Price Of Honor

Chapter Nine

Dusty glanced at her phone. Almost 2200. “I guess we ought to get going.”

“I know,” Viv said. “Three thirty’s going to come awfully early.”

Dusty made no move to get up and neither did Viv. She didn’t really want to go, but Atlas was waiting for her. He’d be fine in his kennel at the training center, but he was used to going home earlier and having her around almost all the time. They were rarely separated because she rarely did anything other than go to work and spend the evenings reading or walking Atlas through the streets for hours on end. He loved the walks and she loved watching—the people on the sidewalks, the monuments glinting like bejeweled palaces, the night sky turning from hazy orange and red to deep purple and midnight black. The splashes of colors were like the paintings in the museums she visited over and over again on her days off. Those were about the only times Atlas didn’t come with her. There’d been a time, briefly, when she’d been young, that she’d thought she might want to be a painter. Her parents hadn’t exactly discouraged her in so many words, but her father had gently pointed out that being an artist was no way to make a living and besides, there was no money for the kinds of materials she would need, to even see if she was any good at it. She’d contented herself with absorbing the natural canvases that sprang up around her every morning and night through the ever-changing seasons in the countryside.

“What were you thinking of just then?” Viv said quietly.

A flush crept up Dusty’s cheeks, heating them. “Sorry.”

“Why? You don’t have to tell me, by the way, but you don’t need to apologize either.”

“No, I…” Dusty pushed a hand through her hair, knowing she’d probably blown the evening. “I was just thinking about paintings.”

Viv’s eyebrow lifted. “Paintings? Why?”

“I was thinking that I didn’t want to leave, and Atlas would wonder where I am.”

“Oh,” Viv said quickly. “I’m sorry. I almost forgot about him. I’ve been selfish keeping you out here so late.”

Dusty shook her head. “No, it’s not that. He’ll be fine. But I was thinking that I don’t usually leave him except when I go to the museums.”

“Oh. The paintings.” Viv smiled softly. “I remember now. That remark about the Modigliani.”

“I wasn’t sure you heard that. I shouldn’t have said that out loud.” Dusty grimaced. She was making things worse. Why was it so hard to say what she meant instead of bits and pieces that came out all wrong?

“Why not? I’m flattered.”

“You are? Because you’re very beautiful, and I said—”

Viv reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Dusty, being compared to a magnificent work of art is not an insult.”

“I know, but you know, the Modiglianis are not exactly lifelike.”

“Not realistic as in a photograph, no, but they are memorable.”

“And striking,” Dusty said softly. “Mesmerizing.”

Viv’s eyes, so beautifully shaped and deep, deepened further. A faint blush tinted her cheeks. “There, you see. How could any woman be insulted?”

“I’m glad you’re not.”

“What else do you do? I mean, besides the walks and museums.”

“Not very much.” Dusty shrugged. She patted the pocket of her jacket and pulled out an eReader. “I like to read.”

“I imagine if a routine day is anything for you like it is for us, you spend a lot of time sitting and waiting.”

“Standing and waiting, usually.”

“Oh, right. Okay, let me guess.” Viv’s brow furrowed. “Something tells me you’re not reading thrillers or suspense. Not a work-related topic. You probably just can’t suspend disbelief long enough. History—maybe. But—I really think it’s…romance novels.”

Dusty straightened. “How would you know that?”

“Because of the paintings. You’re a sensualist.”

Dusty laughed. “Me? No.”

“Yes, I think you are.” Viv tilted her head, her eyes alight. “But all right. You tell me why you read them.”

“I like the connections people make in the books,” Dusty said quietly. Probably because she didn’t make very many in her own life. Her parents had been loving, but not very communicative, and she’d always been a little different. Too different to make close friends.

“You see?” Viv said quietly. “What could be more sensual than that?”

Dusty didn’t know how to answer. Her heart was beating too fast for her to think. Why did it seem as if Viv was looking right inside her and seeing everything she’d always felt but never figured out how to say to anyone?

“We’ll have to go to the museum sometime,” Viv said after a minute of silence. “You can show me your favorites.”

“You’d like that?” Dusty asked.

Viv stroked the top of Dusty’s hand as naturally as if they’d been touching for a long time. “I would. Very much.”

“What about you?” Dusty didn’t want to move her hand in case Viv realized what she was doing and stopped. “What would you like to do? We can do a museum one day, and then next time…” She hesitated, but the intent look in Viv’s eyes spurred her on. “What would you like to do the next time?”

“Oh, that’s easy. A Nationals game.”

“Really?” Dusty laughed. “I guess we don’t run to type.”

“Is that right?” Viv feigned indignance. “Are you trying to say a lady can’t enjoy baseball?”

“Sorry. It’s just that you’re so elegant and refined and—” Dusty broke off. “I think I’m making a mess of this.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” Viv said softly. How could any woman object to the things Dusty said about her? “But you know, I’m not really a lady. At least, not all the time.”

Dusty looked down at Viv’s fingers outlining each of hers. “A game would be great.” She looked up. “Except baseball season is quite a ways off. You’ll have to pick something else.”

Viv nodded, a big red caution sign flashing before her eyes. Dusty wasn’t playing games, she wasn’t flirting. She was totally honest. How amazing. How scary. “I’ll let you know when I’ve decided.”

“Okay. Whatever you like.”

