Hard Target

by Tibby Armstrong

  A few people behind them began to mutter about the line, but one woman said, “Dump him. I’m sure you can do better.”

  He was going to kill Alex. Right here in front of seventy-five witnesses. Simon yanked out his wallet and slapped down his business credit card. When he and Alex walked away, tickets in hand, he leaned close to her ear, pretending to kiss it.

  “You’re running an expense account for me,” he said. “Starting now.”

  They handed their tickets to the college student manning the ropes before Alex pulled him down a short hallway to an empty alcove near the restrooms.

  “Are you trying to blow our cover?” She sounded so much like a spitting cat Simon wondered whether the fingernails she dug into his forearm had turned into claws.

  “I never paid for everything before…” He carefully extricated his arm before she drew blood.

  And he hadn’t. She’d almost always insisted on going Dutch. On not losing her independence. At first it made him uncomfortable, but now that he expected it she turned the tables on him? Wasn’t that just like a woman? He shook his head. No. Not like a woman. Like this woman.

  “We were never trying to establish a cover before. This isn’t real, Simon. It’s business.” The bite to her tone matched the spark in her eyes.

  He found himself stepping into her, pushing her into the shadows. Closing in until her ass hit the wall and his palms bracketed her head.

  “You want some cover, sweetheart?” He kept the question low and suggestive, just because he knew it would rattle her. “Is that what this mission is really about?”

  Palms flat against the wall behind her, she stared up at him. The scent of spiced apricots surrounded him, issuing from her on each exhale. He remembered the taste of her in his mouth last night, tingling his lips in fiery little shocks. The point of her tongue delving in and out, toying with him. Tempting him.

  “Don’t play with me, Simon.” She jerked her chin toward the stairway. “Save it for upstairs, if we need to create a diversion.”

  He dipped his attention to her cleavage. Since last night—since she’d all but begged him to fuck her in his own bed—he’d been unable to think of anything but her. Taste and smell and feel anything but her. As if everything about her coalesced to concoct an aphrodisiac designed to bring him to his knees. When her alabaster skin flushed red then went pale in rapid succession, he willed himself to shove away from the wall, but barely.

  Alex trailed behind him, following him to the outdoor sculpture garden. He felt her presence tugging at his awareness until the spark between them became a conflagration that defied all his efforts at containment. He stood by a pond in the sculpture garden and stared at the copper and silver coins glittering against black tiles at the bottom. Alex stepped close. Though she didn’t touch him he felt the skin of her arm, its electricity and warmth, reaching across the infinitesimal divide she maintained between them.

  “There’s a terrace on the second level. A café with doors to the exterior,” he said. “I could get you in that way.”

  As if their argument never happened, she clasped his hand in hers, threading their fingers together with a squeeze. “Where are the Picassos?”

  To the man who’d just walked behind them with his gangly teenage son, the question would sound innocent enough. Just a visitor asking her boyfriend where her favorite artist’s work hung. Simon, of course, knew better. “The fifth floor.”

  Alex withdrew her hand from his. Simon flexed his fingers and turned away from the pool as she took a coin from her pocket. Her action bought him time to consider the Rockefeller Apartments towering above the museum, adjacent to the main entrance façade. A window cleaner’s rig hung from high above, dangling almost to the museum roof.

  “How are you at climbing?” Simon asked, judging the coast clear.

  Tossing the coin carelessly into the water where it made a little splash, Alex spoke over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t that be rappelling?”

  He snorted. “We know you’re good at that.”

  “Ha ha. Different spelling.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s go see the Picassos.”

  They took the rear stairway to the second floor. Its curving, open metal railings posed fewer obstacles to his view than the escalators on the other side of the building and allowed them to dodge most of the visitor traffic. He stopped to watch a giant metal mobile twist this way and that.

  Alex tugged his hand and Simon blinked. “What?”

  She slid her gaze toward a door marked Electrical Closet. Another unmarked door, the hum of cooling fans emanating from behind, likely housed a wiring and communication closet. Simon nodded and began to pay more attention to his surroundings.

