Wyatt edged her back until the bedcovers pressed against her legs. He pressed her down, then made a ritual of drawing her panties over her hips and down her long legs until her only item of clothing was the single strand of white pearls. She thought she'd incinerate with the heat he created inside her. She burned for him, wanted him now. Dispensing with his own clothes, he joined her on the bed. Sandra reached for his broad shoulders and folded him close to her. She shivered suddenly.
"Anything wrong?" he asked, moving to look at her.
"Only that I thought this would never happen."
"Believe me, honey. It's going to happen."
Sandra let her gaze run over his face. He was beautiful. If she'd never noticed it before, she knew it now. She ran her hands around his head and pulled his mouth to hers. She brushed his lips from side to side, then slipped her tongue between his lips. Wyatt opened his mouth letting her have access. He tasted good, a taste different from any other man on earth, a taste as intoxicating as liquor. Wyatt's hands touched her breasts. She quivered as his smooth palms found her nipples and moved over them. The pebbly-hard nubs sent sensations through her that fanned out inside her like ripples of pleasure. She arched closer to the exquisite rapture.
Her eyes shut as she tried to hold on to the pleasure he created. Then he shifted, hovering above her. She felt his hard erection against her already wet sex. His mouth kissed her breasts one at a time. As he took his mouth away to find another spot, her back arched, reaching toward him as if she didn't want him to move. He kissed her belly, her arms, every part of her. Sandra tried to keep control of herself, but she found it a losing battle. Wyatt made her feel like no other man ever had. Finally, he kneed her legs apart. She heard him tear the foil packet and watched him cover himself to protect them both.
"It's going to happen, baby," he said, his voice heavy with emotion as he penetrated her. to one easy movement he was inside, filling her, making her eyes water with the pleasure the raced through her like fire trails. Wyatt set the rhythm and Sandra matched it. She'd never felt so at one with a human being in her life. It was as if he drew breath and she exhaled. She'd felt it, known it since he'd come to the cabin, since she'd begun this great adventure. She and Wyatt were made for each other. He'd taught her things about herself, things she didn't know and would never have known without him. He rocked me foundation of her sheltered world and now he'd taken her to heights beyond any fantasy she could create.
Wyatt groaned with each powerful thrust. He'd known she'd be like this, known that making love to her would be a revelation for him. He felt encased in rapture. Sandra wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her, deeper and deeper as if there was no end to the connection between them. Wyatt wanted to scream, cry, he wanted to release a lifetime of love and affection on Sandra. She made him feel things he hadn't known existed. Her hands touched him and his skin turned to molten rock. As she whimpered her pleasure, sensations rocketed through him. If he had to that he wanted to do it now, while she held him in the throes of a consuming passion, while he experienced the ultimate in human exchange. With his body he pledged himself to her, gave freely his heart and his love until together they collapsed in mutual satisfaction.
Sandra had never been so fulfilled. She ran her hands over Wyatt's back. It was smooth and warm. The intimacy only heightened her love for him. She knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Wyatt Randolph. Despite his life in front of the camera, despite the cloud hanging over him, she knew she'd be incomplete without him.
"I love you, Wyatt," she said.
She felt him stiffen. He raised his head and stared into her eyes. "Do you mean that?"
"More than I've ever meant anything in my life. I love you."
Wyatt gathered her close to him and kissed her. A long and tender kiss. Then he pulled her into his body and rested his head above hers. A tear fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek.
***
Wyatt watched her. He'd been doing that since they were forced together in the close confines of motel rooms. This morning was different. This was the morning after she told him she was in love with him. This was the first day of their life together. Yesterday he'd made love to her for the first time. And through the night they'd made love again. He didn't seem to be able to get enough of her. He didn't think he ever would. Sandra Rutledge. He rolled her name around in his mind. If someone had told him that Chip's little package would lead to the woman of his dreams he wouldn't have believed them. He was too used to women who wanted something from him. Sandra had asked for nothing. All she'd done was help him, watch his back, and be loyal to him. He couldn't ask for a better partner.
Bending forward, he kissed her on the side of the head. She stirred, reaching for him. He cradled her close, observing the contrast of their skin tones and wondering what their future children would look like.
***
Anise Kingsley had been housekeeper at the guest house through five administrations. She was the soul of discretion, made a point of learning the cultures of every foreign dignitary who'd slept within the covered walls. Everett Horton didn't know how the country would run without people like her.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kingsley," Everett spoke into the receiver from his bedroom.
"Good morning, sir."
"Are they awake yet?"
"No, sir. I think they had a very late night."
"I have a busy schedule. I need to talk to them by noon. Do you think they'll be up by then?" He knew the answer. Mrs. Kingsley would have them dressed and polished as if they were children and they'd never know they'd been manipulated. Everett wished he had her skills.
"I'll take them some tea, sir."
"Thank you, Mrs. Kingsley."
She replaced the receiver and added a small flower vase with a single rose in it. She smiled. Lovers, she thought. Few of them ever spent the night here. Usually the place was filled with feuding nationals, each refusing to budge on his particular point, and the President in the middle, acting as mediator. She'd seen many presidents, but found this new one more able to get work done than me other four she'd met.
