by Radclyffe
Why couldn't you just have told him no?she wondered for the hundredth time. She knew the answer. Cameron hadn't accepted this assignment just because the President of the United States had requested her. She'd taken the assignment because that was what she did. That was who she was. Some part of Blair could respect that. Some part of her could even understand it. But knowing it and understanding it did not change what she felt. She didn't want or need Cam's protection. She resented that she needed it from anyone, but at least she had made some form of peace with that.
What she wanted from Cameron was the one thing that she had given up hoping for, or had simply stopped looking for, in another human being. Cam touched her in some deep place that others never imagined existed, and that's what she so desperately needed. Cam didn't try to tell her to accept her circumstances or to be grateful for her privilege, as so many others before her had. She was equally oblivious to Blair's status, a welcome respite from the solicitous attentions of so many. Most importantly, Cam understood her anger and forgave her fury.
She watched Cam walk around the corner toward her own apartment building, and after a moment, she turned back to her empty loft. Seeing Cam, being as close to her as they had been just moments before, had left her restless and edgy with the low throb of desire. It always seemed to happen when they were anywhere near each other. She didn't want to feel it, and she didn't want to think about it. Her gaze fell on a large oil canvas, and she studied it critically from across the room. She didn't consider the details at first, but rather the gestalt, the sense of it. She felt it, rather than saw it. Slowly, after a minute or two, she focused her attention on the elements of the painting - on the colors and contrast and movement of the eye over the images. By the time she advanced from the window to stand in front of her work in progress, her mind was clear and briefly, her heart was free.
Cam decided it was much safer to run - safer than seeing Blair again so soon. It had been the same since the first time she'd met with her, this rebellion of her body in the face of good sense. She was aware of it now, a simmering tension that ran along the tendons and the muscles and the nerves in her legs and twisted inside like a starving beast. She knew what it was; she'd felt it for months before she had finally relented. Being with Blair hadn't blunted the urgency, touching her hadn't lessened the wanting, making love with her had not muted the desire. She could feel Blair's skin hot under her hands and the hard beat of her under her lips. She could taste her still.
There were ways to deal with the body's demands - safe, simple, unencumbered ways. Pleasant, mutually satisfying, emotionally secure ways. She was reminded of Claire's note, left for her to find after their last night together.
If ever you need - anything, call me. C.
Cam tossed her jacket on the bed, shrugged out of her shoulder harness and began unbuttoning her shirt.Yeah, right, she muttered, stripping down to her briefs and pulling shorts and t-shirt from a drawer.Simple.
She wasn't certain any longer that Claire's admittedly talented ministrations could assuage the hunger. Still, physical desire - that she could deal with, one way or the other. It was more than just the wanting, and that was the problem. It was the aching in her heart that tormented her. Blair didn't just arouse her, she awakened her. Every emotion she had so carefully stilled came roaring back to life when she thought of her. Blair's ferocious will stirred her even as Blair's tenderness, so invisible to others, comforted her. Blair made her nearly mad with frustration and soothed her with the barest of touches. Blair devastated her with a smile.
She hit the pavement running, desperate to stop thinking. She just needed a few weeks to assess the seriousness of the threat to Blair. Once she had access to all the available intelligence, she could turn over more of the day-to-day security to Mac. Maybe then she and Blair could talk, maybe then they could -What? What? Carry on an affair under Doyle's nose? Risk Blair's privacy and the President's public image with a backroom love affair that the media would make tabloid headlines with? Perfect.
She pounded steadily along the East River, although the scenery barely registered. She'd hurt her. Knowing she'd hurt her, seeing it in her eyes, was harder than anything she'd ever had to bear. Even harder than when Janet had died, because then, and for months after, she'd just been numb.
Mercifully numb. Frozen with the senselessness, the stupidity, the guilt. She should have known about the raid that morning. It was her job to know those things; it was her responsibility to know those things.
But she had not been part of the plan. Despite the fact that she and her team had been investigating the same splinter faction of cocaine dealers as the other agencies, the DEA had orchestrated the entire scenario that morning. The ATF and the Secret Service had only been informed at the last minute of the impending maneuver. By some all too common breakdown in the local-federal law enforcement communication lines, no one had realized until too late that the DC Metropolitan police had an undercover narcotics agent inside the warehouse where the exchange of very authentic counterfeit money for a huge cache of drugs was to take place. Janet had already been on site when the assault began. The sting operation had gone bad almost from the beginning. A lookout no one anticipated had seen the armored cars approaching and radioed the Colombians in the building where the buy was going down. The men inside had been heavily armed and prepared to defend themselves. Shots had begun as soon as the battering rams cracked the wide double doors. Janet had been directly in the line of fire. Cam had gone inside right behind the first wave of commandos. The air had been heavy with the smell of cordite and thick with the sound of screaming. Orders, curses, cries of agony. Janet had taken one of the first bullets and was down before Cam shouldered her way past the splintered remains of the reinforced doors. By the time she reached her, Janet was almost gone. Cam would never be certain how to interpret the look in her eyes those last few seconds. She couldn't help thinking that it was an accusation.
If it had been, she deserved it.
