Not Her Hero, page 12
Each car lurched forward at an angle, giving them just enough room to inch past and through the now open gate. Marc glanced over his shoulder, through the back window, and watched as both vehicles moved right back into position, blocking entrance to the governor’s residence once again.
He wondered who they were, which agency they worked for, but honestly, at some point, he needed to have faith in the system, so he let it go.
Noah drove straight into an attached garage, the door sliding closed before he climbed out and opened the door for Whitney.
No, the governor. Why couldn’t Marc remember that?
Probably because he was so fucking tired.
The governor led him into the house through a mudroom, where they both kicked off their shoes before stepping into a kitchen larger than any Marc had ever been in in his life. Kind of made him want to take up cooking, but that could be the lack of sleep and his growling stomach talking.
“Are you hungry?” the governor asked.
“Starved.”
“Do you want to eat first or shower?”
“Shower, definitely.” Another time, another place, and he would have taken food over just about anything. But they were safe now, and he needed to wash away the physical remnants of what had happened over the last two days. Needed some sort of closure.
“Come on,” she said, leading him deeper into the house. It was a ranch, the living space on one end and the bedrooms on the other.
They stepped into what he assumed was the master bedroom, based on the way it smelled like her. Not to mention, it felt lived in, and he knew she was a single woman, so none of the other bedrooms probably felt quite like this.
She strode through to the en suite bathroom. “Shower stall right there.” She nodded. “If you really want to relax, feel free to take advantage of the Jacuzzi tub.” Opening a cedar closet, she pulled out a thick towel and matching washcloth. “Here.”
She dropped the linens on the counter and tugged open a drawer, extracting a plastic-wrapped toothbrush. “I’m sure you probably want this too.” She placed it on top of the washcloth and edged away.
“I’ll ask Noah to get someone to rustle up some clean clothes for you. Take your time.”
And then she was out in the hall, pulling the bedroom door closed behind her before he could thank her—or tell her he’d be just fine using a guest bathroom.
Luckily, he was too damn tired, too damn emotionally drained to even fucking care that he was twisting the handle to turn on the spray of water in the governor’s personal shower.
After scrubbing his skin raw, Marc dried off and brushed his teeth with equal vigor, and then he stood there, naked, unsure what to do next. The governor hadn’t returned with clean clothes, and he couldn’t bring himself to dress in the ones he’d left in a pile in the middle of the floor. Frankly, all he wanted to do was burn them.
What the hell did he do now? Wrap a towel around his hips and go wandering the halls in search of her?
Or…
He eyed that Jacuzzi tub.
He wasn’t usually a bath kind of guy, but right now, in this moment, the idea of soaking in a tub full of steaming water sounded almost better than food.
Fuck it. When would he ever have this chance again?
He filled the tub. Added some of that apple cinnamon granular shit that was in a little ceramic dish perched on the ledge. It smelled like the governor.
And then he climbed in, groaning as he slid into the soothing, steamy water and closed his eyes.
Tap, tap.
Marc’s eyes popped open. He turned his head toward the bathroom door that he hadn’t bothered to close before showering earlier.
The governor stood in the entry, a tray clasped in her hands. She wore a pair of stretchy black pants and a T-shirt with a V-neck. Her feet were bare. Her toes were still bright red.
On the tray was a platter loaded with sandwiches cut into bites, a bowl of berries, two champagne flutes, and a small bucket with the neck of what looked like a champagne bottle sticking out.
“Uh…” He looked around for a washcloth or something to cover his nether region, but the only thing within reach was his towel.
“You’ve been in here for a while.” She lifted the tray. “I figured hunger was becoming a priority.”
It was, but this bath had been so damn luxurious, he hadn’t wanted to leave.
She took a step into the room. His gaze dropped to the clear water.
“You aren’t embarrassed, are you?” she asked.
“If you come much closer, I probably will be.”
She smirked while deliberately glancing down, even though he knew damn well she was still too far away to see anything of significance. “I suspect you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
He canted his head. “Are you hitting on me, Governor?”
“Only if you call me Whitney.”
Oh, he was definitely calling her Whitney.
“May I?” She motioned with the tray.
A certain part of his body was letting it be known that it really liked the idea of her stepping deeper into the room. He cleared his throat and waved her in.
She strode straight up to the tub and placed the tray on the ceramic ledge, plucking a sandwich from the pile and handing it to him.
“Thanks.” He accepted the offering, watching her face the whole time.
She was really struggling to keep her gaze away from the water. He swallowed the last bite and finally laughed.
“Why are you in here if you are trying so hard not to look?”
Her cheeks darkened, which was damn hot, frankly. “I’m kind of lousy at this,” she said. “Flirting. Dating.”
Whoa. His dick gave another pulse. “Uh, yeah, me too.”
To break the suddenly awkward silence, he changed the subject. “What’s the champagne for?”
