Until today.
He didn’t bother standing around trying to figure out the reason for Ben’s change in tactic.
“Have fun playing with the expensive toys in your lab. I’ll catch up with you tonight.”
“Sure,” Ben replied. “But I may be late. Griff and I are going to look at tuxedos for his wedding. Apparently, the best man is required to give some input into the decision.”
“Really?” Adam looked back at Ben incredulously. “When did you get the green light as best man?”
Earlier that fall, Griffin had done the unthinkable and proposed to Marin Chevalier, the White House executive pastry chef. Adam and Ben began jokingly jockeying for the position as their buddy’s best man as soon Griffin had shown them the ring. While he was disappointed to not be chosen, Adam consoled himself by the fact he’d avoided having to endure an actual shopping experience.
“What do you mean?” Ben asked. “Griffin told us about his decision the night before you left for New Orleans. Don’t you remember?”
No.
The fact was, Adam didn’t remember anything about the days leading up to his head bashing. Not that he was going to share that information with Ben or anyone else. The way they’d been mollycoddling him, they’d turn his amnesia into an epic situation. Adam was confident his memory would return one of these days. And if it didn’t, did it really matter? He shrugged and picked up his travel coffee cup.
“I knew it.” Ben slapped a hand onto the countertop. “You do have some residual amnesia.”
Realizing too late he’d been tricked, Adam let loose a string of obscenities. “Damn it, Ben. I should have known Griff would never pick you as his best man.”
“Yeah, well that remains to be seen, Humpty Dumpty,” Ben said as he came around the counter, his pointer finger aimed at Adam’s chest. “But you, dude, need to be honest with yourself. And the doctors. A brain injury is nothing to take lightly. You need to be taking it easy. I mean, it’s not like you have that many brain cells up there anyway.”
While he appreciated his friend couching his concern inside a dig, Adam had had enough of everyone telling him how he needed to be careful. He was fit enough to take care of himself, thank everyone very much. And despite not having a super-sized MIT-grade brain like Ben, Adam knew if he didn’t get back to any type of work soon, his brain would go to mush. So the drool detail it was.
“Relax, Grandma,” Adam drawled. “I’m on ‘non-taxing’ duty, remember? At least I’ll have something in common with my protectee.” He tapped his forehead. “We’re both a little light on our total recall right now.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but Dr. Benoit’s amnesia is caused by Alzheimer’s. Don’t let yours be the result of being a dumbass.”
“I’ll be watching over an old man who puts his dog in a stroller when he takes it for a walk, for crying out loud. There’s no chance of even a rise in my blood pressure much less any further strain on my brain.” Adam gave his friend a salute before heading out the door.
*
Two hours later, Adam felt like his head was going to explode. Despite his earlier boast, he could feel the blood shredding the veins at the base of his skull as his blood pressure likely approached DEFCON levels. At any moment his brain would be gushing out of his ears, staining the carpet of the West Sitting Hall of the White House.
And, yet, somehow, he was able to maintain the blank expression necessary of Secret Service agents everywhere, trying to appear invisible despite the family drama playing out around him. President Conrad Manning shrugged into his suit jacket seemingly unfazed by the theatrics. First Lady Harriett Manning sat on one of the sofas next to her father, the only tell that she was aggravated, the frantic tapping of her foot.
At the center of the room, moving like a whirling dervish, amid the shower of sunshine beaming through the giant half-moon window, was the She-Devil incarnate. Josslyn Benoit. Adam tried unsuccessfully to blink away the image of the woman with the silky black hair, pale gray eyes, and porn-star breasts who was stomping around like a frustrated toddler in front of him. But every time he raised his lids, she was still there. And still gorgeous.
Damn it.
“I agreed to hang out with Daddy here in Washington while you two go on your little diplomatic world tour,” Josslyn fumed. “I didn’t agree to have my every step shadowed by a protective detail. The Secret Service’s first priority is to protect elected officials, not me. Besides, the law allows me to refuse protection. I’m pretty sure your voters will thank you for saving them some money.”
Adam swallowed back a bark of agreement. Josslyn wasn’t the only one duped this morning. Somehow the drool detail had turned into the diva detail, and Adam wasn’t happy about it. Not one little bit. He’d had his close encounter with the First Lady’s wild-child half-sister two years ago. And he’d nearly been blown up in the process of saving her perfect ass from some Asian whale fishermen she and her radical friends had been protesting against.
But that was nothing compared to the torture his libido was forced to endure while the two had waited for their rendezvous with the retrieval team. Adam had quickly discovered she had the heart and soul of a warrior princess. Worse, he’d been foolish enough to kiss her. Her sassy mouth not only drove him wild with desire, but she made him want things. Things he’d never envisioned having for himself. The woman was dangerous to the part of Adam he kept locked away. Once they were rescued, he quickly made himself scarce, vowing to steer clear of Josslyn Benoit at all costs. As far as he was concerned, her wish for no Secret Service protection was his command.
Too bad his commander in chief didn’t see things that way.
Josslyn stopped her pacing long enough for the president to lean down and kiss her on the cheek. “This is one issue I don’t give a damn what the voters think,” he said. “Your safety is my only concern here. This isn’t something as simple as a photo of you in a wet T-shirt being splattered across the tabloids two weeks before the election.”
Adam’s palms began to sweat recalling that lusty image.
“You stepped in too many hornets’ nests in Africa this week,” the president continued. “Whatever you were up to put you on the radar of several extremist groups. I don’t need to point out this isn’t the first time you’ve needed to be rescued.”
Adam swallowed the cough that threatened to escape. Best not to let on he knew the details of her previous adventures involving the military. There was no way she could recognize him as the operative who had recovered her that long-ago night off the coast of Japan. It had been dark on the ocean. He’d been dressed in his dark battle dress uniform with black paint obscuring his face. His name, rank and serial number were classified. And after the secrets they’d shared in the water that night, Adam preferred it stay that way.
“But it will be the last time.” The president’s statement left no room for argument. “I trust you ladies to have a nice day. I’ll see you both at dinner.” He bowed down to kiss his wife on the lips before patting the head of the little Scottish terrier taking in the scene from Dr. Benoit’s lap. “You boys behave today, as well.”
Giving his father-in-law’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, the president headed for the stairs that would lead him to the West Wing, a line of agents and advisors following him like ants to the anthill.