Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series)

by Whitney, Mary

  “You’re horrible,” I said, suppressing a smile.

  “Only because I adore you.” He chuckled.

  “And I you.”

  “So you’ll get rid of JC?”

  “I can’t just ‘get rid’ of him, Adam. This is a little more delicate than that.”

  “Shit, Nicki, when are you going to make a choice?”

  “I’ve made my choice. It’s you. Don’t you see that?”

  “Then when are you going to act on it, damn it?”

  “Act on it? I am! I’m trying to do things in order. It’s not like—”

  “It’s not that difficult. Don’t you see that I’ll do whatever it takes to make things work between us? Hell, I’ve already broken up with Felicity.”

  “I don’t think your situation with Lady Fucking Felicity is the same.”

  “Oh, really? Given the row we had when I ended things, she might disagree.”

  As the Sinatra song ended, I huffed. “We should go back to the table. This isn’t a good place to talk. Let’s do it when we’re back in DC.”

  He wouldn’t let me go, though. He gripped my hand more tightly as the DJ made another random turn to Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly.” Leaning closer to me, he whispered, “Don’t go. I’m sorry. One more song.”

  I glanced around the room and saw a table full of very curious White House reporters. Adam was so insistent, though, I rejected my better judgment and stepped a bit closer to him.

  His tone changed to a smooth one. “I promise not to complain.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said, pretending to be put out. “There are worse things than dancing with you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Dancing with Dan Roark.”

  “I swear, I hate that wanker. I don’t like seeing him with you.”

  “You say I don’t listen to you. Do you listen to me? There’s no way I’d ever be with that guy—or any other guy, for that matter.”

  “Well, maybe we should both listen and not talk.” He caressed my hand in his.

  “Okay.”

  After that, neither of us said anything, which turned out to be a bad idea. The silence made us all the more present. As we danced, we kept getting closer and closer to each other. It was like our bodies were taking care of all the years of pent-up emotional and physical frustration between us. The sad lyrics of the song hung in the air, and at one point, I accidentally rested my cheek against his chest.

  When he laid his chin on my forehead, I jolted from the embrace and then froze. “We can’t do this here. We have to stop.”

  “It’s okay, Nicki.”

  “No, it’s not.” I released his hand. “Let’s talk tomorrow…when we’re back in DC.”

  When I arrived at the table, I saw that Dan was leading the group in a round of shots. “That was a long dance,” he said, raising his shot glass to me and then Adam.

  Dan seemed suspicious, as was probably the whole table. There was only one thing to do: prove I was loaded and flirting with everyone. “I’ll have a shot, Dan.”

  “Great,” he said, as if I’d chosen him over Adam. “Here you go.”

  Placing some Turkish lira on the table, Adam said, “No need to pour one for me. I’m heading off.” He then said a formal goodbye to me and every other woman at the table.

  As he walked away, Dan pushed a glass to me. “Let’s see if Nicole can hold her liquor.”

  I got drunk—wasted, in fact—though most of the press at the table just thought I was really giggly. Dan kept flirting and ordering me drinks, and I kept accepting them to make up for rejecting his passes.

  After midnight, Lydia made sure I got to my hotel room okay, and when I locked the door behind me, I sank onto the floor. The cool tile felt like the most comfortable place on earth, so I grabbed my phone, lay down, and scrolled through my messages. There were voicemails from Juan Carlos to ignore, boring work emails to read, and a text from Adam.

  Call me when you get back to your room.

  I frowned. A heavy conversation was the last thing I needed. I tried to get my wits by focusing on the bad art on the wall across from me, and as it blurred in my sight, I realized while I might not have wanted to talk to Adam, I did want to see him. For a split second, I remembered him placing his hand between my thighs the night before, and then all sorts of sexy Adam memories came back to me.

  What if…I thought. No. That was a terrible idea. I’d spent all this time being meticulous about how we were seen and how I would tell everyone about us. I can’t just go sleep with him. If I do that, we could get caught.

  I stretched against the wall, feeling horny as hell with no release. I glanced at the clock and considered my idea again. Adam would be elated if I snuck into his room. We’d probably have the shag of our lives, as Adam would say, and at that late of an hour, if I was careful, no one would ever have to know. I needed information and an alibi, though, so after a moment I made one up and called the front desk. The clueless graveyard shift concierge was happy to provide Adam Kincaid’s room number so a White House official could hand-deliver an important document to him.

  Five minutes later, I looked around the dead hallway and knocked on Adam’s room.

  “Who is it?” he called from behind the door.

  I said nothing, and when he cracked the door open, his shocked face met my smile. I slipped inside, and he shut the door with a laugh. “Well, good evening. This is a nice surprise.”

  I kept quiet as I walked into his room, which was nicer than mine.

  “What’s all this about?” he asked, coming toward me. He was only wearing plaid boxer shorts, and he looked sexier than anyone had a right to. My raging hormones approved.

  “What did you say earlier? ‘Why wasn’t I acting on it?’ You said something like that, I think.”

  “I did.”

  “Well, I’m here to act on it.” I met him halfway and kissed him hard and fast. In case he didn’t quite get the purpose of my visit, I found his dick and began tickling it over his boxers.

