Thief: A Bad Boy Romance Page 23

  It’s the place out of a dark fantasy; the place that embodies the wicked and erotic underside of Washington. And, I might add, the place I only got into that night by pulling every single string and connection I had. The place with the masks and no names.

  “What’s your name?”

  She grins, those sensual lips pulling back as her eyes flash through the shadow cast by her mask.

  “Not supposed to tell.” Her tongue slides out, wetting those lips and making my cock throb in my tuxedo. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to ask, either. Those are the rules.”

  “Maybe I’m just bad at doing what I’m told.”

  It’s not even a line I’d ever use, but it seems like something someone in this place would say; whatever “this place” is. I mean, shit, I like pussy as much as the next guy - probably more than the next guy if we’re being honest. But a secret, underground, members-only sex club complete with a password at the door and phonetician masks like something out of a Kubrick movie? Yeah, that’s a first.

  She doesn’t say anything in response to my line, so I step closer. She doesn’t pull back.

  “How about you, beautiful.” I slide my hand up her arm, her skin like silk as I pull her against me. I can feel her body immediately give and melt against mine. “Are you good at doing what you’re told?”

  Those lips grin again, and I can see her chest hitch with a breath under the slinky black dress she wears. “Guess you’ll just have to tell me and see if I behave.”

  Oh fuck me. She wants this as much as I do. This is fast and forward, even for ME, and I want to say there’s something about the air in this place, or the drinks, or the thumping, sensual music. Or maybe the fact that there are people slowly taking clothes off and coming together in pairs and threes and more all around us in the sultry dim light.

  But it ain’t the place; it’s her.

  It’s something in the way I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Something about whatever scent she’s got lightly brushed across her neck that invades my mind. Or maybe something about the way those lips just beg for it.

  I pull her to me, and she whimpers as my lips crush against hers. I’m pulling at the strap of her dress, right there in the corner shadows of the billiards room, but she stops me, her eyes flashing something different; something quick.

  “Not here-” It’s the first chink in that sultry, sassy armor, but I get it.

  “Can we-”

  “Come with me.” And then I’m pulling her through the slow undulation of the room around us. Past bodies wearing only masks and the sheen of ecstasy as they move together. But we’re leaving all that madness behind as I pull her into the dark of the empty bedroom and lock the door behind us before shoving her up against it and devouring her mouth with my own.

  And then it’s just her and me, and everything that two forces like that coming together brings.

  I blink, and I’m back in this room now; this room that’s the polar fucking opposite of that room and everything that went on there. And right then, as I glance from my father, to my younger brother Dexter slumped in one of the couches and rolling his eyes, to our new President looking stern behind her desk, to Madison-fucking-Adams - my soon to be stepsister - that the last puzzle piece clicks into place.

  Oh holy fucking shit.

  Yeah, everything is about to change alright, but I’m not thinking about the fucking job anymore. When this marriage happens, the girl standing across the oval office from me looking at me with fire in her eyes like this is all my fault somehow is going to be my stepsister. We’ll all be one big happy family.

  The first family.

  And, I’m willing to bet, certainly the first family where the first son has been inside of the first daughter.

  Shit.

  3.

  This isn’t happening, this can NOT be happening.

  “Madison, take your coat off, for crying out loud.”

  I ignore my mother, still scowling at the man across from me as I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat, pointedly not taking his outstretched hand. He raises an eyebrow at me and rolls his eyes, as if I’m some sort of child that’s acting out of line here.

  As if I don’t have every reason in the world to be absolutely floored by this revelation.

  “Wait, so why can’t you just tell everyone now?” Major Ryan’s younger son, Dexter, the kid with sullen look on his face picking at his collared shirt and tie like they’re shackles or something rolls his eyes at his father. “Seems like it’s still this big secret if we still have to keep playing this stupid game.”

  “Dexter-” The Major glares at his son before putting a hand over my mother’s on the desk. The kid looks like a little shit, but I have to admit he’s got a point.

  “The wedding and your father and my relationship has to be kept in the dark for as long as possible, Dexter, because it has to be.” My mother - President Eleanor Adams - stands tall and squares her shoulders behind the desk. “It has to be or my opposition in Congress will hold everything up and not let a single damn thing I back or endorse through on the grounds of some sort of perceived scandal, because that’s just unfortunately the petty way things work in politics.”

  “Petty like keeping secrets from everyone? Oh that’s rich.”

  “Dexter! That is quite enough!” His father thunders at him, his whole body tensing up to his full military-grade poise.

  My mother puts a hand on his arm though and smiles at Dexter in that way she does that just seems to settle things. The way she does that’s had voters flocking to her in record numbers since she was running for local town council back when I was a kid in Oregon.

  “This town is a man’s game, Dexter. As much as we’d like to say it’s a level playing field, we all know damn well that it isn’t.” She frowns. “And it’s bad enough that I remind them all of their mothers or their sisters or their wives, but I will not have those old bastards treating me as such.”

  “I don’t understand why I have to be a part of this charade, and why is he here?” I scowl, pointing accusingly at Hunter.

