Steph left us hanging on the end
of part ten of the RR with this,
Replacing the rest of the fruit
on the glass, she sucked her finger into her mouth, making sure Lee had a clear
view of her actions.
“May I have this dance?”
And now, without further ado, I
present,
New Year’s Eve Adventures,
Part Eleven
Author: Kris
Disclaimer: See part one for all of that fun stuff
Thanks: Many thanks to Cheryl and Lynda for the Beta, Alley for an idea that sparked this epic and everybody else for the arm twisting that got me here!
Rating: PG
A startled Amanda turned her head, trying to pinpoint the direction the strange, lilting voice was coming from. Suddenly, her Agency trained senses noticed the wall of heavy set men that surrounded them. Heavy set, *armed* men she noticed with escalating alarm. Pulse pounding wildly, she tried unsuccessfully to regain eye contact with her husband. *What else can go wrong tonight?* she mused.
“Let me introduce myself my dear . . .”
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Lee turned away from the erotic show his wife was performing with the piece of fruit; before he ripened any further himself. As he turned, he noticed Billy beckoning to him from far across the ballroom. *Great, time to go hobnob with yet another politician, what else can go wrong tonight?* He plastered a fake smile onto his face and trudged wearily towards his Boss.
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Amanda’s eyes widened as she listened to the distinguished older man finish his introductions. She certainly couldn’t refuse the dance now, not unless she wanted to create a major incident, right there on the dance floor.
“I’d be delighted to Sir,” she smiled as she allowed herself to be led out onto the dance floor.
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Lee swirled the last of his champagne around the bottom of the fluted glass before downing its contents in one long, satisfying gulp.
“I seem to be running low,” Lee remarked, relieved to be able to finally contribute something to the boring Senator’s conversation.
“If you’ll just excuse me while I go find a refill . . .”
“Nonsense boy!” boomed the loud and obviously inebriated Senator. “The waiters can come to US!”
He was so close; his means of escape so near. He scanned the room for Amanda, his eyes narrowing when he couldn’t see her anywhere amongst the crowd. *If only that muscle around the guy in the corner would move dammit!* A hand ran its way through his hair, a sure indicator of his frustration level.
“Go Lee, I’m sure Dr. Smyth and I can keep the Senator here entertained, nothing worse than a dry argument, am I right Senator?” Billy clapped the politician on the back as he propelled Lee towards the bar; already tallying up what his young friend would owe him for this rescue.
Side stepping the threesome, Lee mouthed a silent *thank you* to his Boss as he quickly made his way towards the bar. A fresh drink sounded just about right at this point of the evening.
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Amanda smiled; she didn’t want to be here. Her feet hurt; the music was starting to give her a headache. All she wanted to do was get away from this man and run back into the arms of her husband, if the world would just stop conspiring against them for half a minute . . .
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Threading his way through the line at the bar, Lee sighed. His feet hurt, the music was starting to give him a throbbing headache and if one more woman pinched his butt, well, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.
The bartender noticed the frustrated agent but shrugged regrettably, indicating the already demanding patrons ahead of Lee.
He fell back, *Will the world ever stop conspiring against us?* He really needed to be back in the loving arms of his wife, all he had to do was find her. Running out of ideas, he slumped at the end of the bar, absently eavesdropping on a conversation two young waiters were having while he thought of his next move.
“You should have seen the look on her face; she didn’t want to dance with that old dude!” The waiter grinned as he listened to his co-worker gossip.
“She only accepted cause’ of all the beef the guy has protecting him. He’s pretty hooked up hey?”
“Beef and taste, that brunette sure knows how to fill out a dress doesn’t she?” leered his fellow waiter.
It suddenly all became too much for Lee. The noise, the interruptions, the unwanted reunions. His long legs strode across the dance floor, the vein in his neck pulsating furiously as he focused on the only remaining obstacle, and possible threat to his wife, a solid wall of muscular suits.
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Amanda noticed gratefully that the song was coming to an end. She was so close, her means of escape so near, a few more seconds and she could . . .
She felt her herself flying across the room, her dance partner’s body violently propelling her as their momentum pushed them into the nearest wall. She shook her head as she struggled to stand in the confining evening gown. This was the last straw; Lee would never believe her when she told him about this . . .
Her gaze fell down onto the crumpled figure that had tried unsuccessfully, some would say stupidly, to wrest her away from her dance partner. Slowly the wall of solid flesh and muscle smothering the intruder parted and Amanda was finally able to see his face.
“Lee!” she gasped in horror, seeing her husband spread eagle and surrounded by more guns than she cared to count. She frantically tugged on the tuxedo jacket of the dance partner who had now stood and joined her to ogle the prone agent.
“It’s just a misunderstanding, he didn’t know who you were, and it’s just a silly little mistake . . .”
The gentleman smiled and motioned with his hand, ending the threatened ramble. “Quite alright my dear.” He extended his hand in greeting to a quiet, wary Lee.
“Allow me to introduce myself son. The name’s Robert, Robert Hawke. I’m the Prime Minister of Australia, but you can call me Bob.”
To be continued . . .
Next Victim?