“Jesus,” he whispered as he moved his mouth to her silky neck, nipping and licking his way down the elegant column.
She clutched at the lapels of his suit jacket and moaned as he pressed her back against her front door and ground against her like a teenage boy trying to dry hump the prom queen. Then he heard her handbag hit the ground and something in the back of his head told him they needed that bag. It had the keys to the house, and he very much wanted to get inside that house so he could pursue getting inside of her.
“Keys,” he mumbled as he palmed her full breast.
“Uhh,” she breathed out, arching against him.
He moved his lips to the v-neck of her dress, licking along the edge of the fabric where it clung to the swell of her breasts. Skimming a hand down her side, he gripped her hip as he reluctantly let his lips part from her luscious flesh. He stooped and picked up the handbag just as his phone vibrated in his pocket. When he stood, she was staring at him with wide eyes, her hand clutching the front of her dress. As their eyes locked he felt her withdrawing from him. No, no, no.
He ran a finger along her jaw and leaned in to whisper in her ear. The damn phone in his pocket kept buzzing, but he intended to ignore it. Preferably until tomorrow morning sometime.
“I’m sorry I screwed up. Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you invite your boyfriend in?” he whispered in her ear, eliciting a full body shudder from her.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” he asked, resting his forehead on her shoulder, his dick aching with need.
She stiffened and gave him a gentle, ineffectual shove. Out of politeness he took a very small step back.
“I’m a prostitute, Derek. And now I know that’s not okay with you.”
Derek scratched his head, searching for a response even though he knew the answer but simply didn’t want to say it.
“I have sex with men for money. Sometimes they’re men like Foster,” she persisted.
He pressed his lips together, his stomach lurching at the image.
“And I think I hate that,” he finally replied, all the heat leaving him in a rush as icy cold seeped in to replace it.
She gave a small nod of her head, her lips pursed, her eyes dark and unfathomable. “Thank you for the ride home,” she answered as she withdrew her clutch from his hand and fished out the house key. Before he could formulate a response she’d shut the door, leaving him alone outside in the rapidly cooling night.
“Hello?” London’s husky voice came over the phone two days later, and Derek felt his pants tighten. Damn. The things the woman did to him.
“Am I forgiven yet?” he asked, settling back in his desk chair and smiling to himself as he remembered what it felt like to kiss her smart mouth.
“Since we’re not actually dating I don’t think that matters, does it?”
He sighed. She wasn’t going to give him an inch. “I’d still rather not have you pissed at me every time we need to make an appearance.”
“Fine.” He could hear the smile in her voice and he suspected she wished she could control it. “You’re forgiven. But we need to make sure that we keep some boundaries in place. This is pretend after all. No one is watching you drop me off at my door. They won’t know whether you kiss me or not.”
“So you’re saying no more kissing?”
“And no more punching or rescuing either,” she answered.
“Jesus, according to Alpha Life magazine fucking and fighting are mainstays of the modern American man. You’ve taken away my primary two occupations. What the hell am I supposed to do with myself now?”
London’s laughter was like hot toffee sliding over his skin. Dark, rich, and sinful. He looked up at the ceiling trying not to focus on how the sound of her traveled through his ears down into his chest and then landed squarely in his groin.
After a moment she stopped abruptly, clearing her throat as if she’d just remembered she wasn’t supposed to allow lightness into their interactions.
“Derek.” She was quieter now, and very serious. He hated the sound of her serious. “This can’t turn real. You realize that don’t you? You said we’d do it briefly so that we took the focus off the rumors. How much longer?”
He bit back the part of him that was stung because she was in such a hurry to get away from him. “As long as I need in order to track down where this story came from in the first place. We’re providing a great distraction in that regard. Whoever tipped off the press is trying to keep up with our spin now. We’ve got them disoriented, and we want to keep them that way until we can hunt the fuckers down.”
“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?” she quipped.
“When it comes to my career, yes. I haven’t made it this far by letting people get the best of me. I’m not about to start now.”
“All the more reason to keep your association with me short. I’m not good for your business, Derek.” She paused. “And you’re not good for mine.”
He refused to acknowledge the satisfaction the second part of her statement gave him. “Let me worry about my business,” he said dismissively. “You worry about where you’d like to eat dinner tonight before we go to a reception I need to attend at the White House.”
“A reception at the White House?”
“Yes, and I need you to be there with me. I would have called sooner, but it’s a last minute request my friend Kamal had. He wants me to speak to the president about a treaty he’s trying to negotiate with the U.N.”
“And why do I need to be there?”
“It’s a perfect opportunity for our relationship to get the tacit stamp of approval from the highest ranking official in the party. You being at the White House says that the president approves, even though she will of course have no idea that she’s approving anything. But no one will believe that you had anything to do with Melville after the President has invited us to the White House as a couple.”