With the tray in hand, she climbed the wide staircase and set it on the mahogany server outside the master suite. Gently, she knocked on the door.
Sandra climbed closer to Wyatt, fear in her eyes. He lightened his arms about her. "Come in," he said.
A small woman in her fifties opened the door and brought a tray to the bed.
"Good morning," she said. "Glad to see you're awake." Her face held a smile that twinkled in her eyes as she introduced herself. Sandra liked her. "I've brought your breakfast," she announced.
She moved to set the bed tray down. Sandra and Wyatt shifted toward each other. Sandra grabbed the sheet she'd nearly let go of when she moved. When they were sitting up against the pillows, she set the silver tray on the bed between them.
"Clothes have been provided for you in the closet and drawers," she said without censure. "If there's anything you need just call me." She indicated the phone next to the bed. "It has a code for housekeeper. The President has to go back to Washington this afternoon. He'd like to see you at noon."
She turned to leave.
"Mrs. Kingsley?" Sandra stopped her. "President? Clothes? Where are we?"
The older woman stood up to her full height which couldn't be more than five feet. The gesture was more pride than haughtiness. "You're in one of the guest cottages, Ms. Rutledge. This is Camp David."
***
Sandra found everything she needed as Mrs. Kingsley had promised. The clothes fit perfectly. They should. They'd been brought from her house in New Jersey.
Sandra held up a skirt and sweater in recognition, and Wyatt did the same with his garments. "Obviously the President has enough clout to get what he wants," he commented.
"What do you think he wants with us?"
"What everybody else wants. He wants us to give him the stones." Sandra was quiet. "Too bad all we'll be ab
le to tell him is that we've lost them."
"Wyatt," Sandra called his name softly. "What do you think we should do if we really had the stones? I mean. . .I know Chip was your friend, but what he built is a dangerous weapon. We can only imagine the implications of any one government having access to a device as deadly as Project Eagle."
"I thought a lot about that in the past few days. If any government should have access to the system I'd want it to be ours."
"But it's our choice, Wyatt. It’s as if we're the only two people on earth. We hold the future of the world in our hands."
Sandra looked at Wyatt's hands. They were strong and sure, and she remembered them holding her through the night.
"I believe that's why Chip sent the stones to you. He knew, when the time came, you'd make the right decision of what to do with them."
Sandra stood before the mirror brushing her hair. Wyatt stood next to her, fixing his own. She wanted to have a future with him. Was it possible? She was the only person alive who knew where the stones were. At least she thought she knew. She looked at it as Eve must have looked when she offered Adam the forbidden fruit. She had the secret. She could change the course of power on earth. The weight of that knowledge was overwhelming. She didn't want it. She wanted to tell Wyatt, share what she knew with him, but until she was sure of the President's purpose she'd keep her information to herself.
The car was outside waiting for them by the time they were dressed and ready. The same driver appeared to open the car door and drive them a short distance to the main house. Mrs. Horton greeted them at the door.
"Welcome to Camp David," she said. "I'm Casadia Horton. I'd like you to call me Casey."
She introduced herself as if she wasn't the most known face in America. Separate from the President, she was a wonderful champion of the American people. She went into disaster areas, homeless shelters, and hospitals and had no qualms about getting her hands dirty if she could help someone.
Sandra smiled and kept hold of Wyatt's arm. "Senator Randolph, it's good to see you again."
Wyatt took the hand she offered. "This is Sandra Rutledge."
Sandra also shook hands with her. Her hands were soft and warm, heightening the contrast with Sandra's cold one.
"I know introductions aren't necessary. I’ve been following the account of your life in the papers. I feel as if I know you."
"Good afternoon." Sandra could think of nothing to say. She'd have liked it better if the nature of her newspaper coverage wasn't due to infamy. Casey turned, walking toward the other end of the house. She and Wyatt followed. Sandra had thought the guest house beautiful. This one was almost palatial. They were led into a large dining room with Wedgwood-blue walls and white molding. The drapes were white and the china held the Seal of the United States on each piece. Sandra wondered if there was a subtle message in them.
"Welcome, Senator, Sandra. I may call you Sandra?" Everett Horton asked.
"Of course, Everett," she said.
He laughed boisterously. "I'm going to like her," he told Casey. "I've always admired your father," he said to Sandra. "It's a pleasure to find the same wit and humor in his daughter."
Not only were the President and First Lady present but the director of me FBI, the Secretary of Defense, and the ever-present Melanie West. She wondered why her famer wasn’t among the honored guests. Sandra had the feeling a long meeting had preceded their entrance. Clarence Christopher had a briefcase of files he was returning to order when me door was opened. Sandra wondered how large a file he had on her. His gaze met hers as she turned back to the room. She was sure he could tell what she'd been thinking. He only offered her a nod.
The comedy of manners was required in polite society. Sandra knew that better than anyone. They each took a seat at the dinner table. She and Wyatt were next to each other, and she was thankful for that. Etiquette stated people unacquainted with each other should be dinner partners to ensure that something was learned about a new person.
