by Leigh James
He stroked my hair. “I do like you, Liberty, very much. That’s how I know that this was no coincidence,” he said. He reached up and wiped away my tears with one of his hands. Even though his skin was rough, rugged, he touched me so carefully that it felt gentle.
I wanted to bury my face in his neck, to let him hold me. But I had to know.
I slid off his lap and the warmth I had felt evaporated. I saw his face fall at my distance. He put his arms loosely around my waist and turned me towards him, so we were facing each other. Oh, I could kiss those lips now. Pink, full, slightly chapped. I felt like I was pulled to him without a choice, like I was a magnet and he was a suit of armor. Even though I was worried he was about to duct tape me, I wanted him.
“Who hired you to take me?” I whispered.
“I can’t tell you,” he said, and brushed the curls out of my eyes. “It’s confidential, for now. But you do need to know something: there is an asset in your case, but it isn’t you. I need your help. We’re going to work on this together.”
I looked at him doubtfully. He either had the wrong stripper or maybe he was lying. This didn’t make sense. I had a limited skill set, and I couldn’t picture myself being any help to John. I certainly didn’t know anyone who had enough money to hire a crew of suited-up vigilantes.
“Who is the asset?” I asked, skeptically. If I racked my brain, I could certainly think of some people I’d known who’d broken the law and gotten away with it. And one person in particular who had done very bad things, who had a black soul. But no one cared about Ray. Not the police, not my landlord, not even my mother, eventually, even though a lot of what he did wrong involved her directly.
“I think maybe you grabbed the wrong girl,” I said. He must have. Surely one of the other girls had rich relatives and an exciting, dark past.
“I know I have the right girl,” he said, and stroked my hair. He pulled me back onto his lap and I felt flooded with warmth again, with relief.
“How do you know?” I whispered into his neck. I let myself sit there, mesmerized by his proximity and his scent. I let myself relax and feel safe. This was uncharted territory for me, all of it. I knew I was way out of my league, and that I would pay for it later, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Because,” he said, and his voice was firm.
“Because? You’re gonna have to do better than that, John,” I said, letting him cradle me in spite of myself.
“Because I told you...everything happens for a reason, and I finally have mine,” he said, and bent down to whisper into my ear. “You are my reason, Liberty.”
I looked up at him with wide eyes. “Your reason for what?” I asked. I could barely hear myself above the thudding of my heart.
“For all of it,” John said, and kissed the side of my face. “For the long road that brought me here.”
My heart twisted, like he was squeezing it, and I felt a ringing in my ears. I had to make a choice. He could be feeling what I’m feeling — this crazy attraction, this crazy pull.
I could believe what he was saying to me, believe what I was feeling, and take a leap of faith. He was right here in front of me. The rest of it, the desert, the club, my memories of the past ... they were with me, they always would be. But what if John was for real?
The odds were stacked against it. If I had learned anything, it was that you should never lose control. We saw it in Vegas all the time: even if you’ve won something more than what you had, you could lose that — and more — in an instant. The regret was so much more miserable then. Even though you were losing something that wasn’t really yours, it had the illusion of belonging to you, briefly. So not only were you losing the thing itself, you were losing the possibility of it, the hope of it. It would be worse for me to think that I had something with John and then lose it. As it was I had nothing, so I had nothing to lose.
He was asking me to take a chance. My heart, which had been so bruised and silent in my chest for so long, ached for me to take it. I didn’t know who, or what, to trust.
I closed my eyes and pulled him to me.
CHAPTER NINE
Closer
I was probably going to regret all of it. In that moment, though, I savored it. He grabbed my hair, pulled it back, and kissed me. Hard. I felt heat surge through me as I kissed him back. I jumped onto his lap again, unthinking, unselfconscious, and threw my arms around his neck. I tried to wrap my legs around his waist, to press myself against him, but he had to pull himself forward, to readjust, and it was enough of an awkward movement that it cleared my mind. I slid quickly off his lap and caught my breath. Um ... I probably should not be straddling him on a tour bus filled with his coworkers ... and his prisoner.
I could feel my face burning red. “I’m sorry,” I said, exhaling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I hope you’re kidding,” John said, looking at me with hooded eyes. “We’ll get back to that tomorrow,” he said, and took my hand. His shirt was rumpled now and his brown hair was tousled. He looked sexy as hell.
I reached over and smoothed his hair. “Tomorrow,” I said, and I knew that even though I was ready, I would never be ready.
“Where are we?” I asked, shaking my head, trying to clear the hazy lust out of it. It was midmorning at this point. There were fields outside the window, and flatness.
“The lovely state of Nebraska,” John said and kissed my forehead. “You should try to get some more sleep. When we get back you’re going to have work to do.”
“What kind of work?” I asked, and yawned. The tall grasses blew in the fields. There was so much that was different, so much that was new. I was exhausted.
