Dare You to Run (5 page)

So she'd left Vitus and let him think it was her choice. Being a liar was a small cost to pay in return for knowing the man she loved would live.

*   *   *

“Tonight's ceremony will be a little more personal than the last one you assisted with,” the liaison explained to her.

Damascus felt a tingle touch her nape. She wasn't sure just why, only that it felt like the world was tilting off-center.

“I'm sure you're excited to finally get the chance to personally thank your rescuer…” The liaison continued without noticing what effect her words were having. She kept right on walking through the back corridor toward the reception room, which was already crowded with press. They were stacked deep, their security badges hanging around their necks in plain view of the Secret Service as they waited to capture a shot worthy of the front page.

“I don't understand,” Damascus said, but she was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that gripping sort of sensation that only one man on the face of the planet had ever given her.

The liaison looked over her shoulder and flashed her a smile. “It does take time to get a SEAL to attend one of these medal functions.”

Damascus froze. It felt like her lungs had just seized up, suspending her between breaths. Something deep inside her was stirring, straining against the bonds she'd imprisoned her emotions for Vitus with.

“Are you all right?” The liaison's voice rose in pitch, drawing the attention of two of the Secret Service. They jerked their attention toward her, sweeping her from head to toe.

“Yes.” Damascus pushed her response through frozen lips. The last thing she needed was attention drawn to the moment. Her sire would jump on that as proof she wasn't as docile as he believed.

There was no way she was going to see her carefully plotted plan turned into Swiss cheese.

And then what are you going to do?

She had no idea, only that she had to hold onto her composure or place the man she loved at risk. She would simply have to find a way to maintain her poise.

Which of course was something she had never been able to do when it came to Vitus Hale.

*   *   *

The press loved medal-pinning ceremonies. Well, at least they enjoyed them when there wasn't something juicier to sink their cameras into.

“Are you ready Ms. Ryland?” the liaison asked nervously.

“Of course,” Damascus replied. But she knew what the woman was seeing. There was sweat on her forehead. Her professional makeup held up, but the little dots of perspiration were still there to betray her agitation.

Hell, it was full-on terror.

Damascus ended up running her hand across her forehead again and chided herself the moment she realized she'd done it. The press loved to get bad pictures of everyone. She knew better than to give them an opportunity, but her focus was slipping. The stage was set, the presidential podium in place along with the medals being awarded. Everyone was waiting for the president to begin the proceedings.

Vitus was there, so close and yet so far away.

Her heart was pounding, anticipation so gripping that she struggled to pull in each breath. The liaison was casting nervous looks at her, no doubt trying to decide if she was another fragile politician's daughter who would need delicate handling to make it through what should have been a breeze. Damascus cringed and focused on just how much she detested that type of woman. The ones she brushed elbows with on the White House lawn and in the ballroom. The ones who were too far detached from reality, rarely venturing to the bathroom without one of their personal assistants trailing them.

She refused to be that fragile. She had strength, had scraped it up from the darkest moment of her life when death shimmered like a reward. That moment when Vitus had rescued her from men who viewed her as a means to success in their venture.

So, she'd make it through today, through seeing him once more, through making it appear as if he wasn't the man she loved.

The press surged to life as a man entered the stage, moving across it with solid purpose. Camera lenses were lifted into position as he welcomed them all and introduced the president.

She knew the speech by heart, the accolades for service rendered above and beyond the scope of duty. The words outlining how grateful the nation was and how privileged the president felt at being able to award the medals waiting for their recipients.

She lost track of what the president was saying as four men came onto the stage. The Secret Service guided each one into position, stopping them precisely where small pieces of tape were secured to the carpet. They were all in dress uniform, but her attention settled on Vitus Hale. He stood at ease, even though she knew without a doubt he was anything but. His body was perfectly in position as the president turned to look at her.

“I think this medal is one I need to share the awarding with.” The president smiled at her. “She's a lot prettier too. Don't you all agree?”

There was a rumble of amusement as the cameras continued to click away. Only the practice her sire had insisted she do ensured that she glided toward the president with poise and confidence.

All she noticed were the details she was starving for, the tiny little things about Vitus that she had missed for three long years. The way his chin seemed chiseled out of solid stone or the flecks of copper in his dark hair. His shave was perfect, his hair cut to a mere half inch all over his head. The president was waiting for her to take the Medal of Honor from his hands. The ribbon felt crisp and heavy as she stepped onto a step stool that had been provided for her so that she could secure the ribbon around Vitus's neck.

He smelled as good as she recalled.

Her fingers brushed his neck as she fumbled with the closure. It felt like it took too long, another round of amusement rippling through the press as she struggled to complete her task. She finally finished, and the president offered Vitus his hand. The president held the handshake for a long moment, ensuring that the press got enough shots before he stepped past Vitus to the next man. Damascus stepped down and held her position, one full step behind Vitus, while the rest of the medals were awarded.

It was only when the president was striding toward the edge of the stage that Vitus turned to look at her. His gaze cut into her, pinning her to the spot as surely as if he'd thrust a sword straight through her, eyes as blue as a Caribbean lagoon but as cold as a glacier. Betrayal was there, hot, searing, and condemning enough to make her feel like she might just burst into flames and be reduced to a pile of cinders at his polished boots.

His anger was so scorching, it left her staggering back to the waiting liaison, who was unsure what to do with her. Damascus straightened her spine and walked toward the ballroom. At least there was something to be said for the number of times her sire had insisted she attend these functions. She knew what to do without having to think about it.

Which was good, because being around Vitus Hale made thinking impossible.

