"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.

Across the room, Mac systematically swept the huge space, pausing briefly at each exit to take note of who stood there— someone lingering near a doorway could easily be a lookout or a triggerman. He saw only the gently milling mass of suave men and beautifully adorned women. He also saw his colleagues—the six who were in the room. There were four additional agents on perimeter duty outside. His gaze halted on his chief as he followed her line of sight to Egret. From fifty feet away, he could see her dark eyes smoldering. Someone who didn't know her wouldn't notice her tension or her fury, but he had grown used to deciphering her state of mind by reading her body language and the message in her eyes. He had learned that she never voluntarily gave any indication of her feelings. Not for the first time, he was glad not to be in her shoes. He didn't shrink from the responsibility, and, in fact, was proud that he was usually the commander's first choice for team leader when she was off duty or otherwise unavailable. He did not, however, envy her, knowing that she was often forced to behave as if she had no personal relationship whatsoever with Egret. While never doubting that she could carry out her responsibilities in terms of Egret's security, he couldn't even guess at how much that restraint cost her emotionally.

"You're monopolizing Ms. Powell, Claude," a rich contralto voice complained playfully. A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman wearing a deep burgundy dress took Blair's arm and with a sly smile drew her away from the obviously displeased man. "How are you, darling?"

"I'm eternally grateful for the rescue," Blair murmured as she smiled and nodded to several individuals who greeted her as she walked slowly to the edge of the dance floor with her companion. "I was running out of polite conversation."

The woman, twenty years Blair's senior but still sensuously beautiful, tilted her head and laughed. "I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. In the past, you would have sent him running with his tail between his legs in a matter of minutes."

"I was practicing diplomacy."

"You never saw the need for that before, as I recall." She drew Blair closer, brushing her breast against Blair's arm as she did so. When she felt no response from Blair, she laughed again. "You've changed."

Blair looked over to where she had last seen Cam and smiled softly as her eyes met her lover's, "Yes. I have."

"Ah..." Her companion followed Blair's gaze. In a voice verging on a purr, she said, "There's something about a long, tight body in a tuxedo that always makes me wet."

"Then I see you haven't changed, at least."

"She's the one all the fuss is about, I take it."

They stopped by a large marble pillar out of the stream of activity. Blair had a headache from making polite conversation with too many people for too many hours. All she wanted to do was shed her clothes, put her feet up, and enjoy a few quiet minutes with Cam. She sighed, seeing no point in denying what everyone was aware of.

"Yes."

The press had been waiting once again when she'd arrived at the presidential palace. They'd shouted variations on the same questions that they had bombarded her with the day before, and she once again made no comment. Although none of the guests mentioned the news articles, she had been aware of a few pointed stares during the evening.

"Is she anywhere near as good as she looks?" the woman asked.

Unoffended, Blair nevertheless ignored the question. "I'm going to make my way over to the president and his wife and pay my respects. I have an early-morning flight back to the States tomorrow, and I'm tired."

The dark-haired woman slid her arm around Blair's waist and leaned against her, her thigh pressing into Blair's hip. "We could slip away to my apartment for an hour or two. Remember how much fun that used to be?"

Blair couldn't. All she could remember was the empty pleasure of stealing a few hours of freedom that never truly felt free, and the moments of physical satisfaction that were even less gratifying. "I don't think so. Thanks."

"You can't mean to tell me that you're serious about this woman? An affair is one thing, but—really, Blair. Even if you don't care about the politics, it's social suicide."

"You know that's never mattered to me," Blair said quietly.

"I know that you always pretended that it didn't," her companion countered. "That's one of the many things I found so exciting about you. But you're young yet, and something like this could haunt you forever."

"You're absolutely right." A smile flickered across Blair's face. "Which is why I have absolutely no intention of letting her go."

The beautiful woman leaned close and kissed Blair lightly on the lips. "I'll miss those special moments with you, darling."

"Take care," Blair whispered before she slipped away.

Blair had crossed only a small part of the room when Cam appeared at her side. She slowed and smiled at her lover. "Hello."

"Ms. Powell," Cam replied quietly. She was close enough to touch her, but she did not.

"I'm ready to go home."

With a casual gesture that might have been interpreted as merely a brush of her hand through her hair, Cam murmured into the minuscule communicator on the undersurface of her left wrist, "Stark, bring the vehicle to the west entrance."