White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2)

by Shirley Hailstock

  She completely captivated him, like a gypsy witch with a potion that was meant only for him. He drank willingly of the liquid and wanted more, much more.

  He stared at her lips. They trembled ever so slightly, making his insides turn to pulverized jelly. For an eon he hovered above them before he could keep himself in check no longer. His mouth covered hers, and the explosion that had been building in him detonated like an atom bomb. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth finding all the sweetness he knew was there. His hands went into her hair and released the clamp that held it in place. He felt its silkiness as it cascaded over his hands.

  Time between them seemed to slow down. He could feel the slightest sensations related to her, the way her hair felt as the tips touched his fingers, the smell of her skin, the soft sounds that gurgled in her throat. His hands moved to her shoulders and he pushed the coat aside. It slipped down her arms and came to rest at her feet. He felt the pearls at her neck and raked the back of his hands down her smooth arms. Taking her waist in between the span of his large hands, he fit her closer to his aroused body. He shuddered as she moved against him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to let her go.

  In a movement as natural as breathing he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the winding staircase. Standing before the long-size bed in the master bedroom, he lowered her to the floor.

  Sandra slid down his body, feeling every deliciously hard inch of him. He stared at her as if she were a queen. She never thought she could feel like this again.

  She was breathless under his stare. His hand went behind her back and found the zipper of her dress. He didn't immediately pull it down but waited. She opened her mouth to breathe. Her body was hot, her nipples already erect and he hadn't even touched them. No one had ever made her feel like this. Slowly the zipper began a downward movement. She felt the air touch her skin. It was cool and helped to damp down the flames Wyatt created in her. But it was no match, for with each inch of freedom the furnace inside her intensified. She arched her back, leaning into him.

  "Wyatt," she groaned. The zipper had reached the curve over her buttocks. Wyatt let his hand rest there. He urged her forward. Her hips ground into the hard strength of his erection. A pleasurable sound defying description escaped her throat. Sandra floated away from the dress. It pooled around her in a circle of royal blue. She wore only a blue bra and panties, high heels, and white pearls. Wyatt moved his gaze from her face to her feet, taking in every sensual inch of her. Sandra felt no shame in her nudity. She wanted him to see her, wanted him to touch her and make her his.

  Wyatt leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. Their mouths barely touched, yet the intimacy was overwhelming. Her hands, with less finesse than his, fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. She freed one of them, then another. Her knuckles brushed against his skin. It was hot like fire, but a fire she wanted to touch. She let her fingers splay against him when his shirt fell to the floor in a love match with her dress. His heart pounded under her fingertips. Its rhythm matched the thundering of her own heart.

  She released the belt hook at his waist and unzipped his trousers. Her hands brushed against his hardness and she trembled. He was big. Anticipation flowed between her legs. Her eyes closed as her hand massaged him. He groaned a loud guttural sound. "Sandra," he moaned.

  In a flash he pulled her to him and kissed her hard. His mouth grazed hers. His hands were like ropes of fire as they massaged her back, moving with ease across her skin. With the flick of his fingers he dispensed with her bra. Her full breasts were freed of their lace confinement. They stood erect, anticipating his touch to blossom to full life.

  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. In one easy movement he was inside, filling her, making her eyes water with the pleasure that 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 the 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 die, 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 any of the 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 able 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 the FBI, the Secretary of Defense, and the ever-present Melanie West. She wondered why her father 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 the 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 then 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."