Opposing Forces

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Sure. I’ll see who knows what. Anything else?”

  “Your secretary said you’re coming to Chicago.”

  “I am. We’ll have lunch.”

  Lunch with Watkins could only help Taylor Security. “I’m at your disposal, Senator.”

  “Then find someone at State who loves me.”

  Lynx smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The apartment buzzer rang just as he hung up. That would be Jillian. Right on time. He loved punctual people. He hustled to the intercom. “Jillian?”

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “Come on up.”

  From his spot near the door, he hit the button that would unlock the street entrance and let her into the building. The one containing his apartment. Where he lived alone. Where he had yet to get laid. In his new bed.

  Okay. Time for a pep talk. He walked back to the kitchen and faced off with the calendar. For added confidence, he crossed his arms. He was the one in control here. “Don’t fuck with me on this.”

  Should it concern him that he was speaking to a calendar?

  Most likely, but desperate people did desperate things. Jillian knocked on his door. His lack of sanity would need to be dealt with later. He swung the door open and found Jillian holding an insulated food carrier.

  “Oh, hey, let me grab that. Sorry, I would have met you downstairs.”

  “It’s not that heavy.”

  Still, he took it from her and brought it to the kitchen. “Man, this smells good. What is it?”

  “Roast beef and rosemary potatoes. Nothing fancy.”

  Didn’t need to be. Fancy he could get in a restaurant. What he craved was the comfort of home cooked like his mom always made. Home cooked, for him, meant family and being settled into a routine—all things that balanced him. In the kitchen, he unloaded the roast and potatoes, then grabbed plates from the cabinet.

  “Cutting board?” she asked. “I need to slice the meat.”

  Cutting board. Did he even own one? He pointed to the cabinet next to the oven. “Check there.”

  She bent over to open the cabinet and Lynx helped himself to a nice long look at her ass. Not his fault if it was right in front of him. Sort of.

  “The only thing I see is a questionable-looking cookie sheet.”

  She turned and busted him staring. All he could do was laugh. “Sorry.”

  “For the cookie sheet or staring at my ass?”

  “Both?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good one. I’ll use a plate, but we’ll have to do some shopping for you.”

  They worked in the kitchen together, Jillian slicing and transferring meat to a serving dish while Lynx finished assembling dishes and silverware.

  “How’d the rest of your day go?”

  “Not bad. I checked on the shipment from the other night and it’s gone.”

  Not surprising. “Do you know where?”

  “I do. I had Mary print me the latest distribution report. I also nabbed her password.”

  “Good work.”

  “The shipment went to another distributor in Iowa.”

  Lynx set the silverware down and focused on Jillian. He needed to concentrate. “Another distributor? Is that normal?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. They’ll just send it on to the client or maybe even another distributor. Eventually it’ll get to its final stop.”

  “But we don’t know where.”

  “No. I should have checked those totes the other night. That was stupid.”

  And he thought he was hard on himself. She didn’t pull punches either. “It wasn’t stupid. It looked like a normal shipment, right? Nothing tampered with? “

  She sliced off a small piece of meat. “No. I checked them. It looked like the original seal.” Taking one of the forks he’d set out, she stabbed at the sliver of meat and held it to his mouth. “Taste it.”

  Hell no. She was not feeding him. For him, there had always been something innately sexual about that. He suddenly had a vision—or twelve—of Jillian stretched on his bed naked and feeding him.

  He cut his eyes to the calendar on the wall. Fucking thing.

  She waved the fork at him. “Open up.”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll let you feed me, but then I get to kiss you.”

  “Is that supposed to be the rotten end of the deal? Because I’ll let you kiss me anyway.”

  He opened his mouth and she popped the fork in. Damn good—even if he’d barely tasted it before swallowing. More important matters to tend to.

  “Did you like it?” she asked.

  “Very much.”

  “You didn’t even taste it, did you?”

  He smiled. “Not really. I’m thinking ahead.”

  She tossed the fork into the sink, shoved the meat aside and boosted herself to the counter. “Well, then, bring it on.”

  He stepped closer, slid between her legs and kissed her. Slowly, her hands moved up his arms to his shoulders and she pulled him tight against her. Months of need tore into him. He deepened the kiss. Nothing too crazy, but enough that she couldn’t miss what he wanted.

  Eventually.

  In seven days.

  She ran her tongue along his bottom lip then pulled back. “I like kissing you.”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I like kissing you too.”

  Her gaze wandered to the wall behind him. The calendar with all those red X’s. “Today isn’t marked off yet.”

  “Not yet.”

  She pulled him close and hugged him. He breathed in and out, relaxing into the contact, and her scent—something flowery today—lingered for a minute before she met his gaze. “I think we should eat so you can mark the day off without any further distractions.”

  Without a doubt, he could love this woman. Somehow she understood his determination to hit that one-year mark. “Thank you.”

  She patted his cheek. “It’s all good, handsome. Now back up so I can take this food to the table. You grab the plates and tell me how your day was?”

