by Tinnean
“You do.”
He scowled again, his impatience evident. “Is it attached to my body?”
My jaw dropped, and I stared at him. “Yes.” Why would he think...?
“What about my left leg?”
“It’s fine.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I sighed and helped him sit up so he could see I was telling the truth.
He sagged into my embrace and turned his face to my shoulder. “Is there a bathroom in this place? I have to piss.”
I knew him well enough to know that was simply a ruse. Oh, perhaps he really did need to urinate, but I understood his worry: had he come here to help a friend, only to wind up an amputee? Stanley, before he’d become the WBIS’s Director of Foreign Affairs, had lost a leg during an assignment Mark had run. It had gone south when Robert Sperling interfered, and I could see the thought of something similar happening preying on Mark’s mind.
And after the many times he’d taken care of me—after he’d rescued me from Prinzip, from those nights when I’d been plagued by nightmares, from the days I’d been barely able to keep my eyes open due to lack of sleep.... Now it was my turn to look after him.
“You’ll need to lean on me,” I said briskly.
“Okay, babe. Thank you.”
“You’re not going to give me a hard time?” I got off the bed and walked around to the other side.
“Do I look like I’m stupid?”
He was never stupid, except when he tried to break up with me, which he’d done last spring. And no, I never planned to let him live down that idiotic action.
Since his right arm was in a sling, I eased my shoulder under his other arm, wrapped my arm around his waist, and helped him limp into the bathroom.
He braced his legs apart, letting me take his weight so he didn’t put any pressure on his right leg.
“Now hold still.” I moved aside the hospital gown so he could hold his cock to pee, keeping my expression blank as I got my first look at the repair work the little French doctor had done. In spite of what he’d said to Femme, he’d told me she had done an excellent job on the entry wound and he hadn’t had to do much to it. It was the wound on the back of Mark’s thigh that made me shudder. The area was bruised, and staples held the wound closed. It was going to leave quite a scar.
I tightened my hold on him and stared straight ahead. Finally he nudged my side. “Get me to the sink, okay, babe? I need to wash my hands.” He slanted a grin at me. “And brush my teeth.”
Surprisingly, there was a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste on the sink, and after he’d used it, I used it as well. And then I took a long moment to kiss him.
“Quinn.” He literally purred as I reached down, spread open the back of the hospital gown, and palmed his ass.
“Mark.” And I did some purring myself as he reached past my waistband and dragged his nails over my ass.
I got him back in bed, eased a pillow beneath his injured thigh, drew the blanket up to his waist, and poured him a glass of water. Then I went to the door and let the first of his visitors— Mother—enter the room. She’d taken the opportunity to change out of her yoga clothes, and while her outfit was casual, it was still very chic. She brought up the proposition that he stay with her and Gregor in the house in Great Falls. I’d worried who would take care of him: make him chicken soup, give him his meds, and see his bandages were changed. Somehow, she talked him into staying with her.
Trevor Wallace came in next, and I retreated to Mark’s side. Wallace glanced first at me, then at Mother, and finally back to Mark. “It’s a good thing you’re out of the field. Too many people know you.”
Mark grunted, and Wallace bit back a smile.
“Portia, it’s good to see you after so long.”
“Trevor.”
“And this is your son.”
“Yes. I never travel alone, and he was so kind as to accompany me.” Mother gave him one of her cool society smiles.
“Portia, I know very well that your son is involved with my agent. And we’ll just keep that between us, Mark. As progressive as the WBIS is becoming, I don’t believe it’s ready to accept a CIA officer into the fold.”
“No, sir. Was it a good idea to make Max come to France?”
“He’s safe enough with us. He’ll be by later to examine you. Right now, he’s looking after the injured operatives. Femme did an excellent job patching them up, but Max muttered something about Dr. Frankenstein.”
