Maybe it was time they discussed it. Then they could get back to making the best of the time they had left together.
“Could you give me a lift to the airport on Friday?” he asked.
“Friday?” Her self-possession slipped a fraction, a good indication that maybe he should have finessed his question a little better. A frown formed, accompanied by a flash of distress in her eyes. “Where are you going?” She held up her hand, palm out, then reached for her wine and took a long sip before returning the glass to the table. “Sorry, that’s CSIS business. Forget I asked.”
He didn’t care if she knew where he was. There was no need for her to worry. No one was going to torture the information out of her. “London. I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”
She’d be in Paris in a few weeks, he would have loved to add, and point out it was a short hop by plane. But let her come to that conclusion herself.
Night was settling around them, holding a faint trace of approaching fall on its edges. Her slight frown reappeared. “Does it ever bother you, not knowing where you’re going to be from one week to the next?”
She had to be kidding. His was the best job in the world. “Not a bit. Sitting in an office all day would make me want to hang myself.”
She rolled her eyes. “I picked up on that. The surfing and mountain longboarding tipped me off. But don’t you ever think about your future?”
“Rarely,” he admitted. “I’m happy with where I am right now.”
And yet that wasn’t one hundred percent true anymore. While he’d been happy with his life a month or so ago she’d thrown off his game, and now for her own personal reasons, she didn’t want to stay in contact with him. He wouldn’t push her on that decision. She had a right to lead her life the way she saw fit too. Give them a few weeks and they’d both be back right where they belonged.
Those thoughts didn’t give him the comfort they should. “What about you?” He turned his chair so that his legs were no longer under the table and rested one ankle on the opposite knee, getting more comfortable and prepared to lighten the mood. Riling Dr. Glasov never grew old. “We both know you’ve got your life mapped out until well into your nineties, Dr. Babe.”
Her lush lips puckered into a pixie pout. “I still hate you calling me that.” She stared into space. “And I don’t have my life completely mapped out. There are too many variables to consider. At some point I hope to work fulltime as an independent consultant. I’d like to teach too, and write a few more books.”
“But you’ll want a family someday.”
Envisioning cute little brown-haired pixie children with pale, pretty green eyes punched him straight in the feels. Picturing someone else as their father was a knee in the nuts. Of course she would want kids. She was a thirty-two year old woman with a biological clock. It stood to reason that she’d want something permanent from their father in terms of a relationship too.
He, on the other hand, wasn’t ready for white picket fences and a rocking chair on a porch with a view of the sunset. The prospect gave him heart palpitations. While he’d never say never he wasn’t handing out false hope.
But he’d enjoyed the past few weeks with Irina and the quiet moments like this. She was a port in a storm. A serene lagoon surrounded by a barrier reef keeping the wild ocean at bay. Except when it came to the bedroom…
He edged his bare foot forward so it touched the tip of her toe while his eyes dipped into the valley of her low-cut cropped top, enjoying the view of her breasts. She might well hang out with the world’s finest minds and be highly respected for hers, but she still had no idea how sexy she was or how much power it gave her over him. Heaven help him if she ever figured it out.
Her gaze was clear, cool, and direct, bringing him back to earth. “You mean because all women have biological clocks? While possibly true, some of us aren’t driven by them. I don’t have any plans for a family. If it happens it happens. But I do know that if it does, children are a shared responsibility and deserve two parents who are committed to them.”
Meaning their father wouldn’t be someone like him. Kale got the message and he was in complete agreement. That didn’t mean it made him happy.
So much for lightening the mood.
She kicked back her chair and picked up her empty glass. “I’m going to do dishes.”
He gathered his too, and the now empty wine bottle, and followed her into the kitchen, sliding the screen to the patio door shut behind him but leaving the glass section open to let in the night air. She shouldered past him, pushing him out of her way as she moved between the dishwasher and the island, and he grinned at a spontaneous recollection of the first time they’d met right here in this room. She might never be able to use a knife as a weapon, or physically defend herself, but she was no half-witted female who wandered into the basement wearing her best lingerie to check out strange noises either. She’d done everything right today. She assessed situations and took appropriate action.
And even when he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t seem to resist doing whatever it took to shake all that reserve.
He stepped up behind her and slid an arm around her waist, bending to press his lips to her cheek. He dragged a fingertip along the length of her clavicle, appreciating the fineness of its structure while watching her shiver. Her breath quickened, chasing away the air of indifference toward him she tried to present. She closed her eyes, her thoughts disappearing behind her dark lashes. She couldn’t as easily hide her desire.
She didn’t need him, no. Neither was she interested in what he offered in terms of a relationship, which granted, wasn’t much. She did, however, still want him in at least one respect. So he wasn’t the man of her dreams. Why couldn’t he at least be a great memory for her to take out and look back on with fondness?
He slid one hand up her belly to cup her breast beneath her skimpy top. She stretched, arching her back so her shoulders pressed against his chest and her buttocks his groin. She tipped her head to the side, exposing her throat. He trailed his lips from the crook of her shoulder to her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and giving it a light nip. Her hands moved behind her to his hips. She turned her face so that her mouth met his lips.
