by Radclyffe
"You're absolutely right." A smile flickered across Blair's face. "Which is why I have absolutely no intention of letting her go."
The beautiful woman leaned close and kissed Blair lightly on the lips. "I'll miss those special moments with you, darling."
"Take care," Blair whispered before she slipped away.
Blair had crossed only a small part of the room when Cam appeared at her side. She slowed and smiled at her lover. "Hello."
"Ms. Powell," Cam replied quietly. She was close enough to touch her, but she did not.
"I'm ready to go home."
With a casual gesture that might have been interpreted as merely a brush of her hand through her hair, Cam murmured into the minuscule communicator on the undersurface of her left wrist, "Stark, bring the vehicle to the west entrance."
"I want to really go home," Blair said with a sigh.
"Yes," Cam admitted, allowing a rare break in her professional facade. "So do I."
"Come with me while I make my goodbyes."
"Of course. I'll be nearby."
"No," Blair murmured softly, curling her fingers around Cam's forearm and drawing her a step closer. "Accompany me."
Surprised, Cam stiffened. "Blair, I don—"
"Please."
The word was uttered softly, one lover to another, and Cam could not refuse. "It would be my pleasure."
As they approached the French president and his wife at the center of a small gathering of dignitaries, Cam scanned the crowd and took note of Mac on the left side of the room and Rogers on the right keeping pace with them. Assured that the appropriate surveillance was in place while her attention was diverted, she relaxed enough to appreciate how at ease Blair appeared in the midst of such exalted company. At the moment, Blair was thanking the French president and his wife for their gracious hospitality and commenting on how much she had enjoyed the evening. A few more polite words were exchanged, and then Blair smiled up at Cam. "May I introduce my escort, Cameron Roberts."
In French, Cam replied that it was an honor to meet them and a pleasure to be in Paris again. When the president's wife suggested that they return when Blair was not obligated by official duties, "to truly appreciate the beauty of Paris," Cam smiled warmly and said that she definitely hoped they would have that opportunity soon.
After the usual pleasantries, Blair and Cam turned to leave.
"I think she was flirting with you," Blair said under her breath.
Cam barely managed to stifle a laugh. "She most certainly was not."
"You're so damn charming, you're dangerous."
"As long as you think so, Ms. Powell."
Before Blair could reply, Cam eased away several steps. The few minutes between leaving the building and securing Blair in the vehicle were critical, and she needed to focus. Stark appeared with Blair's wrap and handed it to her.
"Here you are, Ms. Powell. The car is waiting at the curb."
"Thank you." Blair sensed several other people move close to her and knew that Mac and Rogers had just completed the circle behind her. With Cam slightly ahead and to her left, going through the door first as she always did, Blair stepped outside. Instantly, a bright light flashed in her eyes. As she blinked furiously to clear her vision, she was aware of a dark shape looming to her right. She cried out, more in surprise then fear, as Stark grasped her around the waist and pushed her back several steps while shielding her from the intruder with her body. At the same time, Blair saw Cam hurtling toward the shape, which she now recognized as a heavyset man in a dark cap and shapeless jacket. He held something in his hand.
The interloper came out of the shadows so quickly that he was within three feet of Blair before Cam saw him. When she did, all she registered was the speed of his approach and the fact that he held something in the hand that was extended toward Blair. Gun. Her reaction was automatic. She pivoted into him, bent her knees to lower her center of gravity, and shoved her shoulder into his chest. She clamped his leading arm—the one holding the weapon— between her fists, pulled him off balance, and threw him over her body onto his back. He landed with a grunt as the air was driven from his lungs by the force of his unchecked fall. Immediately, Cam planted her knee in the center of his chest and levered his arm into an elbow lock. With the slightest bit of pressure, she could break his arm. Without even looking up, she ordered sharply, "Get her back to the hotel."
Less than twenty seconds later, Blair was in the back of the Peugeot with Stark beside her and Mac at the wheel. With a screech of tires, they merged into traffic.
"Are you all right?" Stark asked quietly. Although she was breathing rapidly, her voice was completely calm.
"Yes." Blair looked back through the rear window, but she could see nothing. "What was that about, do you think?"
"Probably paparazzi or an autograph hound." Stark eased her weapon, which she had held by her side out of Blair's line of vision, back into her hip holster. Or something worse, considering the commander's reaction.
Blair sighed. "How long do you think Cam will be?"
Stark shifted uncomfortably. "I couldn't say."
"No," Blair murmured, closing her eyes as she wondered when she would see Cam again. "There's no way to know, is there?"
Renee rolled over and picked up the receiver on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Did I wake you?"
Smiling, she stretched out beneath the covers, enjoying the brush of cotton across her naked skin. "Well, I was having a very nice dream about a particularly sexy Secret Service agent..."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't mind."
"What are you wearing?"
Laughing in delight, Renee replied, "Why don't you come see for yourself?"
"All right."
Renee's stomach tightened with a jolt of anticipation. "Are you off shift now?"
"Uh-huh."
"How soon can you be here?"
Stark hesitated. "Two minutes too long?"
Oh, you are full of surprises, aren't you? When she spoke again, Renee's voice was throaty and warm. "Make it one."
