.” Elizabeth fingered the small scar on her neck where the evil Natasha’s blade had sliced.
Declan took in the subtle gesture.
“Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure she’s still in jail.”
He swept Elizabeth’s flame coloured hair to one side and planted tiny kisses along the nape of her elegant neck. Elizabeth shivered as the downy hair on her arms stood up. She turned and caught his face in both of her hands.
“Declan Thomas. You are my man. You are my one true lover. There will never be another.”
“There better not be.” Declan grinned. “Unless he happens to be the black President of the United States.”
“A fantasy my love, a fantasy to turn you on.”
“You never finished by the way,” said Declan. He stopped packing and sprawled on the be
d. Elizabeth slowly unzipped his jeans. He was already hard and wanting her but she’d make him wait until she was good and ready. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, the President was leaning down to kiss her. His mouth was full and beautiful, like two puffy pillows. How she wanted to feel that mouth all over her body. She kissed him back, their tongues circling in the eternal mating dance.
“Just a minute,” said the President. He pulled back from Elizabeth and nodded to one of his guards. “Tape please.” He looked apologetically at her as the security guard came forward with a roll of duct tape.
“It’s a precaution. I can’t risk any scratches,” he said. “I’m sure you can understand.”
Elizabeth nodded as the guard held her hands behind her back and taped them together. Satisfied that Elizabeth was immobilized, the President unzipped her skirt and pulled it down over her spiky high heels. His eyes glinted in approval at Elizabeth’s black garter belt fastened to sheer stockings with seams running up the back.
“Open your legs please,” he said. Elizabeth thought the ‘please’ was unnecessary. She was ready to do anything for this man.
Elizabeth glanced at the two security men standing ramrod straight, their eyes fixed straight ahead. At least she assumed they were fixed ahead. It was impossible to tell behind their mirrored glasses.
The President smiled.
“Don’t worry. They see nothing. They hear nothing. They don’t ask and they sure as hell don’t tell.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Besides, they’re gay.”
From his pocket, the President produced a snooker-sized pink and white ball. It was a sex toy. He pressed a button and Elizabeth could hear a vibrating sound.
“Here, does this suit you?” he asked as he slipped the ball under her panties, positioning it carefully over her clitoris.
“Or do you like this one better?”
The President pressed the button again and the vibration changed to an intense pulsing. Elizabeth could feel herself swelling with excitement.
“Yes Sir, I like that one,” she said.
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