Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  I’m needy as hell to be inside her. It has escalated out of the bounds of my control in much too vanilla a fashion, but who cares—when it’s working.

  With my free hand I travel lightly up the length of her torso, sending my own senses into a spiral of need. I already know from her moans she is ready and she’s naked and game for more. I’m shaking with my need for her. She unfoils a condom and rolls it on me. I hold her, jamming my dick inside her, spearing into her hottest spot.

  Will this be a two minute wonder? Is my vanilla-opposed dick about to fail now?

  I prepare for the humiliation of feeling my erection wane, but it doesn’t. Especially when Katie hitches herself higher to push herself onto my shaft, with a long satisfied moan that leaves me shuddering for release. Please don’t be a five second lay, I school myself.

  I’m telling myself this isn’t a dream. It is really me doing fantastic vanilla as I move my cock into her and thrust it deep, with sensuous moves that make her breathe desperate entreaties for more.

  “You’re so good…”

  If only she knew. Surely this will sound the death knell of my dick’s prowess.

  Because I’m not good. I have scars—most specifically a guilty conscience.

  “Dan—I need you. So much,” she whispers. “Fuck me harder, please.”

  Something inside me erupts and I thunder into this woman. Who doesn’t see the black heart or the failed hopes and the let-downs I have about myself. I can feel her shuddering around me in a volcanic orgasm that thrills me beyond stunned.

  “You are incredible,” I tell her.

  “Ditto, Dan boy.”

  Her actions, her reactions tonight have been so real, they rock my world. And it’s also so incredible I just want more.

  “Come to me,” says Kate breathing hard as she whispers. Her eyes are like deep pools of dark heat. I can’t read from her face the intentions beneath. “Whatever you had to say I’ll listen. But it alters nothing—whatever you have to tell me, it really makes no difference about this chemistry we share. I’m guessing stuff’s happened. But that’s your past. This is now. Have you got that? We both deserve the now, don’t we?”

  And that’s when it dawns. I’ll never be the light-hearted lover she deserves.

  She doesn’t know that most nights I can’t sleep, and sometimes I fight shadows. Or that the night sweats drive me crazy and the mood swings are a bitch. That I’ve only recently quit meds for anxiety. That, at one time, there were voices—psychiatric assessments.

  That even a couple of girls back home told me they were worried about the things I shout at night.

  “If it were that simple,” I say on a ragged sigh, and realize that the dreams of futures are just that, dreams.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate

  I let my gaze stray over the room, taking in the fact that Dan stormed out like a wild hurricane, and left me in the quaking aftermath of orgasm. My mind is in mayhem.

  Why didn’t I let him talk?

  Why must I push for the story headline soundbite instead of listening to detail?

  Who could blame the guy for storming out? Together—the sex was stellar, but I take too much for granted. He’s trying to say we have no future. This was work with benefits.

  It reminds me of Seb. His shallow promises—fears about the real reason he’d pushed me aside. There wasn’t enough spark in bed.

  “You okay?” comes a husky whisper from the doorway. “I hear that brain ticking away in the darkness.”

  I sigh. “I should have listened.”

  “Sorry for walking out, this talk makes pretty grim listening.” He comes to me and holds out a hand. “Come sit.” Before I know it I’m on his knee listening patiently for God knows what he’s about to confide. He makes me look at him levelly with a finger on my chin.

  “Before you start,” I tell him. “I had a guy in my life who left me feeling like I’d never want to get involved again. He traded me in for a better model—it’s left me feeling like I’m under par. I felt raw for a while. Then I found my new sexy side—but the guy I chose specialized in short-term turn-ons. Being dumped is a personal habit I can’t seem to kick.”

  Dan stares. “This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

  “Isn’t that just a nice way of letting a girl down gently?”

