Hard Target

by Tibby Armstrong

  “That’s all I needed to know.” Their momentary connection snapped and Simon walked away.

  Frozen, Alex watched his retreating form and wondered if she should’ve responded differently. He walked to the door with her nameplate and pushed it open. Examining her empty hands she realized he’d plucked the file from them without her noticing.

  “Hey!” She stalked after him.

  As she reached the door he tossed the folder on her desk and opened her bottom drawer. Grabbing her purse, he then threw it to her. She caught it one-handed.

  “How did you…?”

  “I remember a lot of things about you, Alexandra.” He preceded her out the door. “Not all of them bad. Some of them even useful.”

  His resolute strides had her trotting to catch up with him at the elevator. She paused at the doors. He turned a hard right toward the exit stairs. She studied the numbered floor display. The car was on forty-seven. They were on six.

  “I’m still in the West Village.” She practically ran to keep up with him on the stairs. “You’re uptown in the same building as David Tallis, right?”

  He didn’t answer, but she knew the world-famous musician originally hired Günter, and then Simon, to see to his security needs. From those humble beginnings, one of the most highly respected personal protection agencies had formed. Catering to the rich and famous. Until last year, the firm had grossed enough to take them international. Exactly what the duo had planned until a pack of journalists allegedly caught Faust and his girlfriend dabbling in illegal drug trade last year.

  Having observed Günter and Jenny up close this evening, the story didn’t fit. Of course the press bought it—the public loved a scandal. The question was, however, what this particular smoke screen had hidden. As they reached the pavement outside, Alex looked Günter over once more in an attempt to reconcile his background with his appearance.

  Günter paused as he opened her cab door, apparently feeling her perusal. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head.

  Piercing blue eyes, almost painful in their clarity and perception, took her measure and then he closed her cab door. Simon took the front passenger seat despite the driver’s protests. The ride from the government building to her apartment only took ten minutes. In the meantime, she had a view of Simon’s stiff shoulders, the curl of ginger hair at his nape, and the well-defined tendons along his neck. If she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through his hair, she knew she’d feel the telltale hint of crisply dried gel he snuck into the strands to encourage the disarray.

  She forced her attention out the window until they pulled up to the curb in front of her brownstone apartment. Simon examined the front of her building as she paid the cabbie. At the entry, she unlocked and shouldered open the glass door. Three locks secured her apartment from the tiny foyer. She set about the tedious process of finding the correct key for each one.

  “You never moved?” Simon’s voice rumbled over her.

  “Obviously.” She spoke over her shoulder. “Could you please back up?”

  He examined the meager space behind him. “Back up to where? The potted cactus?”

  “There’s a thought.” His breath hit the back of her neck and she fumbled the keys.

  Warm fingers closed over hers. Simon gently pushed her aside, and to her surprise she let him. Dispatching with the other two locks with an efficient twist of his wrist, he opened the door and stepped inside. Lingering just past the threshold, he seemed to assess the space. At 450 square feet it was larger than many Village apartments she’d been in. A counter separated a tiny kitchen from the rest of the space. She’d placed a freestanding shoji screen between the bed and the living area. Bookcases lined most of the walls. It was simple, but it was home.

  “Excuse me.” She brushed past him in the short hall.

  He grunted. “I’d forgotten how small it was.”

  Ignoring his rudeness, she dropped her bag on the couch and then removed it to place it on the floor. “You’ll sleep here. It pulls out.”

  “Yeah. I remember. That time I came down with the flu.” He eyed the couch ruefully. “Have you had the mattress replaced?”

  “No.” Why would she do that? Nobody had slept on it since.

  “It’s lumpy as hell.” His attention moved to her bed. At his height he’d be able to see over the shoji screen.

  Alex moved toward her sleeping area. “You’re not sleeping with me.”

  “All right. Then you take the couch.”

  “Ha ha.” She peeked around the screen as she unbuttoned her polo.

  One dark-red brow raised, he asked, “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Simon…”

  He stalked around the screen and she retreated until the backs of her thighs bumped against the bed.