“Huh?” Mark looked puzzled, but I knew what Wallace was talking about and bit my lip to contain a laugh, then grimaced as I realized it was the spot I’d hurt earlier. “Well, thanks for talking him into it. I was afraid I’d wake up to find my leg sharing a shelf with Browne’s little finger.”
“And when you’re well enough to come home, I’ll have a jet waiting that will fly us all back to DC. That is, if you’re returning, Portia?”
“I am, Trevor.”
“I’ll be good to go in a few hours.”
“I don’t think so, Mark.” I gave him a stern look.
“This is paying me back for last spring, isn’t it?”
“Why, Mark. I’m hurt... truly hurt!... that you could think me so petty.” Last spring I’d suggested I was well enough to leave Paris, but Mark had insisted otherwise. “At any rate, you know I need to go out and purchase suitable clothes for you. Unless you’d prefer to return home wearing this delightful gown?” I fingered the shoulder of the hospital gown he wore.
“Huh.”
“Precisely.”
Mother glanced from Mark to me, then smiled up at Wallace. “I could use a cup of coffee. Do you suppose we could find one in this place?”
“Whatever you desire.” He held out his arm, and Mother linked hers through it. “You do realize the Division’s coffee has a reputation for being little better than sludge?”
“I trust you to find us a decent brew. Do you know, I always wondered what you were doing at JFK’s inaugural ball?”
“I didn’t think you saw me there.” Wallace seemed uncertain as to whether to be flattered or perturbed. “You appeared enthralled with your partner.” He opened the door and waited for Mother to step through, and I turned away to hide my smile.
I gazed down at Mark, and my smile vanished. Getting up to use the bathroom, and then the conversation with Mother and Wallace had obviously tired him. His eyelids were half-closed, he had deep circles like bruises under his eyes, and the color in his face had leached out, leaving him almost gray.
“Alone at last,” I murmured in an effort to make him smile. The corner of his mouth curled in a grin, but I knew him better than to take that at face value. The furrow between his eyes was pronounced and his lips were once again in a tight line. “Move over.” I took off my shoes and hoisted myself up onto the bed. “It’s been too long since we did this.”
I pressed my face against his shoulder, expecting him to object, to say it was less than a week.
“Yeah. Uh....” He had something on his mind, and I wondered uneasily what it could be. “Quinn, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”
“You’re not using this as an excuse to break up with me,” I stated flatly.
“Okay, babe.”
I rose up on an elbow and peered into his eyes. “You gave in too easily. What were you going to say?”
“I….” He fiddled with the blanket that covered him to his waist, pleating it, smoothing it, and then pleating it again. “I… uh… know it isn’t likely I’m your ‘one,’ but I love you.”
I couldn’t catch my breath. I’d felt that way about him for some time, and I was certain he cared about me, but I’d thought I would have to wait before he mentioned the L word, if he ever did.
“Uh... Quinn?” Mark wasn’t a coward. He met my eyes, even though I could see he didn’t expect a positive response.
“Mark, did you hit your head when you lost consciousness?” I cradled his cheeks between my palms and kissed him softly.
“Why wouldn’t it be likely? I’ve been telling you for the past week I love you.”
“You have? No you haven’t. I’d remember something like that.”
“Obviously, you weren’t paying attention. I love you too, Mark. Forever, remember?”
“I remember.” He shifted, froze, and hissed.
“Do you need something for pain?”
“Goddammit. Yes,” he admitted grudgingly.
I eased off the bed and went to the tray table, shook out a tablet of the Sophidone LP Max had said to give him if he requested it, and handed it to him. He swallowed it and the remainder of the water in his glass.
“Thanks.” He patted the space beside him, and I got back on the bed. “I hate being shot.”
I’d been shot a couple of years before, and I hadn’t enjoyed it myself. “That’s why you’re going to take sick leave once we get home.”
“What do I have to take sick leave for? I’m not sick.”
“No, you just have a bullet wound in your thigh. And your arm.”
Mark glared and opened his mouth.
“And don’t say it’s nothing.”