  Dan glares at me. “Never for a single instant think that this is because of you.” He breathes deeply and shakes his head. “The guys had no clue how lucky they were. We just had the best sexplay of my life. Don’t question it for a moment—or give them a minute’s sorrow.” He kisses my shoulder and kisses my skin, dipping to that tender spot at my neck. I know he can feel me tremble like jelly on a trestle table during a mini earthquake. “You are so sensual…we fit. We really fit—and, believe me, it’s against all the odds that we do.”

  For a moment I’m abashed by his words.

  “I don’t usually like vanilla girls,” he says. “Despite your tatt, you’re way less dark than my usual kink partners. You’re rich, decadent, royal vanilla pods and clotted cream. So sweet and refined, and deserving of the finest things. I’m a rough guy at heart.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I haven’t had straight vanilla sex in a long time. There are marks on my skin—they were sexual-adventure inflicted—I guess you could say I like to play hard. I’m scared I’d hurt you more than you’re ready for. But before you go thinking I’m out to hurt you—the only person I want to feel the pain is me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I lost my police partner—my best friend, confidante. Shot on a job with me because of my inattention. Caught us both—drugs cartel. I mighta died too but I got free. Mexican drugs cartel—as hard as it comes.”

  “You do a dangerous job—he’d know the risks.”

  “I took risks I shouldn’t have and it put us both in danger.”

  “Dan…I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. I don’t have long-term women, Kate. I have call girls who come by to hurt me. They whip me, they cuff me. Sometimes they burn me. Sometimes they belt my throat. Because it stops the creeping guilt DTs. For a long time I’ve yearned for punishment.”

  “Dan—”

  “Hear me out. You’re so much better than what I can offer you. I tried to keep you at arm’s length. I don’t want to dim your pure glow. You’re a princess. I’m a beast. So there can’t be a future beyond short term. Not with my dark side.”

  I stare hard at him. He’s Slash. All over again.

  Screwing me over with his I’m not able to give you what you need line.

  He wants to carve me into his perfect kink sculpture, then move on to fresh clay. Not likely—however high end the thrills.

  My insides react with a mega-cotton cycle of anger and frustration at his words. Dan dips his head down and kisses the line of skin above my nipple.

  I push his head harshly away.

  “How dare you presume to know what’s best for me?”

  Dan asks huskily. “I’m madly in lust with you. You’ve knocked this dark knight straight off his horse. I want you to get out now while you can. I can’t rescue you, and after those dickwads, you deserve better to show you they were wrong.”

  I gulp. Then I push myself away.

  “I get it. You’re selfish, and you’re scared. Just like Seb was. You put yourself first rather than actually try to aim for better. That’s fine and you’re right—I don’t need that in my life. I’m worth better. You keep telling yourself you’re doing it to avenge the past—you’re a coward. A selfish coward and a using prick who only thinks of himself. Hasta la freakin’ vista.”

  * * * *

  I didn’t get my Operation Mountain Goat story scoop in the end. Interpol forces decreed an embargo, and as it happens, I don’t want a by-line on this story. I just want to forget it and start again anew.

  The local Santorini police department’s swoop to catch a heinous ga
ng of international sex trafficking criminals will be the order of the day. There will be no mention of Interpol. Or agents. Or Dan, Rich, Havana—or any of the heroes beneath their spy-style rock.

  The real heroes are happy to hide away in the shadows as true heroes are wont to do.

  Except Dan. He’s no hero in my eyes anymore.

  Him and his crazy guilt complex and self-preservation rules.

  Because no amount of persuading or cajoling or encouraging sex would ever make him see he may have this all wrong. He’s damning his future. I know it—at heart he probably does too. But he’s so far gone with self-loathing, he’s ordered the whole enchilada meal on a daily lunchtime special subscription.

  And it’s going to either sicken him or kill him in the end.

  Dan Draven is a lost cause. The quicker I can get out of here the better.

  I pack and go to Warbie, because I know he is a mover and shaker when the chips are down and he’ll listen to my pleas.

  “About getting home?” I say. “Surely you could pull a few strings and get me out on express track channel? Being a man who knows people and gets the job done. When you’re next in the Highgate area of London, I do a mean veggie lasagna that will have you changing your recipe and forsaking it forever after. I also know a great tapas bar for some appreciation payback meals on me.”