  “You’re short. You’d fit better on the couch.”

  “I’m not sleeping on the couch.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “Then I’ll go home.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

  Her chin popped up. “Leave this apartment or my sight at any time and I’ll arrest you before you get half a block.”

  “Ought to be interesting when we go out to breakfast and you come to the men’s room with me.”

  “Go before we leave or don’t go at all.” They both knew it was a ridiculous threat, but she refused to acknowledge the blunder.

  “We could sleep together.” He studied the bed behind her. “You know it’s big enough.”

  The double entendre sent a fluttering through Alex’s lower abdomen. Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, she pushed Simon away with two fingers. His skin fairly sizzled beneath her fingertips, radiating the same heat that used to warm her on chilly winter nights. She snatched her hand away. He retreated a step, but not far enough.

  “The couch, Simon. Or the floor. Your choice.” With a toss of her head, she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. Dark locks cascaded around her shoulders. Some of the pins fell to the floor, making light metallic plinks against the wood.

  In the mirror, Alex saw Simon widen his eyes. “Oh thank God.”

  “What?” Alex combed her fingers against her scalp.

  “I thought you’d cut it.” Simon focused on her hair with an obvious appreciation she’d never thought to witness again. “That knot was so tight.”

  Masking her delight, she rolled her eyes and dropped her badge and cuffs on her dresser. “Oh please.”

  A quiet thrill passed through her at the exchange. It felt so natural and normal. Almost as if they’d never broken up or grown apart. Careful there, she reminded herself as she plucked pins from the floor. She straightened with the intent to put them in the little jar on her dresser. A wall of man pressed up against her back made her freeze. Simon was behind her and she hadn’t heard him move.

  “You have the right to remain silent.” His voice was low and hot in her ear.

  Alex jumped, adrenaline coursing from behind her navel to every limb. Arousal unbalancing her body and mind, she whirled to fight him but he had the advantage in position, weight and speed. Before she knew how he did it, she lay face up, both wrists cuffed to the headboard above her head.

  Chapter Three

  “Clothes on or off?” Simon straddled a shocked Alexandra.

  Pale skin pinked with surprise, mouth forming a little O, she blinked the dark fringe of her lashes several times before she spoke.

  “Let me go,” she said, breathless.

  “No.” He withdrew her gun from its holster and leaned over to place it in the open gun safe under her nightstand.

  Breath coming harder, she tilted her chin upward and examined the cuffs. He used her distraction to run his gaze down the elegant swoop of her neck to the hills of softly rounded flesh visible at the juncture of her unbuttoned polo. Alex tugged hard at the cuffs. The headboard thudded violently against the wall.

  “Let me go, Simon.” She twisted beneath him.

  Worried she’d hur
t herself if she pulled any harder, he leaned forward and encircled her wrists with his hands. Dark strands of her hair stuck to her pink lips.

  “Shh…” He circled the pulse points at her wrists with his thumbs. “We need to get some sleep.”

  “Are you crazy? Let me go!” She bucked upward, jostling him with her hip.

  He hissed as pain shot through his groin. Her curves might be padded, but there was still bone underneath. Adjusting the material of his trousers where it tightened across his crotch, he put some distance between himself and her. If she cracked her skull against his they’d probably both sustain concussions.

  “I’m not letting you go, Alex.” He eased off the bed and went to the other side of the shoji screen. “I’m changing and then I’m coming in there to sleep. With you.”

  A string of curse words followed this revelation.

  “Too bad you didn’t brush your teeth first,” he called as he peeled off his trousers and shook them out.

  “I’m going to breathe on you all night. And I had onions for dinner.”

  Simon pulled his pajama bottoms and toothbrush from his bag. “I know. I smelled them from eight feet away.”

  He didn’t doubt the laughter in his voice told her he lied, but she threw a few more creative epithets his way. For the first time since this whole debacle began his mood truly lightened. He was in control. If he wanted to, he could even leave. Glancing over his shoulder, he quickly dismissed the idea. Where would he go?