"Roger that."
Renee threw back the sheet and stood as she hung up the receiver, reaching with her free hand for the robe that she had left lying across the foot of the bed. She shrugged into it on the way to the door, holding it closed with one hand, not bothering to tie it. When a knock sounded, she glanced through the peephole and hurriedly opened the door.
"Hi," Stark said as she slipped inside. She'd taken the time to change into a T-shirt and jeans.
Letting the robe fall open, Renee stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Stark's shoulders, pressing close, "Hi," she murmured as she brought her mouth to Stark's.
"Uh..." Stark's heart jumped into hyperdrive when she saw the quicksilver flash of moonlight on skin and then came to a complete standstill when she felt Renee's body mold to hers. She put her back to the door for support as she drew both hands up the back of Renee's thighs beneath the silk to cup her buttocks. When she automatically lifted her hips, Renee thrust back, and they both groaned. She closed her eyes, surrendering to all that was Renee. The ambrosial scent of desire filled her mind as a warm tongue filled her mouth and the flames within her danced high.
"Renee," Stark murmured when she felt fingers working at her fly. "If you touch me, I'll fall down."
"Mmm, I want to make you melt."
"Done," Stark gasped as fingertips brushed down her belly. Her legs shook and threatened to fold. "It's our last night in Paris. I want to spend it making love with you."
With effort, Renee stopped her downward quest and hooked her fingers around the waistband of Stark's jeans. "How long do I have you?"
As long as you want. Forever. Stark circled her hand at the base of Renee's spine, holding her close. "0500."
A little more than three hours. And then we'll be on separate planes, going home to...what?
"Then let's get started," Renee murmured as she tugged her lover toward the bed.
"Commander?"
Cam turned at the sound of Mac's voice, leaning her hip against the waist-high railing of the balcony. "All quiet?"
Nodding, he joined her. "I didn't see you come back."
"Just got here."
He waited, knowing that she would tell him what she felt he needed to know. He wanted to ask about the shadows in her eyes that even the cover of darkness could not hide. But he didn't, because it would be an intrusion and because their relationship stopped somewhere short of friendship. The bond between them was professional, it was respectful, and it was one he would give his life for, but they had never invited each other into their hearts.
"What's the number one priority in your life, Mac?"
His surprise did not prevent him from answering immediately. "Egret's welfare."
Cam nodded. "Good. Because I don't want you worrying about your career if you find you have to tell me or someone else that you think I'm fucking up."
"You have my word on it."
"Thank you."
Simultaneously, they both turned and placed their hands on top of the iron balustrade that enclosed the balcony and looked toward the Arc de Triomphe a few blocks away. The fabric of their nearly identical tuxedo jackets brushed where their shoulders touched.
"I haven't noted any problems, Commander." He did not look at her when he spoke, but idly watched the stream of headlights flicker along the Champs Elysees.
"I took her to an unsecured location last night with the bare minimum of a team, and I didn't even have the foresight to check the perimeter myself. If someone had wanted her, I'm not sure we could have protected her."
What she had admitted to him would have been grounds for her dismissal if she'd confessed it to anyone else. That she trusted him with her concerns pleased him almost more than anything else in his career ever had. "Other than yesterday right after the press release in the States, we've only been on mid-level alert status. There hasn't been any suggestion of increased hostile activity in this area or undue attention directed toward Egret. There's been no reason to suspect she's at risk."
"It was sloppy," Cam muttered angrily. "I was so busy thinking of her..."
"Exactly," Mac said softly.
Cam rubbed her face briskly. "Just the same-—"
"Commander, since you and Egret have been...together," he pointed out, choosing his words carefully, "she's been much more accepting of our security measures. She's much safer now than she ever has been."
"That's no excuse forme doing my job less well."
"Agreed. And if I thought that were the case, I would say so. To you."
"I'm counting on it." With a sigh, Cam turned back toward the comm center. "I'm going to review the itinerary for the return flight and the personnel placement—"
"Why don't you go to bed? It will keep until the morning briefing." After a second, he added, "I think Ms. Powell was concerned about the altercation earlier."
Cam blew out a breath. "Rogers and I worked him over pretty well. His ID checked out with the limited sources we could access—seems he's a legit freelance reporter. He said he was just trying to get a quote from her about her lifestyle. Wanted to scoop the other papers."
"You believe him?"
"I'd be happier if we had been able to run him through Interpol and the NSI database, but there was no way to do that tonight. And no reason to hold him." She stepped into the com center, which had already been partially dismantled in preparation for their departure.
"But the French have agreed to keep an eye on him and inform us if anything unusual turns up."
They both knew that interagency intelligence communication, especially international communication, was so poor that even if the French did discover something of concern in the reporter's background, the information might never filter down to those in the field. But it was the best that could be done.
"I'll see you at 0630," Cam said on her way to the door. "Roger that." When Cam disappeared, Mac looked around the nearly deserted comm center. In the adjacent room, Cynthia Parker manned the computers for the remainder of the night shift. The glow of the monitors signaled her presence, but despite that, he felt completely alone. He sat down at the long empty conference table with a stack of computer printouts and began to skim through the random communiques that came in twenty-four hours a day.