“Hard work,” John whispered to me, and nestled me against him. “Now sleep, Liberty. Sleep. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
* * *
I was dreaming about pizza, of all things. We used to get the best pizza in Eugene. Thin crust with extra cheese. It was about as fancy as we ate. My mouth was watering remembering the smell. I felt some saliva slip out of my mouth and as I sat bolt upright, suddenly awake, I realized that I was drooling.
I clapped my hand over my mouth and wildly looked around. John was in the back talking to some of the guys. Phew. I lifted my shirt up to wipe off my mouth. My stomach started growling then, loud. I’m just a mess. I needed a hot shower, some food, and some privacy, so I can think about John in peace. Without him touching me and making me so crazy that I tackle him in public.
I looked out the window: it was twilight. The fields were gone and we were on a highway in a more urban area. I had no idea where. The furthest from Oregon I’d ever been was Vegas. I figured I must have slept for eight hours or so. Again, I had to pee. I needed to brush my teeth and change my clothes. The tour bus was cool and all, but I really wished I was someplace alone, or someplace alone with John, so that I could take care of my human needs without being on display.
I stood up and stretched my legs. “Liberty,” John said, walking up from the back. “You must be starved.”
I nodded. “I have to use the bathroom,” I said, suddenly dreading walking by Darius again.
“I’ll walk you back,” John said. “I have some clean clothes for you if you’d like to change, too. Although I’m fond of that outfit.” He smiled at me and my heart stopped. I looked down at my stripping outfit, which was badly wrinkled and wet from drool. I had long ago kicked off my shoes, and they were under the seat in front of me somewhere. I shook my head and looked down at my bare feet.
“Forget the shoes,” John said, “I have new sneakers for you so you’ll be more comfortable.” I nodded and he let me out into the aisle first, ever the gentleman. “After you change, would you like dinner? You must be starving.”
My stomach howled again and I felt my face start to turn red. “That’d be great,” I said, thankfully, trying to at least have good manners.
We were getting closer to Darius’s aisle. I looked straight down at the floor. I didn’t care if
he glared; he couldn’t do anything to me, but I still found him unpleasant. I looked up out of the corner of my eye and there he was again, shooting me a filthy look, trying to say something through his taped-over mouth to me. “Shut up!” said the guard next to him. He pushed him back roughly into his seat.
But that wasn’t good enough for John.
Before I knew what was happening, he leaned over the row of seats. He slammed Darius in the nose with his fist. Blood spurted everywhere. I yelped and I could hear Darius’s muffled howl.
John grabbed the prisoner’s chin, ignoring the blood, and looked him in the eye.
“Don’t you EVER look at her like that again,” he said, and his voice was fierce, scary. “Or you’re going to have some other body parts bleeding. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” I could see Darius’s jaw clench through the blood smeared on his face, but he nodded.
“Clean him up,” John directed. “Liberty, go ahead.” He nodded towards the bathroom.
I went in and gratefully locked the door. Holy hell, I thought. Now he really seemed like a bounty hunter. I was shaking; adrenaline coursed through me. Am I scared or excited? I wondered. John was a little scary, but I’d never had somebody stick up like that for me before. Both, my inner voice offered. You’re both. Plus, John was pretty hot when he was mad. It must be some sort of testosterone thing, I thought.
I was starting to worry myself.
I took a deep breath and steadied myself for a moment. Then I unlocked the door and stuck my head out. John was standing there, drying his hands off with a towel.
“John?” I asked. He looked at me expectantly. He was completely unruffled, unfazed by the blood on his hands. Clearly, this was just another day at the office for him. “Can we please have some wine with dinner?”
He smiled. “Of course. Might help take the edge off,” he said, and shrugged.
“That would be great. Thanks,” I said, and happily locked the door again. Now I was almost all grown up, I thought. I not only knew what it felt like to really kiss someone, when you really wanted to, but I knew what it felt like to need a drink. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
John had left a pile of clothes for me on the vanity. There was a pair of new black Converse high-tops on the floor, size eight. How did he know? I wondered, checking the labels on the rest of the clothes. The tee shirt, which was gray and fabulously soft, was a medium. The jeans, which were a dark wash and looked expensive, were a size 28. This baffled me, but they looked like they would fit. The bra, which I noticed was black and lacy, was a 34C, and it had matching, very sexy, underwear in a size four.
Honestly, I didn’t want to know.
I used the organic body wipes again, but what I really needed was a shower. I eyed it, but I couldn’t bring myself to jump in. Too many people on the bus. I would feel weirdly exposed, because they would know that I was naked in here. I couldn’t have that. So I just brushed my teeth, put on my beautiful new clothes that all fit perfectly, and shook my hair out. I looked at my makeup-free face in the mirror. I hoped I would be good enough for John without my mask.
My stomach rumbled again and I hastily stuffed my dirty clothes into a plastic bag I found in the console cabinet. I opened the door and he was still standing there, waiting, smiling at me.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said. My heart clenched. “Come this way.” He gestured towards the back of the bus.