  Whether he liked being coerced or not, he relished the idea of working a mission again—of pitting his wits against and alongside other intelligent people. While babysitting the rich and famous had its perks, it really was, like Alex implied, a lackey’s job.

  Pajama bottoms on, Simon wandered to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Alex’s organic fennel-flavored toothpaste rested on the rim of the pedestal sink, a study in red on white. Simon brought the uncapped tube to his nose and sniffed. Encountering the scent, his mind sprang long-forgotten memories from the depths of his subconscious.

  Alex, standing next to him clad in a spaghetti-strapped pink baby doll, brushing her teeth. Foam at the corners of her mouth. Breasts jiggling with each little jerk of her arm. She flirted wordlessly with him in the mirror, her expression full of mischief. As she leaned over to spit out the toothpaste, he moved behind her. She let him gather her hair from her face while she rinsed her mouth. When she’d finished, she hadn’t straightened. Their eyes met. Held. He’d pressed his already hard cock against her ass. Through his thin pajama bottoms—the same ones he wore now—he’d luxuriated in her feminine heat and softness.

  Simon… Voice husky and soft, she’d whispered her plea.

  Winding her dark hair in a thick rope around his hand, he snugged his fist against her nape. He pulled gently to arch her neck. She looked at him in the mirror, the desire on her face a stark reminder of his own arousal. With his other hand, he freed his hard-on. His fingertips brushed his cock. An inadequate prelude. Breath coming hard, fogging the glass from six inches away, Alex licked her lips. Anticipation thickened the air. Simon tugged at her lacey shorts. Then laid the length of his engorged cock against the creamy skin of her ass. Encouraged by her moan, he slid along the cleft, creating a wedge of pleasure out of the valley of her cheeks. In and out, plunge and retreat, he claimed her crack for his desire. Sweet pulses of light accompanied a flurry of thrusts. With a shout, he’d come in milky ropes over her skin.

  Barely pausing for breath, he’d scooped her up. Set her on the rim of the sink. Flirty bottoms torn off, legs slung over his shoulders, she’d cried out when he’d pierced her pussy with his tongue. The depth and force of his rapid lingual thrusts had her clutching at his hair. Little mewling noises and her pleas for more filled his ears. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the nub of her clit. Circled, then flicked. A flood of juices hit his tongue, their musky-sweet stickiness tapping reserves of lust he hadn’t known he’d possessed.

  His still-sensitive shaft pulsed against his leg, forcing a pleasure-pain groan from his lips. Alex gasped, clutched him harder and bucked upward. He hummed against her slick heat. Thighs quivering around his ears, fists tugging at his hair, she opened to him. Her sex pulsed its nectar onto his tongue and bathed his palate with the taste of her desire. Harsh breaths mingling, her scent perfuming the air, they came down from their lovemaking slowly. Neither of them moved for minutes, or maybe hours.

  That had been a lifetime ago…

  Simon met his reflection in the mirror. He stood alone, softening cock in his palm. Evidence of his successful self-pleasuring coated his fingertips. A quick glance confirmed he’d closed the bathroom door. He quickly rinsed his hands and tucked himself away. Catching his high color in the mirror he shook his head. No way should he still be fantasizing to memories of Alex. He didn’t care if he stood in her bathroom, in her apartment, or slept in her bed. He needed to keep his distance. Especially if he hoped to keep his heart intact. She had a way of getting under his skin. Of insinuating herself into his life in ways he’d never anticipated and couldn’t defend against.

  Emerging from the bathroom, he paused at the end of her bed. She rolled her head toward him. Lids heavy, the stretch of her arms lengthening her torso and lifting her breasts, she presented the prettiest picture he’d ever seen. His belly tightened with longing and he swallowed down a surge of need.

  “Comfortable?”

  “No.” Her answer, filled with throaty need, tightened his already sated balls.