  It’s a stupid thing to say, of course. Why wouldn’t Hunter be here? Even aside from being the son of my mother’s secret paramour, his father did just become Secretary of State.

  “He’s doing his part in service to his country, Madison,” my mother says with a shake of her head. “I know we’ve been over this. Hunter’s choice was to join the Secret Service after leaving the Marines. And he’ll continue his duties in the Service for appearance’s sake until Alec and I go public, at which point he’ll of course be removed from active duty.”

  I’m scowling right at him, and my mother suddenly catches the look and frowns at me. “Do you two know each other?”

  “No!”

  We both say it at the same time, far too quickly and far too loudly, which only makes the red flush in my cheeks deepen as I cringe into my coat.

  He seems to recover immediately though as he clears his throat and smiles charmingly at my mother. “I think maybe Madison and I met at one of the campaign fundraisers, Madame President.”

  ‘Madame President’; give me a fucking break, I think, rolling my eyes.

  “You were in Iraq, dude,” Dexter mumbles from the couch, glancing at his cell phone. “You didn’t have to go to those things.”

  “Well,” he shrugs, turning to grin at me. That wicked, wolfish, teasing grin. The eyes that pierce right into me, and that arrogant, cocky stance like he’s not at all bothered by the nuclear meltdown happening in slow motion in this room. “Maybe we’ve bumped into each other somewhere else then.”

  Please kill me right now.

  My mother turns back to me. “Well, anyways, you know perfectly well why you’re here, Madison. You’re here for damage control.”

  “Damage control?”

  My mother purses her carefully painted lips, and narrows her perfectly made-up eyes at me — eyes shadowed with a tint that polls the best with her target demographic, I�
�m sure — as she frowns beneath her perfectly coiffed shoulder-length hair — a style I’m positive is meant to make her appear “just like one of the other moms” with her female voter base.

  “Madison, you’re going to have to start acting the part, you know.” She shakes her head. “I can’t have the daughter of the President running around leaving school and airing her gossip out to dry.”

  I stare at her. “Mom, I left school because of Harry. Because he hit me.”

  Okay, when the daughter of a Presidential front-runner winds up in a law-school medical center with a black eye, a crashed car and alcohol on her breath, tabloids get hungry. The fact that the only reason I’d driven in the condition I had was that my asshole boyfriend had hit me after I’d broken up with him was a bit lost on them.

  And of course, the only reason anything got aired out to begin with was because of who my mother was. Any other mom in the world and I’d still be finishing my law degree. Not that my mother could be bothered to take that into account on her iron-march towards the White House.

  Her look softens. “Yes, dear, I know. And I’m sorry, you know that.” She stands tall and regal looking behind her desk with the dramatic American flag hanging behind her by the window that overlooks the great lawn. “But we’ve been over this, and we agreed it would be best for you to spend the semester here.”

  I know the story. Publicly, I’m taking a semester off to ‘explore the outreach possibilities available to me in Washington D.C. with my mother, the President.’ Checks have been written and handshakes exchanged en masse to ensure that the reality of me being on academic probation for drinking - not to mention my hastily swept away D.U.I. never sees the light of day.

  “I’m so glad you’re worried about my well being, mother.”

  President Adams rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen, Madison.”

  Dexter snorts from the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, grinning; “Oh man, this is juicy.”

  “That is enough, Dexter!” Major Ryan thunders again.

  Hunter steps up behind him and flicks his younger brother’s ear, which only has Dexter jumping off the couch to try and punch his older brother back. The room erupts as Major Ryan strides forward to get between Hunter and Dexter, my mother throwing her hands in the air and the two brothers squabbling.

  What the fuck is going on here? This is insanity. My mom and Alec aren’t even married yet, and here we all are playing out the part of the everyday, normal, dysfunctional American family. A fucked up first family.

  I cringe, feeling my cheeks go red as the reality hits me again. Family; the man from that night is not only here, he’s my new stepbrother. Alec has Dexter hauled back from his brother, a stern finger of warning in his face as he hisses at him to “act like a man.” I look up, and instantly regret it as I lock eyes with Hunter. Hunter who’s smoothing out his black suit as he looks right at me, a grin stretched across his face.

  Because this is funny to him. Because our history and its potential to absolutely shatter this office and the country it represents in light of what’s to come is amusing to him.

  Why the fuck did I agree to this? I mean, I’m twenty-three years old; I’m an adult. I should have just gone and joined my friends for the trip to Europe or something; something normal law-school drop-outs do. Not dress in Presidential looking dress-skirts and jackets with pearls looking like a Kennedy and smiling on the freezing cold lawn of the damned White House.

  I cross my arms over my coat and shake my head at my mother. “I still don’t know why I have to be here.”

  “You’re here, young lady, because we need to contain this.”

  Ever the politician.

  “My upcoming announcement with Alec is going to rock this office enough, Madison. I can’t have you running around out there being in tabloids as my wayward, college-dropout daughter with a drinking problem to boot, too. You’ll stay here, until after the announcement.”

