CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Just after 8:00 a.m., they stepped into the shower together and kissed while the water cascaded over them. Then, they began taking turns soaping each other's body until Cam wordlessly placed the bar on the small shelf behind her, took Blair's shoulders in both hands, and pressed her against the tiled back wall of the shower. With her mouth covering Blair's, she slid her fingers, wet with water and Blair's arousal between Blair's thighs, moving slowly, pushing ever deeper, until she felt the walls of Blair's soul fall before her touch. She held her lover upright with the sheer strength of her arm pinioning her to the wall and the pressure of her hips against Blair's. As she moved within her, drawing her ever closer to a precipice from which there was no return, she felt Blair begin to orgasm against her body, around her hand, and she smiled.

"What was that all about?" Blair gasped a moment later, her eyes still dazed.

"Just this thing I have about what's mine," Cam murmured.

"You made your point quite effectively," Blair commented, slipping her palm to the back of Cam's neck and drawing her close.

"Problem with that?" Cam asked from a breath away.

"Not a one." And then she kissed her.

A few minutes later as Blair toweled her hair, admiring Cam's ass in the mirror, her cell phone rang on the counter nearby. She reached for it and listened for a few seconds. "All right."

Naked, Cam turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow when she saw the expression on Blair's face. "What?"

"You might want to find your jeans," Blair said in an oddly disembodied voice. "My father is on his way upstairs."

The two of them scrambled for their clothes and had barely finished zipping and buttoning when a sharp rap sounded on the door. Cam crossed the living room, peered through the peephole, and pulled open the door.

"Good morning, Mr. President."

"You can wait outside, Tom," Andrew Powell said to the clean-shaven, slender African-American man who stood just behind his right shoulder.

"That would not be advisable, sir," the agent replied in a deep rumbling baritone.

Cam glanced right and then left, noting the positions of the other three agents stationed at intervals in the hallway outside her apartment door. She knew that there are would be at least one agent in each stairwell at the end of the hallway, one in the lobby by the elevator, and several outside in the vehicles. She also knew it was SOP for the president never to be alone with anyone other than immediate family. It was an immutable rule.

"I believe that Secret Service Agent Roberts and my daughter can be trusted," the president said as Cam stepped back to admit him.

As the president passed her, she looked into the angry countenance of the primary agent assigned to protect the most powerful man on the planet, but there was nothing to say. She closed the door and turned around in time to see Blair briefly hug her father before moving away to face him with a question in her eyes.

"What's going on?" Blair asked.

"I'll just wait in the other room," Cam said quietly, turning to walk to the small second bedroom on the opposite side of the living room which served as her study and home office. It occurred to her that both she and Blair looked like they had just stepped from the shower, which of course, they had. Their hair was wet, Blair was without makeup, and both of them were wearing last night's discarded clothing. She glanced surreptitiously around the room, hoping that they hadn’t left a trail of garments behind.

Jesus, what an impression we must be making.

"I think you should stay, Agent Roberts," Andrew Powell said in a smooth, well modulated tone that didn't sound like the order it was. His expression was mild as he regarded first her and then his daughter, but his deep-blue eyes were laser-sharp.

"Yes, sir.”

He was wearing a navy blue suit, white shirt, and striped tie. He looked collegiate and fit, with a natural tan that was present year-round. She could see Blair in his blue eyes, his physical presence, and his intensity. Irrationally, she liked him just because of that.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. President?” Cam asked, not entirely certain what the hell to do with him in her apartment. “Coffee, maybe?"

“Fine.” He looked from one to the other of them and smiled faintly. "I'd wager that you two are ready for some."

"It'll take a minute," Cam said, trying desperately not to blush.

"Come sit down," Blair said quietly and indicated the sofa and nearby matching chairs grouped in front of the windows. When they were seated, her on the sofa, him on the chair across from her, she asked once again, "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we should talk," her father said, glancing up as Cam joined them.

"About what?"

"About Lucinda Washburn's visit to my office this morning at 6 a.m.”

"Oh," Blair commented. "Well..."

"First of all, it's not my business. If it weren't for the... unusual circumstances we find ourselves in, I wouldn't even bring it up."

"Well, if it weren’t for our circumstances, neither would Lucinda in all likelihood," Blair commented dryly.