  Somehow, Alexandra Valentine always managed to sound like ice-encased smoke—crystalline and husky all at once. Angel-sanctioned sin, one of Simon’s ex CIA colleagues said. She drove a man wild. At least a man who liked that sort of thing, which Simon emphatically did not. At least not from this woman. Not any longer.

  He let a beat of silence pass. “If I let you go, can I sleep in the bed?”

  She seemed to consider the question. To his surprise she answered honestly. “No.”

  He sighed deep. Needing sleep more than a clear conscience, he drew the drapes closed on the morning sunlight. The bed creaked as he climbed under the covers. Back to her, head pillowed on his right arm, he closed his eyes.

  “I hate you,” she murmured, sounding half asleep.

  “Believe me,” he said, “I know.”

  * * * * *

  Darkness hadn’t yet fallen when Simon awakened. A subdued golden light peeked through the moss-green draperies, lending them a fairy glen glow. He rolled his head to the side and took in Alex’s still-sleeping form. The only thing different about this morning from any other he’d spent in her bed was their lack of tangled limbs. No soft curves pressed against him. Nothing warm, pliable and distinctly feminine rubbed his erection. Familiarity and regret stole over him simultaneously. So many times he’d awoken before her and made the coffee she loved, brought her a cup and sat on the edge of the bed as she sleepily took her first sip.

  His attention traveled to the handcuffs that forced her to remain on her side of the bed. He snorted. As if she would have joined him had she been free. More like she’d have dragged him by his hair to the couch.

  At some point she’d propped an extra pillow under her wrists to support the weight of the cuffs. Twisted as her arms and legs appeared, she couldn’t have slept comfortably. He’d put money on a crick in her neck. The only good thing about the pain she’d be in when he released her was that he’d be able to duck out of the way before she managed to slug him. A smile played about his lips. Despite the animosity casting a dark cloud over their tattered relationship, he still enjoyed sparring with her both verbally and physically. Always had. Though he outweighed her by a considerable amount, her skill at hand-to-hand had been slightly greater than his, making them fairly evenly matched when his height and greater weight came into play.

  Reaching to the nightstand, he found his cell and peered blearily at the time—six p.m.—then rubbed his eyes. He needed to check his email, but that required his
glasses and those were in the other room. Silently, and with as little motion as possible, he slipped out from under Alex’s white coverlet and padded to the little galley kitchen. He slipped his glasses from his go-bag and perched on a kitchen stool before activating the touch screen on his phone. He slid the frames on his nose. Smears of black on white became individual letters. For once his email held nothing of note. Lots of spam. A red indicator said he had one text message. He tapped at the screen and the message opened. From Gibbons, it read, How’s the new girlfriend?

  Simon automatically glanced around to see which windows were in view of the street, though he already knew. Wooden shutters, currently closed, assured his privacy. The sleeping area drapes concealed the only other window in the apartment.

  He dialed Günter. His friend answered on the first ring. “All right?”

  “Yes. Well, no. But yes.” Simon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine, but there’s a potential problem.”

  “What’s that?” A door closed on the other end of the call.

  “Am I interrupting…?”

  “No. Just going over some stage blueprints with David.”

  Remembering Günter’s long-standing gripe with the musician, Simon cringed. “Hey, are we okay?”

  “Depends. Did you steal the documents the FBI accused you of taking?” Leave it to Günter. The man knew how to cut to the chase.

  “No.” At least one question in Simon’s life offered an easy answer. “I didn’t.”

  “Then we’re good.”

  Simon focused on the sea of books scattered across Alex’s counter and homed in on a biography of Gustav Klimt. Returning his glasses to his face, he lifted the book and flipped through its pages, reading almost as fast as he turned them.

  “I didn’t do it, so technically I didn’t lie when you hired me.” Though he’d been forgiven, he still felt the need to defend himself.

  “Exactly.” A chair squeaked. “You never told me what you did for the CIA. Or is that classified?”

  “It’s classified, but you already know my Ph.D. is in computer science with a specialty in security.” Simon closed the book and rifled through Alex’s snail mail.