  He exhaled at once. “Fuck…”

  “Yes,” I said, practically hissing. I greedily slid my hand into the flap of his boxers and found what I’d been hoping for. His penis was hard, but his foreskin was soft and ready to be played with. “Let’s go to your bed,” I murmured.

  “Gladly.”

  He led me over to the bed, but I surprised him by pushing him onto it. He laughed as he fell. “Assertive, aren’t we?”

  “A little.” I smiled as I said it, simultaneously kicking off my heels.

  He lay on his back, resting on his elbows, and watched my quick strip show. Beneath my conservative work clothes, I’d always worn great lingerie. It was sort of one of my secrets to remind myself I had a life outside of work. Today, the lingerie came in very handy as I stripped out of my suit pants, exposing a very racy black thong. Adam smiled, though his focus was on my crotch. He was eyeing me so lustfully, I ended the strip show early.

  I leaned toward him and tugged his boxers down. His dick was so perfect, I had to give it a kiss and a few licks, but I soon moved on. I was a woman on a mission. Sliding off my panties, I straddled him. His eyes were set on his dick, and he rubbed the head of it against me. When I moaned, he said, “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Do you like watching me do this?” I asked.

  “Fuck, yes.”

  “I love the feel of you against my pussy.”

  He smiled warily. Oops. He was probably unsure what to make of me, because seventeen-year-old Nicki had never said anything like that during sex. My year with a dirty-talking Cuban was showing through to my proper British boy. It was time to cut the conversation anyway. I gave him such a forceful kiss he was flat on his back while I continued rubbing myself against him.

  His hands reached down to my ass, and I said, “I want to feel you inside of me. Now.”

  “Uh…”

  Poor Adam seemed at a loss for what was happening. I still hadn’t even taken off my shir
t. It wasn’t how I’d imagined our reunion sex would be either, but it felt right, and it definitely felt good. “Please,” I said.

  He mumbled something about a condom, but I said I was on the pill. Then he mentioned taking my shirt off. I was too eager to finally feel him to go through that whole rigmarole, so I simply lifted up the front tails so we could both see as I slowly slipped his erection inside of me.

  Adam and me together again was bliss—hot, blinding bliss. I sighed, and our eyes met.

  “At last,” I said.

  “At last.”

  That was the extent of the romance of our second “first” time—then we fucked. It wasn’t long, but it was intense. We both ended up a panting, spent mess. As we calmed down lying on pillows, I traced circles onto his chest and he nuzzled into my hair.

  “I love you, Nicki.”

  “I love you.” I raised my head to give him a smile, and he quickly took the opportunity to kiss me. I was a little surprised that he was ready to go again, but if he was game, so was I.

  He slowed it down this time and began to unbutton my shirt. When he discovered my lacy bra, he groaned. “I always loved your breasts.” And he went to work sucking and nipping and groping—all of which made me feel more wanted by him than I ever had.

  My appreciative whines and moans urged him on more, though, as he began to move southward on my body. At first, I was excited at the thought he was going to go down on me, but then I saw what he was doing. He had stopped at the scars on my torso, tracing one of the silvery feathers that marred my skin. And then he did just as he always had—he kissed them, each and every one.

  The eroticism of the moment vanished. As he brushed my scarred body with kisses, I could only think of how long it had been since he’d done it and how I had been sure he’d never do it again.

  Whenever I was drunk, there wasn’t a lot of nuance to my emotions. They were always strong and demanded to be seen. If I was turned on, I wanted to have sex then and there. If I was happy, I wanted to giggle and giggle. And if I was sad, I wanted to bawl. So as I thought back to the times when I’d been certain I’d never see Adam again, tears came quickly, and I couldn’t stop them. They started as a quiet roll but only gained momentum as I relived my time without him.

  After a minute of me quietly crying, Adam raised his head, confused by the sounds I had started to make. I let myself sob, gasping my breaths. “I missed you…I missed you so much. For years, I missed you.”

  He crawled back up to my side at once. Placing a hand on my cheek, he said, “Nicki, I will never leave you again. Never. But you have to stay with me. Okay?”

  I nodded and eventually smiled through my tears. “I’ll stay with you…always.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A HEADACHE, THUMPING AWAY at my temples, woke me up. I winced at the pain and discovered I was nauseated as well, and then I realized where I was. My head spun around to the clock radio on the hotel nightstand. Four thirty in the morning had never looked so good to me. I could still get out of there without anyone seeing me. Even the most dedicated person wanting coffee or a workout wouldn’t be up at four thirty.

  I made sure not to wake Adam as I quickly slid out of bed and found my clothes. Buttoning my shirt, I studied my sweet man as he slept. His features were so chiseled, but he looked like a little boy with his face crammed against the pillow. I hated leaving him like this, but I knew if I woke him up, I’d get delayed, and time was something I didn’t have enough of.

  As soon as I was dressed, I grabbed the hotel pen and paper and scribbled:

  Adam,

  I’m sorry I have to leave early.

  I’ll talk to you after I get everything lined up on my end.

