Dare You to Run (6 page)

Because you know what you want.

She did. And there was no way she was going to get it, at least, not without putting him at risk.

Vitus Hale wasn't the only one who knew how to protect others. She really would have enjoyed getting the chance to tell him so.

*   *   *

“Turn around,” Kagan whispered. “You're about to miss what you came here to see.”

Vitus stiffened. He didn't need to see her. Couldn't really. Every muscle he had was tight and his cock was hard. It shouldn't be so easy for her to get to him. He was an ex-SEAL for Christ's sake. Controlling his responses was what he excelled at.

Apparently not, at least when it came to Damascus Ryland.

He forced himself to do an about-face. And it pissed him off to realize how hard it was to do it. But his temper fizzled out as he took in Jeb Ryland standing next to his daughter. Controlling his personal reactions wasn't the only thing he'd learned to do while being a Seal. He'd also spent a lot of time reading peoples' body language. Damascus's said she was fighting the urge to shove her father away from her. The good congressman was gripping her elbow, trying to look like he was simply standing by her side, but a closer examination showed his fingertips digging into her arm.

“Whoa.” Kagan shot an arm out, stopping him.

Vitus cussed under his breath as he realized that he'd been moving toward her.

“Daddy is a little unhappy.” Kagan stated the obvious. “Want to take a stab at the cause?”

Vitus tightened his control. “We know he disapproves of contact between us.” What stuck in his throat was the fact that Damascus was standing there taking it. She could have stayed with him. That was the thought that kept him standing across the room as Jeb Ryland finished up and handed his daughter over to another man. Vitus was grinding his teeth as Damascus went into the man's embrace and off across the dance floor.

“She's a little old to be jumping to do Daddy's bidding,” Kagan said.

Vitus sent his superior a hard look. “You know the type. They might like to play dangerously when the press isn't watching, but the moment their lifestyle is threatened, they fall into line. Damascus is a politician's daughter through and through.”

“Possibly.” Kagan's tone left Vitus wondering if his section leader agreed with him or not. With Kagan, it was wise to question everything and double-check what you thought you were sure of.

Damascus came twirling by, claiming his attention. Maybe he should question what he thought he knew about her.

Then again, maybe he'd be the biggest dumb-ass on the face of the planet to venture anywhere near her. The woman was his own personal kryptonite.

*   *   *

“What do you think you're doing, Damascus?” Her father kept a smile on his lips, but his tone was biting.

“Being a good hostess,” she answered back.

Her father's fingers bit into her arm.

“Need I remind you of the promise I made you?”

“No,” she said. “It's hardly necessary to let one dance bother you so much. It was expected, and now it's over.”

“It had better be,” he warned her. “I can make sure that man's mother has a flag to hang over her mantle. You know I have connections with the right people.”

“So you've told me.”

Her sire wasn't pleased with her continuing to speak. His eyes were full of determination, a crazy sort that sent a tingle down her spine. He might just be a touch insane. In the capitol, only the truly dedicated survived. This was something different though. If he wasn't her biological father, she'd swear he was jealous.

Even knowing that, she still battled to swallow her distaste. She was pulling on her arm, the pain increasing to the point of agony.

“Ah, Carl.” Her sire suddenly switched tracks, becoming the good-natured man he presented to the public.

It made her skin crawl.

“Evening Jeb.” Carl Davis reached out and shook her father's hand.

If possible, her misgivings doubled, because the two men struck her as reflections of each other. Both of them as fake as hundred-dollar diamonds.

“I want you to know Jeb, I am just bold enough to challenge you for this lovely creature you are keeping to yourself,” Carl declared as he held out a hand to Damascus. “Just because you're her father, don't go thinking you can monopolize her. I intend to get a slice of her time.”

“You do tend to get what you go after,” her sire joked good-naturedly.

Although it wasn't really a joke. There was true admiration in her sire's tone, something that could so easily translate into disaster for her.

Carl was grinning as he captured her hand and pulled her toward him. The musicians had struck up again, and he turned her into a waltz. But his hand slipped too low on her back, his little finger teasing the swell of her bottom.

“You are stunning tonight, Damascus.”

The compliment unnerved her, sending a warning through her brain. There was a flicker in Carl's eyes that hinted at possessiveness. Something she wasn't at all interested in.

“I had a wonderful lunch with your father last week.” Carl's hand ventured lower. She stiffened and watched his lips curve with satisfaction. “I think you and I should retire to some place more private to discuss the outcome of that meeting.”

“Excuse me.” She raised her voice enough so Carl was forced to release her or risk judgment from those close enough to hear. His grin faded but only for a moment. He flashed her a look that made it clear he was enjoying the chase.

“I need to go to the ladies room.” She ducked through an arch and down a hallway, feeling like someone had just tried to stick her head through a noose.

Well, in a way that was exactly what had happened. Carl Davis was slated for the next presidential nomination in three years. His wife had passed away from cancer very suddenly the year before, and bachelors didn't make for solid campaigns. Her sire had been shoving her toward the man ever since the diagnosis went public. What chilled her blood was the interest flickering in Carl's eyes. All she saw was the difference between the way Carl looked at her and the way Vitus had.

It was a stark comparison, one that left her slightly nauseated because there was no way she was going to settle for what she saw in Carl's eyes.

But that left her dodging him, and the only place to go was the garden. At least the night was nice. She slipped through another hallway and out into the garden. There were whispers and a few breathless sounds from behind some of the immaculately kept plants. She steered clear of them and made her way along one of the paths.

“Exactly what I was going to suggest.” Carl caught her hand and pulled her to a stop.

Damascus recoiled, her heels wobbling on the cobblestones. Carl used it as an excuse to reach out and cup her elbow.

“Really, Mr. Davis—”

“Carl,” he insisted in a low tone. “Now that I have your father's blessing, let's dispense with formality.”

