by Radclyffe
Cam sensed Blair stiffen beside her and murmured in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, “It’s just procedure. Try to ignore it.”
“I’d like to be able to,” Blair said just as quietly as they crossed the sidewalk toward the black limousine. “It would be so much simpler if I could. But I can’t.”
Stark and Savard proceeded to the Suburban idling just in front to lead the caravan, while Cam held the door to the second car, allowing Blair to slide in, then followed after her. An FBI vehicle fell in behind, and as the convoy pulled away, Blair announced in a businesslike tone, “I’ll be meeting some people when we get there.”
Cam regarded her carefully, slightly surprised that the information was volunteered, while at the same time mildly annoyed that she hadn’t been informed sooner. Blair wasn’t required to tell her security detail everything, of course, but it was always helpful to have as much advance data as possible. She was grateful, however, for this small improvement in communication.
“Will they be joining you for the run?”
Blair nodded, watching out the tinted windows of the limousine as the city slid by. “Yes. I’ve invited Diane and another friend.”
No details. And I won’t ask. Cam wondered, though, if she would be spending another day watching the admittedly attractive Dr. Coleman pursue Blair. You put yourself in this position, and you knew what it would mean, she reminded herself. But she hadn’t even come close to imagining how difficult it would be, and she hadn’t expected it to be so complicated for the two of them to talk. The lack of privacy didn’t help, but it was more than that. She had to admit that part of it was pride, and some of it was pain, and a great deal of it was a lifetime of defenses, on both sides, standing between them now.
“Noted. Savard, Stark, and I will be with you along the route.”
“We’ll have a party,” Blair murmured, turning from the window to study Cam’s face, a face she never seemed to tire of observing. Just seeing her made something pulse inside, swift and sharp and hot—part desire, part longing, and, so unexpectedly, part tenderness. It defied explanation, but in spite of everything, she welcomed the sensation.
“Special Agent Savard is quite the beauty,” Blair added dryly.
Cam raised an eyebrow but decided a comment was probably not required. Renee Savard was indeed an attractive woman, now that she considered it. She hadn’t thought about it earlier; in fact, she hadn’t paid much attention to her other than to consider what to do with her.
Savard was an agent under her command by circumstance, but under her command nonetheless, and that was the only way she thought of her. When she noted Savard’s appearance at all, it was merely to reflect that despite her photogenic beauty, almost anyone paled when compared to Blair. Blair’s beauty was fired by her passion and her temper and her absolute unwillingness to yield. She was beautiful in a way so primal that being near her made Cam’s skin burn.
“What?” Blair asked quietly.
“I’m sorry?” Cam blinked, uncharacteristically startled.
“You were smiling,” Blair said, a slight edge to her voice. “Thinking of Savard, were you?”
“No. Actually,” Cam said before she could stop herself, “I was thinking of you.”
Across the narrow expanse of the limousine where they sat facing one another on opposite seats, their legs nearly touching, Blair’s blue eyes darkened to indigo. “You should try doing that more often,” she said, her tone throaty with invitation.
Cam met her gaze, captivated by the heat in those eyes. For a moment forgetting everything else, she said, her voice husky, “No, Ms. Powell, I shouldn’t. It’s too distracting.”
“Well, Commander,” Blair said very slowly, very quietly, staring at the pulse that beat rapidly in Cam’s neck, “I like you when you’re distracted. In fact, I like you that way very much...or have you forgotten?”
No. I haven’t forgotten.
“You’re distracting me,” Cam complained playfully as she tried to read the newspaper.
“I like you when you’re distracted,” Blair responded, running her hand over the soft cotton fabric of Cam’s sweatpants. “In fact, I like distracting you.”
They were in Diane’s apartment, lying together on the couch in the late afternoon sun. They had finally managed to shower and dress, which for the first eighteen hours they’d been together they hadn’t been able to accomplish. Every time they made it into the shower, one or the other would start something, and they’d end up back in bed. Starvation finally drove them to get up, and Cam made a trip to a nearby deli for sandwiches, newspapers, and something to drink.