  I love you,

  Nicki

  Speeding out of the room, I wondered if he would understand what I’d written. He was a reporter; I hoped he would see that I’d clearly meant, “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” We may have danced across some ethical lines before, but after last night, we had obliterated the professional division between us. I had to clean up the mess—and now.

  As I slinked down the empty hallway to my room, I talked myself out of re-imagining my worst nightmares. No one knew about my night with Adam. The worst they knew was that we’d gotten a little too close on the dance floor, that I’d then flirted with Dan Roark as well, and that I had been so drunk, Lydia Mixon had walked me to my room.

  I simply needed to initiate the plan I’d already hatched. The only difference now was that I had to do it ASAP, and Juan Carlos wouldn’t be the first to know.

  No one crossed Melba McCutchins. She was a formidable woman, and as the personal secretary to President James Logan since his early lawyering days, she was as close to him as family. Even the prime minister of Britain didn’t get on the president’s calendar without her approving it.

  I’d known her for a long time, and yet I was in no better place with her than any other staffer. No matter how many times she called you “sugar” and “honey,” she was still a little scary. Rejection did that to you, since more often than not her answer was usually no, and if you objected, it was “Hell no.”

  As soon as I could get to her that morning, I did. We had some meetings at the embassy before heading back home, and I found her working away in an empty junior ambassador’s office.

  She peered at me over her bifocals. “Good morning. What can I do for you, hon?”

  “Morning, Melba.” I put on my strongest smile and phrased my request as a demand rather than a question—because, really, there wasn’t a question to be had. I must talk to Logan. “I need to get on the president’s schedule for five minutes before we arrive home today.”

  “Sorry. That’s impossible.” She went back to her laptop. “I’m sure you can catch him for a minute after the press conference.”

  “I need more than a minute, and it must be private.”

  Slowly raising her head from her computer, she took off her glasses. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s important.”

  “May I have an idea what this is about?”

  I shook my head. “No. Trust me. I wouldn’t be making this request if I didn’t have to, and I know when something rises to this level of sensitivity. I need scheduled time alone with the president.”

  “Why isn’t Matt coming to me about this?”

  “I’m sure the president will bring Matt in shortly after we meet.”

  She bit on the end of her glasses in thought. “Are you resigning to get married?”

  “I’m sorry, Melba, but I’m just not telling you anything else, except that it’s more than a minor personnel issue. I know you’ll keep that confidential.”

  She bit down on her frames a few more times before saying, “Because this is coming from you, I’ll say yes.”

  “Thank you.” I exhaled. “I truly appreciate it.”

  Returning her attention to her laptop, she said, “You’ll get five minutes on Air Force One before his nap.” She smiled. “The Cubs are on. Maybe he’ll stay up.”

  When it came time for me to knock on the door of the president’s private quarters on Air Force One, I was rattled. I’d spent much of the day fending off jokes about my drinking the night before. The good news was that word had spread among the press that I’d partied with a few of them and was thus on their good side. The bad news was that rumors had already started that I must not be interested in Juan Carlos if I’d been hitting on two reporters. That really wasn’t bad news, though, because the truth would be far worse.

  “Come in,” Logan boomed from the interior.

  I walked inside and immediately smelled popcorn. Closing the door behind me, I saw Logan lounging on the sofa. The Cubs game was on the television, and he had a bowl of popcorn and a beer at his side. I laughed. “I thought you would be resting.”

  “That’s what I’m supposed to be doing.” He gestured to the TV. “But the game is on. Sit and join me.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking a seat. My
voice had wavered, and it never wavered around Logan. I’d known him for too long.

  He frowned at my nervousness. “Now tell me what’s going on. Melba thinks you’re resigning because you’re getting married. You know you don’t have to do that. We’ll find you a job with shorter hours.”

  “I’m probably resigning, but it’s not because I’m getting married. For one thing, I’m not marrying Juan Carlos.”

  “Really? What’s going on? I’m sure it’s something we can manage without you quitting.”

  “I…uh.”

  “Just start at the beginning.”

  Every time I’d role-played with myself how I would break the news, I had started with a simple declaration of the present facts, like, “I’m in a romantic relationship with Adam Kincaid of the BBC. One or both of us will resign immediately. I apologize for the problems this is going to cause. I know how serious they are…blah, blah, blah.”

  Yet it seemed all wrong now.

  “Yes?” he asked impatiently.

  As I sat, completely inarticulate and staring at Logan, I realized he would care less about how we dealt with the mess. That was easy in the end. He was the president, and he could do whatever he wanted and make whatever needed to happen, happen. Instead, Logan would want to know why the mess ever came to be in the first place.

  Why? I asked myself. It might’ve been fate, but that seemed kind of cheesy to tell the commander in chief, and I still wasn’t sold on the idea of fate anyway. Lisa would say there was an underlying cause and effect that had brought Adam and me back together. In my heart, I knew what it was. We’d gotten back together because the ties from our past were too strong to ignore.

  Logan wanted the story from the beginning, but the beginning of us didn’t start in January when we’d both begun our jobs. The beginning started long ago.

  I bit on my lip in determination. “You know that my sister died in a car accident, right?”