by Mia Watts
They stopped at Café Bonaparte around the corner from the party location. They were shown in as soon as Hank was recognized. Who needed reservations when your dad was the president? The tiny table, off to one side of the small storefront, was perfect. Though the place was packed and occasional laughter did ring out, the environment lent itself to a more subdued clientele.
“This doesn’t seem like your scene,” Monty said as they took their seats.
“What do you know about my scene?”
“Loud. Parties. Young men with black paint on their eyes. Piercings.”
Hank scoffed. “Do I wear black liner or have piercings?” He leaned in. “Do I? You’ve seen me naked a couple times now. Am I hiding metal anywhere?”
Monty stared him down then gave a slow single shake of his head.
“Exactly. You don’t know anything about me,” Hank said, sitting back and picking up his menu to dismiss the other man.
“I know plenty.”
“You’ve been wrong so far.” Hank reached across the bistro table and patted Monty’s hand. “Don’t worry. There isn’t a test later.”
Monty picked up his menu too. As soon as his eyes left Hank’s face, Hank swallowed. That piercing blue stare never failed to unnerve him, to make him want to please Monty. He had to fight it with every trick in his book because the last time he’d tried to please someone, they’d become president and decided family was even more of an inconvenience than before.
He wouldn’t go there again. Not ever.
Monty put his menu down. “You’re an attention seeking spoiled brat who has daddy issues. How’m I doing?”
Hank laughed. “That’s quite a superficial estimation of my character you have.”
“I call it like I see it.”
Hank put his menu down too. “I’m still making my assessment since I wouldn’t want to jump to any conclusions—unlike some people. But, you have control issues. You’re anal about your control issues.”
A strange smile tugged the corners of Monty’s lips. It was the first smile of his Hank had ever seen and frankly it weirded him out. The waitress came over and took their order. It would be another night for firsts since he was also about to see Monty eat which he’d never done in Hank’s presence. The little window into normal human behavior excited him. Which was ridiculous because, of course, the guy ate and smiled. It was just that Hank had never seen Monty do anything but guard, glare, growl and disapprove.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Monty noted, mirroring Hank’s position with his arms across his chest.
“I didn’t think it deserved one.”
“Your dad,” Monty pushed.
“Is a jackass.”
“Is the President of the United States of America,” Monty corrected.
Hank snorted and suddenly leaned forward to pin Monty with a look that he hoped Monty recognized as on the edge of a line he shouldn’t cross. “Do you really think I need reminding?”
“You seem to. No matter what you think of him as a man, he’s still your president.”
“Look,” Hank said, exhaling with annoyance. “I know who he is and what he is to the country. You may not believe it, but I’m mature enough to distinguish between the roles.”
“Are you?” Monty questioned. “Because you never let up on him.”
Hank stared at him with disbelief. “You’re on-board to protect him with your life. I’m not. Maybe recognize that there are things that I don’t happen to agree are worth protecting.”
“You’d see him killed?” Monty raised a brow.
Alarm bells went off in Hank’s mind. “I’d like to say yes to that, but I’m not that big of a shithead. He’s my dad. Of course, I don’t want him dead.”
“Just some of his principles?”
“As a father, yes,” Hank agreed.
“What about as a president?”
Hank frowned. “He’s a good president,” he conceded.
That seemed to surprise Monty. His gaze darted between Hank’s eyes like he was suddenly trying to figure him out.
“Then why are you trying to sabotage his presidency?” Monty asked quietly.
“Maybe I’m angry. Maybe I know my dad’s first love is his office and not his family, and if I want him to feel it like we did, I know I have to attack it.”
“We?”
“Mom and me.”
Monty nodded. The waitress brought their food and asked if they needed anything more. Neither of them acknowledged her, only stared each other down with equal intensity. Monty seemed to be warily assessing him. Hank just wanted him to stop asking questions.
“She was a sweet woman,” Monty said after they were alone again.
Hank’s stare faltered. “Yeah, she was.” He picked up his fork and rocked the side of it on his crepe.
“She got lost in the politics,” Monty added.
“We all did,” Hank replied. “But some of us didn’t let it control us.”
Monty seemed to accept that as a conversation ender. He didn’t add any more or open another discussion, which was just fine with Hank. He didn’t feel like talking. He tried to remember why the fuck he was going to the party tonight. To piss off Monty. Yeah, it wasn’t as much of a fun prospect as it had been.
* * * *
They pulled up, and the party was already well underway. Montegue wasn’t pleased to see that Hank’s idea of a close group of friends getting together in Georgetown was actually a full-out party with booze and behavior that appeared to be enhanced.
He stayed close to Hank. Tried to keep his eyes on the kid, but Hank didn’t make it easy. The more relaxed Hank got, the more watchful Montegue became. Alcohol had loosened Hank up. It wouldn’t be long before Montegue would be looking for an escape plan to this farce of a gathering. He looked for and located several points of exit.
A girl draped herself against Montegue’s side. Not the first tonight, but if he had it his way, it would be the last. He stood her upright and turned her around, gave her a gentle push. The girl laughed and bumped into another target. Thank God.
“Monty!” Hank’s voice carried over the beat of the music.