“What do you imagine they think I’m doing up here?” Blair mused, her fingers tracing the seam along the inside of Cam’s thigh.
Cam sighed, most of her attention focused on the light pressure of Blair’s fingers moving rhythmically up and down the same fine line, over and over again, creeping higher up the inside of her leg each time. She settled back against the cushions, her muscles twitching faintly at Blair’s touch.
“They’re not supposed to think anything about it at all.” Her voice caught as Blair stroked closer to the heat between her legs.
“Maybe they’re not supposed to, but they are human, aren’t they?”
Blair lifted the edge of Cam’s shirt and circled her hand over Cam’s stomach, absently drawing one finger up and down the center of her body. “I’ve come so many times in the last twenty-four hours, I didn’t think anything could excite me,” she said in wonder. “But, God, you do.” She pressed her palm swiftly to the triangle between Cam’s thighs, making her jump, then just as quickly moved it back to her stomach. “So...you were saying about discretion?”
Cam’s voice was low, heavy with the urgency of mounting desire as she answered. “Their jobs depend upon it. But it’s more than that...” Aware of the fact that her breath was coming a little faster and that her sentences were a bit choppy, she knew she was wet again and hardening with the rush of blood and need. She took a desperate breath. “Believe it or not, we understand that what we do is an infringement. The very least we can do is not speculate upon what we observe.”
She looked down, watching Blair’s fingers move under her T-shirt and wondering at the ease with which Blair was able to ignite every nerve ending with a caress. She had absolutely nothing to say about it. It was as if her body succumbed to Blair’s touch, bending to her will as a tree yielded to the wind. “Blair,” she warned huskily, wondering if Blair had any idea what she was doing to her.
“You have the most amazing body,” Blair observed casually, massaging her palm over Cam’s rib cage, brushing fleetingly over her chest, smiling as Cam’s nipples stiffened rapidly. Cam groaned and reached for her, and just as quickly, Blair leaned away. “I think you should just read the newspaper and ignore me,” she said with a perfectly serious expression.
“You’re kidding.” Cam’s eyes widened slightly, her hands rubbing lightly up and down Blair’s arms. Her skin felt hot. “I don’t think I could concentrate.”
“Try,” Blair suggested with a hint of command in her voice. “In fact, why don’t you read the headlines out loud? A synopsis of today’s current events would be good. Make yourself useful.”
“For your information,” Cam said, ominously now, “I’ve been trained to resist torture.”
Blair burst out laughing and loosened the ties on Cam’s sweatpants, slipping to the floor to kneel between Cam’s legs. “Oh really? Well then, Commander, let’s put that training to the test. Go ahead, read.”
“Uh, let’s see.” The New York Times pages fluttered in her right hand as her fingers trembled. “Uh...dot-com stocks rose finally—” She gasped when Blair pulled at the skin of her lower abdomen with her teeth. “God...”
“I’m listening,” Blair murmured, eyes nearly closed. She licked the red spot she had just bitten and pulled the cotton fabric down Cam’s hips. She pressed her palms to the inside of Cam’s legs, bringing her thumbs ver
y close to the visibly swollen clitoris. Cam’s hips arched and she groaned again.
“Not until I hear the sports scores,” Blair whispered, leaning forward and kissing the soft skin at the top of Cam’s thigh. “How about them Yankees?”
“Blair, come on,” Cam gasped, tossing the paper aside. ”I can’t...read. I can’t talk...I can barely breathe.”
When Blair’s thumb brushed lightly over the tip of her clitoris, Cam pushed back against the couch, neck arched, her hands fisted by her sides. Another teasing stroke followed, and she uttered a strangled sound. She found Blair’s face with one hand, moved her fingers into her hair, and pulled her closer.
“I’m ready...do that again...to divulge...ah, yes, right there...state secrets.” Her voice cracked with need. “Suck me.”
