“I’ve spent the last five days fantasizing about a woman who can’t cook? That can’t be right.”
“It’s true. You—” His words caught up with her. “You what?” Her shout was loud enough for Chef Klaus to stick his head out of his office, leaning out far enough to look around the big stand mixer between them and deliver a hard stare before turning back to whatever he’d been working on.
Clive didn’t appear in the least abashed. “We’re in the house that George Washington built. Even if he didn’t live long enough to ever take up occupancy here, it’s still his house, therefore I cannot tell a lie.” He dressed the plates with little spears of asparagus that she hadn’t even seen him preparing, and a thick slice of crusty bread.
“But—”
“Shall we take our plates somewhere more private?” Ignoring her feeble protests, he did one of those waiter things with a plate in either hand and Thor’s plate resting on his forearm. Then he led the way out the back of the kitchen and along the Basement Hall toward his chocolate shop.
Out of options, she set Thor on his own feet and followed after him.
Clive didn’t know how to slow down around Linda, but it seemed to be working, so maybe he shouldn’t.
He’d gotten her out of the West Wing without getting down on his knees and begging, though he’d come close while fishing her out of the men’s lavatory where her boss Captain Baxter had been washing his hands. The captain had merely raised his eyebrows as he looked down at his newest officer lying prone on the tile floor.
Clive really wanted to get her back into the Chocolate Shop, where he’d made a couple of special treats for her. He’d almost screwed that up with suggesting that they go out to dinner, because that’s what a man did with an attractive woman in DC, right? Dinner, drinks, a goodnight kiss that might lead somewhere or might not. He knew from past experience that leading somewhere tended to happen with him.
He’d never really given it much thought. He liked women and women liked him. Easy-peasy. It never lasted…
He glanced over at Linda as she squatted to give Thor his plate of K-9 tartare. It was easy to imagine watching her doing that, feeding her dog, day after day. He’d never really thought about having the same woman around for the long term. He knew it was in his future somewhere, but the insane hours of being a world-class chocolatier were no less hectic than being a world-class chef. He’d never found a woman willing to put up with that for long, which was fine—he was always up-front about it so it was never a big issue. But with Linda in his kitchen, the future shifted somewhere much closer.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t slow down around her. All of his smooth skills around women had turned into curdles and the clumsy bloom of over-refrigerated chocolate.
And now that he had her here, in his chocolate shop, his mouth had gone dry with a sudden lack of words.
“I think he likes it,” Linda patted Thor as he started eating.
“What’s not to like?” He watched her and couldn’t think of a thing. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but his attraction to her pulled at him like a new confection recipe.
Then, rather than taking her seat, she stood and stared at him. “What’s that look?”
“What look?” He rubbed his hand over his face and did his best to erase it.
“That look.”
“So much for wiping it off my face. Eat,” he pulled out a pair of stools from under the counter. After a moment’s debate, he set them kitty-corner at his central steel worktable—placing them close but still facing each other.
“Evasion, Chef Andrews.”
“Absolutely, Sergeant Hamlin.”
“And you want me to let you off the hook?”
“Consider it payback for identifying that bad man for you.”
She harrumphed but took her stool. “Okay, just this once.” But her look said not a chance was this over. “You still owe me for dumping me into the men’s room—not that I’m keeping score.”
“Did you ever figure out what they were doing, or is that now some state secret you can’t tell me about?” Clive went for the subject change.
“I wish it was. We don’t know. And we’re getting mixed signals on who they were working for. The Japanese have now disavowed both of their diplomatic passports based on today’s actions.”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“It is. Both men were gone long before it happened. Whether that is per a plan by the Japanese or an honest reaction to a betrayal is unclear. Mr. Black Wool Coat was new to the mission, but Mr. Gray Suit was a senior official who abandoned a long career the moment he stepped on that plane.”
“Which explains why he was so angry when we caught him,” Clive could still remember the moment. It was the only time he’d been involved in anything like that. He’d have been a basket case of nerves if it hadn’t happened so fast—Linda spooking him, Mr. Gray Suit breaking through the crowd, the officers grabbing the man as Clive pointed him out, and finally his look of fury at being caught.
“Fury or dismay? It became the latter fast enough. We’ve seized his US assets, but those are unusually small for someone who has served in Washington for two decades, as if he knew he was at risk and had cleared out most of his holdings just in case.”
“So, basically, no one is happy.” Except him. The adventure had given him the narrowest sliver of insight into the richness of mysteries in Linda’s world. Crisis, adrenaline, action, yet she’d remained perfectly calm and in control throughout. And having her in his shop was enough to make him happy for a long time.
“Well, Thor looks pretty happy,” Linda pointed out. The dog lay on the floor licking his chops with a polished clean plate in front of him. “And me. This is fantastic.”
He’d been wondering if she was eating it without even tasting. It wasn’t anything much, but it had come together nicely from various kitchen leftovers. Klaus always kept a shelf of items that any chef working late could take advantage of for a quick meal. He was stretching it a little for an agent and her dog but, other than one of his patented scowls, Klaus had appeared fine with it.
“Clive?”
“Mm-hmm?” He had a mouthful of pasta at the moment.