  “Fighting talk,” says Warbie, then slips his big, cuddly arms around me. “You wanna go—even though we both know you’re avoiding the big, angry black ops cop cloud?”

  “Damn straight. I’ve had enough.”

  “How does tonight sound, Princess?”

  I smile and have to keep the tears back. “Perfecto, Big Hunk of Wonderful Warbs. That Copacabana beach plan thing—they’re so gonna love you all the way.”

  * * * *

  Dan

  “You realize she’s gone?”

  I know the voice. It’s Warbie’s. Unmistakable, as is the sarcastic accusatory tone that tells me he’d like to punch me in the throat. He can try.

  “Who?”

  “Lady Katie.”

  “When?” I say the words without looking up. Mostly because there’s a big cloud inside my chest that’s filling it up with jet-black crapola karma, and it’s making breathing hard. A cloud of guilt, but it has a lining that says push through, this is how it hasta be. It just hasta.

  “Half hour ago. I took her to the airport.”

  “She get away safe?”

  Warbs is mad, fit to burst. “Course she did. I waited. Somebody had to put her first.”

  I’m chest to chest with the big guy in an instant. “If you have something to say, big man—why not just spit it out?”

  “You’re a putz! A total self-flagellating putz. You’re so full of bull you can’t see it. You hurt her and yourself.”

  I pack my weapons in the case and clip it tight. Then move onto packing away my ops clothes. “I can see she deserves better. Even a big, fat oaf like you can’t get the memo.”

  “She’s way out of your league.”

  “How many black marks are you working for tonight, Warb?”

  “The one that finally gets through your bone head that you’re wrong. But since you won’t listen to me—there’s somebody else here who might just stand a chance of making a difference.

  I glance up and I can’t believe my eyes.

  “Dan,” said a rusty New York accent beside me. “Long time no see—might’ve guessed I’d find you blending into the background. Just like my brother would.”

  My mouth is dry and I don’t know what to say. I’ve largely avoided Claire, Nathan’s sister, since the funeral. Though I send cards and flowers and stuff. The easy stuff, I can do, that no probs. Credit card order, check, move on. It’s eyeballing her that’s the hard part.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Nicos told me about the mission. That they nearly lost you. Figured I’d drop by—I run a villa holiday art school deal on the mainland. Married a Greek husband. Can’t keep him away from the place in summer. You can leave us now, Warbie,” she tells the big guy. “I’ll holler if he needs restraining.”

  I clear my throat. There’s so much I should say, want to say but can’t.

  “Why are you here, Claire?”

  “Like I just said, we have a vacation place—I’m an artist. Me and Stalli run a small art school. Warbie is my old friend. Nicos keeps in touch. We gonna talk? Do I have to hit you on the head to make you think straight? You can’t crawl in the casket with my brother. When are you finally gonna see that?”

  “I’m guessin’ you think I’m a lost cause.”

  “So listen and listen good,” she says, and I realize she’s the vanilla I’ve hidden from. Not as in sex, or attraction—as in purity, family, justice, kindness.

  She’s the one I should have been facing and saying sorry to. But I couldn’t, and so for years, I’ve totally wussed out.

  Now’s my chance. To vent the guilt. Guilt for Nathan and her family.

  Now ain’t that just something to think about.

  She comes to me and hugs me. “So. Let’s sit for a while and talk about why you really were not to blame about Nathan.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Kate

  “What’s up?” Mel asks down the line from the newsroom, with a tone in her voice that says she is in news-editor-dragon mode. I can almost hear the flap of dragon wings, the flame-thrower of her ire.

  “I’m sick.”

  “You’re not ill, you’re hiding. First you get yourself involved in the biggest international crime story we’ve had in years, out of nowhere. Now you announce you’ll just decide your own working hours and pull a sickie. Trying hard here to keep making excuses not to sack you.”

