Derek and Kamal looked at one another before turning to Jeff. “This will not go unanswered,” Derek said softly.
“I have people who can handle it,” Jeff responded, his face impassive. “Don’t worry. We’ll find who did it and make sure they never do anything like it again.”
As Derek entered the small waiting room that sat in a far corner of the Intensive Care Unit, he paused to take in the picture before him. Senator Melville’s pretty blonde wife Angela stood, back stiff, as her father, famous trial attorney Winston Vandermeer, spoke to her rapidly. Mrs. Vandermeer sat to one side, pretending to read a magazine while her gaze skittered between her daughter and husband.
“Angela,” Derek said softly as he strode toward the group. Angela turned and gave Derek a pained smile as he reached her and gave her a kiss on each cheek. He held her hand while saying all of the platitudes required of someone in such a circumstance, then he held out a hand to her father. “Winston. It’s good to see you, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
Vandermeer ignored Derek’s hand and scowled at him. “Given your antics over the last few weeks I can’t say the same.”
Derek withdrew his hand, reminding himself to be patient with the older man. This was a stressful moment for everyone.
“I understand it’s been stressful for Angela and the family,” Derek answered diplomatically.
“I always thought you were one of the few good men left in politics, Ambrose.” Winston’s face flushed and his hand quivered as he pointed at Derek. “But after this sex scandal you’ve gotten Jason embroiled in, I can see I misjudged you.”
“Daddy. Please,” Angela intoned, placing a hand on her father’s arm. “This isn’t the time or place.”
Vandermeer looked at her as if only then remembering that she was there. He nodded sharply once, then spun on his heel and stormed off to the far corner of the room where he took out his phone and began punching buttons.
“I’m sorry,” Angela said. “He’s just worried about us—Jason and I.”
“Of course. As am I. I’m so sorry that you were there when it happened. And very glad you weren’t hurt.”
She nodded her head rapidly, and he could tell she was fighting the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
“So what news do you have so far? Any word on his condition?”
“Just that he’s in surgery,” she answered.
“What can I do for you? The kids are okay?”
“Yes, they’re fine. At home with the nanny.”
“Let me get some security over there,” Derek said, taking his phone out of his pocket.
“Thank you, but my father’s already taken care of it.”
“Good. I’ll make sure someone’s posted here—one person outside Jason’s door and one to stay with you at all times.”
“Thank you.”
He looked around the room, feeling stifled by the hostility rolling off of Winston Vandermeer.
“In the meantime, why don’t I see if I can get you an update on the surgery.”?
“That would be perfect, thank you.”
Derek nodded and turned to walk to the door.
“Derek?” Angela asked.
He looked at her and gone was the sad delicate woman waiting for news on her critically injured husband. In her place was a woman with steel in her eyes and danger on her lips, but the look was gone in a flash and Derek wasn’t sure he’d really seen anything at all.
“It was kind of you to take on the whore for him,” she said.
Derek stood stock still, unflinching, waiting for what she’d say next.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. He thinks I didn’t know, but I did. A wife knows when her husband does something like that. He used to come home with her smell on him. It made me wretch. I admire your dedication. It can’t be enjoyable to have to act as though you’d really touch her. Next time though, you might want to consider whether the man you’re covering for is really worth it.”
She turned away from him then and walked to where her mother sat, taking a seat next to her. Derek could only leave the room, thinking that this truly might have been the single worst day he’d ever had.
London’s hand trembled as she flipped on the porch light and leaned toward the peephole to see who was on her front steps at four a.m. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to find Derek slouched against her door.
“What’s happened?” she asked as she gestured for him to come inside. His tie had disappeared, his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, the front tails untucked. His hair was sticking up in ten different directions, and his eyes looked so tired it nearly broke her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he shuffled into her foyer. “I didn’t…” His voice drifted off. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
All of the sorrow and confusion London had fought with throughout the day, and taken to bed with her that night, dissolved as she looked at this ravished version of Derek. His exhaustion emanated from his very pores, and that soft part of London, the part that she tried so very hard to cover with efficiency, polish and a sophisticated shell, couldn’t deny the wreck of a man in front of her.
“Come in,” she whispered, as she took his hand and led him like a small child up the stairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then you can tell me all about it.”
In the bathroom London switched on the shower, then turned to Derek where he slumped against the countertop. Quietly, she stood in front of him and unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt, slipping her hands under the fabric to slide it from his shoulders and down his arms before letting it drop onto the floor. He sighed as her fingertips came in contact with his hot skin, and shuddering, he laid his head on her shoulder, defeat in every movement and gesture. Her hand flattened against his chest, the stiff hairs there prickling against her sensitive palm. Her other hand went to the back of his head out of instinct, and she caressed his hair, comforting him as she cooed sweet nothings into his ear.
When he finally lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were red, and the pain in them made her own chest ache in response.
“It’s going to be okay,” she told him, although she didn’t know if that was true. “I’ll leave a robe on the bed for you. Take as long as you need.” She kissed him gently on the lips and slipped out of the room.
