“What?” Her brows knit.
“Regulations, effective from last week. For some time the Organisation has been lagging behind in the area of counselling. Weatherby wants to change that. From now on, all our operatives will have an initial session with Dr. Aston. After that, well … whenever an agent experiences a potential source of trauma, Dr. Aston will be expected to counsel them about it.”
“But—”
Jemma joined Ash and placed a restraining hand on her forearm. “It makes sense. You know how upset some agents can get when they have to kill for the first time.”
Aston smiled his approval. “Precisely, Miss Jacobs.”
“Anyway, it’s Weatherby’s orders,” repeated Thompson.
“Sod Weatherby,” muttered Ash. “All these budget cuts, yet this gets the green light?”
Aston raised a placating hand. “We got off to a bad start, Miss Blade. My fault, I fear. You’ve just got back from a stressful mission, you’re tired, and my timing is … unfortunate. But please, just give me a chance. I’m here to help you and your partner. Whether you believe it or not.”
Ash glared at him. He smiled back.
“Ash?” murmured Jemma.
“Yeah yeah.” She sighed and looked at Thompson. “No exemptions?” He shook his head. “Well, if I must, I must.”
“Excellent.” Aston beamed at her. “My secretary will be in touch with both of you to make your initial appointments.”
ASH’S METALLIC BLUE Mercedes SLK 230 was where she had parked it when she left for Tenerife: in the part of the carpark reserved for Organisation employees.
“Nice,” said Jemma.
“I like it.” Ash gave its hard top a fond pat—no point retracting it in this weather. “Did you miss me?” she murmured, before opening the boot and flinging her bag inside. When Jemma had done the same, Ash slid into the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
While Jemma made herself comfortable, Ash put on her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. Though it hadn’t been used for a while, the engine started first time and settled into its normal throaty purr. She revved it a few times, just for fun and to release some of the irritation remaining from her meeting with Aston, then glanced at Jemma. “All set?”
Jemma nodded.
“Great.” Keeping one hand on the steering wheel and twisting round, she reversed at high speed all the way out of the carpark.
“Show off,” said Jemma.
Ash laughed, performed a U-turn that threatened to leave skid marks on the road, and continued in a more conventional manner. “So. Shall I take you home to your flat?” Fat raindrops splattered the windscreen, and she switched on the wipers. “Where is it? Bethnal Green?”
Jemma bit her lip and looked at her.
Ash tried to interpret her expression. She had assumed Jemma would want to go straight home, but … “Don’t you want to make sure everything’s all right, check your messages, change into something warmer?”
“Um.” Jemma’s cheeks had gone a charming rosy colour. “Those’ll keep until tomorrow. And you can lend me a nighty, can’t you?”
Ash’s smile broadened. “My place then?”
“If that’s all right with you.”
She reached over the centre console and patted Jemma’s knee. “Very. I just didn’t want to take it for granted.”
“For granted?” Jemma blinked. “I thought I made my interest pretty clear in Iguaçu.”
“You did.” Ash grinned. “No harm in checking, is there?”
Jemma returned her grin and blew her a kiss.
At the next T-junction, Ash turned left, put her foot down, and changed up a gear. The Queen Elizabeth Hall appeared on the left, the National Film Theatre on the right, then she headed out onto Waterloo Bridge, the streetlamps a shimmering reflection in the Thames.
“We’d better pick up some supplies,” reminded Jemma as they roared on towards the Strand. “Milk, bread, that kind of thing.” Her stomach rumbled.
Ash nodded. “And a takeaway?”
“Please. That would really hit the spot. Um. Fish and chips?”
“I know just the place.”
WHILE JEMMA WANDERED round Ash’s flat in Albert Terrace, drawing blinds and curtains and switching on lights, Ash turned on the central heating. A low hum from the pump and the sound of water gurgling through the pipes reassured her everything was still in working order, and she returned to the kitchen. It smelled like a fish and chip shop as she stowed the loaf she’d bought in the bread bin and the milk in the fridge’s door rack, then made a mental note to defrost the icebox.