Blair held off another second, but apparently not without effort. She was shaking. “God,” she whispered. “I want to taste you.”
When Blair’s lips finally encircled her, Cam jerked, her fingers convulsing in Blair’s hair. She clamped her jaw down on a moan and tried to think of anything except the waves of pleasure coursing down her legs, up her spine, through her guts. She wanted it never to end. Reflexively, she pushed against Blair’s mouth, dimly aware that she might bruise her, trying not to press too hard. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t hold it back.
“Blair—” she cried, lifting off the couch as her legs stiffened, pounded by the fury of the orgasm whipping through her. Before she regained her bearings, Blair was in her arms, straddling her thigh, rocking hard on her leg, face pressed to her neck.
“You make me so hot,” Blair moaned, clutching Cam as she climbed frantically to her peak. “You make me...oh...” Her words were lost in a choked cry, and all Cam could do was hold on to her, embracing her securely while she took her pleasure.
The limousine pulled to a stop on the edge of the green in Prospect Park. Cam shuddered faintly and struggled to keep her voice steady. “I’m not interested in being distracted.”
“That’s your problem, Commander,” Blair said lightly, reading the dark eyes liquid with unspoken emotion, and sensing the arousal Cam couldn’t successfully hide. “Not mine.”
As she slid across the seat toward the door, she ran her hand down the length of Cam’s thigh. She smiled to herself as Cam gasped sharply. “I told you once before that your body never lies.”
Prospect Park, the starting point for the race, was slightly more than half the size of Manhattan’s eight-hundred-acre Central Park, but it nevertheless housed a wildlife center, a music pagoda, a lake, and many other opportunities for city dwellers to escape the urban stresses for a few hours.
The area of Brooklyn around the park was a study in contrasts. The west boundary was Park Slope, a conclave of historic brownstones that housed the wealthy and privileged. The eastern extent of the sprawling park abutted Crown Heights and Bedford-Stuyvesant, areas that in recent years had become dangerous territory for tourists and inhabitants alike. This early on a Sunday morning, there were usually a few early-morning enthusiasts enjoying the opportunity to run or rollerblade in relative solitude.
Such was not the case today.
Long Meadow, an open, rolling ninety-acre section nearly a mile in length, was already bustling with people. The Race for the Cure drew more supporters than almost any similar event because the disease itself affected so many. It was a media event as much as anything else, especially with Blair as the keynote speaker, and photographers and news vans were already present in abundant numbers.
Cam stood next to her by the side of the car, scanning the hundreds of participants gathering for the start of the run. “It’s going to be very crowded along the entire route, especially when we get into Central Park. I’d appreciate it if you’d not lose us.”
“You’re very good at your job, Commander.” Blair met Cam’s eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t read the expression in them. Even though they had been physically separated since Cam’s return, she’d at least had the comfort of seeing what was behind the professional façade when she looked into her dark eyes. This new barrier stung. “I’m sure you’ll manage somehow.”
Then the president’s daughter abruptly turned and walked off toward the area where the race organizers had set up information booths, leaving Cam alone to stare after her. Stark and Savard approached from the second vehicle, and Cam signaled the two women to accompany Blair while she radioed Mac for his position.
“Do you have the commanders of the other teams there?” she asked without preamble, watching Blair disappear into the crowd of men and women clustered around the long registration tables. It bothered her that Blair was out of her visual range and that she couldn’t see who was around her. Terrific.
“I’ll be right there,” she snapped into her mike. Her lapse in concentration on the ride over had left her unsettled. So did the simmering remnants of desire. She ignored the physical annoyance with effort and checked Blair’s position again.
Across the wide field, she could see her talking to a number of people, Diane Bleeker among them. Cam resisted the urge to scan the other faces nearby for the very handsome Dr. Coleman. She assured herself that Stark and Savard were well positioned and headed over to join Mac and the other security chiefs.
