Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series)

by Whitney, Mary

  Instinctively, I tightened my grip on Adam’s hand as it came time for him to give the eulogy. I was glad to be there for him, because I could tell he’d corked his emotions tightly for the day. He proceeded to deliver the perfect off-the-cuff British public statement. It was sincere, but a little humorous, and the kind of speech that would’ve made his father proud.

  After the service, we went back to the house, where Sylvia had seen to it that there was a properly catered event. Adam introduced me to everyone without thinking our guests might recognize me. At first, I thought them all geeky intellectuals and snobby aristocrats who kept themselves at arm’s length from the nastiness of American politics. Then an older woman walked straight up to me and held out her hand.

  “Hello, I’m Professor Beatrice Hadley. I do believe you’re Nicole Johnson.”

  “Yes, yes, I am.” I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Professor Hadley.”

  Glancing at Adam, Beatrice said, “I suppose you know Adam from his work at the White House.”

  “Yes,” Adam said. “But actually we knew each other before then.”

  My eyes darted to his. We hadn’t yet discussed what we would tell the world about our past. I thought it best to be completely upfront. “Yes, we’re old friends.”

  Then another professor joined our conversation. Offering me his hand, he said cheerily, “I’m Graham Schofield—I worked with Professor Kincaid. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Johnson.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Professor Schofield,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “So, Adam, how is the BBC these days?” he asked, turning to Adam. “Are you still enjoying living in Washington?”

  Adam cleared his throat. “Washington is a wonderful city, but actually, I’ve left the BBC…for the time being.”

  Both Professors Schofield and Hadley frowned. Obviously, neither understood why he would leave such a plum job. Luckily, his mother had overheard the conversation. She walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Adam’s decided to take some time off so he can be around if we need his help.”

  As Mrs. Kincaid swished away, I chimed in, “I’m also looking forward to Adam spending time on his artwork.”

  He glanced down at me and smiled. “I suppose I’ll have time for that.”

  “Artwork? What would that be?” Professor Hadley was curious.

  Adam shrugged. “Oh, political cartoons. It’s just a hobby of mine.”

  “Really? Do you know Richard Lawrence at the Financial Times?”

  “Only his work. I’ve never met him. His work is brilliant, though.”

  “He’s a very good friend of mine from school days. We go way back; we were at Stowe together. You know, he’s retiring soon. He’ll still contribute to the paper, but not daily. If you want, I can introduce you two.”

  I gave Adam’s hand a hard squeeze, and he eagerly answered, “That would be wonderful, Professor Hadley. I’d really appreciate that.”

  By mid-afternoon, I was dragging. Jetlag had caught up with me, and I couldn’t drink enough tea to counteract it. At one point, I closed my eyes as sleep tempted me, and I heard Adam say, “Nicki, let me take you upstairs. You’re knackered.”

  My eyes flew open. “Thank you. I haven’t had much sleep.”

  “I just need to tell Mum.”

  He bumped into David as he walked away, and I overheard him say, “I’m taking Nicki upstairs for a kip. Can you help out down here if they need me?”

  “A kip? Like you’re going to let her nap.” David smirked.

  “Yes, I’m going to let her nap.” He leaned into David and muttered quietly, “Do you really think I’m taking her to my room to shag her brains out during my father’s wake?”

  “Seems like as good a time as any, mate.” His smirk widened into a grin. “Everyone’s sorted down here.”

  After talking to his mother and grabbing my bag, Adam led me upstairs to his room. I looked at him skeptically. “Will your mother be okay with this?”

  “I’m pretty sure she had cottoned on to the fact we were sleeping together sixteen years ago. I doubt that she’ll be upset today.” Kissing my forehead, he added, “Besides, with David and his mum here, the house is full. There’s no other space. You’re stuck with me.”

  “I like that,” I said with a grin.

  Walking into his childhood bedroom, I looked around at the walls, which were covered in Liverpool football memorabilia that he’d collected over his lifetime. I laughed. “This is quite a collection.”

  “I always meant to change it, but never got round to it.”

  “Oh please. Like you’d really want to take any of this down.”

  “You’re right about that.” Smiling at me, he then nodded to the bed. “Bugger, I only just noticed the bed. We might be a little uncomfortable in this small space tonight.”

  “Never,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his neck. After a long kiss, I smiled. “Don’t you remember? We only ever slept together in a twin bed. That’s what was in my room in high school.”

  “Ah! That’s right.” He touched the hair around my face. “I never wanted to leave.”

  “I never wanted you to leave.” I rose to kiss him again. “And I still don’t.”

  Was it talk of high school? I didn’t know, but soon we were making out like the teenagers we used to be. He broke it off just as I felt him get hard. “I should go back downstairs.”

  “I know. I’m sorry about that.” I giggled. “I got carried away.”

  “Believe me. I want to get carried away with you. I just can’t right now.”

  “Don’t let me sleep too long, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  After showing me the “loo” and providing me with a towel, Adam went back to talk to the guests. I changed into a camisole and pajama bottoms and climbed into his bed. Exhausted, I was asleep in minutes.

