by Rea Thomas
Treading carefully along rattling tiles, Lisabeth had the balance of a gymnast. She had been a gymnast once, and good balance was like riding a bicycle, she thought.
“How do you propose we get down from here?” Vikram asked, following her path along the sloping rooftop.
Shielding her eyes from the glinting sunlight, Lisabeth swept a surveying gaze across the landscape, carefully studying the narrow streets and adjoining alleyways creating a cool, stony maze throughout the town.
“Come on,” she said at last, leading him to the end of the roof. “You’ll need to jump.” Her voice developed an edge of importance. “Right now!” Taking a few steps backward, Lisabeth raced at a full sprint to the edge and leapt into the air. Two tiles rattled free and skittered over the edge of the gutter. Lisabeth heard them smashing into smithereens in the alleyway below. For breathtakingly long seconds, her legs moved through the air, before she landed with a clatter on the roof opposite.
Vikram watched in awe as she ran on, barely stopping to correct herself as she stumbled for three paces on the next rooftop.
“Come on,” she repeated, calling over her shoulder. “They’re coming!”
Vikram looked back and saw the startled expression of the police officer who was perched precariously on the windowsill. Taking a deep breath, he followed Lisabeth’s order and leapt across the alleyway.
They did not look back to see the outrage on the policeman’s face. Lisabeth led, fearlessly leaping across the chasms between buildings. They jumped seven more rooftops before finding a fire escape ladder leading to the ground of a dank alleyway. Lisabeth pulled Vikram into a dark arched entrance, and seconds later the wail of a police car breezed past at the bottom of the long passage.
Vikram dropped his head back against the damp brick, gulping deep breaths into his lungs. The alley air felt cool, smelling of wet moss, and the long buildings appeared to be derelict warehouses. They stood in the shaded doorway for minutes, straining their ears for the howl of approaching law enforcement. High above their heads, a starling bird chirped on the overhanging gutter, but otherwise there was quiet.
“We need to get out of Italy,” Vikram whispered, poking his head out briefly to examine the deserted stretch of the passage. “The old lady must have recognized us from the news bulletin and called the cops. She barely even looked at us.”
“We can drive to either Rome or Milan,” Lisabeth said. “Rome is closer, but Milan is on the way to the border.” Explaining the geographical layout of Italy to Vikram was a needless distraction, for Lisabeth had no doubt he knew the fine details of the country. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring her altogether, his eyes fixed on the constant drip of slimy green water trickling down the side of the warehouse wall.
“Milan,” he said at last. “When we get into Switzerland, we will be able to separate.”
Lisabeth lifted her gaze to his, and she recognized conflict there. Vikram wanted her to respond, and to dispute his decision. He was too afraid to admit he did care, and that her involvement with Luca Notte had not put an immediate end to the feelings he held for her.
“Do you agree?” Vikram asked gently, searching her eyes with the probing look of his—as though he were reading the very details of her genetic code.
Lisabeth had perfected an unreadable expression. When she really concentrated, she could even control her heartbeat. She had often thought she could beat a lie-detector test, if required. “Yes,” she replied with resolute determination. “Absolutely.” His gold eyes flickered away at once, and Vikram was then as indecipherable as she. A firmly closed book, just as they were always supposed to be.
Chapter Fifteen
It would be their last night together, Vikram knew, and he could not think of anywhere as depressingly romantic as Geneva. Regardless of the late hour, he had been tempted to avoid it by driving their stolen car on to Zurich in the north, but he was tired—it felt like an eternity since he had slept.
Vikram parked the car outside a Holiday Inn, dropping his head back against the seat and exhaling a tired sigh. They had barely spoken at all, afraid a slip in their vigilance would lead to another disaster. By the time they crossed the Italian border into Switzerland, silence seemed like the natural order of things, and so it had continued.
Lisabeth unclipped her seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. She stilled, and then her shoulders dropped in weary defeat. “I don’t want to do this,” she whispered, her eyes focused on the hotel’s green signage.
“Do what?” Vikram asked, turning to look at her.
