At Any Cost (12 page)

Gwen sighed. “Okay. If I can get my hands on it, I will make you a copy. No promises though. I expect your dad to pardon me, Fallon. Seriously.”

Fallon kissed her friend's cheek. “You won't need a pardon but if you do, you have my word.” Two pardons, actually. One for her friend, and one for her. Because she was pretty sure she was breaking the law—even if there was no search warrant for this crime. Yet.

At Nordstrom in Pentagon City Mall, Leah Lennox stared at herself in the full-length mirror. The gown she'd bought earlier in the week had been tailored, and the result was just perfect. It was a long black silky-looking dress, sleeveless and slinky. It was the most sophisticated dress she had ever worn, and she felt as chic as a supermodel—poised, stylish and queenly. Of course her hips weren't exactly snake-like, and her skin looked a little blotchy …
Stop it
, she commanded herself. Not today. Not right now. This was a happy occasion.

Excitement would jolt her in sporadic starts, surprising her when she least expected it. She would be working and suddenly remember that she, Leah Lennox, was invited to an inaugural ball as part of the official White House press pool. It felt like a dream come true.

After being unemployed for months and feeling like her career was going nowhere, she was finally getting some traction. In a big way.

Leah stepped off the pedestal she'd been standing on. “It's perfect,” she said to the seamstress. “I just need to change out of it.”

In the spacious dressing room, Leah changed into her well-worn jeans and a black turtleneck. After she collected the dress on a hanger, she wandered downstairs to the floor with accessories. A bracelet and some earrings would work well with the dress—and Tom, who was paying for this because it was far outside the reach of her paycheck—had said to get whatever she needed for this occasion. Her gaze wandered over the array of sparkly things and landed on an extraordinary gold filigree cuff. She picked it up, surprised at the lustrous weight, and clasped it on her wrist. The gold cuff looked striking with her freshly manicured deep crimson fingernails.

“That is very fetching,” a man said from beside her.

Leah looked up, surprised.

A raffishly handsome young man was looking at her with a pleasant smile on his face. He looked to be in his thirties, with wavy blonde hair and a sensual face. With light blue eyes and a pointed chin, he had a dashing quality about him, like a European prince. “Your bracelet. Very pretty.”

“Oh,” she blushed and took it off, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, like she'd been caught daydreaming or humming or something equally as private. “I just … yes, it is pretty.”

She indicated to the saleslady that she would take it. Suddenly shy, Leah busied herself looking at earrings.

“Is there a special occasion?”

Leah smiled. “I'm going to the inauguration.” She glanced up at him to see his reaction.

He looked surprised. “How did you finagle that?”

“I'm a member of the media,” she replied casually, delighting in the sound of it. How long had she yearned to say those words and to achieve her dream of writing for a major newspaper? After many hard turns, it was her life now. Finally.

The man smiled, clearly impressed.

Leah picked up some beautiful gold and garnet chandelier earrings, watching the facets dance with light.

“Those would look very nice with your coloring. You have a beautiful olive tone to your complexion … the red works very well.”

Before Leah could stumble for an appropriate response, the man held out his hand. “My name is Collin.”

“Leah Lennox.”

“It's very nice to meet you, Leah.”

She felt a tingle of excitement. Was he hitting on her?

She indicated to the saleslady that she would also take the earrings.

“So what kind of media are you in? Television?”

“I'm a writer,” she said, unable to contain her pride at being able to say those words.

“Fascinating.”

“What do you do?” Leah asked nervously.

“I work for a political consulting firm,” he replied smoothly.

Interesting
. Besides the fact that he was gorgeous, he was also possibly an important contact. As a journalist trying to make her name, it was wise to keep her contact list growing.

The saleslady handed Leah the bag with her new jewelry.

“Pardon me if this is too forward, Leah, but you are beautiful, and I'd like to get to know you better. Would you consider having a drink with me?”

Leah, knocked for a loop, wondered if she'd just heard correctly. This never happened to her. Never. “I'd like that,” she said.

He opened his wallet and searched through it. “I can't seem to find a business card. Why don't you give me your number, and I'll call you to arrange something?”