  The next thing I knew, I was having an amazingly sexy dream. Adam and I were making out. I wasn’t sure where we were, but his hands were up my shirt. Then he moved them down my pants. It felt so real, I could sense myself getting aroused as he began to touch me just so. As an orgasm began to build, I drifted out of my sleep and realized it wasn’t a dream. We weren’t making out, but he’d started to touch me when I was sleeping. I smiled but kept my eyes closed. When he hesitated for a second, I mumbled, “Don’t stop.”

  “Then I won’t,” he said.

  I lay there while he touched me in the same way he had so many years ago when we’d messed around. I’d forgotten how good it was to be brought to orgasm with such a simple, steady movement. This time he was a little older and wiser, though, so he played with my breasts simultaneously, pinching and tweaking my nipples so that I felt it everywhere, including my clit below. Arching my back, I clutched the sheets and refrained from my usual orgasmic gibberish. I just mewled and shuddered as I rode it out.

  Afterward, I smiled. “That was nice.”

  “It was nice to watch.”

  “Was it, now?” I chuckled and reached for his dick and found the evidence. “Well, it appears it was.”

  “I get off watching you get off.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Call me old-fashioned.”

  “You’re old-fashioned, and I like it,” I said, pulling him on top of me.

  I stripped off his boxers as he kissed me, and then he pulled down my pants. After I kicked them off, he wasted no time and slipped himself inside of me. For a moment, I wondered if we really should be fucking away during his father’s wake, but Adam didn’t seem to be thinking twice about it. Grief was a crazy experience, and he probably needed the closeness to another person.

  Afterward, he caught his breath and kissed my hair, and I looked up at him. “You’re smiling.”

  “I am?” he asked.

  “You are.”

  “Probably because I’m so damn happy.”

  “Good.” I gave him a kiss to punctuate it.

  He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “It’s odd, though…feelin
g this way. I don’t think I’m supposed to be cheery after my father has just died. It’s very confusing.”

  “I know. I remember that feeling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Way back…when we first started dating. I thought my heart was going to burst. I was so elated…such a giddy teenager. But even though everything felt right between us, I felt like I was doing something wrong—like I’d forgotten about Lauren. Like I should’ve been in mourning. I couldn’t be in mourning, though, not with you around.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel. Maybe if I’d been able to give him a proper goodbye, it would feel differently. Why did he have to go while I was away?”

  “Oh, Adam.” I ran my fingertips through his hair. “You can’t think about it like that. Lauren and I were bickering over something stupid when she died. Why would I want to focus on that? You’re not supposed think about the end. The end is full of regret that you can’t do anything about.” My voice wavered. “You need to remember them living—when they were really alive—not sick or dead in a car.”

  Tears welled in his eyes. “I think I’d miss him too much if I thought about what he was like before he was ill.”

  Seeing him cry always touched me, and my own eyes became wet. I stroked his cheek. “You’ll always miss him. You just won’t miss him all the time, if that makes any sense.”

  “It does.” He smiled.

  Kissing his cheek, I whispered, “I love you, Adam.”

  “I love you.” His hand went beneath my chin, and he tipped my face up. “You know, you’re making me smile again.”

  “You make me smile, too.” I squeezed him hard. “I’m even happier than I was back then.”

  “I’m happier as well.” And just before he kissed me again, he added, “Because this time we’re together for good.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE NEXT MORNING, we were packing our bags for the trip to Scotland when Sylvia came in the room with a newspaper in her hand.

  “Morning, Nicki. Morning, Adam. I thought you might want to see this.”

  He grabbed the paper out of her hand. “What’s that?”

  I peered over his arm as Sylvia answered him, “The Cambridge News. Look right here.” She pointed to a few photos beside a short story about their father’s memorial service. The first photo was a simple shot of the chapel with the crowd of mourners in front of it. The second one showed Adam and his mother greeting some of his father’s colleagues. Then there was the third photo. Everyone was quiet.

  Eventually, Sylvia said, “It’s a darling photo of you two. It would be lovely to frame.”

  Adam practically snarled at his sister, while I studied the picture. Adam’s arms encircled me. His expression was somber, and I was looking off into the distance. At least we weren’t kissing, I thought. Then I read the caption aloud, “‘Cambridge-born BBC White House Correspondent, Viscount Adam Kincaid, consoles himself over the loss of his father with Ms. Nicole Johnson.’”

  I sighed, but my profession kicked in at once. “This is going to be picked up somewhere. There are probably other photos, too. Let me call Matt, and you should warn the BBC.”

  He nodded. “I’ll call Kent after you talk to Matt. I need to know what the White House might say.”

  “I knew you two would want to see this,” Sylvia said, “but isn’t the bright side that it’s a lovely photo?”

  “It is a nice one.” I smiled, giving into her chipper nature. “Now let me wake up Matt.”

  I checked the clock. It would be four in the morning DC time. Great. Matt is going to be pissed.

  “The room next to this is my mum’s sewing room. It will be private, and you can ring him from there.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  As I settled into a comfy chair upholstered in chintz and surrounded by a storeroom of sewing and knitting supplies, I took a breath. How do I break this to Matt?

