Radclyffe - Honor Guards

"Like me?" Cam repeated, genuinely confused.

"Responsible and dedicated." Bonita patted Cam's cheek. "And so charmingly valiant."

Cam blushed. "I...thank you, Bonita."

"Come. Let's have our coffee and enjoy one another."

As they stepped into the kitchen and Cam's eyes met Blair's, she smiled. "Yes. Let's do that."

In Florida, in a domed, aluminum-sided hangar nearly the size of a football field, a man sat behind the controls of a flight simulator and practiced landing a jumbo jet He had been enrolled in the flight school for six weeks and had very nearly perfected the techniques needed to alter the in-flight directional patterns of the huge aircraft. When the time came for him to put his new skills to the test, he knew that he would not fail. He had spent the last six years of his life planning for the grand moment that was soon to come. When he was called upon, he would be ready to play his part in the greatest holy war ever waged. Smiling, he reset the simulator to reflect the control panels of a commercial airliner cruising at 30,000 feet and continued to train for his mission.

Renee leaned on an elbow, her chin propped in her palm, and gazed at her hand resting in the center of Stark's abdomen. Her own coffee-colored skin stood out boldly against Stark's naturally pale complexion. The contrast reminded her of how different they were. Stark was so steady, so solid, so willing to give of herself.

And me? What am I, really? Not as trusting as I used to be, if I ever really was. When did I stop believing in someone like you? When did I stop dreaming?

Stark shifted and her lids fluttered. The twitch of muscles beneath Renee's fingers ignited an answering tremor in her depths. She remembered the way Stark had felt inside of her, taking her so effortlessly—knowing instinctively what she needed and giving her such sweet pleasure.

You were so good. So very good. And I fell asleep on you, didn't I, sweetie?

Need rose within her, tight and urgent. But as fiercely as the arousal gripped her, her touch remained gentle. Watching Stark's face, she stroked her abdomen, slowing when Stark murmured restlessly, then resuming when she quieted, moving lower with each tender caress. Touching her, recalling Stark's hands, she grew instantly wet. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, determined to ignore the sudden pounding between her legs. Cautiously, she inched down on the bed, smoothing her fingers along the inside of Stark's thigh.

She could feel the heat in Stark's skin, and the answering flames within her own yearning flesh soared. All thought fled. Only sensation remained. The rich scent of their desire, the satin-smooth skin slick beneath her fingertips, the soft sigh of Stark's breath in counterpoint to Renee's ragged gasps. Resting her breasts against Stark's thigh, she lowered her head and placed a single, careful kiss between Stark's legs.

"Renee," Stark said hoarsely, resting her hand on the back of Renee's head. She'd opened her eyes and nearly cried out with the sweet pleasure of Renee's mouth against her clitoris. "God. Oh... jeez."

Never moving her head, Renee reached up with one arm and placed her palm between Stark's breasts, holding her gently but firmly in place. "Don't move. Just feel."

At the words, Stark's hips twitched and her legs tightened. Her fingers trembled in Renee's hair. "Could you...do that again?"

"Mmm. I was planning to." Renee closed her eyes tightly against another surge of arousal. She was in danger of giving in to the insistent pulse of her own desire when she wanted so very much to please Stark this time. Careful to keep her body from brushing Stark's, uncertain that she could avoid the temptation to assuage her need with a few well-placed thrusts, she shifted until she lay between Stark's legs. Wrapping both arms around her lover's thighs, she glanced up to find Stark's eyes, wide and slightly glazed, upon her face. "Good morning."

Stark swallowed and traced her fingers over Renee's cheek. Her voice was a weak whisper, but her smile was brilliant. "The best."

Renee couldn't wait any longer. She needed to give; she needed to take; she needed to lose herself in the sweet ecstasy of her lover's excitement. She used her lips and mouth lightly at first, alternating kisses with languid strokes of her tongue. Each fleeting touch wrenched a small sound of pleasure from Stark's throat that struck hard in her own center. By the time Stark's clitoris had hardened with an approaching climax, she was about to explode herself. Still, she fought back the waves of release trembling in the pit of her stomach and teased Stark's passion to bursting in her mouth.

"Renee," Stark cried out in shocked surprise. "You're making me come."

The sound of Stark's pleasure and the pulse of her orgasm against Renee's lips brought an ache so sharp to her own flesh that she reached automatically to soothe it. At the first brush of her fingertips against her clitoris, she came.

Groaning with the spasms twisting through her depths, Renee caressed Stark with soft kisses and softer strokes of her tongue until the last pulsations dwindled away. Breathing heavily, she managed to move up the bed before collapsing on her side with one arm around Stark's waist. "God. God, you're so gorgeous."

Stunned, Stark pressed her cheek to Renee's breast and clung to her. "I can't... I feel...oh, Renee."

Laughing quietly, her heart feeling lighter than she could ever recall, Renee brushed her lips over Stark's forehead. "Good, right? You feel good?"

Stark leaned her head back, laughing too, and finally managed to focus on the beautiful face gazing at her with such tenderness that she wanted to weep. "No. Not good. Fabulous." Renee's lips lifted into a satisfied smile. "Me too." "We don't have to get up just yet, do we?" Stark nuzzled Renee's breast and drew the already taut nipple into her mouth. She smiled at Renee's quick gasp.

"Oh, sweetie...not if you're going to keep doing that."

"I was planning to."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

C am stood in a ballroom with a vaulted cathedral ceiling, centuries-old works of art lining the walls and adorning marble pedestals and a symphony orchestra playing in the background. The atmosphere was lush and elegant, the room filled with diplomats and all manner of European aristocracy. She saw everything, and yet, in a very real way, nothing at all. The key to effective surveillance was to train oneself to be aware of the gestalt, but not to lose oneself in the details. She had seen everyone in the room at least once, noting the particulars of their mannerism and dress—not because she was interested in them, but because she needed to discount them. As each individual was evaluated and deemed nonthreatening, they became as indistinct to her as cardboard cutouts, featureless shapes moving across her field of vision but making no particular impression. That night, as always, one woman stood out in sharp relief against the background of gray.

Blair had put her hair up for the formal affair, somehow taming her wild curls into an elegant twist held in place with a delicate comb that glinted with a hint of diamonds. Her strapless black evening gown dipped low between her breasts and revealed a tantalizing whisper of thigh as she moved. A diamond choker rested in the hollow at the base of her throat. Despite Cam's peripheral awareness of the other people in the room, Blair was the focus of her attention. Anyone who moved near her, spoke to her, or even appeared to be watching her for an unusual length of time garnered Cam's intent inspection. At the moment, she was watching her lover dance in the arms of a handsome, dark-haired man she recognized as France's minister of defense. His palm rested in the middle of Blair's back, against her skin, which was exposed by the gown's low-cut back. Nothing showed on Cam's face as she watched his hand move in an indolent caress.