“Well, it isn’t.”
“It was bad enough you were afraid you might lose your leg.”
“Pain in the ass,” he groused. “And anyway, I’ve never needed sick leave before.” For a second he looked uneasy.
“Mark?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need it now.”
“Jesus, you drive me insane! You will take sick leave if I have to sit on you!” I wanted to shake him or poke his chest with each word to emphasize how serious I was, but that was the last thing he needed.
“So.” He cleared his throat. “You’re going to sit on me? Will I get to suck you off or eat your ass?”
I could feel my face flame. “You know, for someone with two bullet holes in him, you’re awfully randy.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Once again I leaned up, but this time I cupped his cheek and turned his head toward me. “Mark.” I angled myself so that our lips were a breath apart. “I’m here. I’ve got you. And if you take sick leave, I promise once you’re better, you can do whatever you like with me.”
“Yeah? Well, how can I say no to that?”
“That’s just it, Mark. You can’t.”
“No.” He leaned forward and ran his tongue over my lips, then sighed into my mouth. “I guess I can’t.”
Chapter 15
“Y’know, I’m sorry, babe.”
“Not at all.”
“No, not about this.” Mark indicated his crutch. He had groused about it the entire way to the airport. Someone at the Division—he was fairly sure he knew who it was—had put Hello Kitty stickers all over his crutch, along with smiley face stickers in green, purple, and yellow. The backing was so sticky he’d been unable to remove any of them. “And the only reason why I didn’t tear off Babineaux’s head was because they needed a diversion.”
“You’re so sure it was him?”
“Yeah, the little geek.” He hobbled down the aisle of the jet Wallace had arranged to have waiting to take us home. He had a crutch under one arm and my shoulder under the other to spare putting pressure on the wound in his right arm. I stepped aside, and he settled into a seat that gave him plenty of room to stretch out his injured leg. I’d bought him sweatpants to accommodate the bulky bandage on his thigh, as well as a roomy shirt, socks, and new jogging shoes. Oddly enough—although perhaps not really—I’d neglected to buy him undershorts, which he’d found highly amusing.
He glanced around the cabin, which was empty just then, and took a moment to adjust himself discreetly.
“So what are you sorry about, Mark?” I took his crutch and set it aside, then fastened his seat belt. His right arm was doing better but was still healing after only a week.
“We never got to have that drink at Le Petit Homme.”
“We will the next time we visit Paris.”
“Do you remember the Six Nine?”
“Of course.” We’d gone to the club on Mass. Avenue one evening shortly before Christmas when we’d both had some free time.
“Would you mind if we went there for a drink instead of waiting for Paris?”
“I wouldn’t mind in the least.” Other than Mark admitting he loved me, I’d had better times in the City of Light.
I sat beside him and was about to fasten my own seat belt when he reached out and cupped my cheek, running his thumb over my chin and jaw. “I thought you’d have shaved by now.”
“I was thinking of keeping it like this. It reminds me of the time we spent on your island.”
“Yeah?” He traced the line of the hair above my lip. “I like it.”
“You didn’t say anything about it.”
“I wasn’t sure if you just hadn’t had time to shave.” He made himself as comfortable in his seat as he could. “I’m looking forward to feeling it all over my body.”
I twined my fingers with his. “So am I.”
Just then, Mother entered the jet, followed by Wallace and Max Futé, and within minutes everyone was buckled up and we were taxiing down the runway, on our way home.
Mother must have called Gregor from Paris to let him know when the jet would be arriving, because he was waiting as we left customs.
He snickered, and at first I thought it was because of Max. The little French doctor was swearing under his breath—at least, I assumed he was swearing. He didn’t sound happy as he tried to control a luggage cart that seemed determined to go its own way.
But of course what Gregor really found amusing was the sight of me pushing the wheelchair toward him. Mark had reluctantly agreed to it, and he’d complained every step of the way from the Jetway to baggage claim to customs.
