by Alyssa Cole
So you haven’t told her who you are, came the rapid reply, instantly followed by another. You do realize you’re not James Bond, don’t you? And then another. This should go well. Don’t do anything stupid, Tamali.
Julian searched the crowd and homed in on Salomeh’s white dress. He had spent some time in Saudi Arabia, where modesty police could chastise women for revealing the smallest amount of hair or skin. Salomeh’s dress would cause those guys to spontaneously combust. The way the halter top cupped her heavy breasts taunted him with how easy it would be to release those twin beauties. The dress draped over her curvy hips and stopped right below her ass, revealing long, long legs.
She held two drinks in her hands but been had stopped by his matchmaker neighbor. The woman seemed to be doing an interrogation of her own as a small group of guys began to advance on them. Given the smooth expanse of dusky skin that was exposed to the night air, he was surprised the guys weren’t moving faster.
I never do anything stupid. Why would I start tonight? he texted Yates before slipping his phone back into his pocket and heading for Salomeh.
“I’m fine. I was just getting a drink for someone,” she was saying to her friend as he approached. Her voice was shy again, and Julian felt a stab of guilt as he saw Salomeh’s small, hopeful smile.
“Who is someone? Is this mystery friend the reason you pulled a Usain Bolt across the rooftop earlier?” Marta asked, crossing her arms under her ample bosom. The men milling about them leaned closer expectantly, as her shirt was already dangerously low-cut.
“She’s not allowed to make new friends?” Julian inquired easily as he stepped in front of their other admirers, a smirk lifting a corner of his mouth. “Is there something I should know about you two?”
Salomeh rolled her eyes as she handed him his drink. “This is Julian, an unsavory character I found skulking in the shadows. Julian, this is Marta, my very best friend.”
“Hello, neighbor,” Marta said, a grin on her face as her gaze flitted back and forth between them. “If this is why you ditched me, I fully endorse that decision. I knew it as soon as I saw him!”
Understanding lit in Salomeh’s eyes as she looked at him. “So this is him?” she asked, and he could feel her pulling away, hastily rebuilding the walls she had been hiding behind when he first approached. The less callous part of his mind thought he should let her, but the self-serving part of him wanted to spend time with her, whether it was disingenuous or not.
“No, not ‘him,’ still Julian from the water tower,” he said in a cajoling tone as he moved closer to her, looking down into her eyes.
She returned his gaze, her eyes moving back and forth as if she was attempting to read him and wasn’t sure the story was worth her time.
He smiled and looked over at Marta. “Can you help me out here?” he asked.
“Well, you look very nice, despite the fact that you’re fully clothed now, but the important question is: are you funny?” Marta asked, her eyes narrowing a bit as she assessed him. “Salomeh here needs someone to make her laugh. And I don’t mean when he pulls down his pants.” She guffawed at her own joke, jovially elbowing a bearded guy who had sidled up next to her.
Julian wasn’t sure that Marta’s joke would necessarily fall into the category of helpful, but her belief that Salomeh might give him the opportunity to remove his pants probably meant she approved of him.
Salomeh cringed and whispered to her friend, “Are you okay? Do we need to go?”
“I’m fine,” Marta whispered back. “I’m just having fun acting like a weirdo until Daisy gets back up here and saves me from these hipster dudes. And I enjoy messing with you, of course.”
“Marta, I’m going to—”
“Thank me for inviting you to this party so you could meet the fine specimen of male you’re talking to? You’re welcome!”
Marta spun away from them then, slipping back into the drunken-ditz role that was keeping her entertained.
“Are we having fun, or do I have to take you in?” Julian asked in a low voice.
Salomeh seemed to steel herself before shaking her head in mock complaint. “I’m going to hurt that woman,” she muttered as she took Julian’s arm and maneuvered him a few yards away. Her hand was warm and soft, and she didn’t recoil when her fingers grazed against the ridged scars on his forearms. Julian felt an odd sense of gratefulness that she had chosen to continue talking to him, tinged with distress that she had chosen incorrectly. Was this how she had gotten mixed up with Bardhyn, a lack of instinct? It didn’t match up with how she seemed to be reading him, despite his subterfuge.
