“Oh my, Dolly. You’ve been bad,” he wags his finger at her. “That was a private conversation.”
“I know I’m sorry,” she shrugs.
“Well, is it true?” I ask. I would never have had the courage to talk like this if I weren’t a little tipsy. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.
Logan looks straight at me. His eyes narrow, as if he’s evaluating if I really want to know the answer. For a moment, I feel like he’s going to say no, but then he flashes his pearly whites at me.
“Of course,” he says with total confidence. “I haven’t met anyone like you before.”
I smile. We are locked in a moment. When I finally catch myself and look around, I see that Dolly has disappeared.
“She left,” Logan whispers not breaking eye contact with me. His gaze is intense, and it sends shivers down my whole body.
“She really knows the right time to exit,” I say.
“Well, she is a professional.”
It’s one of those exchanges where we are talking about one thing, but thinking another. The words don’t matter, and I don’t even know why we’re saying them, except that there’s the social expectation that something needs to be said.
His eyes finally let go of mine and travel down to my lips and then my neck and toward the top of my breasts. I can feel his gaze on me. It is so exhilarating and erotic that my feet grow numb.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” he whispers. I nod.
A few minutes later, we’re alone in our suite. All the windows and the doors to the patio are open, and there’s a nice salty breeze circulating around the place. Moonlight streams in turning everything in the place a mysterious silver-grey tone. Neither of us dares to turn on the lights.
I head toward the bed, but Logan stops me in the middle of the room. He leans into me. His fingers run along my jawline and bury themselves in my hair. Slowly, he removes some of the hairpins and lets them drop. They make little dinging sounds when they hit the floor. He takes a step closer to me. I feel the unevenness of his breath on my lips. I wait for our lips to touch, but he surprises me. He demands that I wait. Instead, he leans down and runs his lips over my neck. Gently. Quietly.
I bury my hands in his hair and pull his head toward mine. I have to taste him. I have to touch his tongue with mine. When our lips finally meet, shivers run down my body. His tongue feels rough and strong. He grabs my face and kisses me more passionately with each breath. He’s kissing me as if he’s trying to prove something. I like it. A lot. He devours me, and I devour him.
Suddenly, he pulls away from me, and takes a step back. His eyes run over my body, from top to bottom. I try to approach him, but he puts me back into place.
“What…” I’m about to ask him what he’s doing. But he puts his index finger on his lips.
“Shhhh,” he whispers. He walks around me and unzips my dress. It falls effortlessly to the floor. He undoes my strapless bra and then grabs at my breasts. Slowly, with kisses, he makes his way to the front of my body and places one of my nipples into his mouth. He’s gentle at first, carefully playing with it, as if it were a bing cherry. Warmth courses through my body, and I feel like I’m running a fever. My knees grow weak, and I lean on him for support. His body is hard and sturdy, and it holds me up seemingly without much effort.
In the meantime, Logan’s kisses intensify. He moves on to my other breast, squeezing my nipple in between his teeth, and toeing the line between pleasure and pain. I remove his jacket and tie and unbuckle his belt. His underpants fall to the floor. My hands feel rushed, and they shake in anticipation. At first, he doesn’t cooperate, but eventually gives in. I run my fingers over his hard abs, each pectoral muscle is illuminated by the light of the moon. He looks photoshopped. For a brief second, I worry about my own less than perfect body, but when he kneels down before me, placing all of my breast into his mouth, all of my insecurities vanish.
He pushes aside my panties, and spreads me open. He runs his fingers over me, teasing me before thrusting them inside. I tilt my head back. He runs his lips along my thigh, then up to my navel and then down again.
“You taste so good,” he says licking me. Another wave of warmth runs through me and this time, I’m certain that I’m going to fall down. He isn’t holding me up anymore, and my legs are too weak to do it for me. With what seems to be my last ounce of strength, I pull away from him and grab his large cock. It pulsates and throbs in my hand. I run my fingers over its every line and curve. His eyes roll to the back of his head. I pull him toward the bed. Another moment later, he’s inside of me. Neither of us can toy with each other anymore. My fingers dig into his shoulders.
“Avery,” he whispers over and over.
“Logan,” I moan into his ear.
Our hips move as one.
“I’m getting close,” I whisper.
“I love you,” he says. A moment later, my legs grow completely numb and my toes bury themselves into the bedspread. A warm, soothing sensation spreads through my body. A few thrusts later, Logan says my name a few more times and then collapses on top of me.
Chapter 23 - Logan
While I’m trying to catch my breath after one of the most intense orgasms of my life, my mind runs a mile a minute. Did I really just tell her that I loved her? I’ve never said those words in my life to anyone. Well, not anyone except my mom, dad and siblings. Definitely not to a girl. But Avery isn’t just a girl. She’s a girlfriend. Wow, even that word, girlfriend makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It sounds so official.
