Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series) (25 page)

Dan skulked off while the DJ made a uniquely Turkish segue from Maroon Five to Frank Sinatra. I smiled—not for Adam, but for whoever might be watching us. “What are you doing?” I said in a tone that didn’t match my smile.

“Dancing with you.”

“Adam…”

“If you can dance with that arsehole in front of everyone, you can dance with me.”

“But it means something when I dance with you.”

He peered over my head at our table. “They can’t tell.”

“But I can.”

“I can, too.” His smiled vanished. “So old Juan Carlos has bought you a ring. We haven’t talked about
that
yet.”

“No, we haven’t. Apparently he’s purchased it, but it’s true that he hasn’t proposed. He’s waiting until I get back.”

“And does he have reason to believe you’ll say yes?” He then smirked. “Or
si
in this instance?”

“Don’t be silly.” I shook my head. “I had no knowledge he was doing this. It’s some weird last-ditch, grandiose gesture to get us back on track.”

“Latin tosser.”

“Huh?” There was that word again. “Is that some British cricket term? What does this have to do with sports anyway?”

“Never mind.” He chuckled. Clearly, I hadn’t found the proper definition yet. He smiled and swirled me about the dance floor. “Start at the beginning, then. What’s been going on with you?”

“Well, when you stormed out on me last Sunday night, I was angry. I’d been trying really hard to do the right thing and be fair to everyone—to you, to Juan Carlos, to my job—and you gave me no credit for it. I wasn’t happy, though after thinking things through, I have to say you made some valid points.”

“I suppose you’re right. You’ve been quite fair in what is a very hard situation.” With a quick squeeze of my waist, he added, “Except for when you haven’t been able to control yourself around me. That’s been a little unfair. You’ve been drinking tonight. I hope you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“You’re horrible,” I said, suppressing a smile.

“Only because I adore you.” He chuckled.

“And I you.”

“So you’ll get rid of JC?”

“I can’t just ‘get rid’ of him, Adam. This is a little more delicate than that.”

“Shit, Nicki, when are you going to make a choice?”

“I’ve made my choice. It’s you. Don’t you see that?”

“Then when are you going to act on it, damn it?”

“Act on it? I am! I’m trying to do things in order. It’s not like—”

“It’s not that difficult. Don’t you see that I’ll do whatever it takes to make things work between us? Hell, I’ve already broken up with Felicity.”

“I don’t think your situation with
Lady Fucking Felicity
is the same.”

“Oh, really? Given the row we had when I ended things, she might disagree.”

As the Sinatra song ended, I huffed. “We should go back to the table. This isn’t a good place to talk. Let’s do it when we’re back in DC.”

He wouldn’t let me go, though. He gripped my hand more tightly as the DJ made another random turn to Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly.” Leaning closer to me, he whispered, “Don’t go. I’m sorry. One more song.”

I glanced around the room and saw a table full of very curious White House reporters. Adam was so insistent, though, I rejected my better judgment and stepped a bit closer to him.

His tone changed to a smooth one. “I promise not to complain.”

“Oh, all right,” I said, pretending to be put out. “There are worse things than dancing with you.”

“Like what?”

“Dancing with Dan Roark.”

“I swear, I hate that wanker. I don’t like seeing him with you.”

“You say I don’t listen to you. Do you listen to me? There’s no way I’d ever be with that guy—or any other guy, for that matter.”

“Well, maybe we should both listen and not talk.” He caressed my hand in his.

“Okay.”

After that, neither of us said anything, which turned out to be a bad idea. The silence made us all the more present. As we danced, we kept getting closer and closer to each other. It was like our bodies were taking care of all the years of pent-up emotional and physical frustration between us. The sad lyrics of the song hung in the air, and at one point, I accidentally rested my cheek against his chest.

When he laid his chin on my forehead, I jolted from the embrace and then froze. “We can’t do this here. We have to stop.”

“It’s okay, Nicki.”

“No, it’s not.” I released his hand. “Let’s talk tomorrow…when we’re back in DC.”

When I arrived at the table, I saw that Dan was leading the group in a round of shots. “That was a long dance,” he said, raising his shot glass to me and then Adam.

Dan seemed suspicious, as was probably the whole table. There was only one thing to do: prove I was loaded and flirting with everyone. “I’ll have a shot, Dan.”

“Great,” he said, as if I’d chosen him over Adam. “Here you go.”

Placing some Turkish lira on the table, Adam said, “No need to pour one for me. I’m heading off.” He then said a formal goodbye to me and every other woman at the table.

As he walked away, Dan pushed a glass to me. “Let’s see if Nicole can hold her liquor.”

I got drunk—wasted, in fact—though most of the press at the table just thought I was really giggly. Dan kept flirting and ordering me drinks, and I kept accepting them to make up for rejecting his passes.

After midnight, Lydia made sure I got to my hotel room okay, and when I locked the door behind me, I sank onto the floor. The cool tile felt like the most comfortable place on earth, so I grabbed my phone, lay down, and scrolled through my messages. There were voicemails from Juan Carlos to ignore, boring work emails to read, and a text from Adam.

Call me when you get back to your room.

