by D. A. Bale
“Understood.”
“I’ll bring back whatever Josef has concocted in our absence. Auf Wiedersehn.”
“Auf Wiedersehn.”
Marcus watched as Debrille left through the biometric compartment and headed toward the train before focusing back on the microscope. Disturbing developments. Wasn’t like they hadn’t faced such scrutiny before, so why the urgent meeting at the head? Everyone appeared well and in place above ground. Must have something to do with elsewhere in the world. All moved along swimmingly in their own backyard after recent updates.
Debrille had received the information of her health and well-being with eagerness, pleased she wasn’t experiencing the extreme side-effects. The news must have made Debrille feel nostalgic for the old days.
Why else would he wax German?
***
Even through the packed Georgetown campus crowd, Alexandra could make out Debrille’s goons stationed throughout the nearby floor seating. They’d taught her well. The invitation to the President’s televised speech had referenced one Alexandra Shuvinovsky, but somehow Debrille still managed to get his beefcake seating as well.
The stares of the nearby attendees wouldn’t have disturbed her as much with Marcus close by. For so long all she’d wanted to do was get away from him, and now that he wasn’t tailing along she sensed his absence. She hadn’t realized how confident in her role he’d made her feel.
But Alexandra was a capable woman, confident in her ability to capture attention and keep it. The rest she’d have to improvise.
The tension electrified when President Warner and Vice President Durksen took to the stage. As the crowd erupted in thunderous applause, Alexandra plastered on a wide and seductive smile that immediately drew Warner’s glance. In mere seconds his eyes canvassed the lavender chiffon clinging to her curves as if his stare might rip it from her body, before focusing his attention over the adulating throng.
In the back of her mind, Alexandra heard the speech, had already memorized the copy of it they’d received that morning. Only twelve Secret Service agents surrounded the stage, but though Alexandra kept her attentions focused on Warner, she still had in mind the likely placement of other agents throughout the arena from the floor plan she’d studied.
Other invited dignitaries sat nearby and fidgeted on occasion as the speech drove past the twenty minute mark. The flash of cameras dwindled to a sporadic dance until the end of the thirty-nine minute speech when they erupted like strobes as Warner and Durksen began making the rounds of the dignitaries.
As he neared, Alexandra’s heart raced. What would Warner do? What signal would he give? Surely he hadn’t invited her to just get some eye candy. There was a greater purpose to the invitation, otherwise Debrille wouldn’t have been in such a frenzy to make arrangements.
Then he was in front of her, a twinkle in his eye as he took her hand in his. A jolt like an electric current passed over Alexandra as their cheeks grazed one another, and he whispered above the din.
“Go to the agent at the north floor exit.”
Alexandra smiled with all the coy confidence she could muster and watched him make his way through those remaining down the line. At the first available opening, she picked up her purse and made her way toward the designated rendezvous. Her heart pounded. Was this the night? Were they going to have to do it here among the concrete and crowd?
Be Alexandra, girlie. Be Alexandra.
An arm curled firmly over her own before she was even aware of his presence. “Ms. Shuvinovsky, please come with me.”
Though she allowed herself to be directed, inside Alexandra berated herself for not seeing the agent first. The goons had probably already phoned it in, Debrille unhappy and preparing her punishment. How could she have been so careless?
Nevertheless, she followed along through the labyrinth of concrete down beneath the arena. The events of her life these days always took her back underground. A black steel door greeted them as the agent directed her inside.
Warner had removed his jacket and tie and poured cocktails among a spread of gourmet finger foods. How had he beat her to the room? Last she saw, he had continued stirring among the crowd.
No bed, not even a sofa, just a couple of leather chairs occupied the quarters. Perhaps they’d go at it on the floor like she and Marcus on occasion. The thought of Warner touching her like that momentarily repulsed her, but Alexandra never let it show on her face.
As he handed her a glass of champagne, Warner’s blue eyes traveled to her ample cleavage. She could almost feel his desire to reach out and stroke them to see if they were real.