“It a family matter, and Lucinda should have talked to me before bringing it up with you.”

“She was doing her job,” Blair pointed out without animosity. “I understand that.”

Cam wasn't entirely certain what to do, but she decided that since she had been invited, she would sit where she belonged, next to Blair. Blair glanced at her quickly, almost apologetically, and then regarded her father again.

"There was a picture of me in an...intimate moment in the newspaper," Blair said matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry. It wasn't intended."

"There's no way to avoid publicity." The president shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

"I've tried."

"I'm sorry that you had to."

She was silent, and Cam saw her hands tremble where they rested on her thighs.

"At any rate," the president continued, "I saw it. It seemed innocent enough to me."

"It wasn't a very good image," Blair said flatly. "Next time it might be."

"Lucinda says it’s a woman with you."

"Yes."

“And you’ve tried to keep that a secret, too?”

“It seemed the wisest thing to do.”

He sighed. “If I had more time, I’d probably be able to do this a little more diplomatically, but I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.” Blair’s voice was uninflected, her face impossible to read. “Fire away.”

He regarded Blair intently, as if trying to see beneath the cool veneer to the fire below. "Is it serious—this relationship?"

Cam cleared her throat. "Sir..."

"Yes," Blair interrupted. “Very.”

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. When were you going to tell me?"

"Uh..." Cam began.

"Eventually," Blair said hurriedly. “It’s complicated. I—“

Cam blew out a breath and leaned forward, meeting the commander-in-chief's gaze steadily. "That would be me in the photo, sir."

"I see." He looked thoughtful for a moment and, then nodded, once. "That further complicates the situation, doesn't it?"

"Dad," Blair said suddenly. "I'd like to keep Cam's name out of things, if I..."

"That's not necessary," Cam interjected swiftly. "I have nothing to hide, sir, nor do I have any regrets."

"The point is," Blair said with a hint of exasperation, "this could be misconstrued, considering her official relationship to me. I don't want there to be any repercussions..."

"I take full responsibility..."

The president laughed. "I can see that Lucinda has absently no idea just how complicated this is."

The three of them stared at one another and then all of them began to laugh, the tension in the room noticeably ebbing. To Cam's surprise, Blair reached over and took her hand.

"Lucinda is concerned about backlash and the potential damage to your re-election campaign," Blair said.

"Yes, I know. She outlined that for me this morning. In detail."

"She has a point," Blair said, her voice subdued. Without realizing it, she closed her fingers tightly around Cam's.

"It's a very difficult thing to gauge," the president said contemplatively. "There are only so many factors we can control...or spin...at one time. I'm sure that someone on my staff will be doing some kind of poll within the next day or so, carefully disguised so that no one will realize they're really talking about us. Then someone else will draw up a list of possible voter responses, and the director of communications will draft a speech, all of which means absolutely nothing in the final analysis."

"There's going to be considerable criticism because it will look like we were trying to hide our relationship," Cam said carefully. "We're likely to anger people on both sides of the fence."

"Well, I'm not certain that Lucinda's suggestion that you put your relationship on hold for more than a year until the nomination is secured is particularly practical or even useful."

Cam stiffened and had to struggle not to look at Blair. Blair hadn't mentioned that request.

"I'm not going to do that," Blair said, her voice calm.

"I'm not asking you to," her father said. "That's why I'm here. Mostly, I wanted to tell you to do whatever you chose in terms of discussing or not discussing your private life with the press. Whatever the consequences, we'll deal with it."

He glanced at his watch, then at Cam. "I have a few minutes, Agent Roberts. Any chance for that coffee now?"

"Right away, sir. And by the way," she said, extending her hand as she stood, "it's Cam."

Smiling, the president shook her hand. "Andrew."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Fifteen minutes later, after coffee and a conversation that centered on Blair's plans for a gallery showing in the fall, Blair and Cam walked the president to the door. When it closed behind him, they stood staring at one another, both slightly stunned.

"He gets to the point, doesn't he?" Cam remarked.

"He surprised me," Blair admitted, walking to the sofa and resting her hips against the arm, her face contemplative. "He's never asked me anything that personal before."

"Maybe he was waiting for you to bring it up."

"He seemed...okay, don't you think?"

Cam thought about the conversation, although it was hard to be objective when the President of the United States was inquiring about your love life. "Yeah. He seemed...fine." She ran a hand through her hair and grinned at Blair. "Jesus."