I frowned. A heavy conversation was the last thing I needed. I tried to get my wits by focusing on the bad art on the wall across from me, and as it blurred in my sight, I realized while I might not have wanted to talk to Adam, I did want to see him. For a split second, I remembered him placing his hand between my thighs the night before, and then all sorts of sexy Adam memories came back to me.

What if
…I thought.
No.
That was a terrible idea. I’d spent all this time being meticulous about how we were seen and how I would tell everyone about us.
I can’t just go sleep with him. If I do that, we could get caught.

I stretched against the wall, feeling horny as hell with no release. I glanced at the clock and considered my idea again. Adam would be elated if I snuck into his room. We’d probably have the shag of our lives, as Adam would say, and at that late of an hour, if I was careful, no one would ever have to know. I needed information and an alibi, though, so after a moment I made one up and called the front desk. The clueless graveyard shift concierge was happy to provide Adam Kincaid’s room number so a White House official could hand-deliver an important document to him.

Five minutes later, I looked around the dead hallway and knocked on Adam’s room.

“Who is it?” he called from behind the door.

I said nothing, and when he cracked the door open, his shocked face met my smile. I slipped inside, and he shut the door with a laugh. “Well, good evening. This is a nice surprise.”

I kept quiet as I walked into his room, which was nicer than mine.

“What’s all this about?” he asked, coming toward me. He was only wearing plaid boxer shorts, and he looked sexier than anyone had a right to. My raging hormones approved.

“What did you say earlier? ‘Why wasn’t I acting on it?’ You said something like that, I think.”

“I did.”

“Well, I’m here to act on it.” I met him halfway and kissed him hard and fast. In case he didn’t quite get the purpose of my visit, I found his dick and began tickling it over his boxers.

He exhaled at once. “Fuck…”

“Yes,” I said, practically hissing. I greedily slid my hand into the flap of his boxers and found what I’d been hoping for. His penis was hard, but his foreskin was soft and ready to be played with. “Let’s go to your bed,” I murmured.

“Gladly.”

He led me over to the bed, but I surprised him by pushing him onto it. He laughed as he fell. “Assertive, aren’t we?”

“A little.” I smiled as I said it, simultaneously kicking off my heels.

He lay on his back, resting on his elbows, and watched my quick strip show. Beneath my conservative work clothes, I’d always worn great lingerie. It was sort of one of my secrets to remind myself I had a life outside of work. Today, the lingerie came in very handy as I stripped out of my suit pants, exposing a very racy black thong. Adam smiled, though his focus was on my crotch. He was eyeing me so lustfully, I ended the strip show early.

I leaned toward him and tugged his boxers down. His dick was so perfect, I had to give it a kiss and a few licks, but I soon moved on. I was a woman on a mission. Sliding off my panties, I straddled him. His eyes were set on his dick, and he rubbed the head of it against me. When I moaned, he said, “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Do you like watching me do this?” I asked.

“Fuck, yes.”

“I love the feel of you against my pussy.”

He smiled warily.
Oops.
He was probably unsure what to make of me, because seventeen-year-old Nicki had never said anything like that during sex
.
My year with a dirty-talking Cuban was showing through to my proper British boy. It was time to cut the conversation anyway. I gave him such a forceful kiss he was flat on his back while I continued rubbing myself against him.

His hands reached down to my ass, and I said, “I want to feel you inside of me. Now.”

“Uh…”

Poor Adam seemed at a loss for what was happening. I still hadn’t even taken off my shirt. It wasn’t how I’d imagined our reunion sex would be either, but it felt right, and it definitely felt good. “Please,” I said.

He mumbled something about a condom, but I said I was on the pill. Then he mentioned taking my shirt off. I was too eager to finally feel him to go through that whole rigmarole, so I simply lifted up the front tails so we could both see as I slowly slipped his erection inside of me.

Adam and me together again was bliss—hot, blinding bliss. I sighed, and our eyes met.

“At last,” I said.

“At last.”

That was the extent of the romance of our second “first” time—then we fucked. It wasn’t long, but it was intense. We both ended up a panting, spent mess. As we calmed down lying on pillows, I traced circles onto his chest and he nuzzled into my hair.

“I love you, Nicki.”

“I love you.” I raised my head to give him a smile, and he quickly took the opportunity to kiss me. I was a little surprised that he was ready to go again, but if he was game, so was I.

He slowed it down this time and began to unbutton my shirt. When he discovered my lacy bra, he groaned. “I always loved your breasts.” And he went to work sucking and nipping and groping—all of which made me feel more wanted by him than I ever had.

My appreciative whines and moans urged him on more, though, as he began to move southward on my body. At first, I was excited at the thought he was going to go down on me, but then I saw what he was doing. He had stopped at the scars on my torso, tracing one of the silvery feathers that marred my skin. And then he did just as he always had—he kissed them, each and every one.

The eroticism of the moment vanished. As he brushed my scarred body with kisses, I could only think of how long it had been since he’d done it and how I had been sure he’d never do it again.

Whenever I was drunk, there wasn’t a lot of nuance to my emotions. They were always strong and demanded to be seen. If I was turned on, I wanted to have sex then and there. If I was happy, I wanted to giggle and giggle. And if I was sad, I wanted to bawl. So as I thought back to the times when I’d been certain I’d never see Adam again, tears came quickly, and I couldn’t stop them. They started as a quiet roll but only gained momentum as I relived my time without him.