She flapped her hand at the bottle. “It’s before noon. For some reason, it’s acceptable to drink champagne before noon but not wine.”
He chuckled. “Here, hand it to me and I’ll pop the cork.”
She reached for the bottle. He snaked his arm out and caught her wrist. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, and he surged from the water, wrapped both arms around her waist and hauled her into the tub on top of him.
Her shriek faded into a giggle as she draped her arms around his neck. “When this whole debacle started, my only plan had been to soak in a bubble bath and drink a glass of wine.”
He smoothed a wet strand of hair away from her cheek. “We can add bubbles if you want.”
She leaned away, glanced down at the see-through T-shirt molded to her breasts, the pants scraping against his legs. “I should get out of these wet clothes first.”
“I like that idea.”
“No. First, you should kiss me.”
He grinned. “My pleasure, Whitney.”
“You are trying to change my mind,” Marc said.
It was bright and early Monday morning, the first time he’d left Whitney’s suite since his shower yesterday. After a bath that ultimately turned very, very dirty, they’d dried off and he’d climbed into her bed and slept away the rest of the day. She’d woken him around dinnertime, offered him more food, and he’d eaten and gone right back to sleep.
He woke this morning wrapped around her slumbering form like a koala bear. She had turned into his embrace, and they’d made slow, sleepy love, like they had all the time in the world and weren’t in any hurry to climb out of bed and face the day.
Now, he sat at a table in the breakfast nook attached to her massive kitchen, with Whitney perched on a chair across from him. He wore a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt he suspected were borrowed from Noah, the driver, who’d introduced himself as a member of Whitney’s original security team. The guy whose wife had been in a car accident. An accident Brent had masterminded.
He was being charged with manslaughter for that one.
Currently, Noah was shadowing Whitney twenty-four seven, until they could backfill the open positions created by Brent’s plot to kidnap her.
Noah said he had literally nothing else to do except to think, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Marc could relate.
To-go boxes from a nearby deli were laid out in the middle of the table, plates with partially eaten breakfast foods in front of him and Whitney. Even Noah was eating, although he was sitting at the island, a discreet distance away.
Whitney’s laptop was open, facing Marc.
A job offer on the screen.
“This isn’t proper protocol at all,” Whitney explained. “But I insisted. I wanted to be the one to make the offer. It felt … fitting.”
“Fitting,” he echoed. Hell, his brain had staggered on “job offer” and hadn’t yet moved forward. He wasn’t even sure what she was offering him. Jesus, less than a week ago he’d been ready to work at the damn car wash.
She nodded. “You saved my life, Marc. You can imagine that I’ve developed trust issues over this. You’re the only person I’m willing to allow to protect me.”
She glanced at Noah. “Well, you and your team.”
He looked over at Noah too. The other man nodded. Once.
“Me and my team?”
“I’m offering you Brent’s position.”
Holy shit. She wasn’t just offering him a job as her security detail. She was offering him the job as the head of her security detail.
Holy shit.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine this is remotely protocol,” he said slowly.
“You’ll have to enroll in the MSP academy,” Whitney said. “Between the academy and field training, I think it takes about ten months to graduate.”
She glanced at Noah. He nodded.
“You can stay here while you’re in the academy.”
“I can’t do that,” he said immediately.
“I insist,” Whitney said, covering his hand with her own. “I want you here.”
Noah became hyper focused on his phone.
“I don’t know what to say,” Marc admitted.
“Say yes. We have plenty of time to figure out the details.”
Did he really want to do this?
He dragged a hand over his face.
Yeah.
He really did.
Epilogue
That was it. Whitney’s last speech was done.
Well, her last speech as governor, at any rate. There was definitely a plethora of speeches in her future. Directors of foundations tended to do a lot of talking, constantly asking for donations for their cause.
She was ready.
And she was all packed up. Her personal belongings had already been moved from the governor’s residence into the brand-new home she and her husband had purchased. All that was left was handing over her government-issue laptop and walking out of the capitol.
The ceremonial stuff had already wrapped. This was the real ending. And for the moment, she was all alone.
“I sure am going to miss you, Governor.”
Glancing up, she smiled at Ernie. He stood in the doorway, leaning on his mop handle, smiling back at her.
“I think you’ll like the incoming governor,” she assured him.
When she’d announced that she wasn’t running for a second term, her lieutenant governor had taken the opportunity to announce his retirement from politics as well. The opposing party had gone on the attack, had launched a huge campaign to try to win the office.
Another candidate had stepped up, one with a great deal of experience and ideals similar to Whitney’s.
Whitney had thrown her support behind the new candidate, had blatantly and unabashedly used the kidnapping attempt, specifically the reasons behind the attempt, to help the woman’s campaign.
It had been messy; the other party initially suggested the entire kidnapping attempt had been fabricated, and both Whitney and the new candidate had to go on the defensive.
