Free Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) by Helena Newbury Page A

and it made my chest ache. That feeling that I had to protect her, combined with the attraction... I could feel it tugging at me, drawing me towards her... and it was only going to get worse.
    “Well, you’d better come in, then,” she said. And stepped back out of the way.
    I knew, then, what was different. It wasn’t just that we were alone or that it was quiet. It was that I was standing on the threshold of her private space: the one room where the press couldn’t follow. And she was inviting me in.
    I took a deep breath... and stepped inside.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
    Emily
     
    Holy hell, he gets better looking every time I see him.
    I stepped back from the door, praying he couldn’t see how he was affecting me. I could feel his gaze on me, leaving a trail of heat as it passed over my face, my neck, my breasts... either he wasn’t bothering to hide it or he couldn’t and both of those options made me heady. I’d never had a guy want me like that—not in such a direct way. Washington guys played mind games. Kian didn’t.
    At least I wasn’t that obvious. I tried to stop looking at the smooth curve of his pecs under that snow-white shirt. He doesn’t know, I reassured myself. He totally doesn’t know.
    I had a sudden stab of worry as he closed the door behind him. Was that what this was really about? Had I really tracked him down and gotten him reinstated because I was—I weakened and admitted it— ferociously attracted to him?
    I took a deep breath and looked at him, pushing the feelings away, and... no. It wasn’t just that. I could already feel the fear easing, the black waters retreating like a tide.
    It was real: he made me feel safe. I took another slow, deep breath and it felt good. It felt as if I could really fill my lungs for the first time in days—I hadn’t realized how tight my chest had been. I luxuriated in the feeling... and then noticed that Kian’s eyes had dropped to my breasts and were following their slow rise and fall. I turned away, blushing, and pulled my cardigan a little tighter around me... but a wave of heat was rippling down to my groin and I felt oddly proud.
    “Kian,” I said to break the silence. I tried to pronounce it like he did: Key-an. “Is that Irish?”
    “Yes Ma’am. Born over here, but my dad’s Irish.”
    I turned around just in time to see a flicker of pain at the mention of his dad. It made me curious... but I didn’t know him nearly well enough. Not yet. So I said, “Are you really going to call me ma’am the whole time?”
    “Yes ma’am.” He looked down at my leg, my injured calf visible beneath my green skirt. “How’s the leg?”
    I looked down at it. “It’s okay. Not too bad as long as I don’t walk far... and I haven’t been doing much of that, of late. It stiffens up, sometimes…” I looked up at him... and found he was still gazing at my legs. He seemed to be having trouble taking his eyes off them. Part of me wanted to be righteously offended but... it didn’t feel lecherous or creepy, as it would have if some stranger in the street had stared. Coming from Kian, it felt... honest. Good, clean, absolutely filthy red-hot desire ... aimed at me. Maybe that would be normal for some women, but I’m nothing special. I didn’t understand why he was so into me... but the fact he was sent a deep, warm glow through me.
    He finally looked up and met my eyes. He didn’t look the slightest bit guilty that he’d been savoring my legs. There was another one of those silences, the ones that built and built until I wanted to just hurl myself against him. “ Anyway,” I said to break it, “at least it made some people happy.”
    He frowned, confused.
    “My leg,” I said. “Me getting shot. It made some people happy.”
    “Who?”
    “Commenters, on the internet.” He frowned deeper, not understanding, and I sighed. “It’s nothing. Morons sitting in their mom’s basement. They post... you know. Mean stuff.” I shrugged