I get up and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
“You okay?” Avery asks from the bedroom.
“Yeah, fine.”
I stare at myself in the mirror. Not really fine at all. She does not know this, definitely doesn’t even suspect it, but I’ve just crossed a threshold. Took a big step. Not one that I ever thought I would.
I wash my face, rubbing it hard with a towel. I look at myself in the mirror again. Everything about me looks the same. Even my tan is coming back. There’s the beginning of those nasty little crow’s feet around my eyes. There are the strong, broad shoulders that are perfectly balanced with the narrowness of my waist. I seem the same, but I don’t feel it. What is this feeling? And why does it make me feel like I’m suspended in weightlessness? As if I’m scuba diving in that middle section, far enough from the bottom of the ocean floor and too far away from the surface that I don’t see either the ground or the waves.
And then it hits me, perhaps this is what it’s like to actually care about someone? Maybe this is what it means to be in love?
I walk out of the bathroom. Avery is sitting on the bed, wrapped in a bed sheet. Her hair is all messed up, her makeup is a little smeared and I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she’s holding something in her hand.
“Someone called you,” she says. I glance at her hand. That’s my other phone. Shit.
“I was going to get it for you, but when I searched through your jacket, I found two.” Avery takes out her other hand and shows me both of my phones.
“Why do you have two phones?” she asks.
I don’t know what to say. I freeze.
“Logan! Why do you have two phones?” she asks again, this time less patiently.
“I have to have another phone for work.”
“For work? What work? You don’t work.”
“Yes, I do,” I take the phone from her.
“What do you do?”
I stare at her, waiting for my mind to kick in. I’m trained in this. I know how to lie. Expertly. Just say something already, I say to myself. Anything.
“There are certain business opportunities that I’m investigating,” I say looking straight into her eyes. Most people are afraid of direct eye contact. Look right into her eyes and don’t blink, I remember what my training has taught me. That’s how most people determine if you’re telling the truth. “These companies h
ave privacy concerns. So they gave me another phone to use in all of my communications.”
She nods.
“Okay,” she finally says.
“You don’t believe me?” I ask, changing my tone. I sit down next to her and put my arm around her. “It’s nothing, really.”
“No, I believe you,” she lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I was just really surprised. And then when I saw the phone, I freaked out a little.”
“I know,” I smile. “But it’s really nothing very interesting. They just tend to call me at various times of day and night. Not courteous like that.”
“And you’re thinking of doing business with them.”
“They have some very interesting ideas,” I say.
I brush her hair from her face and lean in to kiss her. At first, she doesn’t kiss me back, but then she reciprocates and I know that she believes me.
“Can I have my phones please?” I ask, pulling away.
She hands them to me.
It requires a password to open, so I know that she couldn’t see who called or read any of the text messages that Truman might have left. But if he called me so close to the mission, I know that it can’t be good.
I enter the passcode.
Where the fuck are you? Call me back ASAP.
Truman does not use language like that often, and I’ve never seen him text with this kind of urgency. Whatever it is, it’s not good.
“I have to make a call,” I say.
Truman starts talking almost as soon as I press send.
“Where the hell are you? Doesn’t matter. There has been a change of plans. Sanchez isn’t going to be on the boat. We just got word that he’s staying at the same resort as you. Room 117. First floor. He’s there alone. There’s a guard by the door, but we don’t think there’s anyone on the side facing the ocean. We’ll never get as good of a chance to get to him as we have now.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t think this needs saying, but you don’t need to wait until 2 a.m. Go now.”
“Okay.”
I hang up the phone, take a moment to collect my thoughts. Going now is a little bit of a problem. Avery is here, and she’s already suspicious, but there’s no other way around. Getting Sanchez here is much easier than on that boat, and there’s no one else around except his guards, which makes civilian causalities not much of a problem. I hate missions in which women and children are around the target. I don’t want to hurt or injure any innocent bystanders and make poor decisions as a result.
“I’m really, really sorry,” I walk into the room shaking my head, “but I have to go.”
“Go? Go where?” Avery asks.
“It’s work. There’s this emergency that I have to take care of.” I buckle my belt and put on my dress shirt.
I had another outfit lined up for the mission, but with Avery being here, I can’t very well dress in all black and look like a ninja. The suit I wore to the wedding will have to do. On the plus side, it might make me blend in easier afterwards, in case there’s a chase or something goes wrong.
“What are you talking about?” Avery gets up, wrapping herself in the robe. “You’re leaving now? Where are you going?”
“Not very far. Just to the business center. I have to do something. It won’t take long.”
I put on my jacket, skip the tie. I slip on the shoes.
“But why do you have to do it now?” she asks.
I walk back to her and take her into my arms.