“Gregor, how are Jefferson and Ludovic?” Mother asked.
“They’re fine. Well, they’re doing better. Ludo made your brother promise to get a flu shot next year.” Gregor’s amusement faded at the sight of the man at Mother’s side. His spine stiffened, and he became her blank-faced employee. “That is to say, Mr. Rivenhall.”
“Hopefully Jefferson will pay attention.” She turned to Wallace. “Thank you again, Trevor. Dr. Futé, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Merci, madame, but the pleasure was mine.” Max wore a distracted look as he glanced around, but then it morphed into delight. “Mon cher Smitty!”
The man he called Smeety was average height, with pale blue eyes and hair slightly lighter than Max’s dark blond, and he caught Max up in a hug. “I’m glad you’re home. I worried about you.”
“There was no need. Wasn’t I with M’sieur Vincent?”
“Yeah, but people tend to get dead around him.”
“I’ve been seriously maligned!” Mark said mournfully, and Max burst into laughter. “Go on home and enjoy your weekend. And thanks again, Max.”
“Rien, m’sieur.” He sorted through the luggage, stacking each piece neatly to the side until he found his pilot case. “Au’voir.”
“Yeah, au revoir.”
I cringed at the horrible pronunciation, but Mark simply rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you about Smitty later.”
“One moment, Dr. Schmidt,” Wallace said. “I’d like to beg a ride from you, if I may?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Wallace.” It appeared “Smitty” was a doctor too. Well, that should make him a good match for Max.
Wallace retrieved his own suitcase. “Portia, it was delightful seeing you again.” He took Mother’s hand and raised it to his lips. Gregor’s spine became stiffer—and his expression blanker—if that was possible
“Take care of yourself, Trevor, and give my regards to Ms. DiBlasi.”
The corner of his mouth tilted up in a wry grin. “I will. Mark, I don’t expect to see you at the WBIS for at least six weeks.”
Mark didn’t respond to that, but judging by his expression, as soon as he felt well enough, he’d be back at work, and the hell with wha
t anyone might have to say about the matter.
Wallace shook his head. “Good-bye, everyone. Max? Dr. Schmidt?”
“Right, Boss. The car is this way.”
With the three men gone, Gregor relaxed his stance and began replacing the luggage onto the cart.
“Where’s Vincent’s?” he asked.
Mark held up a duffel bag. “I don’t have much.”
“I’ll stop at your condo later and pack some clothes for you.” I handed his crutch to Gregor, who accepted it grudgingly and placed it on the luggage cart.
“Quinn—” Mark was about to object, so I simply overrode him.
“I’ll have to return your car to Aspen Reach anyway, so I might as well, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but...”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine. Thank you.”
I reached down and tugged his ear. “You’re welcome.”
“I guess that means I’ll have to drive you back here and then follow you to Vincent’s condo,” Gregor groused.
“Thank you, Gregor.” I could have told him I’d take a cab back to Dulles to pick up the car, and then get another one to drive me to Great Falls from Alexandria after I’d garaged Mark’s car and packed a suitcase for him, but that would have removed all the pleasure from his running feud with Mark.
“Yeah, thanks, Novotny.” Mark wasn’t any more thrilled than Gregor, but they’d both have to suck it up.
Gregor ground his teeth.
“Shall we go, dear one?” Mother asked.
“Yes, Portia. The Town Car isn’t too far.” Gregor pushed the luggage cart, and I pushed the wheelchair, and we went out into the April sun.
Half an hour later we arrived at the house in Great Falls. Gregor took Mother’s luggage but left my suitcases in the trunk. Although I’d be staying here for the weekend, we’d return them to my town house once Mark was settled in. I’d empty the suitcases and sort through the clothes, but I’d wait until after work on Monday to take them to the dry cleaners.
“I’ve prepared the spare bedroom on the second floor for Vincent,” Gregor growled as he unlocked the front door and held it open for Mother to enter. “Your room is ready, as always, Quinn.”
