AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jamie swore in a long tirade of Russian. The language made all curse words sound even harsher than they were in English, and somehow made him feel better about the lying cocksucker that was Geoffrey Pierce.
“So does that mean you’re coming to the ballet tonight, then?”
Jamie could picture Aunt Helen’s face, triumphant that she had pushed all the right buttons.
“Count me in,” he replied through gritted teeth. The moment he rang off, Jamie hurled his phone across the room.
“Woah!” Chris yelled, jumping out of his seat and crossing to the other side of the counter. “What’s the matter?”
He wrapped his arms around Jamie’s back and gathered him to his chest. Chris’s broad chest and warmth were immediately soothing, and Jamie sighed into the soft fabric of Chris’s T-shirt, his arms finding their way around the narrow waist.
“Pierce is being a fucktard again,” he sighed. “He’s drawing attention to the fact that I’ve not been in public much since I came out of the hospital. He’s making me sound weak.”
Chris’s hand went to Jamie’s hair, stroking again. “Do you want me to punch him for you?”
A laugh escaped Jamie’s mouth. “Yeah, that would be amazing,” he said, a smile threatening to appear on his face despite his anger. “Then I won’t have to go to the fucking ballet with Aunt Helen.”
Chris’s fingernails started scraping Jamie’s scalp and he groaned because it was so good, so calming. It was almost like it was Jamie’s off switch—scrape your fingernails over his head and he’d dissolve into a puddle. It was impossible for him to feel mad with Chris doing this, impossible for him to do anything at all except close his eyes and drool like a puppy.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to have to mop me up off the floor.”
Chris’s chest rose and fell under Jamie’s head as he laughed and stopped the light scratches, allowing Jamie to raise his head and grin lopsidedly. Chris wasn’t smiling back, though—he looked serious and concerned.
“You’re not weak,” he said gently. “You’re doing your best. You’re doing amazing, actually, considering what you’ve been through.”
“Well,” Jamie replied with a small smile, “I think you’ve helped a little.”
“I’ve kept you inside,” Chris countered. “If it wasn’t for me, I’m sure you would have been out clubbing and attending luncheons or whatever it is you rich kids do, instead of holing up here with me.”
Jamie was grinning for real this time. “I’d rather do that any day than attendluncheons.”
Chris’s mouth quirked and he lightly slapped Jamie’s arm. “You know what I mean,” he mumbled.
Unfortunately, Jamie did. If they hadn’t had that conversation on the plane, and if Chris hadn’t been a member of Jamie’s old unit, then this would have been a very different four weeks. Jamie would probably have tortured the guy by dragging him to endless parties in Manhattan, showing his face every night in public. Jamie probably would have also given Pierce a lot more ammunition to use against his mother if that had happened, though. It had all turned out better this way.
With a smile, he wrapped his arms around Chris’s neck, pulling him in and giving him a small kiss on the nose. “Chris, whatever I do, somebody will find something to use against me. It goes with the territory of being the president’s son. Pierce is an asshole and he’ll do everything to bring my mother down, especially if it involves humiliating me. I’m used to it, and it doesn’t matter.”
“What does he have against you?”
Jamie smiled and shrugged. “I don’t think it’s personal. He’ll just do anything to push his own agenda forward.”
Maybe that had been true once, but now Jamie really wasn’t so sure. Perhaps Pierce was resenting the fact that Jamie had dodged so many bullets and now he was determined to put him down permanently. The thought was quashed as Chris took Jamie’s face between his hands and kissed him slowly, sweetly, lips soft and confident and so wonderful that it made Jamie melt a little inside. When Chris kissed him like this, Jamie felt like he could do anything. His eyes remained closed for a good few seconds after Chris stopped and rested his forehead against Jamie’s.
* * * *
Jamie stepped out of Aunt Helen’s limousine at seven thirty that evening, looking perfectly gorgeous in an Armani tuxedo. Chris walked just behind his left shoulder, Agent Ryan in front of them, and Agent Gregg to their rear with Helen Barratt’s personal security penning them in on the right. Cameras flashed and Chris was practically blinded, but he kept his hand firmly in the center of Jamie’s back. To anyone else it would look like Chris was just the Secret Service agent steering the president’s son through the crowds, but it was Chris’s way of reassuring Jamie that he was there for him.
This morning had been intense. Chris had been worried about Jamie all day, ever since the phone call to his Aunt Helen. He was vaguely aware of the Geoffrey Pierce issue, that the mayor had it out for President Barratt and was not above using her son as a means to get to her. He had the sneaking suspicion that Jamie had fallen foul of Pierce before, but nobody was offering up information—not Natalie, not Foster, not Jamie himself.
James Thomas Barratt bore the publicity with all the easy grace that Chris had seen on their first day together, and again at the VA. He had Helen’s arm linked through his and he smiled charmingly, laughing and answering questions with ease whenever a microphone was shoved under his nose. The Secret Service fought their way through the crowds and herded them through the doors of the Metropolitan Opera. Tonight’s performance wasLa Bayadère, whatever that was about. Chris had no clue and Jamie hadn’t been able to enlighten him either. He was just there to show his face and quell the rumors that he wasn’t coping.
At the bar, Chris watched Jamie order martinis for himself and his aunt, and he stood to the side with the other two agents as his charges mingled and chatted, mostly with Helen’s friends from the Upper East Side. It was fifteen minutes until curtain up when Agent Gregg’s voice sounded in his ear, and Chris stiffened, immediately making his way to Jamie.
“Pierce is here,” he whispered, his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. The man went still under Chris’s touch and his face, which had been bright with laughter, fell and grew hard, his jaw locking. It had barely been a warning, because right then Mayor Pierce appeared and made a beeline for them.
Geoffrey Pierce looked like a dangerous man. He was in his sixties but that didn’t by any means say that he was past his prime. He held himself tall, shoulders still broad and squared, face still possessing a great deal of its handsomeness of past youth. Pierce walked like he was stalking prey.
Aunt Helen noticed him first. She looked up from her martini and gave Jamie a subtle dig in the ribs before leaning over to murmur to him.