“She’s very straightforward.” Julian laughed quietly, pushing his thoughts away. He would figure out her connection to Bardhyn, and soon, but conjecture was pointless.
“Yes, that’s one way of putting it,” Salomeh said. “She was right, though. About me needing some fun in my life. But you’ve already accomplished that tonight, so your work is done.”
“That’s all girls ever want from me.” Julian sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “A drink, a laugh, and then I’m kicked to the curb.”
Salomeh giggled and looked up at him. “You’re very good at this. I should be paying you,” she said, a goofy grin illuminating her face.
He fought the urge to kiss her. That couldn’t happen. He would enjoy his time with her, but he was talking to her for a reason, and despite what certain organs were telling him, it wasn’t to get laid.
“The only payment I accept is information,” he said instead. “Answers to questions such as: what brought you here tonight? Although I’m sure it was the little blonde pixie who questioned my manhood. And why were you standing forlorn in a corner waiting to be saved by your court jester in shining armor?”
Salomeh stared off into the distance for a moment as though she was contemplating her answer.
“Yes, Marta invited me. She lives in the building, obviously. And as for my damsel-in-distress routine, you made me promise to act like I was having fun, so let’s not discuss that.” Salomeh paused and then gave him a look of pure curiosity. “What’s up with this crazy accent? I can’t place it. It’s not French or Italian, but it sounds Indo-European. I think. It’s not one of those random Hellenic languages, is it?”
Julian hadn’t known his inner language nerd was capable of arousal, but hearing Salomeh discuss linguistic groupings was basically intellectual foreplay. In addition to getting him wound up, he realized this discussion could segue into discussing Bardhyn if he played it right. “My accent isn’t ‘crazy,’” he said disdainfully. “It’s Albanian, and it’s much sexier than either a French or Italian accent. American accents don’t even rate a mention, of course.”
He held his head up haughtily, extending his pinky as he took a sip of his drink, watching her from the corner of his eye to catch her reaction.
She smiled and shrugged unapologetically at him. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” she said. “All the boys with the cute accents are already taken, so I guess I’m stuck with you.”
She stared into her drink, concentrating as if you could tell fortunes from soda bubbles. She was embarrassed by her admission. Julian almost allowed himself to be distracted by the implications of her words, but reined his ego in.
Get it together, man, he chided himself. It wasn’t as if he’d never charmed an attractive woman.
“Since the accent is unfamiliar, I take it you’ve never met an Albanian before?” he pressed.
“Surprisingly, I haven’t. You’re my first,” she said with a sly grin that made Julian’s cock stiffen, but then she seemed to remember something. “Oh, wait!”
“Yes?” Julian asked expectantly.
“The super in my last building was Albanian. I used to bring him books for his kids because he wanted them to learn about everything,” she said with a pleased smile that faded. “He sometimes told me stories about how everything fell apart in his country. Some of the stuff he told me was very hard to listen to. F
amilies being killed, lives destroyed by war, and all for nothing.”
For a millisecond, anger pulsed in Julian’s veins. As hypocritical as it was, the thought that Salomeh was playing him, that she knew about his parents and sister and his lonely days fighting a war with the hope he would be granted the release of death, infuriated him.
Did Bardhyn put her up to this? he wondered.
But then something in her eyes softened, and her hand was warm against his arm again, understanding in her touch as she ran her palm over the old wounds.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bought that up. It was tactless of me.”
“It’s okay, although you should know there’s a lot more to the country than death and pain,” he said, though it was the first time he had acknowledged that in years. “We also have very beautiful beaches.”
“Are you going to try to sell me a timeshare?” she asked with a smirk.