"How do you think he knew I was here?"

"Most likely someone on the White House security detail told him. If they really didn't have a very good idea of where you were, they'd have called Mac and he would have called me." That had happened before, but she saw no reason to remind Blair that she had very little true freedom despite appearances.

Blair made a disgusted sound.

"He's the president," Cam pointed out reasonably. "If there's something he wants to know, it's pretty unlikely that he wouldn't be able to find out."

Cam crossed to Blair, took her hand, and drew her around to the front of the sofa, then tugged her down beside her. With Blair's fingers laced in hers, Cam asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me that Lucinda Washburn doesn't want you to see me anymore?"

"If you'll recall," Blair said pointedly, "we were discussingo the matters last evening. And then we weren't discussing anything at all."

Ignoring the evasive answer, Cam persisted. "There was time this morning when we were talking about my problems."

Blair said nothing, and for the briefest moment, she looked away.

"It's not just my problems and my life that we have to share," Cam said gently. "This isn't something you can face by yourself. It involves both of us."

Suddenly, Blair stood and walked to the opposite side of the room. Then she turned, facing Cam across the distance. "I wasn't sure what you would say. I was... afraid that you would agree with her. That you would..."

As Blair's voice trailed off, Cam got to her feet. "You were afraid that I would disappear, weren't you?"

Blair nodded solemnly, the pain swimming in her eyes.

Quickly, Cam crossed the space to her and placed both hands on her shoulders. Then, she found Blair's eyes and held her gaze. "And you're right...a few months ago, that's probably exactly what I would have considered. I don't know that I would've been able to do it...I've never been able to stay away from you.” She skimmed her fingers along Blair’s rigid jaw. “Never been able to stop wanting you. But I might have wanted to try."

Blair's eyes darkened, the blue shading nearly to black. Cam felt Blair stiffen under her hand, sensed her desire to run. Holding onto her, she repeated, "A few months ago...maybe. Not now."

"I don't know how I would stand it." Blair’s voice wavered and she clamped down hard on the old pain. The old pain—not Cam’s doing, but so hard to remember that.

"No...neither do I."

Blair wrapped her arms around Cam's waist and stepped into her embrace, the fear that had coiled around her heart since the moment her father had walked into the room loosening its hold. She pressed her lips to Cam's neck, then leaned back to look at her, her voice stronger, the anguish extinguished by the solid reassurance of Cam's body, the certainty of her words.

"That doesn't mean we've heard the end of this," Blair noted. "Just because my father believes that nothing can damage his reputation or hurt his political chances, that doesn't necessarily mean it's true. He is an excellent leader, but sometimes he refuses to believe he's not invincible. He forgets to watch his back."

"I have a feeling that's what Lucinda Washburn is for," Cam commented dryly. And she had a feeling Washburn wouldn’t give up easily.

"Most definitely. I'm sure we'll be hearing from her again."

Cam drew Blair closer and rested her cheek against her lover's. Softly, she murmured, "Let's deal with that when we have to. For the time being, we'll carry on."

"I love you," Blair whispered.

"I love you." Then Cam sighed, kissed Blair's temple, and stepped back. "We need to call the team and make plans to go back to New York, unless you're staying down here?"

"Not for a moment longer than I have to," Blair said adamantly. "Although if we could stay right here..."

"We could," Cam countered, "but we'd still need to call the team."

"I know," Blair said with a sigh, taking her first real opportunity to survey Cam's apartment in daylight. As she slowly turned, admiring the clean, modern style, her eyes stopped on something familiar on the far wall and she gasped involuntarily.

Cam followed her gaze and grinned.

"When did you get those?" Blair asked, clearly astonished.

"At the gallery opening last winter."

"Did you know?"

Cam regarded the series of charcoal nudes, finding them just as beautiful as she had the first time she’d seen them. "Yes, I knew they were yours, even though you didn't sign them with your own name.”

“How?” Blair’s voice was hushed.

“I'd seen the work in your loft the first time I came for a briefing. Your style is very distinctive."

Blair stared at her. "Why did you buy them?"

"Because they're very good." After a beat, she added, "And because you did them."

Their eyes caught and held, a flame jumping between them.