  Every corner of the halls and galleries contained a security camera. Black domes covered each camera. They walked to the second floor café and gift shop first. Pretending to take in the view, Simon noted the doors and windows along the terrace sported obvious alarms attached to the glass. Opening the doors without disarming the alarms first was out of the question, and cutting through the glass would leave evidence they couldn’t afford. This needed to be a seamless job. Undetectable and quick.

  Unsmiling guards stationed in the galleries made Simon’s skin twitch. He felt watched, paranoid, as he and Alex wandered the fifth floor. They wound in and out of the rooms, getting to know the somewhat maze-like floor plan and pausing to take pictures of one another in front of some of the paintings for later reference. On the fifth floor they admired several of Picasso’s works, pretending every so often to take in a Mondrian or a Matisse.

  “Mondrian is fascinating…all those lines distilled from Broadway. It really has the energy and feel of the place,” Alex mused as they stood admiring Broadway Boogie Woogie.

  Simon tilted his head and imagined the myriad colored squares as flashing neon and a snarl of traffic. “Is he your favorite?”

  Alex shook her head and tried to walk away.

  Simon tugged at her fingers, compelling her attention. “Who then?”

  She rolled her eyes at herself. “It’s stupid.”

  He brushed his thumb over hers. “Come on. Tell me.”

  “Okay, but it’s trite.” Drawing out her response, she pulled him toward the rear galleries where the crowd grew thicker. At the farthest room she pushed her way through the throng. The long gallery with its stretches of pastel-splashed canvas seemed softer, less harsh and more feminine than the rest of the museum. A tranquil quiet permeated the space despite the crush of people viewing the mammoth-sized paintings.

  “Monet?”

  She nodded, a faraway serenity blanketing her visage as she stared at the stretch of water lilies, then stood on tiptoe to view the effect of the entire installation through the press of reverent patrons.

  “It’s so crowded. I’ve always wanted to get a sense of the whole thing, you know? But…” Trailing off, she seemed to come to herself. “Let’s go.”

  Catching up to her, he put his arm around her shoulders. “How is Monet trite?”

  “Because everyone likes him.”

  Simon laughed. “So millions of people are wrong?”

  “It’s art for the masses.”

  Now he frowned at her. “Not that I think Monet had the masses in mind while standing by his sun-dappled pond in Giverny, but why is something bad just because it’s popular?”

  “It’s just not cerebral enough.” She walked away again, leaving him shaking his head at her self-effacing logic.

  He caught up with her though he almost had to bowl over a guard to do it. The paintings obviously meant a lot to her. She should let herself enjoy them. “Art does not have to be inaccessible to be good, Alex.”

  “This is the painting you wanted to see.” She redirected his attention and successfully changed the subject.

  Simon focused on the wall she stared at and saw the on-loan Picasso in pride of place, stretching across a quarter of the central display wall. “Oh…shit.”

  “Yeah.
It’s…big.”

  “I think the word you’re searching for is fucking gigantic.”

  “That’s two words.”

  “It’s too big for just one,” he said.

  She laughed.

  “Come on. Let me take your picture next to it.”

  Pretending to photograph Alex in a series of poses, Simon zoomed in on the frame detail. He angled himself to ostensibly capture the length of the painting but focused in on the space between the frame and the wall to get a shot of the hardware behind. Finished, he returned the camera to its bag. “We need to talk.”

  She nodded, solemn expression telling him she knew as well as he did that they were in way over their heads. “Did you see everything you wanted?”

  In order to set up a fake appointment to repair the phone system, they still needed to find out what telecom provider the museum used. Which involved getting into the main offices and taking a closer look at the phone system. Simon suppressed a shudder when he caught a guard staring pointedly at him. Their uniforms gave him the heebie jeebies. He needed to get out of here. Maybe eat in the café. “Hungry?”