Nope. Plastic Barbie doll, Mr. President.
“Ms. Shuvinovsky, so good of you to accept my last minute invitation.”
“So good of you to invite me, Mr. President.” Alexandra flashed an engaging smile before taking a sip of the offered beverage.
“Too bad your gentleman friend could not join us.”
“The invitation was only for one.”
Warner’s feigned regret could not contain the slight smile that curled the edges of his lips. “A terrible oversight on my part.”
The seduction charged the atmosphere, and Alexandra forced herself to drink in the sensation, allowed it to pulse through her blood. She seated herself in one of the nearby chairs to offer him a better view. Warner’s knuckles whitened as he stared.
“To what do I owe the honor, Mr. President?”
The other chair remained empty as he made the arm of her chair his perch. “It was unfortunate that I had to cut our delightful discussion short last week at the dinner. Of course, a historian such as yourself could never pass up the opportunity to research subject matter up close and personal.”
“So you are appealing to my work ethic now?”
Though she expected it, Alexandra still shivered from the soft stroke of Warner’s fingers on her arm – the night’s true invitation. From where he sat, she could get a good bite out of his penis and stem the approaching madness. But she purged Samantha’s rising rage, staunched the spread of emotion.
“I’m very interested in hearing more about your work ethic.”
“But wouldn’t you rather see it?”
She took his hand in hers and slid his finger into her mouth, suckling it and stroking with her tongue, all the while watching Warner’s face and eyes twitch with pleasure. Success radiated as she blasted past his thinly veiled attempts at seduction and took the upper hand. His guard melted at her feet. Alexandra gripped his hand tighter and held the finger fast in her mouth.
Red flushed Warner’s face. “You are the little vixen.”
For a moment, she removed his finger from her mouth. “I serve at my President’s pleasure,” she purred.
That was all he needed. She lost her grip on his hand as he pulled her to his lap and slid the hand up her leg, fondling the clips on the garter belt.
“Such a classic undergarment, Ms. Shuvinovsky.” Warner’s breathing paced far ahead of her own.
“Fits well for a historian, don’t you think?” She felt his growing hardness against her thigh. Could she really go through with this?
Warner’s next question surprised her. “What color is it?”
Ah yes, his weakness. Alexandra smiled and brought his face nearer her own. Breath fell hot against her cheek – the breath of hell.
“Red.”
Before he could release the clasp, commotion outside the door stopped them cold. They leapt to their feet like two teenagers who’d been caught making out on the basement sofa, as the black steel door ground open.
The imposing presence of Vice President Durksen darted into the room, momentarily holding Alexandra’s gaze before settling on Warner.
“Mr. President, my apologies, but we just received an urgent message from Forsdale. The Defense Secretary’s call has been forwarded to the limousine.”
The agony in Warner’s eyes reflected clear as he kissed Alexandra’s hand. “Ms. Shuvinovsky, it appears w
e must again cease our discussion to make way for service to the people. Until next time.”
Alexandra’s legs threatened to give way, a reprieve once again granted. After Warner bolted from the room, Durksen closed the door but not before his green eyes settled on her. His steely gaze remained in her mind even after the door clanged shut.
Chapter 35 - Rose Garden Tea
The invitation to the Rose Garden Tea brought a sense of triumph. Even Debrille had to admit that her coy actions had only increased Warner’s interest. If she played it right, she could have Warner completely subdued within a matter of weeks. Even so, Samantha had to fight the overwhelming revulsion when she thought of where the game must culminate.
Be Alexandra.
The robin-egg blue skirt covered her rear but little more, the squared neckline of the matching linen top accentuating her robust bosom. At least the wide-brim matching hat gave something to shield her from prying eyes.