Twenty minutes later Derek joined her in the kitchen, clad in a white cotton robe that she’d picked up on a spa trip with Joanna.
“It’s a good thing that’s one size fits all,” she quipped, eyeing the substantial slice of tanned chest that the wraparound terrycloth revealed.
“Yes, those clothes have been through a lot today. I’d have hated to put them right back on again.” Derek gave her a small smile, and she could see that he’d revived somewhat.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked, pushing the lever on the electric kettle.
“That sounds good,” he answered. “I imagine not even caffeine will keep me awake once I finally hit a bed.”
She busied herself with the tea prep, trying not to wonder if his eyes were on her the whole time, sizing her up, dressing her down, stripping her bare. When she finally had the tray ready, she turned and set it all in front of him where he’d taken a seat at the kitchen bartop.
“Thank you,” he told her, his eyes so serious that they made her want to cry.
“You’re welcome.”
He took a deep breath as he poured hot water over the tea bag in his cup. “I’m sorry—that I woke you and invaded your house like this.”
“Don’t apologize. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” She huffed out a wry laugh.
His gaze was sad, and he watched her in silence.
“So are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.
He tensed, and she immediately wished she hadn’t spoken.
Setting down his teacup, he planted his elbows on the counter and looked at her, steely eyes and determined lips wreaking havoc on her self-possession.
“There was an attempted assassination tonight.” His voice was hard. “Someone shot Melville.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth.
“He’s alive, but in critical condition. He was getting into his car with his wife.”
London made a small choking noise, her throat feeling as though it might close up completely.
“As near as they can tell right now, the shot came from the third floor of an adjacent building. It was a planned, professional hit. A sniper.”
“Who?” she whispered. “Who would do that?”
Derek sighed and stood from his stool, walking around to her side of the counter. He took her in his arms and held her, big palms splayed across her lower back, their heat seeping into her skin and then deeper, into her very soul. She sensed that the caress was as much for himself as for her, but in that moment she didn’t care, only relished the feel of it, committing the sensation to memory for the moments later—after—when she would need to be apart from him again.
“Someone who wants to punish Melville. Maybe someone who thinks they’re the moral police. Or, since he hasn’t yet withdrawn from the race, maybe someone who simply doesn’t want him to be President,” Derek said softly. “But I will find them, and I will make sure that they don’t get away with this.”
He was the kind of man who made a woman feel safe. Even in his battle-weary state London had no doubt that he would make good on his vow. Standing in his strong embrace, his big body wrapped around hers, London could feel that he wasn’t just powerful in influence and money. This was the kind of man who held power in his very body. He was big and confident and he could slay dragons for the right woman. Her heart hurt knowing she wasn’t that woman.
He leaned away, looking down at her with such fierceness it frightened her. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I’ve hired private security. They’ll be here in a few hours, and they’ll stay with you twenty-four seven.”
“Me? Why? I’m not part of this any longer, and I’m sure as hell not a member of Melville’s family.”
He took her by the hand and led her to the sofa, seating them side-by-side and twisting so he could face her. He didn’t let go of her hand and she felt her own tighten and twist to mold around his.
“Until we get whoever’s done this, anyone who has been associated with the campaign and Melville in such a public way is a possible target. If this was some religious fanatic they could very well come after you next.”
London’s heart raced, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to the front windows, wondering what lurked beyond the curtains.
“I’m not willing to take the chance. So, for now—security. Round the clock. And that’s not negotiable.”
He’d anticipated her disagreement, and she scowled at him. It made her anxious to feel like he knew her somehow. No one had known the real her since she’d left her mother’s home at seventeen, and she wasn’t prepared for anyone to now.
“I haven’t agreed to this,” she said, firmly.
“You need to.”
He touched her briefly, on the back of her hand. “It would kill me if I didn’t do everything I possibly could to keep you safe. That’s what matters to me now.”
Her heart flipped like an acrobat through the air, and she caressed him with her eyes. Roaming over the planes of his face, his tousled hair, still damp around his neck, the stubble that seemed to always graze his jawline. She knew what she felt for him wasn’t possible, that there was nowhere in this world for the two of them to be together, but she yearned for it, yearned with an intensity that obscured everything else—her self-preservation, her fears, her human decency.
“You can’t do this,” she protested one last time.
“It’s my candidate who got you into this. I have a responsibility, London. Surely you realize by now that I’m the pinnacle of responsibility?” He gave her his trademark grin and she melted into a puddle of liquid sunshine, her brain turning to a lust-filled haze of desire and girlish worship.
As if he could see her thoughts playing across her face, his grin turned wolfish and he leaned forward whispering a kiss across her lips. “You threw me out earlier,” he breathed into her mouth.
Yes. And she was tired of it. Tired of running from the world, and especially tired of running from him. If only he didn’t make it so damned hard. She straightened her spine and put a finger on his lips just before he brought them down on hers again. “I can’t. I can’t do this part of it. You know that.”