“So will we have to continue to see each other after this? I mean, won’t the press get tired of it once it seems so official?”
Derek knew that with the White House appearance the press corps would quit any digging they might have been doing. No one would think that the President of the United States was allowing a woman into the White House who might be the paid bedmate of Jason Melville, her heir apparent. Everyone would absolutely believe that London was Derek’s girlfriend, and hopefully fully reformed to boot.
But Derek felt a deep dissatisfaction at the idea that he might no longer have a reason to see London. They’d only been on one date—pretend date, whatever he was supposed to call it. He wanted more. She was whip smart, gorgeous, and difficult as hell. He loved nothing more than a challenge. He wasn’t ready to give that up yet, whether it was wise or not.
“You’re really not enjoying our little charade.” He hated having to say it and hated the possible response even more.
She was quiet for a moment. “It’s nothing personal.”
“But you don’t want any more fist fights or kisses?” Dammit.
“I want boundaries.”
“Back to that.” He sighed lustily. “Fine. No kissing. No fights. Nothing even remotely untoward. Will that make you happy?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. The attire is black tie.”
“All right, I’ll see you then.” She still sounded unsure and it left him feeling unsettled.
“Maybe try to let yourself enjoy it a little. It’s the White House after all, and some women have even enjoyed my company.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” she answered before she disconnected the call, leaving him to wonder why she couldn’t seem to enjoy a date if she wasn’t being paid to.
Chapter 6
The White House was lit up like a Christmas tree, chandeliers blazing, candles covering tables, and a fire popping in the giant fireplace at one end of the ballroom they were walking through. Derek had told London that the recept
ion was for a mishmash of Middle Eastern and United Nations diplomats, members of the House and Senate foreign affairs committees, and oddly enough, the finalists in the national youth choir competition. She felt butterflies of excitement in her stomach as he led her through the various clusters of people, heading toward the center of the large warmly lit room.
“Madam President,” Derek said as Jessica Hampton approached them from the other direction, her hand tucked under the arm of Kamal.
Derek raised an eyebrow at Kamal, who seemed to pointedly ignore the gesture.
“Derek.” She smiled and put out her hand. He shook it, then put his other hand on the small of London’s back to press her forward a step.
“Madam President, Kamal, I’d like to present my date, Ms. London Sharpe. London, I believe you met the Ambassador at our little press conference, and this of course is President Hampton.”
London smiled, quelling the urge to curtsey or some such nonsense. Derek had assured her that aside from the formal address of “Madam President” there was no protocol she needed to follow, but she still felt as though she should indicate her obeisance to the nation’s first female president.
But she opted for shaking the woman’s hand instead. “Madam President,” London said. “And Mr. Ambassador. It’s so nice to see you both.”
A waiter passed by with glasses of champagne and bite-sized desserts. Derek snagged a tiny key lime pie and two flutes of champagne while the President was waylaid by an aide. London couldn’t help but overhear the quiet conversation between Derek and Kamal.
“You holding up okay?” Kamal asked as he leaned closer to Derek’s ear.
Derek didn’t respond immediately, taking a healthy gulp of his champagne first. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve been wound pretty tight lately.”
“I want this thing settled,” Derek snapped back.
“And it will be, don’t worry. You have to trust us, we’ll take care of it.”
“I hate…”
“I know what you hate. Not being in control. Maybe it’s good for you once in a while.” Kamal grinned and Derek scowled. London tried not to smile and give away the fact that she was eavesdropping. Derek was definitely a control-freak after her own control-obsessed heart. She might not like the challenge of handling him, but she certainly understood him.
The President turned back to London with a smile. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. One thing about this job, I’ve got staff running out my ears, and they always want something. I sometimes think they make up work just so they don’t have to worry about being laid off.”
London laughed and the President raised her glass in salute before taking a large gulp of champagne.
“I hope the press haven’t been giving you too hard a time,” President Hampton said.
London felt her face heat but maintained her placid expression. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
The President smiled, her cheeks turning pink beneath her pile of pinned coppery curls.
“Well, I am sorry if they have been. The press operates by the theory of ask forgiveness not permission. They’ll jump on anything with the slightest hint of possible scandal.”
“It’s very kind of you to be concerned. Luckily Derek is good at handling them so it’s all fine.” London frantically searched the room with her eyes for an idea of how to redirect the conversation. When her gaze landed on the oldest living congressman in office she knew she’d hit the jackpot.
“Is that…?” She gestured toward the wizened old man who appeared to be talking to a large fern next to the navy blue velvet armchair he sat in.
The President laughed. “Chase Jepson. Yes it is. And yes, I do believe he might be talking to that plant.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I only suggest it because he’s from the opposing party.”
“Does he—” London cleared her throat as she struggled not to laugh. “Does he do that often?”