*   *   *

“I'm fine,” Damascus repeated, but the liaison was still looking at her doubtfully. She'd already pressed a glass of perfectly chilled champagne into Damascus's hand and was contemplating what else might be needed.

Damascus took a sip of the champagne and then another. By the time she realized what she was doing, she'd finished the glass. The liaison looked at her doubtfully.

“So, the dance is next?” Damascus asked to try and cover her lack of composure.

The liaison nodded. “Yes. Commander Hale and the other recipients will begin the opening waltz.”

Damascus tipped the glass up to get the last drops of champagne. The liaison's eyes widened as she bit back the question she was dying to ask.

It wasn't hard for Damascus to deduce what was on the woman's mind. Vitus had rescued her, and he was absolutely scrumptious. What was there to be skittish about?

Oh my, now
there
was a question.

For a moment, her memory offered up fragments of the stolen moments she indulged in with Vitus. Hot, passionate moments, when the only thing that mattered was chasing satisfaction, consequence nowhere in sight or thought. Just the freedom to be exactly who she was instead of what her sire wanted her to be.

But the cost had certainly shown up later when he'd brought her home, delivering her to what everyone believed was the arms of her loving family. She'd been struggling to finish paying off the debt ever since, but couldn't quite force herself to banish the memory.

Ha! As if you could …

That was a solid truth. Vitus was not a man easily forgotten. Of course, that was why he'd found her. His skills were almost unmatched. Little wonder he was a SEAL.

Or had been one. She let that thought settle into her brain because it proved just how much power her sire truly had. Vitus had mysteriously ended his career among the SEALs and ended up unemployed.

But not dead. She had to hold onto that bit of knowledge. The medal would help him reestablish himself. Maybe he could write a book.

She felt herself losing the battle to wring drops of hope out of the situation she was trapped in and it pissed her off to know that she'd infected Vitus just by reaching for him.

The ballroom was full of wives and daughters of politicians. Congressmen, senators, cabinet members all took advantage of the evening to rub elbows. The musicians were waiting for the signal to play a fanfare for the entrance of the president and first lady. A member of the Secret Service had been delegated the task of standing near the conductor. A message finally came through his earpiece,and he nodded at the conductor. The musicians lifted their instruments as a pair of wide double doors were pulled open to reveal the president and first lady. Their entrance was smooth and quick because the press was kept outside.

The conductor tapped his music stand, and the musicians all froze as they waited for the signal to begin. A hushed moment of anticipation held her in its grip as she waited for Vitus to surface.

He would. She had no doubt. He wasn't a man who knew how to shrink from duty. She didn't care for how bitter it felt to know she was nothing more than a duty to him tonight. Her heart was accelerating, her skin hypersensitive as she waited for him.

His hatred of her was the way it had to be, but that didn't keep her from lamenting it.

And she didn't have time to dwell upon her feelings. She felt him come close, the damn hair on the back of her neck standing up. There was always a jolt of awareness that hit her when he touched her, and tonight was no different. She gasped as he claimed her hand and turned her neatly into position right as the music began.

So very perfect.

Yet it felt so very forbidden.

“Try to play the part, Princess.”

Vitus was just as she remembered him. He had her locked in his embrace, even though everyone around them wouldn't have found a single thing to fault him over. His hands were properly placed, looking quite gentlemanly, but she could feel the strength in his grip. So controlled and yet so very inescapable. He was worried she'd bolt and making sure she knew he wasn't going to allow it.

“Don't call me that.” She needed to keep her wits. “I'm not a little girl.”

He turned her in time with the waltz. For a moment, she felt like she was moving without any effort on her part, being swept along by the sheer power of the man holding her. His eyes narrowed, his lips thinning as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“You weren't a kid the last time we met either.”

She'd been twenty-three and well past the age of not noticing how enticing Vitus was. Enticing was too tame a word. The moment he'd pulled the cover off the hole she'd been imprisoned in she'd felt like she'd been sucker punched. The memory was still vivid and haunted her dreams.

“So don't call me by a child's nickname.”

He turned her again, controlling her body as the dance floor became crowded. Her heart was racing, the feeling of his arms around her making her breathless. The way he held her defied explanation. It touched off something deep inside her that bubbled up through the floorboards of what she thought was her composure. When it came to Vitus, there was no maintaining a grip on her reactions. She was the powder keg and he was the open flame. When they touched, the only outcome was an explosion. One that left her seeing stars.

Something flickered in his eyes. “If you didn't want me to think of you as a kid, you shouldn't have run home crying to Daddy.”

His voice was edged with anger. She shifted, but he held her against him. “I didn't,” she hissed through her teeth.

Surprise flickered in his eyes along with disbelief. That hurt her more than anything. He believed she was guilty of betraying him. For a man like him, that was unforgivable.

“Your father sure knows more than he should.” The music climbed to its crescendo, the musicians finishing out the melody with a polished flourish.

He turned her under his arm, making her gown swirl away from her ankles. Just a touch of cool air hit her calves, setting off another ripple of sensation. Damned if he wasn't a master of keeping her on the edge.

“Thank you for the dance, Ms. Ryland.”

She heard his boot heels snap together a moment before she was treated to the sight of his broad shoulders while he walked away from her. She was torn between the need to charge after him to make her case and behaving in a manner that wouldn't betray just how much his opinion mattered to her.

Her own private hell; it was a place she knew well.

Congressman McKinnon's son saved her by gliding up and offering her his hand. He was all of twenty-one years old but eager to please his family by making sure he performed well under the scrutiny of the Washington crowd.

He was perfect really, too young to truly be in the same league with Vitus. So why did she notice so keenly the lack of confidence in his grip on her hand? Or the very disappointing way he let her control their process around the floor?