  Alex followed his gaze and stepped closer. Expression taking on a smoky cast, she trailed a fingertip down his shirt before hooking it over the top of his belt and tugging him close.

  “Ravenous,” she whispered. “But not for food.”

  His cock caught her meaning the same time his mind comprehended her intent. A couple caught in flagrante delicto wouldn’t garner as much heat as one or both of them trespassing.

  As they headed toward the south side of the building, Alex whispered, “If we get ourselves thrown out for inappropriate behavior, we’ll accomplish two things at once.”

  “Get intel on the phone system and gauge how quick their security response is likely to be,” Simon finished for her, nibbling her ear as he spoke low. “Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to get in my pants? Because I’m warning you, this time I won’t stop.”

  Alex turned her head so he could see the slow pass of her tongue along her lips.

  Simon drew in a sharp breath and walked faster. Here was the invitation he’d been waiting for. They made their way to the third floor and to the end of a gallery where a video installation played. In the dim room, Simon stopped in full view of one of the cameras and pushed Alex’s lined tee above one breast. Dear lord, she hadn’t worn a bra.

  She gasped and he bent his head to play the ridges of his teeth along the peak of her nipple. He flicked his tongue to taste candy-sweet flesh. Irresistible. She was utterly and completely irresistible. He sucked the hard point into his mouth and gave a deep pull. Arching, she gripped his hair for balance with one hand and palmed his cock with the other. Her nipple left his lips with a suckling pop and he shoved her shirt down.

  Moving more quickly now, he tugged her toward doors marked Museum Staff Only. As they neared the office space, he pulled her into his arms and lifted her along his front. Alex wound her legs around his hips. Cock throbbing, mind whirling, he almost forgot their intent as she ground against him. Her hand slipped between them. He unbuttoned her jeans and she undid his belt.

  “Alex,” he said, wanting to give her one last chance to think this through. “We don’t have to fuck for real—” He broke off with a gasp as she palmed his cock.

  His back toward the door, they practically fell through the entrance to the business space. At the first office they found, Simon crashed through the door before depositing Alex hard onto the edge of the desk. Her pants already pooled on the floor, his cock springing free from the unzipped confines of his jeans, he watched as she slid her panties to the side and held the dewy pink petals of her sex open for him. With a groan, his remaining resistance shattered and he sank inside her heat.

  “The phone system, Simon.” She gasped the reminder as he seated himself fully within her.

  Forcing his eyes open, he meant to look for the phone but found his attention riveted. Alex’s breasts bounced under taut cotton fabric, her nipples tempting and tight. Shoving her shirt up, baring her flesh, he watched, fascinated as the twin globes quivered with each rocking shove of his hips against her core. He fucked her with full strokes. Walls clenching around his cock, she milked him with pulsing waves of sensation. Like a fist. Only hotter. More slick. Oh so much better.

  “The phone,” Alex said again.

  Simon focused his attention to the left. Took in the black phone with a row of plastic buttons. In a guise of shoving everything off the desk to make more room for them, he turned it over and read the service label. The handset fell to the floor and the dial tone permeated the room along with the clatter of pencils and the metallic banging of the desk.

  “Simon!” Alex drew out his name and tossed her head.

  A keening cry tore from her throat. Her pussy gripping. Demanding. Forcing him to come with one last fully seated thrust. Oxygen burning his lungs with each ragged inhale, Simon collapsed on top of Alex. Sweat dripped from his brow onto a memo about an upcoming donor benefit. He closed his eyes and tried to find planet Earth.

  “You done?” a man asked behind them, amused.

  Simon looked over his shoulder at a guard in his early twenties. The kid grinned at him in camaraderie, as if to say nice work dude and Simon didn’t have to force the self-satisfied grin that spread over his face.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” He pushed himself up on his elbows and used his body to shield Alex from the guard’s view.

  Tugging down her shirt and pulling up her jeans, face completely red from embarrassment and exertion, Alex presented a delectable vision of flustered dishabille. Simon drank her in, retreating to tuck his cock away only when she’d finished adjusting her clothes.