She doesn’t know anything, he thought. She can’t help you catch Bardhyn. She probably didn’t even know he was the one responsible for what had happened to her. Julian would fix this for her, but there was nothing that could be done until at least the next day. The transcripts would have to be cleared for release as evidence in order for her to be exonerated, and that couldn’t happen until they took down Bardhyn.
Julian put his drink down on a nearby banquet table and stepped closer to her. If she didn’t have any information that would be useful to the case, then she was no longer off limits, he reasoned. He didn’t want to spend another night thinking about his family and how he had failed them. He wanted to hold someone close and feel their warmth against him. Not someone: Salomeh.
“No, I’m going to ask you to dance,” he said, holding out his hand.
The group of people next to them was moving to the slow reggae music that had been playing for some time now. It was still humid out, but the breeze had picked up, making it possible to dance without ending up a sweaty mess.
“Only if you promise not to bust out with any weird Albanian folk dancing,” she said. “If you do, I’ll be forced to pretend I don’t know you.”
He laughed. He had some moves he’d love to show her, but not on the dance floor.
She took his hand as he led her into the crowd of swaying bodies. “So, what are you doing in New York? Do you live here? Are you visiting?”
“I’m here on business, taking care of a problem that should have been handled a long time ago,” he said over his shoulder.
“What kind of problem?” she asked.
He turned and placed his hands on her hips and gave her a censuring look. “Remember the rule about having fun tonight? Answering that question would violate that rule. I’ll just say I’m here to tie up some loose ends that have turned into downed electrical wires.”
He held her gaze until she nodded in understanding. As if she could sense his immediate need for distraction, she began moving to the music, and he followed suit.
“So that means you can’t tell me what you do, then?” Salomeh asked, glancing at the couple dancing in exaggerated pantomime next to them. He noticed Salomeh was stiff, as if she hadn’t danced for a while. He exerted just a bit of pressure with his fingertips against her hips, a small gesture meant to force her to focus on him but that left him musing on how pliant she felt under his touch.
“I’m a consultant,” he said, swaying in time with her but leading all the same.
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“A consultant secret agent? Do you recommend the latest gadgets to stop super villains?” she asked, referencing their running joke and startling him again in the process.
“If only consulting were that interesting,” he said and then remembered he should return the question even if he already knew the answer. “What about you?”
“I’m—” She paused, and he could see her grappling with emotion. “I’m a teacher. I teach literature at a high school.”
Her voice only caught a little when she said it, and he would have congratulated her on a job well done if it wouldn’t have resulted in her throwing her drink in his face.
“Sounds like a hard job,” he said. “Do you like it? Did you always want to be a teacher?”
“I love it,” she said, her eyes shining. “When I was a little girl, I would set up a classroom with my stuffed animals serving as the pupils, and I would go over the alphabet and read books to them. My mom says that I just enjoy bossing people around and I found a way to get paid for it.”
Julian laughed and slid one hand from her waist to her back, pulling her in closer. He didn’t give it any thought. It seemed natural to hold her against him.
“Is that true?” he asked.
“No,” she said and then added, “Maybe a little. But when I got older, I saw that it wasn’t a game, that a teacher could affect lives. Most of my peers do well enough, but I’ve seen so many kids fall through the cracks who might have had an entirely different life if someone had just reached out to them. We need teachers who care enough to do more than the bare minimum…”
He heard the break in her voice before she went silent, and felt the anger rising in him again. This time it was directed at the right source. Bardhyn would love to know how he had fractured Salomeh’s life, and inadvertently the lives of all the children she wouldn’t be able to help unless she was absolved.
“I’m sorry. I’m rambling on,” she said softly. He could feel her pulling away again, withdrawing.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “A woman who’s passionate about her job, who cares about helping children is incredibly attractive.” When she looked up at him, he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t make any hot-for-teacher jokes.”
She flinched, and he remembered the tabloid headline.
Way to go, Tamali.