Viv wasn’t about to say what she’d like. First of all, she didn’t kiss on the first date, and she certainly didn’t have sex after one dinner date. But she couldn’t help thinking about it, sitting across the table from Dusty. With every minute that passed, with everything new she learned about her, she found her more attractive, more intriguing. Physically she was gorgeous—tight bodied and strong—with piercing green eyes that focused on her with such intensity she felt as if she were the only woman in the room. Hell, the only woman in the universe. Dusty’s gaze made her feel at once incredibly desirable and desired.

Then in the next moment, Dusty would hesitate, looking slightly abashed and uncertain, and that vulnerability was so touching, Viv wanted to stroke her and assure her she was doing everything right. Just imagining stroking her sent heat coursing through her until glowing embers settled in the pit of her stomach and slowly spread everywhere. The desire was surprising because it felt so good and had been so long. She wanted more of that hot, heady sensation, but she wasn’t going to rush. Whatever happened between them, she wanted to savor every moment.

All she had to do was convince her body that waiting was a good idea. She released Dusty’s wrist in a fruitless attempt to temper the wanting. “My car is nearby. I can drive you back.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind walking.”

“It’s dark and cold. Please, I’d like to.”

“All right then. Thanks.” Dusty signaled for the check, they split it and then walked outside. Viv drove Dusty back to the center and pulled up in front of the main building. The only lights were those that lined the walkway leading to the kennels in the rear. She could scarcely believe she’d first laid eyes on the place a little over twelve hours before. That she’d just met Dusty, who she hadn’t stopped thinking about all day. “I’ll look for you in Chicago.”

“Would you mind if I texted you?” Dusty said quietly.

“I’d like that a lot.”

Dusty put her hand on the door handle. “I will, then.” She hesitated, turned toward Viv. “Thanks for asking me to dinner.”

Viv caught her breath. Moonlight shone behind Dusty’s head, illuminating the side of her face and the corner of her very sexy mouth. To hell with it. Viv leaned across the space between them and brushed a kiss across Dusty’s mouth. She lingered just an instant, memorizing the shape and texture of her lips. Warm and soft and silky smooth. She leaned back, the roaring in her head making it impossible to think. The heat in her belly bloomed higher. “Believe me, tonight was my pleasure.”

“Mine too,” Dusty said, her voice husky. “Good night, Viv.”

And then she was gone, striding rapidly down the walk and disappearing behind the building. Viv put her hands on the wheel and stared out the windshield. Somehow, her world had taken on a very different flavor. She was seriously in lust and dangerously in like. Both feelings were incredibly pleasant and equally terrifying.

*

The incessant beeping shattered a very lovely dream having something to do with being naked on a sandy beach under a blazing sun with Cam rubbing warm oil all over her butt. Blair groaned, rolled over, and slapped at the offending instrument. “No.”

Cam sat up, disgustingly alert as she always was the instant she came awake. Perhaps the only habit of hers that Blair took issue with. “It’s time.”

“Five more minutes,” Blair muttered.

Cam laughed softly and kissed her. “You can have ten. I’ll shower first.”

Blair pulled the pillow over her head and turned away.

“It’s time, baby,” Cam murmured again way too soon, kissing Blair’s ear. She drew the covers down, stroked Blair’s back, and kissed the side of her neck. “The shower’s all nice and warm and ready for you.”

Blair rolled over and sighed. “It’s still dark.”

“That’s because it’s three thirty in the morning.”

“I’d forgotten how much I hate this.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Yes, it is.” Blair put a hand in the center of Cam’s chest and pushed. Nothing happened, of course. Cam was a rock, and under most circumstances she found that immensely sexy. “I’m going and it’s too early to argue.”

“Then you have to suffer along with the rest of us.” Cam patted her butt, without benefit of the warm oil and sunshine. Or the beach and naked part. “Up and at ’em.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Muttering, Blair climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. The hot water helped revive her and fortunately, once awake, she got up to speed quickly. She finished dressing the same time as Cam. They grabbed their luggage and rode downstairs where Stark was waiting in the lobby. She looked bright and chipper as usual.

“Morning,” Stark said, walking to the door just ahead of Blair. One of the shift agents opened the door and they all trooped out to the waiting Town Car that idled at the curb. An agent opened the trunk. Cam and Blair piled their luggage inside and climbed into the backseat. Stark sat in front and the driver pulled out with the two follow cars right behind. Her father would fly from the White House to Andrews Air Force Base in Marine One. Everyone else would convene at Andrews by car—the rest of her and her father’s immediate security detail, the military aide, the president’s doctor and the medical team, the White House staff, a select number of the press corps, the communications officers, and the stewards who prepared all the president’s food. Everyone else would fly commercial to Chicago or in the C-17s along with the cars, equipment, dogs, and everything else that was necessary for a trip with the president.

Blair pulled up the latest schedule from Lucinda to make sure nothing had changed for the morning. Once they reached Chicago, she was to join her father for their first public appearance, a breakfast with select donors and political fund-raisers.

Cam took her hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” This trip felt a lot different than the first time she’d taken to the campaign trail with him. She’d been younger, for one thing, and something of an unknown. She wasn’t any longer. She’d been secretly a little resentful that first time too, having to take the place of her mother and help her father create an image that the public could relate to. She understood the need, but as much as she believed in him, as much as she loved him, she’d resented being forced into a role that required her to hide who she was.

Maybe that was why she’d had the affair with the French ambassador’s wife. Foolish and immature, looking back at it now, although Margot had been beautiful and surprisingly inventive in bed. Blair wasn’t hiding now. And she probably hadn’t even had to hide then. Her father had never asked her to. His campaign manager certainly had, and others had been less than subtle in suggesting that she keep her private life private. Well, that bird had flown. She took Cam’s hand, kissed her knuckles. “I’m ready.”