She carried the hot parcels of fish and chips into the sitting room and, with a sigh of relief, settled on the sofa and kicked off her shoes. The TV remote control lay on the sofa’s arm where she had left it, and she picked it up then frowned at the betraying smudge of fingerprint powder still on it. Sloppy of them! That strangers had been ransacking her flat while she was away was … disconcerting. She was glad that Jemma had been one of them.
While she ate—no point in letting good food get cold—Ash channel hopped, but nothing took her fancy. What’s the point of having a state-of-the-art TV if there’s nothing on worth watching? She switched off the TV and played her newest audiocassette instead.
Jemma reappeared from the bathroom. “No plates or cutlery?” She put her hands on her hips. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”
Ash had no intention of moving. “Tastes better straight from the paper,” she mumbled round a mouthful of battered cod.
“You mean you couldn’t be bothered.”
“That too.”
Giving up, Jemma threw herself down next to Ash and reached for her own portions of fish and chips. “Ketchup?”
“Kitchen cupboard. I like mine with salt and vinegar.”
For a moment Jemma looked undecided, then with a shrug she crammed a handful of chips in her mouth. “What are we listening to? Sounds Canarian.”
“It is,” said Ash. “I bought it in a market in Santa Cruz. Like it?”
Jemma cocked her head to one side, considering. “It’s okay.”
She suspected their tastes in music were at opposite ends of the spectrum. But as long as Jemma didn’t actively object … She ate until she was stuffed then crumpled up the greasy wrappings and lobbed them at the waste paper basket. She missed. “Pathetic. I’m too knackered to see straight.”
“Me too.” Jemma kicked off her shoes and drew up her legs under her. “Thank God we’ve got some time off.”
“Yeah.” Ash shifted closer and brushed a strand of hair behind Jemma’s ear. “Got any plans?” She nibbled an earlobe, but it was more perfunctory than she would have liked—she felt exhausted.
“Well, first,” said Jemma, stroking Ash’s cheek and looking into her eyes, “I’d like a hot shower and a warm bed.”
Ash glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost midnight. The water should be hot enough by now. “I think that can be arranged.” She got to her feet and reached out a hand. “Come on.”
With a groan, Jemma took it, and in stockinged feet they staggered towards the bedroom, switching off the entertainment centre and tripping over one of Ash’s discarded shoes on the way.
Jemma paused in the doorway and looked back. “We should tidy up.”
“Tomorrow,” said Ash.
“You’re a bad influence,” grumbled Jemma, but she allowed Ash to urge her on.
“I certainly hope so.”
In the bedroom, the still packed bags beside the bed reproached Ash, so she moved them to a corner to be dealt with tomorrow. A quick rummage through the drawers in her built-in wardrobe found a pink nighty (a Christmas present, but Ash didn’t like the colour and had never worn it) and a sleep-shirt. She placed them on the bed, and went through to the adjoining bathroom where Jemma was waiting.
Ash undressed Jemma, then allowed her to return the favour. “I’ll need some help.” She indicated her wounded shoul
der.
Jemma began to unpeel the bandage. “After you’ve washed it, we should put on a fresh dressing. Have you got one?”
“In there.” Ash indicated the medicine cabinet, then a huge yawn overtook her. If she was going to make love to Jemma, the shower had better wake her up.
The hot needles of water did revitalise her flagging energy a bit, before Jemma’s soapy hands provided stimulation of a different kind. They spent a while kissing and exploring, ensuring every nook and cranny was well and truly clean, but in the end Ash was forced to accept the inevitable.
“Can we do this tomorrow?” she asked Jemma, over another yawn that threatened to crack her jaw. “I’m knackered. Sorry.”
“Of course.” Jemma looked contrite but also a little disappointed.
“It’ll be worth the wait,” promised Ash.
“It had better be.”
She took Jemma’s cheeky grin as forgiveness.
They towelled each other dry, applied a fresh dressing and clean bandage to Ash’s shoulder, and returned to the bedroom. While Ash pulled on her sleep shirt, Jemma tried on the pink nighty. It was much too large and looked adorable on her—a fact Jemma would have gone on disputing if Ash hadn’t put an end to the argument by picking her up and dumping her in the centre of the king-size bed.