“Open your eyes,” he coaxed her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Two jewels gazed back at him, examining him in return. “That the dishes can wait until morning.”
She had such a dry sense of humor. Everything about her made him ache to sink himself inside of her. But, as tempting as it was to bend her over the island and take her right there, tonight maybe he’d try a different approach. While sex was the one area of her life where she needed very little encouragement—something that never failed to amaze him—and there was nothing wrong with slowing things down and thinking them through, tonight he’d do the thinking for both of them. He’d make her put that beautiful brain in neutral and let go of a really bad day.
He scooped her into his arms and headed for the bedroom. She crooked her elbow around his neck. He didn’t slow down at her door, but nudged it wide with his foot and swung her into the room. Lingering twilight spilled through the open window. A few long strides carried him across the carpet. He tossed her—gently—onto the pillows, then shucked out of his shorts while she watched. The T-shirt followed.
“Do you still want to know what I’m thinking?” she asked as he stretched out beside her.
He rested his elbow on the blankets and propped his head in his hand to stare down at her. “Nah. You’re thinking of me.”
“Oh, I am,” she assured him, her tone giving him no clue as to where this conversation was headed, and he tensed, well aware he was on shaky ground by bringing her here. “But I’m also wondering why it’s so important to you that you sleep in my bed.”
Because he wanted to make certain she thought of him whenever she crawled between the smooth sheets. He wanted to be able to think of her at night and picture her asleep in this very bed and pretend she was dreaming of him. He wan
ted to ruin it for anyone else. “It’s queen-sized.”
She didn’t call him on the lie. A soft, resigned sigh was the only indicator she gave that she knew better than to believe him, which made him smile. For someone supposedly brilliant she could be gullible sometimes. But not right now.
“You’ve had a hard day, Dr. Babe. Let me help you relax.”
He stretched her hands above her head, then peeled her frayed denim shorts off her slender legs, kissing the insides of her thighs as he bared them. She gave a soft gasp, clenching her fingers into tight little fists. The panties she wore weren’t her usual thong he noted straight off. Seemed she’d needed more courage today. Remorse pinched his heart. They were lacy, and covered her from hip to thigh, but the black lace was so sheer that the coverage was all an illusion.
“Mercy,” he breathed. That earned him a smile. He sat back on his heels and looked his fill, from the scrap of sheer lace to the exposed skin of her midriff, to the cropped hem of the top he’d had his hands under so he already knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. “If you ever do take up teaching I’m heading back to school.”
Her eyebrows went up and she pursed her full lips. The bed creaked as she shifted her hips, signaling she was already restless and anxious for him to proceed. “Has someone been bad? Does the teacher need to give him a spanking?”
He almost came right there. That was unexpected. “I’m willing to give it due consideration another time. Tonight I thought we’d take things in a different direction. Do you trust me?”
She didn’t hesitate so much as a second. “Yes. Do we need a safe word?”
He had a hard time finding his voice after that and all the images it gave him. She was killing him. “No,” he managed to grind out. “But I do want you to relax and try not to overthink things. Oh yeah. And keep your hands to yourself. Maybe close your eyes until I tell you to open them too.”
Obediently, she squeezed them shut.
And suddenly all that real estate was his to explore. He planned on taking his time.
He glided his palms up her stomach, catching the hem of her top with the backs of his fingers and easing it over her head. He dropped it on the floor at the side of the bed, leaving her in nothing but those skimpy, barely-there panties that left his tongue dry.
He began at the top, cupping the back of her head in his hands, digging his fingers in her tangle of hair while reminding her to keep her eyes closed. He kissed her lids, then her lips. She made a raw, guttural noise of encouragement deep in her throat that spurred him on. He thrust his tongue in her mouth, stroking hers with its edge, and rubbed his erection against the mound of her mons veneris until she was squirming and begging for more.
Not yet. He’d only just begun.
He cupped her breasts with his palms and licked first one nipple, then the other, before taking one between his teeth and biting down gently. Her hips shot from the bed.
“Oh, my God,” she choked out. “Do that again.”
She didn’t need to ask twice. He tugged with his teeth, again as gently as possible, and licked at the tip with his tongue. He ran his thumbs under the soft swells of her breasts, where they were most sensitive, until she cried out for him to stop. Then, “No, don’t. Please. Keep going.”
“Babe, tell me what you like. I’ll do it.”
“I like it all,” she said. “Everything you to do to me.”
He was so hard now it hurt. Those panties had to come off. He got them as far as her ankles before she kicked them away in impatience.
“I want to touch you,” she said. Her eyes remained closed, her hands fisted above her head.
That wasn’t a good idea. He had a few more things he wanted to do. “You said you trust me.”
“That was before I knew you were trying to kill me.”
He laughed softly at that. She wasn’t the only one dying right now. He parted her folds with his thumb, then bent his head. She cried out at the first flick of his tongue, her orgasm rippling against him as he talked her through it, crooning encouragement.
“That was the first one,” he said, once she stopped shaking. He was on the brink of his own and he was taking her with him.
“I don’t think I have the energy for another one.”