  I can hear the chatter and clatter of the newsroom in the background. I’m glad I’m not there. Since I’ve got back from Santorini work has really been a chore—am I losing my edge? My mind? My clues of how to proceed?

  I snuggle deeper into the eiderdown blanket on my butter-soft sofa and turn the remote on the twenty-four hour news show to mute. Okay, maybe Mel is on the button and my tummy bug has more to do with ‘willed nausea’ than actual cramps—but I’m not admitting that to anyone. I have been feeling sick since Greece—sick to my stomach and sick to the heart.

  “You want me to spread it to all the staff?”

  Mel sighs. I can hear her pencil drumming. “I suspect you’re not okay. That’s quite an adventure you both had in Greece! Dan’s retired from Interpol—unofficial sources and strictly off the record, but it’s true. Yes, I know the real story—been privy to the info. Special clearance, apparently. Anyway I asked him outright today—his retirement that is. Says it’s true.”

  “Today? You saw him today? Why the hell is he back at the channel?” Suddenly the sofa seems to sway—even though I know it isn’t moving. It is just my mind that is doing big dipper.

  “He’s in London tying stuff up. Though he’s busy again now and probably won’t be around for much of tomorrow. He took me to lunch and gave me the low down on what all happened.”

  My cheeks heat. Please don’t tell me he’s told her the full low down as in the red, scarlet, censored version.

  “Hostages, shot cops, hiding out in caves. Nearly being involved in a terrible car crash—I hear that cop driver Zante is making a good recovery now. That guy that died, Ivan, sounded horrendous. Cop turned criminal—as low as it gets.”

  She’s right. But the words still resonate with meaning for me.

  Mel holds the phone from her ear so her words became muffled but just discernible. She’s searing a staff member about some news story that’s pissed her off and how she wants it handled with immediate effect. Blimey, she’s tough. Interpol could sign her up without a need for training.

  Mel says, “Go and cover that now because I say so or I’ll fry your liver with kidney beans and kick your arse like a Five Nations rugby ball!” Mel then has an aside conversation with some faceless colleague. Does she
really think she is the Hannibal of the Headlines? Is any job worth this kinda crap treatment and attitude?

  I was once the most motivated reporter on the team. Diligent, I’d put in more hours then double them. Never one to shirk—yet now I don’t care if they sack me with immediate effect. I’ll live.

  “Kate? Sorry no, I wasn’t talking to you. He’s asked to visit you. The attack and the kidnapping must have had a huge effect. As a company we feel a responsibility for your mental health. PTSD counselling and such.”

  And just there I fall flat at the concern.

  Dan worrying about me and wanting to see me is one thing. What the station cares about is that I could sue the company. Nice touch.

  “I don’t want him anywhere near me. Got that?”

  “He could pull rank and ask for your files. I have no authority to stop him.”

  “Interpol has no damn right to wade into HR demanding anything. Don’t you start fudging the truth for your own ends.” I fiddle with my hair as I sit with my knees pulled in on the couch. “As a friend I’m begging you—you owe this to me—do whatever it takes. But keep him away.”

  “Then let me run through some of the news highlights on this one in return for my cooperation—you and he had a rip roaring fling that did a bad somersault landing. It didn’t recover from Santorini—am I right?”

  I make an affirmative noise that wasn’t quite a yes.

  “And you’re avoiding work—ringing in sick. Kate, you’ve never had a day off in years—not even when you had gastric flu and threw up in your handbag. Like a peekaboo negligee I can see straight through. He’s due to go back to New York soon—just to be clear—coming back to work tomorrow is compulsory—dry your tears and I expect to see you back at the helm tomorrow.” Mel stops what she was saying to yell at someone like a banshee. “Sorry, the intern just set the photocopier on fire again.”

  “Mel—”

  “See you tomorrow, eight-thirty sharp. My leaving party.” The phone slams down, and my excuses feel like the pyramid of crumpled tissues I knock to the floor—insubstantial and much too flimsy. She’s leaving?