“Stay in another generic hotel on the road. I’ve been doing it for too long, Vikram.” Her eyes closed and she released the handle. Settling back into the seat, Lisabeth clasped her hands on top of her lap. “I’ve been to the most magnificent countries the world has to offer, and yet I haven’t experienced the culture. I can tell you the bedspread design on innumerable hotel beds, but I can’t tell you what the temple in Andhra Pradesh looks like.” She smiled the smallest, faraway smile. “I want to explore the historical streets of Edinburgh and discover an old bookshop. I want to climb the Eiffel Tower. I’ve been to Paris so many times, and I’ve never climbed it. I want to touch the ancient walls of the Colosseum even though I’ll never enter Italy again.” When her eyes opened, a glimmer of magic and fantasy shone there for the briefest second, disappearing before Vikram could determine for certain it had been there at all.
She stretched her hands open, examining her slim, ring-less fingers. “Or maybe I would like to buy a proper home somewhere and put down roots. It’s been more than ten years since I experienced four seasons in the same place. I miss the incessant rain of Britain, those heavy gray clouds.” Lifting her head to the hotel sign again, Lisabeth gave a wan smile. “It’s only my pride that mourns the loss of this career,” she said. “The rest of me will be glad to see the back of it.”
Snapping the door open, Lisabeth slid from the car and pulled on the waistband of Vikram’s jeans, hitching them higher. There was something strikingly childlike about her, dwarfed by his clothes. There was also something distinctly un-childlike about her—a sensual defenselessness making him yearn to have his wicked way with her.
Vikram removed the key from the ignition and unfolded his long legs onto the sidewalk. Stretching, he looked at her over the car’s roof.
A light breeze drifted in from the lake, toying with the messy tendrils of her hair. Lisabeth folded her arms beneath her breasts, sweeping her eyes around their surroundings as though wishing to drink in all of the smallest details.
“I’ll need to borrow some money to get back to England,” she said to him, brushing her hair back from her eyes. “I left all my belongings in Tuscany.”
“Will you settle back in the UK?” Vikram asked, trying to picture a domesticated version of the wild, flighty woman he had become so intimate with.
“Probably not,” Lisabeth admitted, caressing her neck self-consciously. “I would like to see my sister and my nephew, Jacob. He’s…well…he won’t remember me.” This made her sad, the first display of familial sentiment she had ever shown.
“You weren’t lying, then? About having a sister?” Vikram wondered why she had honestly volunteered that particular tidbit of truth, when creating an impervious web of deceit was what she was really so talented at.
Lisabeth shook her head, not looking at him. “Let’s get checked in. I’m hungry.”
* * * * *
Vikram lay next to her on the queen bed, head propped on his hand as he watched her pick at a bowl of assorted fruit.
She had showered away a day and two nights of travel, returning to the bedroom with skin smelling of unbranded bath products. Her hair hung in damp un-brushed curls around her shoulders, spilling down her chest. When she had sat next to him on the bed, Vikram noticed the wet stains spreading across the fabric of his T-shirt, which she still wore, despite the complimentary bathrobes in the closet.
“These are good,” she announced, gesturi
ng to the bowl of mango pieces and ripe, red strawberries. “The grapes are sour though.”
Vikram reached out to touch a wet spring of her hair, rubbing the silky texture between his thumb and forefinger. “When did Jacob’s father die?” he asked, tenderly brushing aside the curtain of her hair to reveal the wide set of her jade eyes.
Lisabeth chewed thoughtfully on a piece of mango. “Three years ago,” she said sadly. “I should have called Molly. At least to see how she was coping without Daniel… But we had fallen out years before, it seemed inappropriate to intrude into her life when she was grieving so badly.”
“My brother died in a car accident twelve years ago,” Vikram told her quietly. He was too weary to analyze why he felt the need to share with her such a personal part of his life. It seemed right, he supposed, given the eternally shuttered Lisabeth Baker had exposed something to him.
Lisabeth’s fingers twisted the green stem on a large, shiny strawberry until it snapped. “That’s why you freaked out that day? When we almost got run off the road?” Her fingertips were stained red when she dropped the fruit back into the bowl, turning her head toward him.
