When she'd stripped off her jacket and eased out of her weapon harness, she walked to the windows overlooking Gramercy Park and stared across the treetops at the penthouse of Blair's building. She thought about her up there now, in that space that should have been a haven. The windows in Blair's loft that faced the street were bulletproof, the fire escape ended one level below her floor, and the skylights on the roof above were crisscrossed with woven titanium mesh that would require a blowtorch to cut. A posh fortress, but a subtle prison nonetheless. Cam couldn't blame Blair for hating it. She couldn't even blame Blair for being angry with her. She wished she could change it, but the facts of Blair's life were beyond anyone's control. She turned away from the image of Blair's smile and the memory of Blair in her arms. Wanting her would not help either of them now.


*


After Cam left her loft, Blair waited motionless on the other side of the door, listening to the faraway hum of the elevator climbing to the penthouse to carry Cam downstairs. Long after she knew Cam was gone, she waited, foolishly hoping that she might return. By the time that she finally turned back into her empty apartment, she had managed to replace longing with anger, a familiar antidote to disappointment.


Then, she needed only to convince her body that she no longer cared. Cam's arrival that morning had been so unexpected she hadn't done anything except react. Few women had ever been able to excite her the way Cameron Roberts seemed able to do with little more than a smile, and it was one of the things that made her security chief so frightening. Blair made a point of keeping everyone at arm's distance, physically and emotionally, and she had failed miserably with Cam. Walking through the loft, she was still throbbing with the aftermath of unanswered arousal. She was so angry with herself for allowing this to happen that even her body's automatic response seemed like a betrayal.


"Shower," she muttered under her breath, shedding clothes as she crossed to the partitioned area in the corner that adjoined her sleeping alcove. She twisted the dial and stepped under the still-cold spray, gasping at first contact. Her nipples were still full and tender from the recent stimulation, and the wetness between her legs was not from the rivulets of water running down her body. She leaned against the far wall and let the warm cascade engulf her. She closed her eyes, and that was a mistake.


As soon as she surrendered to the soothing beat of the water on her skin, she saw Cam's face again. She felt Cam's body along the length of her own as they had pressed together against the door. She imagined Cam's hands on her, just as she had imagined them many times during the weeks they had been apart. Ordinarily such remembrances produced just a pleasant hum of pleasure, but she was already aroused, painfully so. The pinpricks of heat on her skin seemed to streak directly between her legs, and the tingling pressure building there warred with her self-control.


She would not think about her.


She grabbed soap and began to lather her neck and chest, smoothing her palms over her breasts and stomach. The sensation of her fingers passing over her nipples made her gasp. Without consciously meaning to, she caught one between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed, arching her back slightly into the warm spray as the sharp pinpoint of pleasure-pain seared down her spine. It was too good, too good not to lift her hands and cup both breasts, squeezing as she rhythmically twisted her erect nipples until all she could feel was a steady burning pleasure beneath her fingertips.


She pressed her shoulders harder against the rear shower wall as her legs began to tremble. She ached inside. Still massaging her breasts with one hand, she pressed the other to her stomach, running her fingers lightly over her skin, moving lower with each stroke. Her pulse beat between her legs like a second heart. She knew how hard she was, had felt the stiff swelling as she had straddled Cam's thigh. If she touched herself, she would never be able to stop. She had been ready the minute her lips had found Cam's mouth. She was always so damn ready for her. She imagined Cam's fingers where her own brushed through the hair at the base of her belly and her clitoris twitched.


"Ah god," she whispered, eyes still closed, shuddering at the memory. She needed to ease the pressure, couldn't think of anything else. Her fingers slid lower, one on either side of her distended clitoris. Her hips jerked as she squeezed lightly, and she had to brace herself with one arm against the wall to keep from falling.


Her mind was empty of everything except the exquisite sensation of her fingertips rubbing over her blood-engorged flesh. She was dimly conscious of her muscles quivering and the pounding pressure of her orgasm building. Faintly, she heard herself whimpering with each teasing stroke. Neck arched, she thrust her hips steadily back and forth as her hand move faster between her legs, setting her nerves on fire. When the inferno roared in her pelvis and scorched along her veins, she choked back a cry, her fingers squeezing down with each spasm, milking each pulsation to the very end.


When the contractions that ripped through her finally quieted, Blair leaned weakly forward into the spray, her arms outstretched, palms against the opposite wall, barely able to stand. Her body was satisfied, but she took no satisfaction from it.


"Damn you, Cameron," she whispered.




Chapter Four

At 1255 Cam approached Blair's building. Two things occurred simultaneously. The earphone connected to her radio transmitter crackled to life and she saw Blair Powell flag down a Checker cab, slide into the rear seat, and disappear as the vehicle pulled away into traffic.


"Commander, please be advised that Egret is flying solo," Mac's voice informed her. "Unit one has been detached but does not have visual."


She turned abruptly, stepped into the street, and hailed one of the many taxis passing by, practically walking in front of it to get it to stop. As she pulled open the front door, she extended a hand displaying her open badge folder and said, "I need you to follow that cab up ahead."