The saleslady handed him a pen and he jotted down Leah's number. He folded the piece of paper and then placed it in his jacket pocket. “I'll call you,” he said.

“Okay,” Leah replied. She watched him walk away.

Trying to shake off the strange, and kind of wonderful, encounter, Leah strolled over to the elegant handbags. She immediately locked eyes on the perfect evening clutch. It was black satin with discreet mottled platinum hardware, perfectly matched with the dress and the new cuff. And it was on sale, discounted enough that she could pay for it with her own debit card.

Today just could not get any better.

Should I or shouldn't I?

Tom asked the question a hundred times, walking past the address that Fallon had given him. He walked to the end of the street, pausing as if he were going to cross while discreetly checking his environment. It was a habit forged from his work, but it was more than that. Since his home had been broken into, he had the feeling he was being watched, that something was happening just beneath the surface.

Which was just one of a million reasons it was foolish to be meeting his protectee long after his business day had concluded. He still wasn't sure what he felt about Fallon, and the guilt was heavy as ever. Yet he couldn't really say no.

Gwen Atwell lived in a pricey but understated neighborhood about four blocks from Tom's condo. The Cape Cod-style house was small, and like its neighbors, it had a very large front yard with mature oak trees. Heliotrope and honeysuckle vines climbed up the walls at her front door and rambling rose bushes would be blooming in front of the porch if it were spring. For all her sophistication, Gwen's taste in architecture tended toward the twee.

Though he understood he was welcome, Tom still felt strange arriving at a woman's dark, empty home at night. After glancing around again to make sure he was not being observed, he found the key on the window ledge under a rock, where Fallon told him it would be. Unlocking the door, he entered the foyer and turned on a lamp.

Gwen's house reflected a cozy life. Inspired by the colors of the East Coast, she'd created a pretty home with blue, white, and beige furniture. Candles, candid snapshots, some in frames and some without, and knick-knack-covered shelves showing a full life of friends and travel. He was standing at the photos when he heard the low hum of the limos' engines on the street outside.

Tom walked farther into the house, careful to stay out of the sight of any agent who followed her to the door. Such a weird feeling, hiding from his teammates. The deception rankled.

Fuzzy radio traffic crackled faintly, then the car door slammed.

Tom's heart was racing; he could hear his own breath. It was a dangerous game he was playing here.

After a moment, a soft, rapid knock was nearly indistinguishable from it opening.

Fallon came inside, bringing with her a gust of cold air. She shut the door and locked it, then turned to face him, a bit rigid with uncertainty.

Tom was momentarily knocked for a loop. She looked like a girlfriend.

That was a fatal way to think of her, but it was the first thing that popped into his rattled head. In Paxos, she had been his idea of physical perfection. But now she seemed even more beautiful. Ethereal. He could appreciate the intelligence in her eyes and the character in the set of her lips in a way that maybe he didn't back in Greece.

She wore soft, well-fitted blue jeans that showed off her slim legs and a black cashmere sweater under an unbuttoned navy pea coat. Her shoes were simple black ballet flats, which made her look even more petite.

Definitely girlfriend material.

She took off the pea coat and hung it on the coat tree, then kicked off her shoes. Then she fussed with her hair, then put her hands on her hips as if she didn't know what quite what to do with herself, then finally clasped them in front of her, apparently settling on waiting to see what Tom would do.

They regarded each other warily. Tom's mind swirled, and he had the sensation for a second that he was falling from a great height: exhilarating and also terrifying.

All this was so out of context. This strange, sweet house, his protectee, and being so powerfully attracted and so unwilling to break free of the spell she'd cast … it was like he'd been hypnotized. Exactly like the first time. He'd been carried along on the current of her vivacious energy, helpless to resist it after the dark years that followed Bethany's death. Like the first time, clanging disclaimers and warnings marched through his mind, but they drifted and became so inconsequential that they faded to background noise.

He wanted her. It was now the only impulse he could act upon.

He walked across the room to stand in front of her. “You look so beautiful,” he whispered.

She smiled and shook her head. “I was tired after work. I guess I should have …”

Tom shook his head. “You're perfect.”

