Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (8 page)

Kian

I slid onto the seat next to her and the agent outside slammed the door. The driver stayed in place up front, in case we needed to get out of there quickly, but he was behind a layer of glass and couldn’t hear us. Outside, the agents faced outward, watching for threats... but they glanced over their shoulders to let me know
I
was being watched, too.

“Ma’am,” I said cautiously.

“You’re not on duty now,” she said. “Emily.”

Emily.
I wanted to say it. I wanted to whisper it, pant it, growl it. But down that road lay disaster. I just nodded.

“I never got a chance to thank you,” she said. Her hands were twisting together in her lap, her fingers never still. Even in a bulletproof SUV, surrounded by agents, she was scared witless. How hard had it been for her to come all the way out here, to this dive of a place?

“Not necessary,” I told her. I didn’t say
I’m glad you’re okay
because she wasn’t. Clearly, she wasn’t.

I’d seen it on TV but I’d hoped it had just been momentary. Now, in the flesh, I could see the change in her. That energy I liked so much had gone, the light cruelly extinguished. She looked more fragile. And she didn’t light up the room, anymore. She
hid,
even when you were looking right at her.

That didn’t change her beauty but it changed how I reacted to it. Before, she’d been so damn pretty it had hurt. That face, that body... they brought out an animal need in me to grab her and kiss her harder than I’d ever kissed anyone, tear that white blouse off her button by button and then start working my way all the way up those long legs with my lips. But I liked her way too much to make her a one night stand and I couldn’t offer anything else... not anymore. So it had hurt, knowing that I could never have her.

Now, though, it was different. Now, it was goddamn heartbreaking. The fear was owning her, draining the life from her and making her shy away from everyone. I hadn’t kidded myself she could be mine... but the way she was spiraling downward, she wasn’t going to get to be happy with
anyone,
even the asshole oil tycoon I’d imagined her with.

It wasn’t fair. She’d done nothing wrong. She hadn’t asked to be born into this life and these risks.

I knew I was staring at her, losing myself in those soft green eyes. But I couldn’t stop. I figured this was probably the last time I’d ever see her and part of me wanted to just selfishly drink in as much of her as I could.

Meanwhile, she was staring right back at me. I could feel her fear easing, like when you pet a nervous animal and it slowly stills. Except I wasn’t touching her. I wasn’t doing a damn thing except being near her. And the longer we looked at each other, the more I could feel a different kind of tension building. Part of me wanted to warn her off, to tell her that she had no idea what she was getting into.

Part of me just wanted to dive across that seat, push her back on the upholstery and
own
her.

“How did you find me, anyway?” I asked. “How’d you know I’d be
here?”

She swallowed. “I didn’t. The agents asked at your apartment building. Then we went around the bars people suggested. This is the fourth we’ve tried.”

She must have been cruising around the neighborhood for a full hour, all while scared out of her mind. However strong of a hold the fear had on her, she wasn’t giving up easily. “All just to say thank you?” I asked, deliberately gruff.

“No. Not just to say thank you.” She looked right into my eyes and something passed between us. We both
knew,
in that second. We glimpsed the future: tangled sheets and clothes torn off, kisses so deep and goddamn desperate you don’t want to stop to come up for air. It was like looking down into a ravine. The sensible thing would be to turn around and walk away from the edge; the sensible thing would have been to get out of the car.

Neither of us moved. I’ve never felt so helplessly drawn to anyone my entire life. I watched as she finally dropped her gaze, the car so quiet I could hear every breath she took, and I knew she felt the exact same way.

“I need protection,” she said. And lifted her gaze to see my reaction.

She was right. Unlike all those assholes I’d been guarding, she actually
did
need someone. Not just from the physical danger, although that was definitely true. From the fear. She was sinking fast into a blackness I’d seen claim too many good people—a blackness that claimed
me,
in a different way.
She didn’t just need
safety,
she needed protection and she needed it on a deep, base level, the only level that could counteract the fear.

I understood that, because my need to protect her was just as basic, just as primal. And I knew that I couldn’t.

I could look after assholes in suits all day long because I didn’t care about them. I’d do my job, even take a bullet for them if I had to, but I didn’t feel anything for them. That was the way it had to be. I’d made that decision a long time ago, learning twice that caring for someone brought nothing but pain. I wasn’t going to make that mistake a third time. And I knew that being around Emily for any length of time was going to end with me caring way, way too much for her.

“You’ve got the Secret Service,” I told her. “That’s their job.” Then, despite the bitter taste rising in my mouth, I managed to add, “They’re the best in the world.”

“I don’t want the Secret Service,” she said. “I want
you
.”

Those final three words, in that wonderfully soft voice, almost burned through what was left of my self control. I could almost feel the fabric of her skirt under my palms: I’d grab her and pull her along the seat towards me so she flopped down on her back, mahogany hair streaming down over the edge of the seat like a waterfall. I’d hunker down atop her, one leg sliding between her thighs, making her gasp into my mouth as she felt the hard bulge at my groin. Then those soft lips would be under mine and—

Maybe I’d hear that gorgeous voice whoop and holler after all.