She moved her hand in a wide circle and lowered it on the other side of his arm. Even though she'd only learned it from a book and practiced it alone in her room, the self-defense technique worked beautifully. Surprise flashed through Carl's eyes as she withdrew a few paces.

“I am focused on completing my doctorate,” she said smoothly.

“Admirable,” Carl answered. “And if I understand correctly, you should be receiving it within weeks. Which leaves you and I the summer to court before having an autumn wedding. I need to be a solid, settled man for the voters.”

“No thank you, I intend to use my degree. Good luck in your search for a bride.” Damascus turned to leave.

Carl's pulled her back, showing her an expression that was unyielding, betraying just how much he didn't like her hedging. “Let's cut the smoke screen, Damascus. I need a wife, the right wife. Your father wants to be my running mate. I want you, and I don't have time to play games.” He held out his hand. “Let's go back inside and dance. The press will pick up on it. Just the sort of coverage we all need. The voters will eat up the image of a new family in the White House.”

“That's the sort of thing you and my father”—the word stuck in her throat but she forced it past her lips—“need. Not me. Find someone else to be your first lady.”

Carl chuckled ominously. “I'm going to be taking your father as my running mate. For that, he's going to pay up, and I want you.” For a moment, his eyes narrowed, lust pulling his features tight. “I like knowing you've kept yourself clean. Can't have a first lady with too many lovers in her past. Your father and I already have an agreement, one he assured me you would honor.”

Her temper was so hot, it was a wonder steam wasn't rising from her forehead.

“Think again.” She was being daring, but she just didn't care. She was little more than an exotic pet to him.

“I always get what I want.” He made a grab for her.

Damascus lunged to the side, taking refuge behind a large pot with flowers in it. She grasped the rim. “I'll send it to the ground. The service boys will be here in a flash and the gossip will flow.”

He grunted but straightened up and fixed his suit jacket. “I like spunk,” he offered slowly, his tone rich with promise. “It's going to make getting a saddle on you a whole lot of fun.”

Damascus sent the pot toward the ground in response. It hit with a smashing sound that grated against the serenity of the garden.

“Bitch,” Carl muttered before he cut off to the left and disappeared.

The scent of the soil was just tickling her nose when the first sounds of running feet touched her ears. Her sire wouldn't like her being the subject of the wrong sort of attention, but she didn't give a rat's ass at the moment.

Someone grasped her wrist and pulled her through the wall of shrubbery behind her. Only half a sound made it past her lips before it was smothered beneath a hard hand and she was folded into an unbreakable hold. For a moment terror surged through her, the memory of being tied up and helpless rising from her memory like a huge specter. Her blood chilled, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might just break through her rib cage. She dug her fingernails into the hand over her mouth while she bit.

“It's me,” Vitus hissed against her ear as she tasted blood.

She gasped, releasing his finger and sagging back against him. For a moment, the world spun and she dragged in a ragged breath to fend off the icy dread choking her. Vitus snorted before pulling her away from the men investigating the broken pot. Her feet didn't touch the ground until they were out of sight.

“You're jumpy,” he said as he looked at the wound on his hand. Blood was spotting his white dress glove. He stripped it off and used it to apply pressure to the wound.

“The last time someone grabbed me like that, I ended up stuffed into a trunk.” The memory was in control of her, spilling out of her mouth. She suddenly realized who she was facing and pressed her own hand against her lips to still them before she said anything else. He wasn't a man who would take her shielding him, no matter how wise it was.

“Fair enough,” Vitus surprised her by saying. “At least your father seems to have gotten you some self-defense training. That was a nice little grip-breaking move.”

His praise cut through the memory chilling her, satisfaction making her smile. “I learned it myself. Jeb would never have approved.”

Once more, she was talking without thinking. She put her teeth into her lower lip as she realized the little bit of personal information she'd just let loose. She couldn't afford to make such mistakes. Especially not with Vitus—he was too astute, his senses too keen. She didn't doubt for a second that her sire would carry out his threat. And now, Vitus was studying her, trying to read her expression, breaking her façade down.

“I just … wanted to learn a few … moves,” she added in the hope of closing the issue.

“You've got a few more to learn,” he answered. “Like how to deal with an attacker who is behind you.”

“Why did you do that?” she asked, unable to keep the question to herself. It felt like it was burning a hole in her.

He pulled his remaining glove off and stuffed both of them into his pocket. “Why did you push the pot over to begin with?”

“It was a mishap,” she lied. It actually hurt because she wanted so badly to have someone to confide in.

Hah, you mean you want Vitus to be your hero.

She did, and she could never have that again, but the facts didn't seem to have much effect against her cravings.

Well, that summed up her dealing with Vitus all right. All impulse, no control. Straight forward with nothing but her cravings guiding the way.

“I would have thought you'd be happily on your way back to the dance floor with the good Carl Davis,” he said. “You always are Daddy's good little girl.”

“Don't embarrass yourself,” she snapped. “You don't know anything about it.”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “I know you told him all about what should have been private between us.”

“I didn't tell him,” she shot back before thinking. She realized her mistake when his eyes narrowed in contemplation. Vitus didn't know how to stay out of something, even when it was for his own good. That was why she had to get away from him before her muddled brain just delivered every last detail while she was intoxicated by him.

She turned to leave. “Flee” was a better word if she was being honest, but he caught her wrist and pulled her back. One second she was facing the path leading back to the lights of the ballroom, and the next she was colliding with Vitus. She put her hands up to break the collision, her wrist free just as suddenly as it had been captured so that both her hands flattened against his chest.

She shivered, the connection shaking her down to her heels as her toes felt like they were curling. He felt so good. So much better than the memory she'd been taking solace in at night when there was no one around to critique her.