Fallon looked up at him with wide, liquid blue eyes that were both vulnerable and hopeful. Cupping her face in his hands, he traced her sharp cheekbone with his thumb, then caressed her trembling lips. They parted beneath his touch. So beautiful. Delicate. Tom bent his head and lightly touched his lips to hers. A questing kiss. Her lips were warm and silky, inviting him to more.

And he wanted to take more. He locked his arms around her, drawing her to him, pressing her soft body against the hardness of his own. He deepened the kiss, running his hands up her back until they were laced in her thick hair, eliciting a little cry of surprise. Of hunger. Fallon's back arched, her soft breasts pressed against his chest.

She stepped back and looked at him with pure need, with a forwardness he would have found unnerving in any other woman. Her unique, confounding mix of boldness and vulnerability struck him as almost painfully sweet. She really was vulnerable and he knew, shamefully, that she had real reason to be scared—much more than he did. She was risking herself. The fact that he had disappointed her once before hovered between them like a dare.

She was so brave. She trusted him. He was a foundering, lost soul. And she still saw something in him that made her think she could trust him. Amazing.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears.

“Later.” Her hand was warm over his. “Come on.”

He followed her down a hallway to what appeared to be Gwen's guest bedroom. Fallon flicked on the recessed lighting, throwing the room into illumination. She turned to him, staring at him like a combatant, and began to tug at the button of his jeans. He stood motionless, watching her. Fascinated by the focused concentration on her face.

She buzzed down his zipper, then looked up uncertainly into his face. Like she was giving them both one final opportunity to back out.

Tom grabbed her close to him, kissing her lips, then sliding his hands under the soft, fuzzy-looking sweater, spanning his hands over her ribcage and up over the cups of her bra. Fallon stepped back and pulled the sweater off, dropping it on a nearby chair.

She wore a white cotton bra this time, with a tiny bit of lace on the cups. Functional—not a rich girl's lingerie. He loved it. Loved how her rounded breasts were severely restrained in the cups, creating sumptuous, teasing cleavage. Her jeans sat low on her lips, showing her narrow waist and flat belly.

She slid her jeans off her hips and discarded them, exposing her well-shaped legs to his voracious gaze. White undies. Plain and prim and perfect.

Her graceful hands went to the bra clasp between her breasts and then pulled the garment off her shoulders. The undies went next.

All those gorgeous landmarks of her naked body angling for attention sent his brain into a spin. Out of control, car-sliding-on-the-ice feeling.

“You're shaking,” she whispered and placed her hand on his burning hot chest. “Why?”

As if he would have to explain that he was a little amped up when a beautiful, brilliant goddess was naked in front of him. Everything about her was exquisitely sweet, divine, like she was created just to drive him out of his fucking mind.

That was the problem.

He couldn't think when he was around her. He acted on instincts activated by her magic, and the consequences were catastrophic.

Fallon smiled and lifted her arms around his neck, coiling her sensuous body against him like a siren. Oh God. No fucking way was he going to be able to resist this.

“If you don't fuck me right now, I will scream,” she whispered, her smile deepening, her face utterly guileless.

If she just wanted sex, he could do that, maybe. His entire adulthood had been spent refining the art of compartmentalization, so there was no reason this couldn't be the same.

She placed her hand over the erection that bulged painfully, eagerly against his clothing.

Tom was mute, still paralyzed with the combination of unbearable desire and his knowledge that he should not act on it.

“I want you to fuck me,” Fallon whispered.

He was not prepared for the effect of hearing those filthy words come over her beautiful teeth. It ricocheted through his body, rendering him nearly helpless to resist much longer.

“What do you want?” she asked back.

Tom answered with a careful kiss, calibrated to try and understand his own answer to her question. He felt every detail intensely: her velvety softness and heat, the plush interior wetness of her mouth, her slender body quavering in his arms.

Fallon gently pulled away, her expression ecstatic. Her eyes were wide, her pupils huge. She seemed lit up inside, like a nun burning with holy fire.

“You.”

Fallon smiled then, a slow and naughty smile that he remembered from Paxos—oh yes, he knew where that led.

Tom unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and dropped it on the ground. Fallon watched, her expression impassive except for the slight intake of breath at the sight of his chest.