"We don't have to call the team right away, do we?" Blair asked, her voice husky as he moved toward her lover.

Cam swallowed, watching the color rise in Blair's throat, tightening inside. Thickly, she replied, "I think we might have a little bit of time."

"Do you know what I'd really like to do?"

"What?" Cam asked, looking up from where she sat on the side of the bed pulling on her socks and loafers. The whimsical note in Blair's voice made her smile, and she regarded her appreciatively. A faint blush still colored her lover's skin from their recent lovemaking and the memory of it twisted through her, making her unexpectedly catch her breath as if struck.

"I'd like to order a pizza, get two or three videos, and spend the day on the sofa watching bad science fiction movies with you."

Cam stopped what she was doing, her smile turning to an expression of sad understanding. Softly, she said, "I know. I'm sorry that we can't. If I were anyone else..."

"No," Blair said adamantly, crossing quickly to her and stopping between Cam’s parted thighs, then brushing her fingers through Cam's hair. Looking down, her mouth still bruised with their kisses, she said again, "No. If I were anyone else we might be able to do that. Even if you weren't my security chief, it would still be very difficult for us to do something that simple. Your position may complicate things for us, but it didn't create my problems."

Resting her forehead against Blair's midsection, her arms lightly clasping her lover's waist, Cam murmured, "It won't always be this way."

"I know."

Finally, Cam looked up, her dark eyes swirling with emotion. "I’d do anything to be able to take you out for a late lunch and then stroll around Dupont circle holding your hand, just letting whatever happens, happen. I'd give you that if I could."

"I believe you." Blair knelt, nestling her body between Cam's legs, her eyes meeting her lover's. "And that's what makes it bearable not being able to do that. Sometimes knowing you understand is the only thing that makes it bearable."

"Christ, I love you," Cam breathed, her fingers lightly tracing Blair's face. Then, Cam kissed her forehead and finally, because she had to, she glanced at her watch. "The team should be downstairs by now. Are you ready?"

Blair lingered for just a moment, her hands slowly caressing Cam's shoulders and chest, unwilling to let her go because she didn't know how long it would be before she could touch her this way again. Then with a sigh, she pushed herself upright, straightened her shoulders, and said firmly, "Yes. I'm ready."

They didn't stop to kiss at the door of Cam's apartment, because their goodbyes had already been said, but instead, they walked directly to the elevator, waited for the doors to open, and then rode down to the lobby in silence. They stood close together, their arms lightly touching.

As they crossed the brightly lit room toward the front doors, beyond which Cam could see the Suburban idling with several agents inside and Stark waiting by the rear door, the building's security guard called out, "Excuse me. There's a package for you, Ms. Roberts.”

At her look of surprise, he added, “The courier said not to call up, but that I should give it to you when you came downstairs."

"Courier?" Instinctively, Cam glanced around the lobby, one hand unbuttoning her blazer for access to her weapon. Other than the security guard, she and Blair were alone. Nevertheless, she spoke quickly into her wrist microphone. "Mac, secure the street. Stark...inside."

Outside, the Suburban's doors flew open and agents piled out, weapons drawn. Cam positioned her body between Blair and the glass front doors, one hand cupped lightly under Blair's right elbow, blocking a direct sightline from the outside to the president’s daughter while waiting for Stark to enter the building and take her place.

"What is it?" Blair asked urgently.

"Probably nothing," Cam said in a low voice. "But it's unusual for anything to be delivered to me here. No one should have this address except for Treasury, and they don’t leave anything without an ID and a signature."

"What..."

Stark approached at a near run and Cam instructed, "Escort Ms. Powell to the vehicles and evacuate to fifteen hundred yards. Do it now."

Then she looked at the guard and said, "Step away from the desk."

Her tone left no room for question and to his credit, he didn't. He simply slid off his stool and moved hurriedly around the front of the waist-high partition which enclosed the building's closed-circuit security monitors.

"Cam?" Blair protested, her voice rife with alarm as Stark began to direct her to the door.

"Evacuate her, Stark," Cam ordered without turning back, walking around the partition and studying the package sitting on the shelf. It was an oversized manila envelope, the kind that had been delivered to Blair's apartment the day before. Without touching it, she leaned closer and studied the hand printed address written in bold magic marker. There was no return address. Outside the vehicles screamed away from the curb.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 593