Montegue tracked his voice to where Hank stood waving amidst a group of guys. Hank motioned him over. With a warning glare, Montegue obeyed. Blending in was going to kill him, Montegue thought, which seemed to be Hank’s point.
“Monty,” Hank gestured widely, drunkenly to the guys in his group. “These are the guys. Guys, this is Monty. My boyfriend for the night.”
“Hot,” one guy said, giving Montegue a slow once-over.
“Isn’t he? Can’t wait to get him in the sack.” Hank laughed when Montegue scowled.
“Does he smile?” another friend asked. “Dude, it’s a party. Lighten up,” the man admonished Montegue.
“That’s as light as he gets,” Hank told them with a note of seriousness. “Cute, right?”
“If you like them surly,” a third guy suggested.
“I seem to,” Hank said seriously. He slung an arm around Montegue’s waist.
Montegue accepted it although he stiffened at the unexpected contact. He didn’t want to encourage the behavior, but he had to admit, privately, that he also liked the feeling of Hank’s arm around him.
“Baby, have a drink. Relax a little,” Hank said.
“You’ve had enough for both of us,” Montegue bit out.
He didn’t like the term of endearment, knowing it was given only to diminish his role beside Hank. He didn’t appreciate it, and if he had his way, he’d show Hank exactly how much he didn’t. And turn the kid into a whimpering, desperate mass of need in the process. If Montegue had his way—that was the key. There wasn’t a reality in which that would happen without a little creative thinking.
Montegue dropped his arm across Hank’s shoulder. Hank jerked his head around in surprise. Montegue settled him with a feral grin and a squeeze. “Time to go—baby.”
Interest lit Hank’s gaze with curiosity. “Oh?”
> “I’m planning on strapping you down to the bed so you can’t get away from me tonight.”
The guys hooted. Hank’s lips parted, and he laughed nervously. Hank’s friends would think whatever they wanted. The expression on the presidential son was priceless. Hope. Fear. Uncertainty. God, it was enough to get Montegue hard. It had been a joke designed to remind Hank of who was boss. However, the flare of lust in Hank’s eyes had Montegue thinking a host of different ways he could make the other man beg. All of them had Hank strapped down and naked.
Those deep dimples bracketed Hank’s wicked smile. He was so close. Close enough that Montegue could see the charcoal rim around his gray eyes and the tiny flecks of amber that freckled the iris in two spots of one eye. Close enough that Montegue could smell the rich spicy undertones of Hank’s aftershave and feel the heat of Hank’s body lining his own.
Hank shifted, moving from side to front. He slid a hand into the hair at the back of Montegue’s scalp. Strong, long fingers tugged him forward as their gazes locked. Hank’s teased and challenged. Montegue should’ve broken free. He should’ve taken Hank by the wrist, put him in the car and forced him back to his condo to wait for the Secret Service relief. He should’ve done a lot of things, but Hank’s smooth lips pressed his and he forgot every one of those things.
Sensation sizzled along his nerve endings as Hank’s soft breath feathered across Montegue’s lips between tentative kisses. Montegue had the presence of mind not to kiss back. Something nagged at him like a warning. Like the stomach dropping sensation of Hank’s lips fitting on his own had a more critical consequence than giving in to a playboy on the prowl.
It was the hooting that woke him up seconds before he tipped his head to take what Hank was offering. Thank God, because it stopped him from making a fool of himself—which was probably what Hank had been hoping for.
Montegue jerked his head back. “Home. Now.”
Hank grinned warmly. “Yes, sir.”
Let him think what he wanted to. There’d be no play here. Getting Hank out of the spotlight, making out with another man, the repercussions on the presidential race had precedence. Hank was more selfish than Montegue had realized if he thought he could so foolishly act the way he was in public without responsibilities. It disappointed him, effectively putting a chill on the lust that had raged through him only seconds earlier.
Getting Hank to the car seemed too easy. Once they were inside, he realized why. Hank scooted across the seat to Montegue’s side. His hand curled over Montegue’s thigh. Montegue plucked it off.
“Not going to happen, Junior.”
Hank studied him momentarily. “You didn’t mean it.”
Montegue cocked his eyebrow. “Why would I? It would destroy the president’s platform for re-election to have his son caught making out with another man—a Secret Service agent—at a bender with drugs.”
Hank retreated to his side of the backseat. “That’s cold.”
Montegue twisted to the side, facing him. “What’s cold is your single-minded selfishness to indulge in every vice you want at the expense of a presidency you acknowledge as being a good one. You say you can distinguish between your father and the president, but what you prove time and again is that you can’t look past your own comfort. Your own petulant anger.”
Hank seemed to sober up a little. “I didn’t choose his lifestyle or political stand. If I were a minor living in his home, I could see where he’d have a say in my actions. But I’m not, nor have I ever been while he’s been in the presidential office. I’ve never lived in the White House. I was in college when he was inaugurated.”
“Yet you know what you do directly affects him.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you do it anyway,” Montegue pointed out.
Hank’s head dropped back on the leather seat. The car pulled into the underground garage and alongside the elevators. Still neither of them moved.