He shook his head, a lock of his unruly hair falling across his forehead, making him look even darker and more dangerous.
“Why? Because you think there’s no future? Or because you refuse to let there be one? I’ve told you I don’t care about the past, and I’m not worried about the future. I see this amazing woman in front of me and I want to know her—every way I can. The past is just that, dead and gone. The future we can manage. I’ve been managing candidates’ futures for years, I can manage ours too if you’ll let me.”
She felt herself being carried away by the baritone of his voice, lulled into a cocoon of warmth and pleasure that she wasn’t sure she could fight her way out of.
“I’ve never met a challenge I couldn’t conquer, London. I can conquer the future too, you just have to let me.” He brushed another kiss across her lips and she felt the prickling of his stubble around her mouth, smelled the hint of cinnamon from the tea on his breath, heard the hiss of her sigh as she dissolved into him.
He moved slower than he had in the car, nibbling on her tender flesh, running his tongue along the seam between her lips, stroking a single finger up and down her arm, murmuring about the silky feel of her skin. But her heart raced every bit as fast as it had the last time his skin was against hers, and she felt as aroused as if he’d been touching her darkest, most sensitive parts.
The battle between so much wanting and so much fear pushed her further into an abyss that she wasn’t sure she could climb from. She clutched at his arms, afraid she was falling, knowing that while he was the one pushing her, he was also the only thing keeping her aloft.
His lips travelled down her cheek, then her neck and along her collarbone. He traced the curve of it with his tongue, gliding along the sweet bumps where the two halves met at the base of her throat. A groan rumbled through him, and she pulled him closer on instinct, wrapping her arms around his neck, digging her nails into his back through the thick terry cloth robe.
Then he was parting the silk of her pajama top, sliding the tiny buttons free as his lips followed his hands and he bared her breasts. She leaned in to his caress for just a moment, relishing the feel of his rough, hot hands on her delicate skin. She ached, she yearned, and then the alarms went off. Inside of her head warnings rang out, terror grabbed her in its clutches and squeezed her chest. She gasped, but it was panic this time, because she felt. God, she felt. And with feeling came everything, things that she could never allow, things that would break her into so many pieces no one would ever be able to glue her back together.
Derek knew it, the moment that her breathing shifted from lust to fear, but he was a man in the throes of passion, so it took his body a few seconds to catch up. By the time he pulled away to look her in the eyes, she wasn’t able to breathe.
“London? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked, as she clutched at her throat.
She continued to hyperventilate, her big, velvet eyes staring at him in desperation. He searched her face and neck for some sign of an injury or a mark to indicate what might be happening. Then he saw all the color leaching out of her face. Jesus Christ, what had he done to her?
“Does it hurt somewhere?” he asked, holding her shoulders so she had to look in his eyes.
She shook her head again, then nodded, tears ready to fall. Her breathing slowed some, and her face flushed as she dipped her head in what could only be interpreted as humiliation. He realized suddenly that this wasn’t a medical emergency, but an emo
tional one. She was having a panic attack, and something he’d done had caused it. His heart clenched inside his chest and he grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap.
“Oh gorgeous, God, what did I do to you?” he crooned as he held her close, her head tucked under his chin.
He stroked her hair as she’d done his only an hour before, and settled them back on the sofa, enveloping her in his embrace. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Whatever it was, I promise I’ll never do it again.”
A sob broke free, as if it had fought its way out of the very depths of her soul, and the sound hurt him more than anything he’d ever felt. Her anguish was so unsettling he wanted to leap to his feet and crush the invisible enemy in the room—even if that enemy was him.
As her breathing finally returned to normal and she relaxed in his arms, he hummed the song his mother had always sung to him and his brother when they were sick or had bad dreams. The song was as old as the hills, but to this day it comforted him and he owned five different versions of it on his iPod.
“You are my sunshine?” she asked in a small voice as she shifted so she could look up at him.
He nodded. “My mother used to sing it to us—my brother and I. Sorry. I’m not much of a singer. She did it better.”
She gave him a tiny smile, and he briefly thought that he could make it his life’s purpose to get her to smile fully. He didn’t think he’d ever seen it reach her eyes. It was yet another warning to him that there were many things about this woman he didn’t know. Things that could steal your smile—forever. Things that could break your heart and destroy your career. And yet, he stayed. He came to her here in her home, he stayed with her now when she hurt, he worried about her happiness, her safety, and whether she’d ever let him in. He saw the warning signs—he wasn’t a fool—he simply didn’t pay them any mind.
“It’s nice. Your voice is nice.” She sighed and wriggled closer into his arms. He shifted a touch to lean further into the sofa, her body like a soft, warm blanket over his aching muscles.
He slowly ran a hand up and down the silk sleeve of her pajama top, it still gaped open, exposing most of her breasts, but he knew that this wasn’t that kind of moment, so he kept his eyes averted.
The Kingmaker (Powerplay #1) Page 11