He imagined that Felicia was already asleep and hoped that the comfort of routine would carry him through to the morning.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
C am closed the comm center door quietly, nodded perfunctorily to Reynolds, who stood in the hall outside Blair's room, and walked toward the stairwell. It had been a long night, she was beat, and she was lonely. She'd hoped earlier for a few minutes alone with Blair after the formal affair, but the intruder had put an end to that wish. Now it was fast approaching dawn and a full day of travel awaited—another potentially hazardous time for Blair when Cam and the whole team needed to be sharp. "Commander?"
Turning, Cam answered, "Yes?" Reynolds held out an envelope. "For you, ma'am." Silently, Cam stepped forward and extended her hand. Angling with her back to Reynolds, she opened the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of cream-colored stationery bearing the watermark of the Hotel Marigny. In her lover's bold script she read, Please come to me—no matter how late. B —
Carefully, Cam replaced the notepaper in the envelope and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Then she walked directly past Reynolds, who gave no sign that he even saw her, used the master passkey to open the door, and stepped inside. The sitting room was dark, as was the bedroom beyond the open door opposite. Moving slowly in the moonlight, Cam removed her tuxedo jacket and dropped it onto the arm of the sofa as she passed. She loosened the tie from around her neck, folded it, and slid it into her pants pocket. By the time she reached the bedroom door, she had removed her cufflinks and studs from her shirt and placed them into the opposite front pocket. Once inside the bedroom, she bent down, untied her shoes, and pushed them off along with her socks. She pulled her open shirt free from the cummerbund at her waist and let it fall over the holster on her hip. Standing beside the bed, she looked down on Blair, who slept nude beneath a pure white sheet.
She'd taken the comb from her hair, and waves of gold framed her face in the silver light. A pain struck deep in Cam's heart, the kind of ache she always felt when she looked at beauty. Faced with both beauty and love, she was rendered helpless with awe. She freed her weapon from her waistband and rested it on top of the antique nightstand, then removed her shirt, unzipped her pants, and stepped out of the remainder of her clothing. Gently, she drew aside the sheet and eased down onto the edge of the bed. Before she could stretch out, Blair curled around her from behind with both arms encircling her waist and pressed her cheek to the center of Cam's back.
"You came. I hoped you would," Blair murmured, her mouth against Cam's skin, her palm flat against Cam's abdomen.
"I tried not to wake you," Cam whispered, covering Blair's hand with her own. Their fingers linked automatically.
"Mmm, no. I'm glad you did. I was worried."
"Everything is fine."
As they talked, Blair stroked her fingers up and down Cam's abdomen. The touch, casual and possessive, was both comforting and arousing. Blair's hand still in hers, Cam gave a weary sigh and leaned back onto the pillows. Blair shifted with her until she was lying against Cam's side, her head on her lover's shoulder.
As she continued her soft caresses, Blair asked quietly, "Who was he?"
Cam stroked the thick blond hair, soothed as she always was by its fragrant softness drifting through her fingers. "Just a reporter, it looks like."
"That light was a camera flash, then, when I first walked out?"
"Yes—and he was equipped with a minirecorder, too. That's what he had in his hand—the microphone." That I took for a gun. Cam considered how close she'd come to dislocating his elbow, more out of fury than necessity. He'd been the last person in a too-long line of people who had
overstepped their bounds that evening where her lover was concerned—the throng of media who had descended upon them the instant they had stepped from their vehicle; the men who found Blair desirable and who took the opportunity to hold her and caress her as if it were their right; the ex-lover—because she couldn't have been anything else considering the way she had looked at Blair and touched her with a knowledge born of intimacy—who had clearly been interested in another interlude. By the time this intruder had lunged from the darkness to accost her lover, Cam had been ready to fight. It had taken all her control merely to immobilize him without assuaging her anger by breaking his arm.
Blair pressed her lips to the tight muscles just below Cam's collarbone. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing—-just wound up."
"I know. I can feel it." Blair raised up on an elbow and studied her lover. Cam's eyes were dark pools, and in the dim moonlight, she could not read what lay in their depths. Without being able to see Cam's eyes, she was at a disadvantage, because that was the one place Cam's secrets were exposed. She placed her palm in the center of Cam's chest, felt her heart beat steady and sure, and eased her leg over Cam's thigh. "Want to tell me why?"
Cam hesitated, reluctant to burden her lover with concerns over a situation she could not change. Then she recalled what Blair had said to her only weeks before.
I love you. It s not just about sex and it's not just about common ground It's about needing to be with you. It s about needing to be in your life.
Resting a hand on the back of Blair's neck and drawing her back down, Cam replied quietly, "I was thinking about how much I don't like other people touching you, or even trying to."
"Other people." Blair was silent for a long moment. "Other people like Margot Fallon?"
"She would be one," Cam noted nonchalantly as she thought of the striking wife of the French ambassador.
"I should have realized that you would know exactly what she was doing." Blair sighed, aware as well that her previous liaisons with Margot must have been documented somewhere and that Cam would have read all about them. "You do know that I wasn't tempted, don't you?"