  Simon cleared his throat and clasped Alex’s hand as he faced the guard. “I assume you, uh, want us to leave?”

  “Well, no, I don’t, but it’d probably be best.” The kid led them down a hall to an exit normally reserved for museum staff. “I think someone called the cops.”

  As Alex and Simon stepped outside into the bright afternoon sunlight, the guard clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Thanks man. This job’s boring as piss. That was the best shift of my career.”

  Simon chuckled and let the door close behind him. “Nice kid.”

  “Thinking of hiring him?” Alex asked as they hurried up the street.

  “A work ethic like that? Günter would kill him.”

  Traffic stood at a standstill all the way down the block, the sound of impatient drivers yelling and horns blaring formed the familiar music of the city despite posted signs about astronomical fines.

  “Still hungry?” Alex asked.

  Simon glanced at his watch. Almost 4:00. He could eat but mostly he wanted sleep. Everything about the afternoon felt happy and languid. Like a beach vacation in August. “I’m open to whatever.”

  “’Kay.” The high, tight lilt to Alex’s response made him frown.

  They paused at a stoplight to wait for the walk signal and he studied her for the first time since they’d left the museum. Chewing on her bottom lip, shifting from foot to foot, she appeared ready to bolt.

  “Hey…” he said, voice soft.

  She met his gaze. Immediately her nose reddened and tears sprang to her eyes.

  Oh shit…

  While he’d known they courted trouble by renewing physical intimacy, he hadn’t considered how different it might’ve been for her as a woman. How emotions always seemed to create a tangle of the simplest moments. It’d been sex and fun for him. But for her, after their conversation this morning and all the bickering… Simon raked a hand through his hair and put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Come on. Let’s go to The Chocolate Bar.” He mentioned a chocolate shop near Alex’s apartment and gave a squeeze to her shoulder. “Then we’ll get some things from your place.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Still walking, he kissed the top of her head.

>   “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And thank you. That was amazing. I’d forgotten…” He breathed deep, fortifying himself for the admission he was about to make. “I’d forgotten how good you feel.”

  “It was just sex…” Her reply was uncertain. Needy.

  “Maybe.” He instinctively walked a razor’s edge of compassion and guarded self-interest. “And maybe not.”

  “After last night…this morning…I didn’t expect…” She sounded far away and insecure.

  Yeah. He hadn’t expected it either. Wanted it, definitely. Still, regret began to steal over him. He kept his arm around her shoulders and stuck the other out to hail a taxi. “Sometimes it’s best not to overthink these things.”

  “Yeah.”

  They got in the cab and she slid to the opposite side of the seat where she looked out the window. At her hands. Anywhere but at him.

  “Was I too rough?”

  “What?” She jerked her head around. “No!”

  He searched his brain for anything else he might’ve done wrong—something he could’ve had a modicum of control over that might’ve prevented them from being where they were now, with her feelings hurt and him scrambling to fix something he didn’t know he’d broken.

  Yeah, you idiot. You could’ve stuck to your guns. Kept it in your pants. Way to go, thinking with your dick.

  “Sorry about— I should’ve brought a condom.” He tried apologizing, though he knew it was for the wrong thing. “I didn’t think we’d be… This wasn’t planned.”

  She shrugged and looked away again. “I’m on the Pill.”

  Simon gritted his teeth. How had things gone from rosy and simple to complicated and cringe-worthy in the space of five minutes? He’d thought he’d known what he was doing and how he felt. They were two adults. Doing a job that happened to involve an intimate cover story. So? They’d fucked. They’d done it before. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t felt good for both of them. What was the big deal?

  He blew out a breath and banged his head once against the headrest. By the time they reached The Chocolate Bar, a strained silence stretched his nerves and he couldn’t get out of the cab fast enough. Leaving Alex to pay the cabbie, he examined some gilded volumes in a bookstore window.