“Are you passionate about your job?” she asked, obviously wanting to turn the conversation away from herself.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “I’m good at it, and I’m committed to it. I like when I’m successful. I like when I can help people.”
“I thought being a spy was supposed to be exciting,” she said.
“It has its perks,” he said, leaning down and allowing his forehead to brush hers.
As they danced to the slow beats, Julian learned all the things he had in common with her. They both loved sports, although they disagreed over whether baseball or golf was more boring to watch. Salomeh was a staunch defender of modern fiction while Julian preferred the classics, but when they compared their favorite authors, Julian found himself agreeing with everything she said. They talked about politics and religion and some things that were just plain random, like Salomeh’s ability to wiggle her ears. He brushed her hair behind her ear so she could demonstrate, his fingers brushing against the silken skin of her neck as he pulled his hand away.
I’m a goner, he thought as he looked down at Salomeh. Her face was scrunched up as she struggled to move the appendages.
“They moved!” Julian said proudly when she finally pulled the trick off.
“I guess I’m out of practice,” she said sheepishly. “I guess I could say that about a lot of things.”
Julian was fairly certain she wasn’t talking about riding a bike, but he didn’t press her further.
Their dancing was innocent, simultaneous swaying and two-stepping, but his thoughts were becoming increasingly focused on the slide of her dress under his fingers and the coconut scent of her hair wafting up to him. The graceful column of her throat when she threw her head back and laughed made him want to run his tongue over it, to make her throw her head back in a very different way. She was no longer stiff; she had relaxed under his hands, and she moved languidly and without insecurity, making Julian think of his fantasy from earlier in the day. Now that he had her in his arms, he couldn’t stop wondering how tight she would feel around his cock, or whether she would taste savory or sweet as she rode his tongue.
“You okay, 007?” she asked when his eyes met hers, and he
realized he had let his mask drop and his face was an open book, dog-eared at the sexiest scene. Her mouth parted just a bit, and her eyes seemed to reflect what was coursing through him in that instant. Want. Pure, undiluted desire.
A fast, Arabic-inflected hip-hop song came on just then, and Salomeh rocked her hips to the beat, brushing against him in the process. Julian thought it was just a chance meeting of body parts, but then she closed her eyes and moved her body to the spiraling melody. She turned her back to him before swaying her hips in a sensuous snakelike pattern.
His hand went to her stomach of its own accord, pulling her against him. The curve of her ass pressed against him as she danced, teasing him mercilessly with its proximity. Although he held her firmly in place, her hips never stopped moving, sometimes dipping low, sometimes flicking to the sides. He not only kept time with her, he took the lead, sliding his body against hers in time to the music as his hands gently caressed her belly and hips.
His cock thickened from the stimulation of her ass brushing against it and from the erotic vision she presented as she danced without inhibition. Salomeh bounced to the beat of the infectiously danceable song, and her breasts followed suit, threatening to spill out of the halter top. Her dress hitched farther and farther up her thighs. Julian’s fingertips followed in the wake of the material, running up the smooth soft skin and cupping her backside before letting his hands drift back down to someplace respectable near her thighs.
She gasped but didn’t push him away. Instead she danced harder.
“I see you live up to your name,” he said into her, and he felt the shiver go through her as his breath brushed against her sensitive skin.
He turned her so that she faced him, their rhythm so synced they didn’t skip a beat of the music.
“Hm, so you’re gentleman and a scholar? What do you know about my name?” she asked with a mischievous smile. He hadn’t seen her wear that expression yet, and he thought it suited her perfectly.
He scoffed. “I don’t feel like much of a gentleman at the moment,” he said as he ran his hands down her exposed back and settled them at her hips. He slid his knee between her legs just as she pressed closer to him. She rocked back, the fabric of his jeans the only barrier between her warm pussy and his leg. She subtly ground herself against his thigh, a low moan escaping her lips when Julian leaned into her motion. Desire rocketed through him at the sound.