“I know it’s clear as day to you. He’s President McClaren to you and that’s it. To me, it’s jumbled. I know there’s a difference between President McClaren and Dad, but he’s also the same person.” He rolled his head to the side to look at Montegue. “You can’t behave one way and pretend that you aren’t responsible for it or that it doesn’t reflect on who you are in other areas of your life.”
“Funny to hear that coming from you.”
Hank’s smile was sad. “Touché. I don’t expect you to understand.” He opened the door.
Montegue got out quickly and got to the other side of the car before Hank had finished standing. “Make me understand.”
Hank ducked his head and hit the up button. “Not tonight, honey. I’m tired.” He lifted his chin, a fake smile plastered on his pretty lips. “You’ve already made your mind up about me. It’s fine. So has he. I don’t expect either of you to change your minds.”
The men got into the elevator.
Montegue felt unsettled. He didn’t like the resignation in Hank’s voice or the sense that there was more to the story he wasn’t getting. That beneath the cocky bravado, there was a man in pain who was lashing out the only way he knew how.
Chapter Four
He winced as his dad slapped down a stack of brightly colored photos showing Hank dancing on top of a bar without a shirt and his pants unsnapped before an audience of young men. It had taken two very creative nights of escape after the Georgetown party to get his dad’s attention again. This time Hank could admit that he’d overdone it.
“You’re gay now? Is this just for my benefit or something we actually need to talk about?” President McClaren shout-asked.
Hank could feel the blaze of Monty’s glare on the back of his neck. He’d made the detail look bad. In all fairness, he’d waited for the other guy to be on duty first. Unfortunately for President McClaren, it didn’t matter that Monty had found the formerly boarded over and forgotten dumbwaiter in the wall of his bedroom. It was coming back in the second night that had revealed a very pissed off Monty in his bedroom closet waiting for him to return.
“No, Dad, I’m actually gay.”
“This? This is how you chose to tell me?” His dad pointed a trembling finger at the stack of pictures. He looked stricken, angry.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me?”
“I still don’t,” the president shouted.
“Ask Monty. He knows,” Hank suggested. He winced as he realized that sounded suspiciously like he’d thrown the other man under the bus.
His father stared hard behind Hank, and he knew it was at the Secret Serviceman in question. “Well?”
From the look on his father’s face and the distinct lack of sound coming from behind Hank, he figured Monty had given one of his characteristic nods.
President McClaren ran his fingers through his hair. That took Hank off guard. His father never did anything uncalculated. His ruffled hair and blotchy cheeks were definitely uncalculated. Hank felt sick to his stomach.
President McClaren sat on the front edge of his desk. His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what else to do with you.”
“Talk to me,” Hank suggested, his voice cracking.
“I’ve tried. You don’t listen.”
“No, Dad. You don’t listen. If it’s not about the election or about looking good for the election, you don’t want to hear it. I’m sorry, but family isn’t always convenient. Sometimes, you have to deal with us.”
“So help me, if this is about your mother again—”
Hank jumped to his feet. “You’ll do what, Dad? What will you do? What if it is about Mom? What if it’s about both of us and the fact that you’re so wrapped up in your career that you forgot you had a family.”
“Be quiet!” President McClaren raged. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You can’t know because you’re too selfish to think about anyone but yourself!”
“I learned firsthand from the very best,” Hank snapped.
President McClaren stood too. His jaw
flexed. “Montegue. Put Plan B into effect. Make it good and make sure he can’t get himself or anyone else in trouble. You’re officially off the clock.”
“What the fuck is Plan B?” Hank demanded to know. When he saw no ready answer coming from his dad, he turned on his heel to face down Monty, who was even less responsive.
Monty gaze moved calmly from Hank’s to the president’s. “Yes, sir,” he said.
He whispered into his cuff. Four suits entered the Oval Office. One man each grabbed Hank’s arm.
“What the fuck, Dad?”
“Go quietly, Son. I hope you understand why I have to do this.”
Hank swung his head around to Monty. “What’s happening?”
Monty didn’t answer, but a fleeting expression of compassion pulled at the man’s forehead before it smoothed over once again.
“Monty?” Hank asked. “Please?”
Monty ignored him and nodded to the four agents who hauled him out of the room. Hank fingered the cell phone in his pocket. An idea struck him. He just needed a minute alone, and a whole lot of luck.
Chapter Five
When the door to the airplane opened, Hank was hit in the chest with the humidity and sticky heat that could only be from the southern United States.
“Where the hell have you brought me?”
Monty walked up the aisle to stand beside him. He let out a long breath. “Home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Alabama,” Monty answered, sounding more at ease than Hank had ever heard him.
He spared a glance at the other man. His face seemed relaxed. As he watched, Monty reached up and loosened his service issued black tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. Hank should be pissed. Oh, he had been. Now, he was resigned, he supposed.
The car ride to the airport, the private jet ride several hours had been ample time to sit quietly with his thoughts. President McClaren had sent him away. That’s all there was to it. Getting away felt pretty good, he had to admit. It felt like he could finally breathe. Like no one was constantly watching him, waiting for him to fuck up, waiting to rake his ass over the coals for being a disappointment.