While Jemma spluttered up at her, indignant, Ash switched off the light and joined her, pulling the duvet up over them. With a sigh of relief that the long day was over, she lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Seconds later, Jemma snuggled up to her and an arm wrapped itself around her middle.
“Sleep well,” murmured Ash, smiling as sleep came to claim her.
Jemma’s kiss brushed her cheek. “You too.”
Chapter 2
JEMMA AWOKE, FEELING relaxed and at peace, her cheek pressed against a soft cotton surface that was moving with a gentle, rhythmic motion. Ash’s scent—a blend of warm skin, faint perfume, and fresh sweat, that shouldn’t have been enticing or intoxicating but somehow was both—was strong in her nostrils, and it took her only moments to get her bearings.
Ash’s bedroom.
She glared at the white sleep-shirt, wishing it would vanish, then grinned as memory of a previous awakening returned. At least this time her hand hadn’t strayed during the night and embarrassed the living daylights out of her. Even if it had, though, she now knew that Ash wouldn’t mind.
A rush of euphoria made her feel giddy. A few months ago, her only experience of the Organisation’s renowned secret agent had been that inept encounter at the training school. Now they were sleeping together. And with a little luck, doing more than sleeping.
Mindboggling. Her grin widened. But in a good way.
Sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains. The rain’s stopped too. Careful not to wake Ash, Jemma rolled onto her back and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet. The digits on the clock face made her blink. No wonder she felt well rested.
Beside her, Ash stirred, then also rolled onto her back. She knuckled the sleep from her eyes and yawned.
“Afternoon, sleepyhead,” said Jemma.
“Huh?”
“It’s after twelve. We overslept.”
“Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter, we’re on leave, remember?” Ash’s hair was tangled, but it just made her look even sexier. Jemma gave in to the urge to kiss her on the cheek, and Ash smiled at her. “Sleep well?”
“Like a dream,” said Jemma. “How’s your shoulder? Feeling any better?”
Ash gave it an experimental stretch. “Much.”
“That’s good.”
Blue eyes twinkled at her as Ash rolled towards her and murmured, “In fact I think we can risk improving on that good morning—sorry, good afternoon—kiss.”
An unhurried, thorough exploration of lips and teeth and tongues followed that left Jemma’s heart thumping so hard she was sure Ash must be able to hear it. At last, Ash broke the kiss, and a bemused Jemma watched her get out of bed and stride towards the bathroom. She couldn’t help noticing that the sleep-shirt was barely decent, and the tanned legs went on forever.
“Hey. Where do you think you’re going? You can’t get my blood pumping then scarper.”
Ash stopped in the doorway and looked back, even white teeth gleaming. “Call of nature. Back in a moment. Keep it warm for me, will you?” She disappeared.
This is the third time she’s put me off. A girl could get a complex. Grumbling, Jemma twiddled her thumbs and scanned the bedroom. Her gaze fell on the bedside cabinet, and she remembered the sex toys in its top drawer. That sparked off a chain of thought that spiralled into overdrive.
Ash reappeared. “Did you miss me?” She had been absent for only a few minutes but it seemed like an ice age. Ash took in Jemma’s worried demeanour and her grin disappeared. “What’s wrong?”
Jemma bit her lip. “Aside from me being a relative novice at this, you mean?”
Ash climbed in bed beside her. “We can fix that.” She reached for Jemma but stopped when Jemma held up a hand. “Something else?”
“You know what you said before … about a romantic involvement screwing up our partnership.” Jemma was suddenly uncertain. “Suppose you’re right?”
Ash leaned back against the headboard. “I thought we’d been over this. You were the one who said Thompson will just have to assign us new partners.”
“I know. But suppose I’m wrong, Ash. We’ve got such a great partnership.” Jemma’s palms were damp, so she wiped them on her nighty. “We do, don’t we?”
Ash’s brows knit. “I’d trust you with my life. So yeah, I’d say we work pretty well together.”