“I guarantee you do. Remember, you said you trust me.”
He eased one of his fingers inside her, then another, lightly exploring the nerves of the clitoris so they could discuss the scientific results for future reference. He worked them in and out. When he didn’t think he could wait any longer for her, she started to beg.
“Now. Please.”
He placed one hand on her abdomen and with the other guided himself inside her. She felt so good—hot, slick, and so snug he was afraid to move, wanting to enjoy the sensation as long as he could. And then he couldn’t help it. He thrust, once, twice, then harder and faster. She brought her legs up to encircle his waist, bringing him deeper, and rocked her hips to match the rhythm he set. He clenched his teeth, trying to hang on, but just when he couldn’t hold back any longer, he felt the wave of her second orgasm squeezing him tight. His balls clenched in two tight knots, his muscles contracting all the way to his stomach. He shouted out as he came along with her.
Lucky for him he was in good health. That would have been a heart attack otherwise. He dropped next to her, still breathing heavily.
She turned on her side and snuggled against him.
“My day might have gotten off to a bad start, but I’ve got to say, it ended on a very good note,” she whispered.
* * *
Her head rested next to his on the pillow, facing him, her full lower lip puckered in a faint, satisfied smile of complete satiation. Pride had him silently pounding his chest. He’d put that look there. He’d love to taste those lips again, and put another smile on them, but he didn’t want to wake her.
She lay on her stomach, the sheet pulled up to her hips, exposing the sensual length of her back and the cleft at the flippant round peaks of her bottom. He splayed his fingers across the narrow span of her waist, stroking her skin. Long eyelashes fluttered in her sleep in response, her sweet-scented breath warming his cheek on a soft exhalation.
A wave of pure terror tumbled him head over heels. He loved her. More than he’d ever loved anyone or anything in his life. He was seconds from giving up everything he’d worked for in order to have her. If she opened her eyes now he’d be lost.
And then he’d be ruining two lives, not one.
She could do so much better. She had plans for her future and he wasn’t in it. He wasn’t going to spend the next few nights trying to make her feel the same way about him. In a few weeks—maybe months—these emotions would pass. Distance would help.
Remaining in her bed would not.
He peeled the bed sheet back and eased out of the bed, gathered his clothes, then tiptoed, naked, across the carpeted floor of the dimly lit room. He eased the door shut behind him. In the spare room at the end of the hall he jerked on jeans and a T-shirt and laced up his shoes. He crammed all his belongings into his suitcase.
Hoping she’d remember him with fondness was the selfish route to take. He left a note for her on the kitchen table: Dr. Babe. Got called away. Let me know if you’re willing to join me in London for a few days while you’re in Paris. He scribbled his number—the one she already had—as an afterthought. The carelessness of it would really enrage her.
Then, with a final look at the closed bedroom door, he walked out of her house and her life.
Chapter Fifteen
Paris was lovely.
Irina flung her briefcase and laptop on the hotel room bed and dropped into a chair by a window overlooking Pont Alexandre. She’d opted to stay in the heart of the city and away from the conference site so she could have her privacy. Her panel presentation was over and she’d had her fill of fielding industry questions for the day, leaving her brain free to disengage, and the life flowing past on the street two floors below her was a welcome dist
raction.
Three weeks had gone by since Kale slithered out of her bed and her house without a proper good-bye, the emotional coward.
She’d gotten past the hurt stage of loss and moved on to fury. If she closed her eyes she could still read his note with the phone number scrawled across the bottom. Since that number was already programmed into her phone, she knew what the real message was. He’d left it as a pretense that the choice to end things between them was all up to her—the same way he’d turned their last real conversation to fictional children that were nothing more than an excuse for him to ease his conscience about running off on her.
She eyed the phone by the bed, tempted to call room service and hide in her suite for the rest of the evening, but that was too easy. She was in Paris. She should make the most of it. The restaurants down the narrow side streets, away from the tourist attractions, were amazing. She’d brought a cocktail dress she could wear. It was skimpy, expensive, and exactly what Dr. Bev had prescribed. All she had to do was work up the nerve.
But, even if she did, she only had one person she wanted to wear it for. Having the kind of relationship where they saw each other a few times a year strictly for sex might have been something she could have learned to be OK with in the beginning, but now her heart was involved and she’d learned a few more things about pheromones. Once they’d incited a strong physical attraction to one member of the male species, they were hard to redirect. She could write a paper on it.
That made Kale Martin unfinished business. If she planned to move on she had to do something about it.
She drew the curtain across the window and shimmied out of her business suit, dropping the skirt and jacket on the floor. She stared at them for a second, then kicked them aside. She didn’t have to go back to the conference tomorrow if she didn’t want to. She grabbed a plain white blouse and gray leggings from the foot of her bed. She tugged on a pair of high-heeled ankle boots and reached for her laptop.
Since she was working up nerve she was going to London. She had Kale’s number and his phone had a GPS. When she got there, she’d give him a piece of her mind. He didn’t get to decide what she wanted. He didn’t get to end things between them this way.
Her Spy to Hold (Spy Games Book 2) Page 18