  “Wonderful. I’m a prisoner.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m keeping you in line and keeping us both out of the papers. You’ll stay here in D.C. at the White House for the semester.”

  “Under armed guard I assume?” I say sarcastically. “A whole wing of security following me everywhere I go?”

  “Oh, just the one, actually.”

  The room goes a little quiet as I jerk my head back to my mother. “What?”

  She smiles broadly at me, like she’s about to deliver some good news. “Look, I get it, honey; I really do. You’re twenty-three, you’re an adult, and you don’t want your every move shadowed by a bunch of strange older men in suits, I get it.”

  Something inside of me pricks up, like a sort of sixth sense. “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ here somewhere?”

  “You’re only getting one agent, actually. One who we know you’ll get along with, one who is up to the task of protecting your well being, and one who-”

  “Who?”

  My mother flashes a smile at me — that big, warm politician smile that got her elected — before she suddenly turns to Hunter. “Someone close, and someone who can be trusted with family affairs.”

  Oh my God.

  The suit, the earpiece, the knowing grin, the smug look of amusement; it’s all falling into place.

  It’s all falling horribly into place.

  “Alec and I feel that Hunter is the perfect man for the job of keeping an eye on you.”

  It’s like everything's in slow motion as I whip my head around to look at him; him, the man with the piercing blue eyes, the smug look of arrogance on his face, and those sculpted arms crossed over his chest.

  Him, the man who’s now in charge of “keeping an eye on me.”

  Him, the man who made my body move and feel like never before. Him, the man out of a dark fantasy, who was supposed to stay there in the shadows of “that one crazy night.”

  My protector, and my wicked, dirty little secret.

  My stepbrother.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  It’s the last thought I have before I shove past him, blow out the door away from my mother yelling at me, and run headlong towards the bathroom.

  This is a catastrophe.

  A national catastrophe.

  4.

  “You don’t seem very happy to see me, Madison”

  “Fuck!” Madison jumps as she steps out of the hallway bathroom right into me and my questions. She catches her breath and glares at me as she straightens that creamy-colored skirt-suit that her handlers have dressed her up in, like she’s some sort of Senator’s wife. It’s supposed to be formal, and demure, and classy in a restrained, elegant way.

  It’s not supposed to be sexy. It’s not supposed to hug the curve of her hips and her perfect ass in a way that makes me want to tear everything off her but the skirt. Those heels are supposed to be restrained and chic; they’re not supposed to make me want to use them as handles as I drive my cock into her.

  I shake my head, clearing the suddenly x-rated slew of thoughts from my mind. It seems there’s a lot about this girl that isn’t supposed to be.

  She glares at me. “Perceptive, aren’t you?” She says with a scowl. “And don’t call me that.”

  “Call you what?”

  “Madison. It’s just Maddie.”

  I grin broadly. “What, not a fan of the double presidential reference?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s pretty funny that we’ve got a new President who names her daughter after two former Presidents, that’s what I think.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine, you’re right, I’m not very happy to see you.”

  I laugh. “That’s a shame, you seemed pretty gaga for me before.”

  “Uh, definitely not.”

  I smile broadly at her, remembering that flirt, that come-hither look, that teasing line. “Maddie, please.” I drape my arm over her shoulder but she quickly shrugs it off and shoots
me a dagger look. “Oh c’mon, I think we made some magic happen, don’t you?”

  She’s pursing her lips and shaking her head as she glares at me. “Are you making jokes about this? Is this funny to you?”

  “Is it not to you?”

  “No!” She hisses loudly, darting her eyes around the empty hallway before whirling back at me. “No, it’s horrible, and a scandal, and-”

  “See, I sort of like the sound of that, scandal.” I arch my brows at her. “Kinda hot when you say it out loud, huh?”

  Her mouth is open as she looks at me like I’ve got three heads, those pretty, perfect pink lips all pouty and open and aghast looking. “You would.”

  “Oh, please, you don’t even know me, princess.”

  “Fine with me,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, sneering at me.

  “We could fix that, if you wanted to,” I wink at her, and she blushes bright pink.

  “Um, yeah, no thanks.”

  “So, explain to me how the first daughter manages to get into a sex club.”

  That blush only grows deeper as she quickly drops her eyes from mine and looks at her nails. She turns to glance down the hallway before she shoots me another glare. “Well why were you at a sex club?” She says tightly and quietly, her cheeks flushing just by saying the words.

  “Because I like sex, obviously. Clubs I could take or leave.”

  Madison wrinkles her brow and makes a face. “Eww?”

  I grin at her, loving the way it just gets that red to flush even deeper across her lightly freckled cheeks. I’ve been formally introduced to this girl for all of twelve minutes, and it’s taken about half that time to know that there is something seriously wrong with the narrative of her being in a place like that pretty much ever.

  It occurs to me how bizarre of a meeting this is. Beyond the obvious implications of who we are — in the world and to each other — it’s sort of a strange feeling to be introduced to someone after you’ve been inside of them and after you’ve watched them come. The difference between us though is that I think it’s hilarious, and she clearly feels exactly the opposite.