It hadn’t been quite the landslide Whitney’s win had been, but it was enough.
“Oh, I expect you’re right,” Ernie said with a slow nod.
Something caught his attention out in the hall, causing a wide grin to take over his face.
“Marc, my man.” The two men bro hugged, and then Marc slapped him on the back.
“Is she ready to go, Ernie?” he asked.
Ernie eyed Whitney. “I reckon so. You’re both leaving us, huh?”
Marc nodded. “Starting this foundation is personal. And important.”
The Ray Caldwell Memorial Foundation. They planned to focus on funding causes that specialized in reaching out to kids with limited resources in rural areas. They wanted to offer these kids hope. Support. An opportunity to believe in themselves.
“Hey, you going to change your name when you start that nonprofit?” Ernie asked.
Whitney glanced down at the diamond ring encircling the finger on her left hand, sparkling in the waning daylight. “Probably not. I need all the arsenal that I have in my bag, and the reminder that I was once the governor is definitely a powerful fundraising weapon.”
Ernie laughed, while Marc strode across the office, around the desk, to her side. He pressed a kiss to her temple.
The first time he’d done that while they’d both been on the clock, she’d protested that it wasn’t professional.
He didn’t stop.
She didn’t mind.
Slipping her bag off the desk, he arranged it on his shoulder, then rested his palm against the small of her back. “Ready to start the next phase of your life, Whitney?”
“I am,” she said.
It was time.
* * *
Thank you for reading!
* * *
There are more books coming in this series!
In the meantime, if you don’t mind a hefty dose of heat with your action, flip the page to read a sample from Delicious Deception, one of the books in Tami’s Tough Love Romantic Suspense series…
Try this book next…
DELICIOUS DECEPTION
* * *
Welcome to Uncertain, Texas.
* * *
Surely wannabe executive chef Connor Rikeland could lay low in a tiny town with a name like Uncertain, Texas, right? The bad guys would never think to look for him there, would they?
* * *
Bonus that a bustling Cajun restaurant situated on the East Texas bayou was in desperate need of a new head chef. And it was no hardship that the owner of the restaurant was the sweet and delectable Emily Kate Boudreaux.
* * *
Oh yeah, Connor could get used to this lifestyle. So long as the bad guys—or Emily Kate’s FBI agent brother—don’t come knocking.
* * *
TOUGH LOVE SERIES
Naked Truth
Undercover Heat
Delicious Deception
Chapter One
Don’t panic.
Connor shot another glance over his shoulder as he made his way through the crowded Lucky Belle Casino, twisting his body to slide between two elderly ladies who were discussing which machine was more likely to have a bigger payout.
They’re all rigged, ladies. You came to the wrong place if you’re thinking to grow your kids’ inheritance.
He didn’t say this out loud, of course. Instead, he offered a tense, fleeting smile and continued on his way toward the exit. He needed to get the hell out of this place—fast.
And inconspicuously, he reminded himself as he sucked in a breath through his nose and focused on slowly putting one foot in front of the other. He glanced at the ceiling, noting the dark bubbles sticking out every few feet. He knew they contained cameras that could see every damn inch of this place. If that weren’t enough, there were a few dozen big, burly men dressed in suits standing around, presumably keeping the peace. And there were another dozen who got to dress in Bermuda shorts and sandals with black socks so they blended with the players.
Connor Rikeland knew far too much about the inner workings of this place. It was time to cut his losses and part ways.
He turned his head away from the view of Big Brother and slammed into another body. The guy was about six inches shorter than Connor with mousy brown hair and a weasel-like face. On impact, he wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist, practically giving him a hug.
“Shit, I’m sorry, man.” The guy released him and backed away, raising one hand as if in surrender.
“Yeah, no problem,” Connor replied, his gaze already focused on the door that was less than 50 feet away. Fifty feet to freedom. “My fault. Good luck in there.” He stepped around the man and continued toward the exit.
It wasn’t until he was in the cab of the truck he’d rented for the weekend that he realized the collision hadn’t been an accident at all.
“Son of a bitch, that guy stole my wallet!”
He banged on the steering wheel, his frustration level at an all-time high. Ten years as a sous-chef in the kitchen of one of Detroit’s top restaurants had certainly provided plenty of frustration in his life, and even that didn’t compare to what he felt at that moment.
Of course, it was that same restaurant that had gotten him into this predicament, but who was he to split hairs? Not now, at any rate.
“How the hell am I supposed to get home?” he asked out loud, even though he was alone in the truck. He glanced at the side mirror, noticed two suits walking through the parking garage, heading his way. He recognized both of them. He’d been made.
“Time to hightail it out of Dodge.” Connor cranked the engine and tore out of the garage. With any luck, he’d get pulled over and get tossed into jail for driving without a license. Except he’d heard rumors about shady politics in Louisiana, so maybe getting thrown in jail wasn’t his best option.