It was a minuscule but immaculate galley kitchen, with granite and ceramic tile that matched the bathroom. There was a couch along the opposite wall from the sink and the refrigerator, and on a low table in front of it were several pizzas, a salad, a bottle of wine and two place settings. All the plates and bowls were white, simple and elegant. This was a much nicer setup than I was used to. I took in a deep breath. I was glad I was wearing fancy underwear and expensive jeans. At the thought of the underwear a delicious warmth spreading through me: Fancy underwear that John had chosen for me.
“Please, sit,” John said, and we sat down together. “White wine?” he asked. I nodded my head, yes. He poured it into a stemless glass and I was relieved that it was white. I didn’t know what to do with red wine — maybe because the only kind I’d ever tried had been my mother’s, and it had come in a six-pack and tasted vile.
“I don’t care for stemless glasses,” John said, inspecting his, “but they’re better for the road.” He smiled at me.
I tried to smile back but all I could see was pizza out of the corner of my eye. It smelled heavenly. My mouth filled with water. If only I could turn into a robot, I thought. Then maybe I wouldn’t have all of these awkward moments and could save myself some embarrassment.
“I’m starving,” I blurted out.
John laughed. “Of course you are, sweetheart! Please, eat.” He leaned over and put several pieces of steaming pizza on my plate and handed me a cloth napkin. He took a sip of his wine and started piling food on his plate.
“We bring this with us on the road, uncooked, then cook it when we’re ready,” he said, in between bites.
“It’s delicious,” I said, with my mouth half full.
John threw back his head and laughed. “I love that you eat,” he said. He raised his glass. “To pizza,” he said, and I raised my glass and clinked his.
“To pizza,” I said, chasing my pizza with a sip of wine. It was, of course, delicious.
I looked up at John and smiled. “Thank you for the clothes and for the food,” I said. Then I shoved some more pizza in my mouth. I was pretty sure it had spinach on it, and some sort of weird crumbled cheese sprinkled on top that I had never tried before, but I wasn’t being picky. It was insanely good.
“The clothes look great on you,” he said. “I like you in jeans. And no makeup.” He reached over and stroked my face.
I smiled. He knew what to say to calm me down, to make me feel good. He shifted a little bit and I could see his powerful chest moving underneath his shirt. Yum. The pizza wasn’t the only thing that was making my mouth water.
“Thanks,” I said. “I usually live in jeans and no makeup.” I considered him for a moment. “Do you ever wear jeans? Or anything besides a suit?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll wear training clothes when we get to Warwick.”
“What kind of training clothes? Where’s Warwick?” I asked, drinking some more wine. Being close to him made me feel safe and warm, and the wine made me feel calm, relaxed ... even though I had no idea where we’re going or what the training involved.
“Warwick’s in Rhode Island. It’s where I grew up. It’s where our company is based, and our training facilities are there.” He leaned back and smiled at me. “I’m looking forward to your training.”
My insides clenched with desire. “Um...what does it involve, exactly?” I asked, a bit timidly. There seemed to be some sort of double meaning here.
“We do military-based training on a regular basis. Just to keep everyone fit and up to date on the latest technologies. So it involves things like boot camp, munitions, and technical training. We go back home when we’re in between assignments. I brief the men on our new assets and what to expect on our next mission.”
He smiled at me again, and I smiled back up at him, mesmerized. Until my brain started processing information properly again.
“Boot camp?” I asked. “Like a workout?” I’d never even run a mile.
His grin was a little wicked this time. “Yes, Liberty, like a workout.”
I let my smile turn into a frown as I considered this. He waited patiently while I sat there with my brow furrowed. The only image I had of boot camp was people running through the rain, counting, singing, and cursing their leader out. I would last about five seconds. I was going to have to work on him later about the workouts — it wasn’t going to happen.
I decided to change tactics. “I’ve never been east before,” I said, happy to change the subject, but worried that I sounded like the hick I was.
“There’s a first time for everythin
g,” he said and smiled. My heart rolled. Oh John, if you only knew. “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere?” I said as a question, and shrugged in embarrassment. “I grew up in Oregon and then I went to Vegas…and...and...that’s really it.” Wow, that sounded lame. “But I did see the Eiffel Tower in Vegas,” I said, feebly trying to make myself feel better.
“I hear there’s an Eiffel Tower in Paris, too. Would you like to see that one?” John asked, and I could tell that although he was gently making fun at me, he was genuinely curious.
I took another bite of pizza and considered this. “Maybe someday,” I said, chewing. “I’ve never really thought about it.” I haven’t gotten that far, I thought. I’ve been too busy trying to keep my mother alive, her boyfriend off of me, and the bed bugs at bay.
John nodded thoughtfully. I smiled at him. “I’m excited to see Rhode Island, though,” I said. “We’ll be near the water, right? I missed the ocean since I’ve been in Vegas. The lake’s not the same.”