No one mentioned Project Eagle and she knew nothing would be said until the meal had been eaten and cleared away. When the remnants of dessert and a good coffee were the only items left on the white linen tablecloth, Everett Horton would ask his questions. She would tell him lies.
Wyatt hardly knew what he ate. The conversation on winter vacations versus summer vacations was getting on his nerves. Not one of them was really interested in vacations. They all wanted to know about Project Eagle.
"Everett!" Wyatt called, taking the same boldness as Sandra had. "You've brought us here for more than our opinion on skiing in the Pocono Mountains."
"You're quite right, Senator." Horton took a sip of his coffee. He men leaned forward with his arms folded on the white tablecloth. "I'm going to cut straight to the chase. Do you have the computer chips Edward Jackson developed?"
Wyatt didn't immediately respond. He'd expected this question. Wyatt weighed the options of answering yes or no. He was facing the President of the United States and several of his most important advisors. He should be able to trust this assembly of government heavyweights, but be wasn't sure. If they knew enough about him to get clothes from his house, why didn't they know that he and Sandra had lost the stones when Jeff Taylor died?
"No, sir," Wyatt replied. "We gave the stones to Jeff Taylor. He didn't have them when we found him."
"So you were there," FBI Director Clarence Christopher said.
"We were there," Sandra spoke up. "We arrived just before he died."
"Did you get to talk to him?"
"Only for a moment. He said he didn't tell his attackers where he'd hidden the stones. He died before he could tell us."
"I'm sorry, Sandra," Horton said. "Jeff was my friend, too."
"Was the all he said before he died?" Christopher asked. She knew he was qualified for his position, and from his questions she could tell he could be relentless.
"He gave us a number," Wyatt answered.
"What kind of number?"
Wyatt explained all they knew of Jeff's death. Sandra listened, adding nothing to his story. "Since then we've been trying to piece together his last days and determine where he could have hidden them. So far no luck."
"Not exactly," Sandra contradicted. "He had dinner with Lance Desque the night before he died."
No one reacted to the name. Through some strange psychic connection she knew Christopher had made a mental note to talk to Lance.
"What are you going to do to us?" Wyatt wanted to know.
Everett stood up and adjusted his clothes. "Gentlemen," he said, as if giving a cue. Like actors, everyone except Casey left the room. "Sandra, you've been very quiet What do you think of Project Eagle?"
She stood up, feeling too much at a disadvantage to sit and speak to the President. "Before I give my opinion, I'd like to ask what yours is."
"Fair question." He came to stand in front of her. She wanted to move away but stood her ground. The vast ceiling and images of former heads of state who had been in this room weighed heavily against her. "Project Eagle didn't begin as a communications defense system. Jackson started the programming on a personal basis and the Defense Department found out about it. I cant tell you how, probably something as innocent as lunch conversation."
Sandra thought of the innocuous discussion they'd just had.
"Soon his personal project became a defense project and funds and personnel were allocated to work with him. Colonel Sam Parker, whom you've met, was one of the people."
"How operational is this defense system?" Sandra asked.
"The stones are the only missing link."
She shuddered. They were ready to use it.
"My opinion of Project Eagle is it should never have been started. It should be melted down, all files burned, and no one ever discuss such a massive listening device ever again."
Sandra was relieved to hear that. Her body language must have told him so. He raised his hands, palms out.
"Don't
jump to conclusions. That was the opinion of Everett Horton, citizen of the US, not that of Everett Horton, President."
"But, Mr. President, you have the power to stop this now. You are Commander of the Armed Forces. You have the power to—"
"You don't have to teach me civics," he interrupted, "I had the power until recently."
"What happened?" Wyatt joined Sandra, who was facing the President.
"We've discovered certain discrepancies in military inventory."
"There's more than one system, and the other has been stolen, probably piece by piece."
Everett smiled at Sandra. "Bingo," he confirmed. "We discovered the theft about the same time we found out Mr. Jackson had taken matters into his own hands and sent the chips to you, Senator."
"Who killed him?" Wyatt asked.
"I don't know."
"So, what do you want us to do?" Sandra asked.
"I want you to work with us."
"Everett," Sandra said. "My opinion of the defense system mirrors yours. I don't think the world needs a doomsday machine."
"I don't, either. We also didn't need a Cold War or a Bay of Pigs, we didn't need reconnaissance satellites and nuclear submarines, but the fact is we have them and they serve to keep America safe," Horton said, speaking like a military commander.
"Each one of those items defends America from foreign aggression. Not one of them will invade the privacy of individuals, not one of them can eavesdrop on private conversations from the safety of a Pentagon office or sweep sections of the globe and stop every form of electronic transfer of information. The implications of this device reach far beyond the scope of any world leader." She stopped short of saying that included him.
Wyatt put his arm around her waist and pulled her close.
"The fact is, Sandra and Wyatt, we're no longer in a position to dismantle the system. We know the parts that have been stolen have been assembled and are waiting for the final, crucial parts that you had. In order to find out where the stolen parts have been placed so we can retrieve them, we need to activate the Pentagon system."
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 55