The President sighed lustily. “His Chief of Staff has been running many things for the last ten years, and I don’t think his constituents care. They’ve reelected him twenty-two times.” She looked around, checking to see who was nearby. “Rumor is that his staff turns his hearing aides off so that he won’t get woken up during debate.”
London slapped a hand over her mouth as the President grinned and pretended to glance around the room casually.
“What in the world is going on here, Madam President? Are you telling State secrets to my date?” Derek turned away from his conversation with Kamal and raised an eyebrow at London.
“Derek,” the president said, casting one last smirk at London as she gestured toward the doors to the balcony. “I’d like to talk to you about this treaty that the Ambassador has his heart set on.” She smiled prettily at Kamal, and London saw Derek scrutinize his friend, only to be completely shut out again. The Ambassador was a master at poker face.
“Will you be okay here with the Ambassador?” he asked London.
“Of course.”
“I’ll find you in a bit then.”
London watched Derek and President Hampton walked away before she turned to Kamal.
“Shall we sit?” he asked gesturing to a nearby sofa.
“Yes, thank you,” she answered before following him over and sitting down.
“How long have you held your post?” she asked politely.
“Long enough to know that a good Iranian girl doesn’t end up as a high-class Washington escort without a very good story to explain it.”
London froze, her breath catching. She hadn’t expected a confrontation, but he clearly had one in mind. Kamal watched her, a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes sharp, ready to dissect her every movement.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked to stall while she caught her breath.
“Of course you realize that we’ve had you investigated. No way we’d have set this whole farce up without knowing who we were dealing with.”
She nodded, thankful that no response was required of her yet.
His voice was low and his eyes kept track of everyone who came and went in their general vicinity.
“I know you were raised in Georgetown. I know your mother is a professor at the University, I know that she has plenty of money and you’re an only child. What I don’t know is what made you up and leave that lovely red brick colonial with four bedrooms and a sunroom ten years ago and hit the streets alone at seventeen. What I don’t know is who your father was, or why you seem to have materialized out of thin air at the age of two. But I can tell you that I won’t stop until I find out.”
London gritted her teeth and focused on staving off the panic. There was no way she was going to give Derek or his friends a speck of additional information about her past. Down that path lay nothing good. Down that path lay ugly secrets and a lifetime of lies. She’d hoped they would be satisfied with what they’d learned, but now she could see that Kamal at least was not. It was her nightmares come to fruition, and the worst part was, no longer was she only afraid of her friends finding out, now she was in danger of the world finding out—and Derek. Suddenly it mattered so much to her that Derek not find out.
“I don’t see how that is any of your business, Ambassador,” she snapped.
When he replied it was in Arabic, and London’s chest clutched, an ache taking root and blooming as he continued. “I know when someone has secrets, Ms. Sharpe. I won’t rest until I unearth yours, and if you so much as blink wrong at the man I consider to be my brother, I will stop at nothing to destroy you. I have resources you can not even begin to imagine. I won’t hesitate to use them if it means keeping Derek safe from you.”
When he finished speaking she swallowed once, nausea rolling through her like a tidal wave. Kamal Masri was a very powerful man, one who’d been raised on the edge of dark and dangerous things. His threats were more like foreshadowing, and his enmity was something no one in their right mind would court.
“London?” Derek’s voice
broke through her haze. She looked up to find him standing in front of them, concern written across his features.
“There you are. We were chatting about home,” Kamal said smoothly, standing and offering his hand to her.
London stared at his expensive French cuffs, his neatly manicured fingernails, and the heavy gold watch that draped his thick wrist. Numbly she put her hand in his as she stood. He squeezed her fingers once before releasing her.
“Are you okay?” Derek asked. “You look pale.”
She darted a look at Kamal, but his face was placid, open, warm. Only his eyes gave any indication of what he’d said to her. His eyes were sharp, distrustful, filled with accusations.
“No,” she answered. “Maybe a little tired is all.” She forced a small smile.
“How did your discussion with the president go?” Kamal deflected.
“Good,” Derek answered. “I think I made some progress for you. She’s agreed to meet with me to discuss it further this week.”
“Excellent.” Kamal slapped Derek on the back. London took a deep breath in an effort to lower her heart rate.
Derek put an arm around London’s shoulders and smiled at her. “I think my date might have had all the hobnobbing at the White House that she can take for one night. I’m going to take her home.”
“Well, thank you for coming,” Kamal replied. He lifted London’s hand and pressed it between both of his. “I’m so glad we got a chance to chat,” he told her darkly.
“Yes,” she answered. She could hear the stiffness in her own voice. “It was delightful to see you again.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Derek said to Kamal before guiding London away. When they finally reached the door she turned to look back. The last thing she saw was Kamal Masri lifting his champagne flute in salute, his eyes flashing a warning that she’d be a fool to ignore.
The Kingmaker (Powerplay #1) Page 8