8:47 p.m.
Special Agent Cruz’s room (third floor)
The social gathering had started shortly after seven o’clock with the Premier’s wife in attendance. The participants had dressed in fine dining apparel and enjoyed a modest assortment of hors d’oeuvres and beverages. No serious matters were discussed. This was an opportunity for everyone to relax and start the process of getting to know one another. The Premier excused himself and his wife about an hour-and-a-half later. The rest of the partygoers remained. At 8:45, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz announced their departure and left.
When they entered her bedroom, Cruz drew close to him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much fun this evening.” She wrapped her arms around Hardy’s midsection and pressed her face against the lapels of his suit coat. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to normal.” She had worked almost a full day prior to getting on a plane and making the trip from Washington D.C. to Maine. Her eyes settled on the bed. She was unsure if she had the strength to undress. She half-thought about sleeping in the cocktail dress. After all, it was not as if she was going to wear it again tomorrow or the next day. No, I can’t do that. “I’ve been looking forward to this being sort of like a vacation for us, especially since our last trip was cut short.”
Hardy held her tighter. “You have nothing be sorry about. I understand. We have two more days here and most of that time we’ll be able to spend however we want.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her upper body away. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave her a long kiss. Ten seconds later, their fused lips separated and made a popping sound. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She smiled. He’s been saying that a lot, lately. She relished every time he said those words. Going to her tiptoes, she kissed him again and spun around. “Before you go…” she reached behind her head with her left hand and drew back her hair, exposing her neck. She trained her eyes over her right shoulder. “Will you unzip me?”
Clutching her shoulders, he kissed her neck, speaking between kisses. “Okay, but…I thought you said…you were…tired.”
She grinned and tilted her head to the left before reaching around with her right hand and cupping the back of his head. His lips felt good on the side of her neck, especially after a long day. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out, slowly. “I think,” her voice was an octave above a whisper, “you know what I meant.” His left arm curled around her waist and she felt her body go limp, her legs turning to jelly. We can’t do this. Other parts of her body disagreed. Mustering the last of her energy reserves, she stood tall.
Hardy pinched the pull-tab on her red dress and ran it down the length of her body. The material separated and his eyes were drawn to the black bra underneath. He slipped his fingers under the straps and slid them off her shoulders.
Cruz crossed her arms in front of her body and covered his hands, stopping him. Playfully, she scolded him. “That’s far enough, Mr. Hardy.” She spun around, a thin smile on her red lips. Her arms crossed, she caught the straps at her elbows. “I can take care of the rest myself.”
His eyebrows went up and a devilish grin washed over his face. “Can I help?”
Cruz zeroed-in on his lips. Yes. “No,” she flashed a smile, “I think I can handle it,” and kissed him. “I believe you have your own room waiting for you.” He dipped his head to return the kiss, but she pulled back. “Besides, my roommate will be home any minute.” She was referring to the President’s daughter. With Natasha’s arrival, the mansion’s third floor was one bedroom short of accommodating everyone’s needs. Cruz had offered to share a room with Abigail. Almost as if on cue, the door swung open and Abigail walked in, standing straight when she saw them.
“Oops, I’m sorry.” She backed out of the room. “I’ll—”
“No, it’s all right.” Cruz pulled the bra straps over her shoulders. “Mr. Hardy was just leaving.”
“Are you sure?” Abigail stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob. She was fifteen-years-old, but she had the demeanor and maturity of a young woman at least five years older. Her red straight hair stopped at the middle of her forehead; in back, it fell to the neckline of her modest black dress. Her eyes were narrow behind a pair of thin black plastic eyeglasses that rested on a cute button nose. Thinking she had interrupted an intimate moment, Abigail’s cheeks—laden with faintly visible freckles—turned red.
Hardy gave Cruz a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the door. When he was even with Abigail, he kissed her cheek, too. “Goodnight, Abs.”
Abigail crinkled her nose and squinted, making her eyes even narrower than they already were. Abs was a nickname from her childhood. Now that she was maturing, she wanted the nickname to stay in the past. Plus, she had developed a crush on Hardy, and she wanted him to see her as a more mature girl, a woman.
Seeing the look on her face, Hardy remembered. “I’m sorry. Goodnight, Abby.” As he closed the door, he saw her face soften and the start of a slight smile.