The First Lady eyed her when she rose to welcome the guests. Ladies of many nationalities and status smiled like the good little debutantes they were, their hat brims saluting in unison as the First Lady offered her greeting. They all shared a similar reason for coming to the tea, but Alexandra had a purpose. Conveniently, her place at one of the many cast iron tables allowed a view near the Oval Office windows. No doubt Warner had so arranged it to ogle her body and salivate over the object of his affections.
Fine. She’d play her part – after all, she’d win in the end.
As a continuation from their previous seductions, Alexandra slipped off one pump and slid her foot along her other leg, long and languishing. Occasionally she reached down as if to scratch her ankle and slowly slid her fingertips up her calf and along her thigh. Though her skirt could get no shorter, she carefully raised the skirt’s edge to momentarily flutter the red garter beneath and toy with the clasp.
When tea and cucumber sandwiches were served, Alexandra raised her eyes demurely to stare from beneath the edges of her hat toward the Oval Office. The heat of his gaze radiated from the windows. She sensed his heightened desire.
Thus it was no surprise when the waiter appeared again to offer her a torte and slipped a fragment of paper at the edge of the plate. Excuse yourself, the note commanded. Her stomach tightened.
Play the part, girlie. You are not Samantha but Alexandra.
As such, Alexandra would not go right away into his arms. Alexandra would make him work for it. Alexandra would taunt him further, increase his fervor.
The thoughts pleased her, so she remained seated and enjoyed the raspberry filled torte, taking slow, sensuous bites, letting her tongue curl the edges of desire. After touching her napkin to her lips, she let it drift to the ground and bent over to pick it up. Her ample breasts hugged the neckline of her top and threatened to spill over. Again she lifted her eyes to glance at the Oval Office windows, smiling as she shared her abundance to the man hidden in the shadows.
The waiter soon came again to her table.
Alexandra called him up short. “Excuse me, but could you direct me to the nearest powder room?”
The waiter’s green eyes pierced. “Certainly, ma’am. Please follow me.”
The tall waiter led her through a labyrinth of White House corridors, his dark hair cropped like military. Secret Service. This guy was no waiter and proved as much when he led her to the top of the Grand Staircase and told her to wait around the corner, his eyes ogling every inch of her perfectly formed body. He knew what she had come for. Slowly he descended the stairs and stood near the column on the ground floor.
“My dear Alexandra,” Warner breathed into her ear.
Alexandra swallowed the knot in her throat and turned to stare into the face of the President.
“Why, Mr. President. It is my pleasure again to see you,” Alexandra replied. “I want to thank you for the kind invitation.” She rested her hand invitingly on his chest, felt the rapid pulsing of his heart. In time she would still it.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Warner’s eyes delved into her cleavage as he pressed his hand to hers. He raised Alexandra’s hand to his lips and first kissed her fingertips, palm then wrist. “I enjoyed your little exhibition.”
Alexandra’s hand burned with his touch, the flecks of saliva. All she wished to do that moment was scratch his eyes from their sockets. Instead she removed her hat and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Could he see her trembling, feel it?
“I’m glad to be of service,” Alexandra cooed.
Warner pressed her to the wall and leaned into her, his breath hot on her cheek. No preliminaries. No veiled seductions this time. His craving emanated from every pore.
If he knew, would he still proceed? Be Alexandra girlie. Be Alexandra!
“You set me on fire like the flame of your hair.”
“Mr. President..,” she began huskily, toying him with her eyes. “You speak so poetically.”
Hunger and desire reflected in his stare as she played her fingertips along his sleeve in a welcoming gesture. He nuzzled her neck. Flesh seared as his hand traveled over her shoulder and down her arm. His breath came faster as Warner stroked the top of her breast, Alexandra’s breast, and slowly ran his hand down the linen to squeeze the peak.
“I want you…need you now.”
Stale tobacco wafted in the close confines as he pressed in closer. Warner’s body trembled with a passion he couldn’t contain. Seemed everyone needed her. Alexandra smiled with the realization of power she had over men, then noticed her trembling hands.