I forced the sound of her screaming her orgasm out of my head. “There are rules about this stuff,” I told her. “The President’s family is guarded by the Secret Service. I’m just a private contractor.”

She twisted a little more in her seat so that she was facing me more fully. That meant crossing her legs and the hem of her skirt rose a half-inch or so. Damn it, how could she manage to be so innocent and earnest
and
sexy as hell?

Her next words cleared all those thoughts from my mind. “But you used
to be Secret Service.”

I think my mouth actually dropped open. “You dug into my background?” I felt the anger start and not just the usual slow-burning resentment over what happened. This was sharper and fresher, making my face heat.

Shame.
I didn’t want her knowing. I wanted to be perfect in her eyes, which is so ridiculous it would have been laughable if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“I read up on you, yeah,” she said, crossing her arms. “I could pull some strings and get you reinstated.”

I sat there and stewed for a few seconds. Okay, so she knew. Nothing I could do about it now. And at least it provided a way out of this whole thing. “If you’ve read up on me, you know they don’t
want
me back,” I told her. “I got anger management issues.”

“You don’t
seem
angry.” She stared at me with those big, innocent eyes.

“Well, you’ve never seen me upset.”

We locked eyes again and, just to make her drop the whole thing, I let her see just a hint of that anger that burned inside me. Not just the surface stuff from what happened with the Secret Service, but the stuff from deep down inside, the stuff that’s so dark and thickly black it has no shape, no detail, just a boiling mass that’ll obliterate anything it touches.

I waited for her to back off. It always works. I’ve had Russian gangsters and Mexican drug lords take a step back when I give them that look. And at first, I thought it had worked on her, too. She shrank back, her eyes growing even bigger, and I felt bad.

But then it all went wrong. She rallied and leaned in towards me again and the look in her eyes was—

No! I don’t need your sympathy, dammit!

I closed my eyes and turned away, groping for the door handle. “Answer’s no,” I growled.

Emily

I put my hand out, but hesitated just before I touched him. God, he was so
big,
and right now every muscle was hard under his shirt. I’d gotten him angry and right now he put me in mind of one of the bulls back on my dad’s ranch when I was a kid. Once they got riled up, it was really dangerous to go near them.

There was another problem, too. Ever since he’d climbed into the car, I’d been trying to focus, trying to drag my mind away from fantasizing about what it would be like to touch him again. I hadn’t admitted to myself, until I saw him, just how deeply those blue eyes and those thick, sculpted forearms had etched themselves into my mind. It was only when I saw him again in the flesh that I realized how much I’d been replaying the memories... and the memories didn’t do him justice. He’d seemed big outdoors, at the park, but here in this confined space he seemed
huge.
He was wearing an eggshell-blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and the contrast between the blue and the tanned, hard flesh of his arms was amazing. The attraction was so strong it was almost frightening, as if just looking at him short-circuited every rational part of my brain. Did I actually dare to touch him?

He shifted his weight on the seat, about to push the door open and climb out. Did I dare
not
to?

I reached out and brushed my fingertips against his shoulder. He was incredible: so
solid,
powerful muscle bunched and taut under warm skin. I felt him stiffen at my touch…and then he relaxed. Only minutely and he let out a little hiss of frustration as it happened, as if he didn’t
want
to relax, as if his body was obeying me despite his wishes. He was fighting it: I’d bought myself a second or two, then he’d be out of the car and gone.

“I can’t sleep,” I blurted.

He said nothing. He was still gripping the handle and the door was open a half-inch. I could see a couple of Secret Service agents turn towards the car, unsure whether my visitor was about to leave.

“I can’t go out,” I said. “I’m not just scared: I
can’t.
I can’t make my feet move to walk towards a crowd. I can’t function like this. And it’s getting worse.”

He was still facing away from me but, if I angled my head just right, I could glimpse his reflection in the door’s glass. His jaw was set and I could see that massive chest rise and fall as he drew in angry, shuddering breaths. I knew I should be scared of him, especially when he was in this mood. He could twist around and lash out with one of those big fists and just one hit would be enough to do me serious damage. But I wasn’t scared. I don’t know why, but I had this deep, unshakeable certainty that he’d never, ever hurt me.

“I’m sorry I dug into your background,” I told him. I meant it. As soon as I’d seen the pain in his eyes, I’d regretted it... and I’d just wanted to take that pain away. “But I needed to know if you could help me. I think you can.”

Still he didn’t turn around. But in the reflection in the glass, I saw him close his eyes.

“I have nightmares and, when I wake up, I can still feel them. I can feel the knife going in or the bullet hitting me or the rope they’re using to strangle me.” I swallowed. “Sometimes, they do worse things. I wake up and I can still feel the guy on top of me—”

He suddenly snapped around to face me, eyes open, and gave me a look of pure, murderous rage that made the hint I’d seen before seem like nothing. It was so fierce, so uncontrolled and base, I felt it as a scalding heat against my skin. But again, it didn’t feel frightening because it didn’t feel like it was
me
he was mad at. It was like walking into a nuclear blast, gale-force winds made of fire that would annihilate everything in their path... but the energy was directed around me, slamming into the faceless men who pursued me and turning them to ash. The mere idea of someone hurting me, violating me, even in a dream, was enough to make him want to kill.