“What you said earlier?”
“Mm-hmm?” Uh-oh!
“Why?”
He chewed and swallowed. No real question what she was asking, so he’d go for his honesty policy. “You’re asking why I like you. Have you met many DC women?”
Her shrugs were expressive. This one reminded him that though she’d been out in Maryland for three months, her experience with DC was minimal.
“There’s a sameness to them. The way I have always figured it, DC attracts two major types of women. Ambitious women deeply concerned with politics for one. The others are looking for a job that they could find anywhere else more easily but wouldn’t have the prestige of being involved in the government—or the chance at a future president for a husband, because of course they can make the right man into that. Guess which type I normally meet?”
“The tall blondes.”
“Well sure,” he wasn’t going to fall for that trap. “Who wouldn’t? But I’m finding that now I’ve met a third type.”
Linda did that narrow-eyed inspection thing of hers.
“Short brunettes who take obnoxious K-9 instructors and international terrorists all in the stride of a day’s work without letting it flap them in the slightest.”
“You like me because I don’t fly off the handle around a man who is being an asshole?”
“It’s a good hedge against the future on my part, don’t you think?”
Linda could only blink. Every time she tried to corner Clive, to pigeonhole him somewhere in her mind, he didn’t fit. He also didn’t mind each time she caught him.
Tall blondes. It was easy to picture a tall blonde beside him. He was a tall, handsome man and would look exceptional with a beautiful woman on his arm. So why was he talking to her?
&n
bsp; I like you.
What’s not to like? he had asked of Thor’s dinner—which had been sweet and thoughtful of him to make.
She turned the question around: what was there about Clive Andrews not to like?
The normal laundry list that washed men out of her life before they even got into it wasn’t applying.
They weren’t in the same unit.
Not even in the same branch of the service.
Her first two big issues no longer applied because she was a civilian now. They allowed fraternization within the Secret Service, provided it wasn’t within a linear chain of command. But even that didn’t apply to Clive.
There was a freedom to the thought that she hadn’t experienced in over a decade. Every relationship in the military had a dozen ramifications: rank, reassignment, and the imminent threat of death that was definitely a factor to consider in Special Operations Forces. Yet, for the foreseeable future, she and Clive would both be stationed in DC. If things didn’t work out, all she had to do was not come by his chocolate shop. The entire danger-scenario, risk-assessment part of her thoughts had been rendered meaningless by the simple act of leaving the military.
And without all of those obstacles in the way, she realized that she did like Clive as well. And she remembered a feeling, the memory of a smile that had continued to tickle her palm for the last few days.
“Clive?” This was a very low-risk environment. It was a freaking chocolate shop.
“Mm-hmm?” Now he was just messing with her, both of their plates were clear.
If she was going to do something, she should just do it.
She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. He tasted of lemon and shallot. And his return kiss was warm and thoughtful, taking his time about it. He laid one of those big warm hands over hers where it rested on the cool steel table.
Clive was clearly a man who knew how to kiss a woman. She hoped that she returned even a little of the same as her bones slowly melted. With only the slightest tug on her hand, not even enough to shift it, he somehow had her body moving toward his.
The heat warmed her from the inside out and she shifted, being careful not to break the kiss. She wanted…
She wanted.
That alone was a miracle. A part of her she was sure was dead…wanted! She—who had never needed anything other than her dog and a mission—wasn’t some kind of emotional zombie as she always thought. She actually groaned as Clive slid one of those wonderful hands onto her waist. If he tried to take her here and now, she wasn’t going to stop him.
There was a sharp growl that she didn’t think came from Clive.
Then a high “Eeep!” that she was fairly sure didn’t come from her.
A growl from a dog.
Too high for Thor.
An eeep from—
She broke the taste of heaven and turned to see a young girl standing in the Chocolate Shop’s doorway with her hand clamped over her mouth. At her feet, a Sheltie growled at Thor, who’d risen to his feet in surprise.
Linda snapped her fingers and signaled for Thor to sit and stay. He sat down, but strained forward to sniff at the new arrivals.
“Dilya,” Clive sighed. His sigh seemed to include an entire conversation, but Linda had no way to interpret it. Her head was still trying to process the flash of heat awoken by Clive’s kiss, and her higher-functioning, multitasking capabilities were not reporting for duty.
The girl wasn’t as young as she first appeared—mid-teens perhaps. Very pretty. Dark skin and even darker hair that cascaded in long ruffles down to her elbows.
“Wow. He’s well trained,” she squatted down to Thor’s level. “Okay to pet him?”
“Sure,” Linda was surprised the girl thought to ask. Most didn’t. “Thor, Freund.”
“Hi, Thor,” the girl didn’t even hesitate at the name, winning her several points. “Yes, I’m friendly. This is Zackie,” she tugged on the Sheltie’s leash, but Zackie was busy getting pets from Clive—apparently he wasn’t lavishing attention on Thor just for her sake, but genuinely liked dogs. She’d been wondering.
“Zackie?” Linda asked.
“Sure. Named for the President by the First Lady back when they were still Vice President and girlfriend.”
“President Zachary Thomas’ dog was named Zackie by his girlfriend?”