  “Status quo.” He laughed. “Whatever status quo is. One of the guys got shot overseas. Asshole rebels trying to attack an ambassador.”

  “My God! Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. On his way home. I had to juggle the roster and send someone else. It happens, but it throws everything off. I did speak to Senator Watkins. The one from Oversight.”

  She glanced at him, her eyes wary. “What did he say?”

  “He hasn’t heard of Stennar Pharm. He’s gonna check for me. If there’s anything, he’ll sniff it out.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That a friend worked there and wanted to know if she should stay.”

  She set the meat and bowl of potatoes on the table then moved them. “That’s not a lie.”

  “I told him what he needed to know.”

  When she finished arranging the dishes, all two of them, she grabbed the plates and fussed with setting the table. He let her do it. Why not? He missed watching a woman make herself at home in his space. His iPod sat in the dock on the counter. A little music wouldn’t hurt. He punched the power button and went to shuffle. Creed blasted into the room. Whoa. He left the song but turned it way down.

  “Glasses,” Jillian said. She went to the kitchen for two glasses and came back. “You’re good at figuring out how much people need to know, huh?”

  He half smiled. In D.C., knowing how much to tell people was a basic survival technique. Leaking too much information could end a career. Not giving enough could end a career. It was all about balance. “Between my time as an officer in the military and my years at State, yeah, I’m good at it.”

  “How long were you in the military?”

&nbs
p; “I graduated from West Point and went into the army. Did that until I was thirty-two and went to State.”

  “Did you like the military?”

  He shrugged. “I liked the order of it. The discipline. It fits with my personality.”

  “How did you get to the State Department?”

  He thought back on the assignment that, when he’d first gotten it, repelled him. It hadn’t escaped him that the secretary of state was female and he had the all-American looks that made a photo op a slam dunk. But good soldiers do what they’re told and don’t bitch. Whatever the mission, a soldier does it, even if it meant playing babysitter. “The secretary of state visited the base I was stationed at. I was her liaison.”

  Jillian took one of the napkins, folded it into a triangle, shoved it into one of the glasses and fluffed it. She had to have worked at a restaurant at some point. She repeated the process with the second napkin. “What’s with the napkins?”

  She stared at them a second, gave one another fluff. “When I was a kid, we never had a fancy table or ate as a family. I like a nice table.” More fluffing. “Did the secretary fall for your boyish good looks?”

  “That’s exactly why they gave me the assignment. Made me nuts.”

  She reached across the table and squeezed his arm. “I was joking. I’m sorry. Didn’t know it was a sensitive spot.”

  He hesitated. She slid her hand away and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “It is. Maybe too much so. The rumor at first was that I’d gotten the State job because I was sleeping with the secretary. She warned me that would be the assumption. I didn’t care. I wanted the opportunity and dealt with the bullshit. I worked my ass off for her. Night and day. Whatever time, my phone was always on and I always answered. Always. Even on a stretcher and half whacked out on Vicodin.”

  He grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it out for Jillian. As soon as her butt landed, she whipped the napkin from the glass. Bizarre. What was the point of the napkin sculpting if she was going to trash it seconds later?

  She smoothed the napkin into her lap. “That’s not a job you leave at the office.”

  “Not ever.”

  “Is that why you left D.C.?”

  “Yes and no. I loved the job. There’s honor in it. I considered it my way of serving even after I’d left the military. But there are sacrifices.”

  “Like not having a life?”

  He smiled. “Exactly. When I blew out my knee, I was dealing with a crumbling relationship and a high-stress job that afforded me little sleep. I had surgery and recovered fast. Except, I still needed the painkillers. I just wasn’t sure what pain I was killing. I needed to get healthy again, physically and emotionally, so I checked myself into rehab.”

  She leaned forward, propped her chin in her hand. “You should be proud of that. The self-acceptance.”

  He eyeballed the potatoes. “Proud would be not getting hooked on the pills in the first place. After rehab, I went back to the insanity of my job and an empty apartment because the already rocky relationship couldn’t support a recovering addict.”

  “She left you?”

  Did he want to be talking about this? Spectacular way to kill a mood. He reached for the potatoes. “She did.”

  “But you got help. How could she leave you?”

  Because she didn’t sign on for addiction.

  “There was a reason we’d been together for years and had never gotten married. On paper, we were great. The lobbyist and an aide to the secretary of state. After a while, we’d more or less become roommates who cared about each other. Rehab was bad for both our images. She couldn’t have that.”

  He passed her the potatoes, but she set the bowl down. Obviously, Jillian wasn’t lured off course when she didn’t want to be.

  “Did it feel like a betrayal?”

  If he started in on the meat, maybe she’d get the hint. “Actually, I was relieved. Halfway through my rehab stint, she called to tell me she’d moved out.” He dumped some roast onto his plate. “She’d been putting pressure on me about the constant work interruptions so I knew she wasn’t happy. I couldn’t blame her. But that’s the job and there wasn’t a lot, aside from quitting, I could do about it. I thanked her for letting me know and that was it. Haven’t spoken to her since.”