He pulled off his pants and his black boxer briefs.

“Oh God,” Fallon whispered. She dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth.

Oh Jesus. Not at all what he'd planned. He was knocked out with her sweetness, the way she immediately began sucking, her hands cupping his balls. She swirled her tongue around the head, then drew the shaft into her mouth as deeply she could. She glanced up at him, all big doe eyes, thick curling lashes, and huge blue irises. His heart was going to explode in his chest. All her tentative little touches and licks and sucks, the way she moaned, holding him in her mouth as deep as she could take it, then slowly pulling back, like she couldn't get enough of him, left him helpless in her thrall. An unusual feeling. Too late now though.

He shut his eyes, enjoying the plush, hot slide of her mouth on him. She licked the underside of the head, making him shudder against her, and he had the strange realization that she remembered he liked that. Gently, he pushed her back on her heels and she stayed, looking up at him.

“Come here,” he said.

Fallon stood up and positioned herself in front of him, so his hard cock was pressing hopefully against her belly, the top of it grazing her belly button. She gently began to tug him with long, milking strokes. He had to do something to get away from the stimulation overload.

He moved out of her grasp and slid his hand between her legs, finding that her wetness had smeared onto her inner thighs. Gently his fingers brushed her slickened lips, relishing the outrageous wetness, her obvious desire. Capturing his mouth to hers, he kissed her again and slid two fingers inside the cushiony heat of her sex. Hot, wet heaven.

She made a husky little noise against his lips and arched toward the contact.

“How long have you been thinking about me?”

“Since the first moment I saw you in my office,” Fallon replied.

God, he loved the way she surrendered completely to him. There were no games with Fallon, no obfuscations or hedging; she was open and exposed. More generous than any woman he'd ever known, more fascinating, more interesting. How was it that someone who was so open was the most mysterious woman he'd ever met? It was a paradox.

He removed his fingers and pulled her closer so the length of her body burned erotically against his. Skin on skin contact. Nothing like that velvet smoothness to make his mind go to mush.

He walked Fallon backward to the bed and eclipsed her body with his own. Fallon shoved his shoulder, pushing him aside, and rolled on top of him.

He remained propped up on his arms as Fallon straddled him. He was thick, so Fallon slicked the fat bulb of his cock with her juices, then slowly eased herself down on him. He shuddered and groaned involuntarily as every inch was squeezed in Fallon's slick grip. Penetration. Nothing like it. All that sweet womanly heat … her sex was a silky wet glove around his cock.

Their gazes locked. Fallon exhaled slowly, her lips trembling. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her so he wouldn't have to see the open adoration in her face. Instead, he leaned forward and took a piquant pink nipple in his mouth and lavished the little bud of flesh with insistent sucking. Fallon wrapped her arms around his neck as he sucked.

“Oh God …” she whispered. She began to move up and down on his cock, drawing him in deep with every down stroke.

He leaned back, watching her, delighting in the details of her body as she became increasingly excited. Her breasts bounced, the flat span of her belly contracted with little muscles. Her thighs squeezed as she grinded on him. He wrapped her in his arms, gently pushing her hips down on him to take him even a little deeper on the downstroke, so he was pressed as deeply as he could possibly go, right up against her cervix. Fallon gasped, her unguarded eyes wide. “I'm going to come,” she moaned.

“Do it. Come. Over and over again. I want to watch you.”

Fallon arched her back and cried out as the pleasure began to surge through her. He felt her tiny muscles clench his cock. No matter how distant he tried to remain during sex, he couldn't watch her climax without feeling like he was going to either come or cry. The emotion wrapped around his heart and yanked. She was so sweet, so perfectly wonderfully sweet. She was lost in the torrent of sudden bliss and he was thankful for it. He could not bear the possibility that she might see the raw intensity in his face so he held her close, letting her use his big body as ballast.

After she stilled, she tossed her hair back and looked him in the eye. Wordlessly she began to grind against him again. He could do this all night: let her break herself against him, use him for her pleasure. She seemed content to grind herself against him, working herself up to one of those heart-racing, soul-quaking orgasms that seemed to bolt through both of them, like she was sharing it with him. Her energy was intoxicating.