  When he answered his phone, he sounded alert, probably because he knew if he was getting a call from me at four in the morning, he needed to be on top of things. “Nicole. What’s up?”

  “Matt, I’m really sorry to bother you, but we have a problem. There was a local photographer at Adam’s father’s funeral who took a picture of Adam and me hugging. It’s in the Cambridge News this morning. The tagline identifies me by name.”

  “Great,” he said under his breath. “That’s going to get picked up by some shitty British tabloid, and we’re going to have to respond.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m calling. What do you want to say?”

  After Matt and I worked things out, I found Adam alone at his desk. “How was it?” he asked.

  “He wasn’t happy, and he won’t be for a while, but we came up with a good statement.”

  “What is it?”

  I read from my notes. “If asked, the White House will say that ‘Deputy Press Secretary Nicole Johnson was given a few days off to support her old friend Adam Kincaid at his father’s funeral. The BBC notified the White House on Tuesday of this past week that Adam Kincaid had resigned.’” I stopped reading and looked up. “That’s it. I think it sounds all right. Now go find out what the BBC will say.”

  “It does work.” He smiled. “Just give me a moment to track down Kent.”

  “Oh, and Matt and I agree it’s important that I show up at work on Monday morning. You know—give everything a sense of normalcy.”

  “That would be the best thing. If you stay here, it looks like you’re hiding out.”

  “Unfortunately, that means I’ll need to leave tomorrow, after the interment.”

  “You know, I think David was planning on flying back to the States on Monday. I’m sure he would change his plans to head back with you tomorrow. It might be good to have someone with you in case there are photographers.”

  “That would be great if he could.”

  “You know he’d be happy to.” He stood up and gave me a quick kiss. “This is going to work out. Now, let me call Kent.”

  As he walked out of the room, I flopped onto the freshly made bed. Shielding my eyes from the morning sun, I envisioned how awful that Monday morning press briefing would be. I’d be a laughing stock for a while. There was no way out, though, other than to endure it. If I didn’t show up, it would be worse and prolong the issue. I just had to suck it up and take it.

  A few minutes later, Adam returned with a sardonic smile. “I suppose it’s all sort of amusing if you think about it.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know…” he said as he took a seat beside me on the bed. “In a way, my dad exposed us.”

  “Of all people.”

  “Exactly. And listen to this. The Daily Mirror called Kent about the photo while he was still speaking with me.”

  “No. So what did Kent say?”

  “He put them on hold while we talked. He asked what the White House response was going to be and said the BBC would make a similar statement.” Adam then read aloud from his reporter’s notebook. “‘Adam Kincaid resigned from the BBC last Monday. We look forward to employing him again if the opportunity arises. The BBC will permanently fill its White House correspondent position shortly. Our condolences go out to Adam and his family as they mourn the loss of the former Viscount Kincaid.’”

  “I like how they don’t mention me at all.”

  “I agree. It’s better for them as well.”

  “You don’t think the tabloids will try to find us in Scotland?”

  “They might, but Kent said when he gets calls from the tabs, he’ll advise them it would appear unseemly to stalk us.”

  “We’ll see if they heed his advice,” I said with a laugh. I pressed my hands to my cheeks. “Oh, Adam. What a mess.”

  “We’ll get through it,” he said, taking me in his arms. “If it means we get to be together, it’s more than worth it.”

  I kissed his cheek. “More than worth it.”

  As we spent the next few hours traveling by car, plane, and
then car again to the Kincaid home in Scotland, the tabloid media was at work. Adam’s phone rang so much that he turned it off, and I ignored all calls unless it was Matt.

  Sylvia kept looking at us with concern. “Shouldn’t you say something?”

  “Absolutely not.” I shook my head emphatically. “Don’t give in to them. No one in the general public will expect him to return a reporter’s call when he’s burying his father.”

  “It’s true.” Adam laughed. “I always knew revealing our relationship would be controversial, but Dad’s death is giving it an air of dignity that it wouldn’t otherwise receive.”

  As we drove up the long road to the estate, I felt like I’d either been sent back in time or was on the set of an eighteenth-century costume drama. The ancient-looking buildings were partially covered in vines and set back into a wooded area.

  “That’s your family house?” I asked.

  He looked up briefly from the book he was reading. “That’s it. Since the fourteenth century.”

  Sylvia sniffed the air. “I hate it. Everything smells like wet rock—even in the family quarters, even if it hasn’t rained for a month.” She looked at the car behind us, which David was driving with Mrs. Kincaid and David’s mother. “Poor David. I bet he’s having to listen to them gush about it. He hates it, too. He says being here makes him feel like a serf.”

  “I can see why,” I said, gaping at the property. “I’m feeling very inferior myself.”

  “Ridiculous.” Adam gave me a nudge. “It’s not like we earned this place or the title. There’s no merit involved.”

  “That’s very egalitarian of you, Viscount Kincaid.” I giggled.

  “I won’t be using the title, and you know it,” he said with another nudge and a kiss.

  When we got out of the cars, everyone stretched their legs from the long hours of travel. I admired the idyllic scene of rolling countryside, which seemed to go on for miles. “It’s hard to believe that you own this.”