  Finally, Jillian put some food on her plate. With any luck, she’d eat and he wouldn’t have to dig into the bowels of his monumental screw-up.

  “Wow,” she said. “It seems so...I don’t know...cold? To have it end like that? No discussion?”

  Could he not get a break here? “We both knew it was coming, we just didn’t know how to end it.”

  “Then what? You went back to work?”

  “I did. At least until I got stressed out and reached into my desk drawer for the pill bottle I used to stash there. There was nothing there, but if I’d found one, that would have been the end of my recovery.” He shrugged. “I needed to make a change. I called Vic, told him I needed a job somewhere other than D.C. and here I am. But Jesus, who moves to Chicago just before winter?”

  Jillian laughed. “I guess you do. Any regrets?”

  He grunted. “I regret this conversation.”

  “Why? I’m getting to know you? What’s the big deal?” She stood. “I need a pop. What do you have to drink?”

  Perfect escape. He waved her back down. “Sit. I’ll get it.”

  At least the foray into the kitchen would give him a minute to think.

  “You still haven’t answered me.”

  Forget the foray. He poured two glasses of soda and headed back into the shark-infested waters. “No regrets. I feel like myself again. Vic harasses me constantly, but he’s always been that way. It feels normal. And I hadn’t had normal in a long time.”

  “I think old friends are good that way. They remind us why they care.”

  “Where Vic is concerned, that’s a scary thought.”

  She waved him off. “Oh, hush.”

  He laughed. Another thing he hadn’t had an abundance of in the past year. With Jillian it came easy. She had that sassy, determined way about her that made the teasing side of him beg for action. Another part of him begged for action too, but he’d have to wait it out.

  Talk about a buzz kill. All he knew was that if he ever got Jillian into a bed, she’d need a helmet.

  “Oh, hey,” she said, her gaze skittering over his face. “What are you thinking?”

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t answer.

  “You’ve got the look of the devil. Whatever it is, it must be wicked.”

  This might be fun. Dangerous, but definitely fun. “I was thinking if I ever got you into a bed, you’d need a helmet.”

  For a second, she stared at him then pursed her lips and—yeah, that was sexy. He ticked off the seconds. By the count of four she’d let a laugh loose, all sultry yet sweet. As usual, it made him think about all the places—bedroom, shower, his office...and holy hell what did that say about him?—he’d like to be with her while hearing it. Pretty much, he wanted to do Jillian in any available place he could find.

  “What kind of helmet?”

  Most women would be embarrassed. Or at least pretend to be. Jillian wanted to explore it. “A helmet helmet,” he said. “What’s the difference?”

  “There are different kinds. Would I need a bike helmet or say a football helmet that gives total coverage? I think this is an important point.”

  Okay. He’d play. He leaned forward, propped his forearms on the table and tapped his fingers. “You’d need full coverage. We’re talking major impact here.”

  Her mouth opened partway and she blew air through her lips. Yes, sweetheart, you heard me. She wasn’t the only one who’d heard, because he suddenly had a hard-on. There’d be no getting up from this table anytim
e soon.

  She leaned toward him, right into his space, and drilled him with a hot look. “I love major impact. There’s something about the rush of skin against skin and the wild need for release. All hands and mouths and chaos. I think that’s great fun.”

  Seriously, she was doing this to a man who hadn’t gotten laid in over a year?

  Then she rose out of her chair, stretched across the table and got nose to nose with him. “What do you say to that, helmet boy?”

  She was jerking his chain. Or perhaps something else. With any luck.

  He grinned. “Right now, I’ll say anything you want me to say.”

  But he kissed her first. Softly this time. No pressure. He needed it. Needed the contact. Needed to feel like a man who could drive a woman to insanity like his old self used to.

  In a flash, his mind went to the calendar on the wall. Fucking calendar. With great effort, he backed away from Jillian and opened his eyes. She remained half on the table, her big brown eyes focused on him, the curve of her cheek hinting at a smile, and he was gone. Not just a little gone either. Gone as in if she broke his heart he’d happily crawl into a bottle of pills to make the pain go away.

  And he couldn’t have that.

  “You scare the hell out of me,” he said. “I want you in a way that makes me willing to sacrifice everything. That’s not good for a recovering addict. Before the pills, I’d have been all over you. You’d have never wanted to leave my bed. That’s how good I’d have been to you. I can’t risk that all-consuming thing.”

  She sat again. “Why?”

  “Because it’ll drive me straight back to the oblivion of painkillers.”

  “You’ll spend the rest of your life in neutral? That sounds miserable. Don’t you think?”

  Two minutes ago they were having fun. Now she decides to make a reasonable point? He pounded his open palm against his forehead. “Of course it’s miserable. I’ve been living this way for a year. Can’t get too excited about anything because, God knows, if I suffer a disappointment I could fall off the wagon. Then when I’m bored out of my skull, all I want is to do something that won’t make me think about blowing my sobriety because I’m bored. It’s a goddamned vicious cycle. I need to find the midpoint between bored out of my skull and euphoria.”