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Marin and Griffin were as alone as they could be in a room filled with over a hundred people. She sauntered closer until she was a scant inch from his body. With a sly smile, she reached up to adjust the angle of his tuxedo’s bow tie.
“So how is my favorite G-Man tonight?” she asked softly. “The way you’ve been hugging that wall all evening, it looks like you miss being in the Secret Service. Are the cases at the Treasury Department not as stimulating as potentially taking a bullet for the president?”
He trailed a finger along her bare arm. Marin sucked in a breath at his touch.
“I love working at the Treasury,” Griffin said. He wasn’t lying; he did love working as a treasury agent. “Especially since my new job keeps me in DC with you. Tonight, I was ‘hugging the wall’ as you say so I could enjoy the scenery.”
Marin tugged him forward by his lapels so that their hips came into contact with one another. Griffin swallowed a rough groan.
“Nonsense,” she whispered. “You weren’t looking at any of the artwork. You’ve spent the past hour trailing me around the room with your eyes.”
“The very definition of what constitutes artwork is in the eye of the beholder.” He leaned forward and touched his lips to the tip of her nose. “And my eyes know what they like.”
“Take me home.”
Her sultry plea had his heart racing and the zipper of his pants causing him great pain. As much as Griffin wanted to take her up on her offer, he had other plans that needed to be executed first.
“We can’t leave yet,” he said. He maneuvered them out of sight behind one of the lighted ornamental trees. “Not while the dignitaries are still here.”
She nipped at his jawline. “It’s my party. I can leave whenever I want. And I want to go home. With you. Right now.” Her eyes were bright with passion and Griffin was having a difficult time remembering where they were much less what his plans were.
“Take me home,” she purred. “I promise I’ll let you touch my artwork. I might even let you taste it.”
Griffin was so bamboozled, he couldn’t think straight. He took her hand in his and not so gently led her through the crowd toward the exit. Marin giggled behind him. Heedless of the marine guards and other Secret Service agents standing at attention in the massive Center Hall, Griffin pulled Marin behind one of the marble columns and took her mouth in a demanding kiss. One Marin responded to with equal enthusiasm.
“Okay, you win,” Griffin said when he came up for air. “Let’s go home.”
A child’s giggle interrupted their flight toward the front door, however. Marin stopped in her tracks, turning toward the Grand Staircase. Dressed in a frilly nightgown, Arabelle sat halfway up the stairs, her fuzzy pink slippers clashing with the bright red carpet. Otto obediently waited at her side stoically enduring the feather boa his young playmate had wrapped around his neck.
“Arabelle,” Marin said. “What are you still doing up?”
The little girl scrambled to her feet. “I’m going to bed right now. I just had to give Agent Keller a message.”
Arabelle attempted a wink but failed miserably. She gave him a thumbs-up instead. Griffin stifled a laugh at the little girl’s enthusiasm. Marin shot him a questioning glance when Arabelle and Otto disappeared around the corner.
Griffin tugged her toward the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “We’re sticking with the original plan. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to admire your artwork later this evening.”
“There’s a plan?”
They rounded the corner leading up to the residence floor. “Yeah,” he admitted, feeling a bit sheepish. “But I keep getting distracted by the scenery.”
She smiled coyly as she squeezed his hand. Griffin led her through the double glass doors at the top of the stair landing, across the Center Hall and into the Yellow Oval Room. Marin sighed with pleasure when she crossed the threshold.
“You do know this is probably my favorite room in the White House,” she said.
“Mm. You might have mentioned it a few times.”
Marin pulled her hand free and gravitated toward a colorful antique toy truck in one of the bookcases. She trailed a finger along its tire.
“Did you know this belonged to Calvin Coolidge’s son? He died here in the White House.” A melancholy look crossed her face.
Griffin quickly moved to intercept her before she explored more of the room. “Can I show you my favorite part of the White House?”
“I didn’t know you had one.” She tucked her hand under his arm as Griffin led them out onto the Truman Balcony.
The warm autumn breeze lifted the hem of her dress when she stepped over the threshold. A yellow harvest moon hung just above the Washington Monument, dotting it like a lowercase i. Marin drifted over to the railing and sighed at the view.
“This is a wonderful part of the House,” she said with a nod. “The view is stunning.”