Vikram nodded, watching when she brushed a piece of lint off her thigh, leaving behind a streak of juice on her skin. “My brother was the academic one. He studied at IIT—the Indian Institute of Technology. We were so proud of him…” he said, his thumb stroking away the stain on her leg. He felt her thigh tighten beneath his touch, and it pleased him. “When he died, the dreams of my parents went down the drain. No one was optimistic anymore. I—” He cleared his throat, embarrassed, finding it difficult to speak so openly about his life. “I send them money and they live remarkably comfortable lives now. But I lie to them, saying my fortune came about because of a lucky break in the stock market.”
Lisabeth was listening quietly, her fingers limply holding a piece of fruit while he talked. When he had finished, she exhaled a long, hot breath scented with strawberries and toothpaste.
“I studied astrophysics at Cambridge University,” she declared with a chuckle. “Don’t look so surprised. Up until I became a professional criminal, the universe really inspired me. I lived with my mind permanently lost in the cosmos.” Vikram drank in the image of her, damp hair and bare legs, openness in her eyes for the first time since they’d met. He didn’t find it much of a challenge to imagine a young Lisabeth peering through textbooks and telescopes as a brainy nineteen-year-old. Her cynicism would have come later, he thought.
“I bet you used to be so different,” he pondered aloud. “But then, so was I.” Lisabeth did not protest when he touched her again, running his fingers over her leg to the hem of his T-shirt, pushing the fabric over her hips. She had decided against underwear, he discovered upon sight of her bare, pink flesh. He saw the wet shimmer of moisture on her lower lips and wondered for how long she had been aroused.
He took the bowl from her hands, selecting a strawberry from the mix. Lisabeth watched as he bit off the end, holding the dripping morsel by the stem. Pushing the T-shirt higher, Vikram let a fat drop of red juice drip to her belly, watching how the rivulet ran along her body and into the hollow of her bellybutton.
“Have you found your libido again?” she joked, breathless with expectation.
Vikram dipped his finger into the strawberry juice, drawing a red pattern over her skin, as though she were a canvas and he an artist. “Five weeks is a long time,” he said, bending his head to follow the trail of juice with his tongue. Lisabeth gave a little whimper in response, her fingers clutching at the bedspread. “My cock was fed up with self-gratification after two days; fucking you is long, long overdue.”
Lisabeth lifted her hips. “You have no idea,” she told him, her fingers finding his hair. She parted her thighs, inviting his fingers into the folds of her pussy. “I’ve imagined you sucking me…” She gasped loudly when the cool, smooth edge of the strawberry slid along her belly, over her pubis bone, to the dark curls between her legs. Vikram’s hot tongue chased in pursuit, lapping at the sweet juice. “Yeah,” Lisabeth urged. “I’ve imagined you fucking me…” Approval tumbled from her mouth, each sweep of his tongue lessened the strawberry juice on her belly and increased the juice leaking promisingly from the hot cavern of her pussy.
Vikram ran the fruit along her slit, dipping the strawberry into the pool of wetness at her opening. Lisabeth’s hips thrust upward, her lips parting to purr Vikram’s name. The berry juice mixed with hers, dripping unto the garish floral bed cover.
Lisabeth opened her eyes to watch him as he withdrew the strawberry from her pussy, bringing the glistening red heart to his lips and sucking her musky flavor from the surface. He hummed in approval, swirling to remove every trace of her sticky honey. Lisabeth wished he would turn the dexterity of his tongue to her throbbing clit. Wished he would lick away every drop of her arousal.
“Sweet,” he announced, discarding the stem into the bowl. “Not as sweet as this though…” Vikram thrust two fingers into her sopping tunnel, her abundant juices slicking the way as her walls clamped around him. Lisabeth growled and Vikram wondered how many nights she had spent alone, thinking about this.
Vikram bent between her legs, pumping into her with hard strokes, his skin soaked by the flooding torrent of her cum. His tongue flicked over the hard nub of her clit, rolling the little bundle of nerves.
“Yes,” Lisabeth hissed.