Relieved, Jemma let out her breath. “Thanks. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome.” Ash put an arm round her. “As to messing up our partnership, I think we’ve already come too far to back out now. This unresolved sexual tension is … distracting. If we don’t do something about it soon, we’re going to get careless, botch a mission, and then Thompson will have to split us up.”
Jemma considered that. Ash had a point. Besides … She came to a decision. “I … I don’t think I can stop now anyway.” She snuggled closer and felt Ash’s arm tighten around her. “And what’s more, I don’t want to.”
Ash’s lips brushed Jemma’s cheek. “Me neither.”
For a few minutes they lay listening to the dull roar of traffic from Regent’s Park Road, then Ash plucked at Jemma’s nighty. “Lift up your arms.”
Jemma raised an eyebrow at the order but obeyed, and as Ash pulled the garment up over her head, the air felt cool against her skin. Long fingers caressed her, and she shivered with excitement and felt a craving to touch Ash’s skin in return.
That damned sleep-shirt was still in the way, though. Impatient, she tugged it off and regarded Ash’s nakedness with approval. “Much better.”
Her comment made Ash laugh. And after that, neither of them needed words much anymore.
JEMMA LAY ON her back, arms and legs outstretched, a blissful smile on her face. Is this what a jellyfish feels like?
“Are you all right?” Ash’s face loomed over her.
She tested her toes to see if they still wiggled—they did. She could also catch her breath again, and the bright spots had disappeared from her vision. “Mmmm.”
“That’s all I get for my efforts? Mmmm?”
Jemma chuckled. “How about, Wow. You should get a medal.”
“Better.”
“And thanks.”
Ash brushed the hair out of Jemma’s eyes. “My pleasure.”
Jemma’s smile broadened. “Mine too.”
As she had expected, Ash had known exactly when, where, and how to touch her. It had been stimulating, pleasurable, and educational. Then she had tried to return the favour, and judging by Ash’s reaction made quite a good job of it.
Warm lips brushed her cheek. “I think you can take off your L-plates now, Miss Jacobs.”
Ash blew her a raspberry. “Don’t get cocky. Your clutch work was a little jerky and your steering could still use some improvement.”
“Ah. All that ‘left a bit, right a bit, there … no, there’ stuff, you mean?” Jemma laced her fingers together and rested them on her stomach.
“I think you were getting the hang of it by the end.”
“Magnanimous of you, I’m sure.”
Jemma found the energy to roll over and give Ash a hug. When Ash returned it and stroked her hair and back, unexpected emotion welled up. Jemma’s vision blurred, and she sniffled and couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat.
While she regained her equilibrium, Ash made soothing noises and held her. “Sorry,” she managed at last, accepting a tissue and giving her nose a vigorous blow. “Don’t know where that came from.”
“Don’t worry.” Ash smiled at her. “I’m flattered.”
Jemma took refuge in humour. “Yeah, well don’t let it go to your head, Miss Institute of Advanced Motorists. A few more lessons, and I’ll be giving you a run for your money.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
Jemma’s stomach growled, and they both laughed.
“Sounds like you could use some leftover fish and chips,” said Ash.
“And here was I thinking this giddiness was due to you rather than low blood sugar.”
“Watch it, blondie.” Ash gave her a mock-scowl, and Jemma wrinkled her nose in reply, before considering the question of food.
“What happened to that bread?”
“It’s in the bread bin. I could do you some toast.” Then Ash sighed. “Except I forgot to buy any butter.” Her frown cleared. “But there’s some honey in the cupboard. Would that do?”
It sounded nice. Sticky, but nice. Jemma nodded her approval.
JEMMA RESTED HER elbow on the Mercedes’ windowsill and grinned. This is the life. Zipping through the countryside in a sports car with the top down and a gorgeous woman at her side. Who could ask for more?
She glanced at Ash. Ray-Bans were no longer necessary—the sun was going down—but with her long hair whipping out in the slipstream, they certainly added to her allure. As if she had heard Jemma’s thoughts, Ash glanced up at the darkening sky, then took off her sunglasses and put them in the glove compartment.
Licensed to Spy Page 23