She ran into the park, sweat pouring from her face, oblivious to the cramps beginning in her thighs or the faint ache behind her eyes. She should have known. She should have protected her.
Chapter Fourteen
At 0700 Sunday morning, Cam waited in the lobby of Blair's apartment building along with Stark and Savard. She had sent Mac on ahead to supervise the last minute details in Prospect Park and to advise the commanders of the municipal security teams that she wanted to meet with them personally before the start of the race. The New York City Transit Police would have squadrons of officers in the subway system, the New York Police Department would provide security along the race route, and the mayor's detail would be on the speaker's platform where he, Blair, and others would speak at the completion of the race. It was standard operating procedure for the Secret Service to coordinate all the security forces whenever any member of the First Family or the Vice President's family was making a public appearance. She was running through the details in her mind when the elevator door opened and Blair walked out.
Blair was dressed for the run almost identically to Cam - a light nylon windbreaker over a T-shirt, running shorts and shoes. She had caught her hair back at the base of her neck as she usually did for public outings, substituting a length of dark ribbon for the customary gold clasp. Her light make-up was superfluous on a face made for the camera. Even her attitude was different - she walked quickly, purposefully, with barely a glance at her surroundings. She too had a job to accomplish, one she had been performing in her mother's absence for over fifteen years. She was the reigning queen of her father's dynasty and often accompanied him to State affairs or represented him when the social circumstances required it. Today she was appearing as the President's daughter, and although not a role that was always comfortable for her, it was one she knew well.
She hesitated briefly when she saw Cam. They smiled at each other, forgetting for a moment that there was anyone else in the room. It was one of those automatic responses that neither of t
hem could prevent, that brief surge of pleasurable recognition that was beyond volition or better judgment.
In an instant, their smiles disappeared and they greeted one another formally.
"Good morning, Ms. Powell," Cam said as she turned and began walking beside her, Stark and Savard falling in on either side.
Blair nodded quickly and continued toward the front door without breaking stride again. Per routine, Stark held the door open and Cam went through just slightly ahead and to the right of Blair. Cam hesitated fleetingly at the sidewalk as she looked up and down the street and then across the park, just as she had the day the shot was fired. It was so subtle that no one except another agent would have noticed. No one else except Blair.
Blair was always acutely aware of the way Cam positioned herself between Blair and any potential threat, even when they just walked down the sidewalk together. In this particular location, she would never lose that instant of stomach-churning fear.
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 softly as they crossed the sidewalk toward the black limousine. It would be so much simpler if she could. "But I can't."
Cam stood by the door as Blair slid into the back seat, then followed her in while Stark and Savard proceeded to the car idling just in front of theirs.
As they pulled away, Blair said coolly, "I'll be meeting some people when we get there."
Cam regarded her carefully, slightly surprised that she was volunteering information, while at the same time mildly annoyed that she hadn't told them sooner. Blair wasn't required to tell them everything, of course, but it was always helpful to have as much advance data as possible. However, she was grateful for this small improvement in communication. "Will they be joining you for the run?" Cam asked.
Blair nodded, watching out the tinted windows of the limousine as the city slid by. "Yes. I've invited Diane and another friend."
Cam didn't ask for the details. She wondered, however, 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 couldn't help but think that she hadn't come close to imagining how difficult it would be. She also 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.
Cam tried to put her personal feelings aside until the day's work was done. "Savard, Stark, and I will be with you along the route."
Blair turned her attention from the window to study Cam. It was a face she never seemed to tire of looking at. Seeing her made something inside her pulse, swift and sharp and hot -- it was part desire and 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 observed dryly.
Cam raised an eyebrow but decided 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 photographic 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.
Cam blinked, uncharacteristically startled. "I'm sorry?"
"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 her eyes. For a moment forgetting everything else, she said, her voice husky, "No, Ms. Powell, I shouldn't. It's 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."
"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 the sweatpants Cam wore. "In fact, I like distracting you."
They were lying together on the couch in the late afternoon sun in Diane's apartment. They had finally managed to shower and dress, which for the first eighteen hours they had been together they hadn't been able to accomplish. Every time they made it into the shower one or the other of them would start something and they'd end up back in bed. Starvation finally drove them to get up. Cam eventually made a trip to a nearby deli for sandwiches and 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 softly as Blair stroked closer to the heat between her legs.
"Maybe they're not supposed to, but they are human, aren't they," Blair continued. She 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 Cam's 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 Cam's 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..." She was 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 breath and added, "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. She wondered 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 as a tree yielded to the wind, bending to her will. "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," Blair said with a perfectly serious expression.
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."
"Blair," Cam said, ominously now. "I've been trained to resist torture."
B
lair 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."
Cam reached for the New York Times and held the folded newspaper in her right hand. The pages fluttered as her fingers trembled. "Uh - let's see. 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 pushed the cotton fabric farther down Cam's thighs. She pressed her palms to the inside of Cam's legs, bringing her thumbs very 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," Cam gasped, tossing the paper aside. "I can't -- read. I can't talk - I can barely breathe."
Blair brushed her thumb lightly over the tip of her clitoris.