She gave a fraught whimper when Vikram pulled back, removing his fingers. He sat back on his heels, his large hands splayed across her thighs. Sweeping his tongue across his lips, tasting her, Vikram smiled at the tortured, pained expression on her face as her arched back slumped against the mattress.
He pulled the T-shirt over her head, taking a long moment to drink in the sheer magnificence of her. She would be impossible to forget, and he knew he never would. Those beautiful, full breasts and coral pink nipples… He would spend a lifetime remembering how sweet those little beads tasted when he flicked them.
“Lisabeth…” he began, choked with emotion.
“Don’t,” she said quickly, her luminous green eyes moist. “Not now… Please don’t ruin it.”
Vikram sought out her gaze, desperate for her to feel something. She always worked so damn hard to ensure her heart felt nothing, yet it had become clear she had failed this time. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders and make her admit he had gotten under her skin.
He almost disobeyed her wish, but Lisabeth reached between them to stroke his cock through his jeans, erasing any trace of logical thought from his mind. Her movements were swift as she unbuttoned and unzipped him.
“I just want you inside me. To fuck me,” she murmured, sitting up to pepper kisses along the column of his neck. “Why does it have to be more than that?” She wrapped her legs around his waist, wriggling against him. The length of his shaft slipped between her wet folds, pressing against her slick, ready opening. Lisabeth exhaled a long, pleasured sigh when he relented, lifting his hips to glide inside her.
She was every bit as molten as he recalled, cushioning his cock with her hot, malleable flesh. Wetness coated him in a layer of her sweet essence, seeping from between their joined bodies in abundance, filling the air with the definite, permeating scent of sex. Vikram breathed her in, almost tasting her.
“Why are you being so gentle?” Lisabeth asked, brushing strands of black hair off his forehead. “I’m not fragile.”
Vikram caught her wrists in his large hands, squeezing tight enough that she winced. He was pleased by this pain she felt—for his chest burned in contrasting response to her cool detachment of him. He thrust into her, coming unbound by the rage growing in the pit of his belly. If all she wanted was to be fucked, then God almighty, he would fuck her until she hobbled to the train tomorrow.
His grasp around her slim wrists would bruise, he thought. She would be marred by his ferocity, left with the memory of his intensity for days.
Vikram pressed her against the headboard, his wei
ght pinning her against the hard, cold wood. He held her arms aloft, fixed to the wall above her head as though he wanted to crucify her. Maybe he did.
Her soft breasts sat high on her chest, pink nipples as hard as pebbles. The supple mounds of flesh swayed before his face, rising with the effort of her ragged breaths. Vikram came forward, capturing the puckered peak between his lips, suckling roughly. Lisabeth gave a yelp of protest, wriggling in his grasp. Vikram held tight, giving her nipple a sharp, playful nip, then harder until her discomfort made every muscle in her body stiffen.
Lisabeth bucked, burying his cock deeper in her drenched tunnel.
Vikram released her breast, pleased by the evidence of his rough treatment on her darkened nipple, still standing to attention, a traitor to her, urging him to continue despite the protests spilling from her mouth as she struggled against the restraint of his hands.
He had started out with the intention of making Lisabeth realize she had gotten as close to falling in love as someone like she could get. Now, his only intent was to make sure Lisabeth knew she could never—would never—be in control when they were together. He was physically stronger than her, and that counted for everything.
Since she had disarmed him back in Chennai, Lisabeth had harbored some misguided belief she had the upper hand. She had yet to realize a large part of him had wanted to engage in a quid pro quo agreement. It was time she understood he wasn’t compliant or easily manipulated.
He pounded into her now, urgently seeking his own release. Vikram was surprised to hear Lisabeth’s delighted moans; despite his fierceness, she actually enjoyed being dominated! Her whimpers were not in protest, but encouragement.
His cock was flooded by another wave of her arousal, their bodies slapping wetly together as he drove into her again and again. Lisabeth’s pussy contracted around him, hot and tight, and she murmured explicit words that did not sit well with her elegant, aristocratic beauty. When her eyes snapped open, she looked almost as though she had been possessed.