The girl’s amused giggle was answer enough. “Actually, Zackie is her dog. She only lets the President play with Zackie if he’s been nice to her.”
“And what does she call the President?”
“Why, Mr. President, of course.” But Linda didn’t quite trust the girl’s blithe answer. She looked fifteen at most, yet the nuanced way she said it seemed unlikely for a girl of that age. She herself certainly hadn’t understood the subtleties of grown-up relationships at that age—except that she wanted no part of anything like her parents’.
Then the girl looked up at her. She wore a hot pink sweater, black leggings, oversized boots, and a scarf knit in tiny rows of colorful splotches to match Clive’s—a noisy combination that screamed youth. But her green eyes, caught by the kitchen lights, belonged to no young girl that Linda could imagine. She’d only seen such old eyes in…Syrian refugee camps. On kids who had seen things not even an adult should have to witness.
“I’m Linda,” she held out a hand.
“Dilya,” the girl offered in return, though it was clear she already knew Linda’s name.
“You’re the President’s dog handler?”
“When they’re traveling somewhere Zackie can’t go. Or have too many meetings or stuff like that. They just got home from Tennessee, so I took her out to burn off some of her energy. She’s fine on Air Force One, but riding in Marine One, even just the short hop from Andrews, always winds her up. Yes, I know,” she turned to the dog and unabashedly used the high squeaky dog voice, “you just can’t help yourself, can you?”
The little dog yipped happily and wiggled with delight at the attention. Under all that fur she was probably about the same size as Thor, but she seemed as young as her caretaker didn’t.
“How did you get Thor to stay like that? He still hasn’t moved. Can you teach me?”
“Um, sure. But Thor has had years of training.”
“I’ve worked on Zackie ever since President and Genny Matthews left the White House and decided they no longer needed a nanny. I still get to babysit Adele whenever they’re in town, once or twice a month. The First Lady and the former First Lady both work for the UNESCO World Heritage Centre, you know. So they always have all of these meetings. And President Matthews goes over to the West Wing and hangs out with the President or Vice President whenever his wife is busy. Which means I end up babysitting Zackie and a two-year-old. Terrible twos, they’re really something, aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Linda was still puzzling at Dilya. It sounded as if she knew everything.
Clive had returned to his seat from playing with the dog.
“You’ve never played with babies?” Dilya looked at her in surprise. “Oh, right, you just got out of the Army. Who were you with?”
“A group called the 75th Rangers.”
“Which battalion?”
“Third,” Linda wondered again just who this teen was.
“Oh, I don’t know any of those guys. I used to hang out with the 2nd Battalion Charlie Company when my mom was… Whoops! Sorry. We were never there. Never mind.”
Linda looked over at Clive, who had the temerity to just smile at her.
“Her mom is Sergeant Kee Stevenson, formerly with the 160th Night Stalkers, now part of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team.” Then he glanced at Dilya, who was still playing with the dogs, and silently mouthed, “War orphan.” Which explained a lot.
“Kee…” Linda’s voice trailed off. Everyone in Special Operations knew that name—she was one of the top snipers anywhere. Which meant that her father, another former Night Stalker, was the Secretary of Defense. Okay. Dilya’s knowledge and pe
rsonality were making more sense in some ways, even if she was making less in others.
“You’re the one who found the explosives this morning?” Dilya asked the dog.
“He was,” Linda answered for him.
“Good doggie!” Dilya pet him some more.
Zackie had also apparently come to terms with the presence of another dog and closed the rest of the distance between them.
“Spiel,” Linda gave Thor permission to get up and play. With a single bound, the two dogs plowed Dilya over onto her back and proceeded to race loops around the small kitchen.
“Told you that Marine One wound her up,” Dilya clambered to her feet and smoothed her scarf.
“That’s just like Clive’s,” Linda couldn’t help but admire it.
“She liked the one Mom made so much,” Clive reached out and thoughtlessly flipped Dilya’s hair into place, “that I knit one for her.”
“You really can knit?”
“I cannot tell a lie,” he raised a Boy Scout salute. At least not as long as she didn’t ask him what he’d been thinking when he kissed her. During that he was thinking utterly ridiculous thoughts about a woman he barely knew. Things like there never being another woman for him. “Keep being nice to me, and I’ll knit you a sweater someday.”
“At this point I’d take a decent pair of gloves,” she wiggled her fingers at him.
That would be safer. Knitting a sweater actually had a lot of potential baggage with it. He’d heard from a ton of knitters that when the knitter made a sweater for their boyfriend, the relationship had always seemed to end at the same time the massive effort of making a sweater did. Yes, mittens would be safer. He’d have to figure out Linda’s hand size, maybe from the outline he could still feel from when she’d covered his mouth.
Linda Hamlin overwhelmed him in every possible way. Forthright in a city where everything was nuance and innuendo. Her emotions so clear that there was no questioning them. Okay, she couldn’t cook, but the way she looked while eating his food was enough to motivate him to cook forever. And he hadn’t forgotten how she looked while tasting his chocolate. And the taste of her… He was ruined for anyone else. It didn’t matter that he barely knew her because he already knew so much about her.
Off the Leash Page 8