Warner slipped his tongue in her ear and nibbled her lobe. Inwardly she cringed as he squeezed her breast. Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach, but she lifted her knee and audaciously ran it up the inside of Warner’s thigh until contacting his swelling hardness. The idea of it inside her made her stomach lurch.
Hold it together girlie.
Incest. Adultery. It all flooded over her as an image of Samantha’s mother flashed in her mind, replaced by a stare of Abbie Warner. The portrait of the First Lady hung on the far wall and glared back from the canvas.
Warner groaned with pleasure and swept his hand underneath her raised thigh and up her skirt, his slimy hand both cold and scorching. Gripping her ass, he pressed her knee harder into his groin before sliding his hand between her legs.
Alexandra nudged her head against the wall as reflexes took over. She dropped her leg and coyly slid from his grasp. If she didn’t get things under control he’d do her here in the hallway.
“Only a taste of what is to come,” Alexandra stated as she pressed her hat firmly back into place. She could hardly breathe as she glanced back at the portrait. “But not while Mrs. Warner is here.”
Alexandra nearly flew down the staircase and met with the waiter again as he escorted her back to the festivities.
Speak of the devil.
Surrounded by her entourage, the First Lady strolled up the hallway in her sunshine yellow suit. Her icy glare threatened to crack Alexandra’s already fragile veneer.
“Go easy on him,” Mrs. Warner stated matter-of-factly as she swept past toward the East Wing.
Alexandra’s heart pounded, her awareness heightened. She felt like going straight up to the old lady and having it out with her. What did she know and when did she know it? More importantly who did she know? But there were too many others surrounding the First Lady, and Alexandra would never get her say before they dragged her off the premises. In the meantime she couldn’t get away from Pennsylvania Avenue fast enough.
Debrille had some questions to answer.
Chapter 36 - The Turning
When she reentered the hell hole, Samantha was ready to tear into whoever she ran into first. The greeting party just so happened to contain both Marcus and Debrille.
Good, two for one night.
The glass beads on the purse scattered as she slammed it against the tile. “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
The surrounding goons stiffened, bu
t Debrille didn’t appear ruffled by her outburst. “More questions, my dear?”
“You betcha, like why do all the cronies surrounding Warner seem to have this look in their eyes as if they know why I’m there. And that reminds me.” Samantha turned her attention to Marcus. “What were you doing at the state dinner talking so intimately with the missus? Who else on the surface knows about the Elite and what do they know about me?”
Debrille interceded, but fire burned in his eyes. “We are the Elite, my dear. We don’t keep cronies, as you so eloquently put it, on the surface.”
“Bullshit!”
They each stared the other down. Electricity crackled in the air. The vein in Debrille’s neck throbbed, his eyes dark pits. She’d hit it right on the money. Fear no longer welled in Samantha’s throat – confidence and knowing replaced it.
A smile pulled at the edges of her lips. “You’ve taught me too well to be able to pull the proverbial wool over my eyes. Your goons are too easy to pick out among a crowd of thousands. There were thirty there at Georgetown, yes? What about that waiter today? He’s one too, isn’t he?”
Debrille’s response only solidified her knowledge. His voice was measured. “Be wary of cockiness, my dear.”
“You can’t play me anymore. It all hinges on me. I’m the ace of spades here, and it’s now in my hands.”
“We can still replace you, you know.”
Samantha threw her head back and laughed, the sound more like Alexandra than herself as she became lost in the chasm between the two warring entities. “But you won’t, Debrille. You’re so close now you can taste it. It’s in your eyes, the sound of your voice. Your reaction in the limousine after the state dinner spoke volumes. No, you can’t replace me now – you need me.”
Her heels clacked on the tile, echoing down the hallway as she made her exit for the evening. No response followed, but Samantha could feel Debrille’s anger and frustration. There had almost been a glance of pride in Marcus’ eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips. The tide had turned. The knowledge made their confrontation all the more sweet.