Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sam eyed the last document she’d signed. “All done, Mr. President.” Standing in shorts and Chucks felt a bit inappropriate in the Oval Office, but she hadn’t been given a chance to change.
He slid the papers inside a folder, and she pressed her sweaty palms to her abdomen and swept her gaze around the room.
She’d been in here before, but never with the president.
Never alone with the commander in chief.
They’d been in meetings together in the past, though, and most of the time, they’d never seen eye to eye, especially in regards to Ukraine and Russia.
“You understand the consequences if you ever tell anyone about the photo or the phone call from them this morning, correct?”
“Treason.” She took a breath. “So, jail or death.” She tried to spit out the words as casually as possible.
He rounded his desk to grab his blazer draped over a chair, and she swallowed her nerves at the proximity to the president. “Who else did you talk to about this photo?”
She inwardly groaned; she hated dragging them into the mess. “Um, Emily Summers and former FBI Special Agent Jake Summers.”
“I know Summers. He’s a good man.” He gave a quick nod. “I’ll have to bring them in.”
“Understood.”
“And please don’t mention any of this to your father, especially over an unsecure line. I’ll talk to him.”
At least she knew her dad would be safe then. One less thing to worry about.
The president moved in front of her now and wrapped a hand over her shoulder. “There’s something else I need to discuss before I go meet with the Joint Chiefs.”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“I need you to announce you’re not going to back off your proposal. I want you in Russia as planned on Wednesday.”
“What?” Her eyes widened, unable to hide the shock in her voice. “I don’t understand, Mr. President. You didn’t support the proposal before this happened, so why now?”
She thought back to the meeting she’d had with him in August. Because he hadn’t backed her proposal, it had made getting support from Congress that much more difficult.
“Why don’t you sit down?” He pointed to one of the couches at the center of the room.
“I’m fine,” she said, and her words had him retracting his hand. “Mr. President,” she rushed out at the last second.
He gave a curt nod and rocked back on his heels. “I don’t bow to threats. I’m not like our last president.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, so she kept her lips tight.
“I may not agree with your methods, but I do support the cause, and I’ll sure as hell support you before I’ll let some asshole try and manipulate the United States.” He motioned for the door.
“There are a lot of important people who will be attending the event on Wednesday. Former President Jones,”—since you wouldn’t come—“my dad . . .”
“We won’t do anything to jeopardize their lives,” he cut her off. “I promise.”
It was one thing for her to be willing to put herself on the front line, but she couldn’t risk others, could she?
“We’ll be sure to increase security there, as well as inform our people of the situation. Don’t worry.”
How could she not worry? The event was her idea, and didn’t that make her responsible for all of the people who’d be going? “And what is the situation? Don’t I deserve to know what’s actually going on?”
He released a ragged breath. “I can’t go into detail with you on that, I’m sorry. But let’s hope everything is resolved before your plane even leaves Dulles.”
That doesn’t give us much time, but she kept the thought to herself.
“The team outside this room will keep you safe. You can trust them.” He opened the door, not giving her a chance to say more.
Owen stood waiting alongside the tight-lipped Secret Service agent who’d stayed with her while Owen and his team had been with the president.
“A word before you leave.” The president motioned for Owen to follow him back into the Oval.
His eyes were dark and intense as he brushed past her.
And when he came out a minute later, he looked even worse.
What had happened in there? And what in the hell was really going on?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam stood before Owen in the hotel suite as he sucked down a mini bottle of vodka. He was acting like she had earlier.
“What’s the saying? ‘Right as rain’?” He cursed under his breath. “What is right about rain, anyway?” He blinked and guzzled another bottle, his eyes narrowing as if fighting a wince.
When he started for the fridge for another, she grabbed his arm, but the way he peered at her from over his shoulder with a hard look to his eyes, had her retracting her hand.
“Can you tell me something? Anything? The president had me sign papers that could sentence me to death or life in prison if I talked about all of this.”
He guzzled another mini bottle and then mumbled, “It’s classified.”
“Obviously, hence the treason insanity . . . but I need to know more. I deserve it. I work for the government. I’m not a—”
“Civilian?” He tipped up his chin. “Well, you are.” His arm lazily fell to his side, clutching the now empty vodka bottle.