The taxi driver stared at her. "You're kidding, right?"


Cam shook her head, her eyes following Blair's vehicle around the square. "I wish I were. You're going to lose them if you don't get going."


It was something about the utter stillness in her face and the unnatural calm in her voice that made him face forward, sit up straight, and, with his hands gripping the wheel tightly, execute a performance of New York City driving that would have won him a trophy at Daytona. He pulled to stop ten feet and twentyfive seconds behind the cab that had carried Blair to a small coffee shop deep in the heart of Greenwich Village.


"Thanks," Cam said, handing him a twenty as she stepped out.


He leaned across the seat to look up at her. She looked familiar and he thought he finally understood. "You're making a movie, right?"


She didn't answer. She was already halfway across the sidewalk. She entered the small storefront cafe and immediately saw Blair at a small table in the rear with another woman. Blair looked up, her eyes meeting Cam's, but she gave no sign of recognition. Cam threaded her way through the few tables to the counter and ordered a double espresso. While she waited, she glanced around the room, noting the location of exits and the general position of the few patrons, mostly twentysomethings reading newspapers.


She paid and picked up the small espresso cup, moving to the far corner of the room diagonal to where Blair was seated. She sat at a small circular table for two, her back to the wall. From there she could watch the front and rear doors as well as everyone in the room without infringing on Blair's conversation. She would have been happier to have a car out front in case they needed to leave quickly, and she hoped that Paula Stark and her partner would arrive momentarily. She had seen them getting into one of the unmarked vehicles in front of Blair's apartment building as she went by in the cab.


Fortunately, most civilians didn't recognize Blair when she went out dressed casually, with her hair down and wearing little or no makeup. Today, in jeans, a cotton V-neck sweater over her T-shirt, and scuffed boots she looked like most of the younger denizens of the neighborhood. The man-on-the-street usually recognized public figures only when they were attired formally and placed in the appropriate surroundings. That was the one thing that made Cam's job easier. Because Blair Powell certainly didn't.


"Commander," Paula Stark's voice asked in her ear.


"Yes," Cam murmured, tilting her head slightly as she listened to Stark relay her position. She gave Stark her exact location and informed her that she'd stay inside with Blair. "Just maintain in the vehicle outside."


"Roger that," Stark replied morosely, wondering just how pissed off her commander was going to be that they had let Blair Powell walk right out of the building unescorted. Blair hadn't done anything like that in so long that when she said she was going to the lobby to get her mail, they hadn't brought the car around front in the event that she pulled one of her old tricks. They lost two minutes mobilizing when they finally realized that Blair had exited the building and was hailing a cab. Stark sighed and settled back to watch the door to the cafe and the people going in and out.


Forty minutes later, the statuesque blond with Blair stood up and crossed the room to Cam's table. She leaned down and said in her low throaty voice, "How nice to see you again, Commander. Blair tells me that you're back in charge of her."


Cam shifted slightly so that she could keep Blair in her sightline. "I'm not sure I'd phrase it precisely that way, Ms. Bleeker," she said, a faint smile on her face, her eyes following Blair as she gathered her things.


"Actually, Blair didn't put it exactly that way either. It was quite a bit more colorful the way she described it," Diane Bleeker said provocatively. In fact, Diane had sensed that Blair was on the verge of tears through much of the conversation, although she wasn't certain if they were tears of anger or tears of pain. Even if she were right, she knew that Blair would never give into them, particularly when the woman at the heart of her distress was sitting fifteen feet away. No one who didn't know Blair very well would even have realized how distraught she was. Diane knew because she and Blair had been friends since they were teenagers together at prep school, and she knew because six weeks ago Blair had asked to use Diane's apartment while Diane was in Europe. It had been a long time since Blair had brought a lover to Diane's, because Blair rarely slept with anyone more than once and rarely planned for it in advance. You didn't need to plan an anonymous liaison with a woman you met by chance in a dark bar or at a high-society fundraiser. When Diane had asked her whom she was planning on seducing, Blair's silence had been telling. Whoever she was, she mattered, and Diane had a very good idea just who the woman might be.


During a brief moment of madness, Diane contemplated informing the strikingly handsome, dark haired security agent that she was making the biggest mistake of her life. If she chose to be Blair's protector rather than her lover, no matter how noble her motives, Blair would never forgive her. But Diane knew she wouldn't say anything, today or any other day, and she wasn't altogether proud of the reasons why. Despite her long friendship with Blair, they had always been attracted to the same women, and most of the time they had been good-natured about the competition because it was all in fun. The chase, the seduction, the consummation. This time it was different. For Blair to admit any feelings at all for a woman, it had to be serious. Even knowing that, Diane couldn't deny the quick surge of attraction she felt every time she saw Cameron Roberts.


"It was nice to see you again," Cam said, rising, but her attention was on Blair, who was walking toward the front door. "If you would excuse me," Cam said politely, as she stepped away to follow Blair.


Out on the street, Blair turned and watched Cam come through the door. At the same time, Paula Stark stepped out of the car which had been idling across the street from the cafe. Cam waved her back and walked over to Blair.