It was hot, sunny, and, surprisingly for late July, without the heavy humidity that often blanketed the city in summer. After greeting the appropriate people and allowing the media types their few minutes of photo-ops, Blair found a quiet spot in the shade to stretch and prepare for the run. As she leaned over, legs braced, stretching her hamstrings, Diane’s familiar voice remarked from beside her, “I see you’ve brought along a new addition. A very nice one, too.”
Blair shifted to look up at Diane. She didn’t have to ask whom she meant. She had seen her friend’s appreciative and frankly appraising expression when Savard came into view a few minutes before. “That would be the FBI’s contribution to my team.”
Diane reclined on the grass next to her and leaned forward, touching her toes effortlessly. “What’s going on?” she asked, moving smoothly into a yoga pose.
“Nothing.” Blair reached for one ankle and crossed it over the opposite knee, rotating her torso.
“Listen, my friend—just how dumb do you think I am?” Diane asked, breathing deeply in the prescribed ujjay manner. “First Roberts makes a surprise appearance, and now you’ve got the FBI following you around. That means something.”
“I know you’re not dumb, which is why I wouldn’t lie.” Blair turned over and pushed off ten fast fingertip push-ups in perfect form. Returning to the sitting position, she said, “It’s just routine.”
Somehow talking about it made it much too real. She didn’t want this in her life. Except for her first tentative discussions with her friend AJ at the Bureau, she hadn’t told any of her acquaintances. She had intentionally avoided briefings with the FBI. The only thing she wanted to know from them was that they had caught him.
“Believe it or not...” Diane folded both legs into a full lotus position and slipped one arm behind her back, twisting slowly in the opposite direction. “I can keep a secret if I need to. Besides, my feelings will be hurt if I’m the last to find out and I miss all the fun.”
Blair snorted in disgust. “Believe me, if you think this is a treat, you can take my place any day.”
She rose quickly and began to alternately lift each leg to her chest in rapid succession. She looked across the gathering crowd and easily picked out Cam where she stood talking with several officious-looking individuals. There was nothing flashy or showy about the agent, but she stood out from the others. The air around her seemed charged. It was amazing...and frightening.
Diane studied Blair’s face as she followed her gaze. “She’s gotten to you, hasn’t she?”
“Oh, yeah,” Blair said without thinking. She looked away, shrugging. “She’s back because my father wanted her here. I’ve been getting a lit
tle more fan mail than usual, and you know how seriously these people take those things. It’s nothing, really.”
Diane nodded, knowing there was more but willing to wait for the details. Eventually, she’d get the rest out of her. She rose and stood beside Blair, waving to a familiar figure making her way through the crowd toward them. “Marcy’s been asking about you.”
“Is that so?” Blair looked at her friend, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Yes.” Diane grabbed them each a water bottle from a nearby table. “She wants to know how available you might be.”
“Then she should ask me herself,” Blair said impatiently. “For God’s sake, we’re all adults.”
“I think she wants to avoid being shot down. Your signals were a little mixed last weekend at my place,” Diane pointed out dryly.
Seeing Marcy’s friendly smile as the doctor drew near, Blair was a little embarrassed to realize she hadn’t given any thought to the events at Diane’s gathering. She’d been too rattled the last week by Cam’s abrupt reappearance and the emotional chaos that followed to give anything, or anyone else, much thought. It hadn’t occurred to her that Marcy Coleman might have other ideas, but, recalling what had happened, she supposed it should have.
It had all started after Cam left the party.
Blair watched Cam move through the crowd, murmur something briefly to Ellen Grant, and then walk out the door. She did not look back to where Blair still stood in the shadows on the balcony.
After a moment of foolishly hoping that her security chief might suddenly reappear, Blair rejoined the group in Diane’s living room. Lights were turned down low, and couples were dancing. A daring few in secluded corners were carrying on more intimate exchanges.
Dr. Marcy Coleman, a willowy blond in her mid-thirties, approached, a smile on her face and a question in her eyes. “I didn’t see you for a while. I thought you might have left.”