“And what are you?” she challenged, then closed her eyes as a hard knot fisted in her stomach, pumping hard and painfully steady. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
“You didn’t drag me into anything.”
She opened her eyes, finding his gaze on her mouth.
“I’ve had a really shitty week,” she said, her voice starting to break.
“The picture. The threat. Then to learn some psychopath was watching me naked in my room and listening to my every word.” She sucked in a sharp breath, her arms beginning to tremble.
“Now, I’m pretty sure the president is stubbornly pushing my proposal because he doesn’t want to look like a coward. ”
“I’m not letting you get on a plane to Russia. Just an FYI.” His forearms went tense at his sides, the veins bulging.
“But the president—”
“Screw the president.” He turned his back and pressed a palm to the wall. “Fuck all of them. They sit behind their desks in their suits putting lives on the line and . . .”
She touched his back, and the muscles tensed beneath her hand as he bowed his head.
He was in pain—she could feel it, practically absorb it through her fingertips.
“Look at me,” she whispered.
He released the bottle at his side, allowing it to fall to the floor. “No.”
“Owen, tell me what happened in the Oval.”
His back lifted and fell with a heavy breath. “I can’t.”
“Turn around and look at me.” Her voice nearly rattled, exposing her nerves at her question.
“I can’t. I’m too angry. And right now, I just want to . . .” But then he did it, he slowly faced her, his hazel eyes darkening. “I want to—”
“Do it.” Her words had her nipples pebbling, desire taking over her like a blazing fire, consuming every rational part of her.
She needed something to take away the throb of indecision and the burn of anger—she needed him to do it, to take off the edge.
“Kiss me,” and the request sounded more like a broken cry.
When he didn’t say anything, she started to turn, but then he captured her wrist, bringing her back before him.
“I think I hate you.” His voice was low, and his eyes sharp on hers.
“I think I hate you, too,” she lied.
And in one quick movement, he cupped the back of her head, pulling her tight against him, his mouth on hers.
His kiss had her backing up against the wall, and he boxed her in with his muscular frame, never losing hold of her mouth in the process.
She slipped her hands up his tee, running her fingers over the hard planes of his chest. She moaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth.
His palms pressed to her shoulders, and he edged back a moment later, which had her groin aching. The damn ache was going to kill her.
“I’m angry.” He lowered his forehead to touch hers. “This would be an angry fuck,” he rasped, his words like fire blowing heat over her already sizzling skin. “It’d be wrong.” He didn’t pull back to look at her, as if he couldn’t handle the eye contact.
“I know,” she whispered. “But . . . I’ll lose my mind if you don’t touch me again.” She’d lose her mind if she were left alone to her thoughts, to muddle through the dark by herself.
He was like the light at the end of the tunnel, and she hadn’t seen even a glimmer of light in so long—maybe it was a mirage. But what if it wasn’t?
Nothing that had happened in the last week made sense, especially how she felt for this man, but she couldn’t get herself to back down. Not now, at least.
His forehead gently tapped hers, as if he were trying to convince himself of what to do.
She slipped her hands down to his jeans and popped the button.
His hand bolted down to seize hold of her wrist, and he held her for a moment before stepping back to find her eyes. “I really am angry right now. I meant what I said. I don’t want to hurt you.”
It was a warning, as well as his way of seeking permission from her. “I need this. I need one minute to just forget.”
Her words did something to him—only for a moment, but it caused his lips to curve slightly at the edges. “It’d be a hell of a lot longer than a minute.” The rough but almost velvety texture of his tone had her clenching her thighs tight.
The pad of his thumb brushed across her lips, and then he pulled her back in his arms, his mouth capturing her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth.
When he kissed her again, she was pretty sure her lids squeezed so tight she saw stars.
He peeled off his shirt before her back hit the wall again. He sucked at her neck, and she bit into his hard shoulder, unable to stop herself from rubbing up against him.
“Owen,” she cried as he dragged his lips down the side of her neck, pushing her short hair away in the process, then gathered both her wrists in one hand and held them above her head.
Goose bumps scattered her flesh as he worked at her shorts with his free hand.
The man had skills. He’d managed to get his hand . . .