“I’m really, really sorry. You don’t even know how sorry I am about this, but I really need to do this. I’m just going to be in the business center. I should be back in an hour or so. Get some sleep.”
Her eyes twinkle in the moonlight. I hate the disappointment that I see in them.
“I can’t sleep,” she shakes her head.
“Well, then watch some TV. Order some room service. I’ll be back soon,” I press my lips onto hers. I feel her losing herself in the moment. I would to, if my mind wasn’t on the mission. Ideally, this should look like an accident rather than an assassination. Assassinations always bring about the worst in rebels. They make the assassinated leader a martyr. A legend. People start imagining that he was better than he was. We can’t have that. Sanchez is an old man. He’s also a very unhealthy man. Someone who could easily have a heart attack and die. The best way to handle this is sneaking into his room while he is sleeping and suffocating him with his pillow. That would be ideal, but might not be possible. I have to be prepared.
I pull away from Avery.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She nods.
I let go of her and go to the closet. I feel her watching me as I search my suitcase for the hidden compartment with my weapon. Luckily, all the lights in the room are off, and I’m able to slip the gun in the waist of my pants and the silencer into my pocket of my jacket without her noticing.
I walk back to Avery to give her one last kiss before I go. This time I don’t embrace her; I don’t want her to feel anything around my waist. Instead, I keep her at arm’s length.
“Do you remember what I said when we were making love?” I ask. She looks at me.
“What?” she asks. I can tell that she isn’t happy. Her arms are crossed at her chest and her lips are pursed.
“I love you.”
She looks up at me as if she doesn’t believe me.
“You don’t have to say anything back. I just want you to know how I feel. I love you Avery, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before.”
Suddenly, a warm, inviting smile sweeps over her face. I give her one last kiss and disappear.
Chapter 24 - Avery
I don’t know how I feel about Logan Davenport at this very moment. He has just told me that he loves me, and I could feel his love in the kiss and the way he held me. And the way he made love to me. But then he left. Off to somewhere mysterious in the middle of the night. After receiving a mysterious call from his other phone. What. The. Fuck?
Who the hell conducts business so late at night? What kind of business is this that requires him to have another phone? No, all of his perfect explanations are just that. Too perfect. I don’t buy them. They’re bullshit. But what else could it be?
I change out of the bathrobe and into my yoga pants and light t-shirt. Before I really know what I’m doing, I grab the key to the room and follow him out.
A million thoughts rush through my head. He isn’t telling me the truth. And I want to – have to – find out what is really going on. If he’s having an affair, then I need to know that so I can dump his sorry ass.
I walk passed the business center. I peek in through the little window on the door. It’s completely empty.
Shit, I lean back against the wall. He’s lying. Of course, he is. You know this already. So why are you so surprised?
Because a huge part of me, all of me, in fact, wants to believe him. Why can’t he just be this wonderful guy who’s in love with me? Why does he have to be a liar?
I take a deep breath. Suddenly, another thought enters my mind. What if he’s not having an affair on me? What if I’m the affair? What if he’s married and I’m the other woman?
No, he isn’t married. Dolly would never set us up if he were married. Though, he could have a girlfriend, and he could be cheating on her with me. I mean, why else would he have another phone? And have it password protected?
I have to find him. But how? I have to see if he left the resort at least. Go to the parking lot and see if the car is there.
I head outside. The car we used earlier is there. But then again, he could’ve rented another car. Or maybe this isn’t our car at all. We were in it for like a second and haven’t used it since arriving at the resort.
I’m at a loss as to what to do, so I head around the building and toward the water. I don’t want to walk past the business center again and not see him. I need time to reflect on this, and out by the water is probably the best spot.
I we
lcome the ocean breeze in my face, allowing it to cool off my scorching body. It’s hot and humid, even at night, but my blood is boiling for other reasons.
I make my way past our suite and then another and another. By the time I reach the last suite, I’m pretty certain of the fact that Logan is cheating on me. It’s hard to comprehend all of the conflicting emotions that I’m experiencing at the moment. I hate him. I’m angry with him. I want to punch him. And yet, I want him. I know that what we shared less than an hour ago wasn’t a lie. It felt real. And, when he told me that he loved me…that couldn’t be a lie as well? Why would he go out of his way and say that? I didn’t bring it up. This is only our third date. There’s no pressure on him at all. Why would he say that to me, if he didn’t mean it? And why would he say it to me if he were cheating on me?
I trip on a piece of driftwood and fall down, head first into the sand. Shit. When I look around to get my bearings, I see the shadow of a man who looks a lot like Logan. Carefully, I get back on my feet. My ankle hurts a little, but it’s not really injured. I limp toward the closest palm tree and hide in its shadow. From there, I squint to get a better view.
Yes, it’s Logan. I’m certain. I don’t see his face, but his deliberate way of walking is very familiar. I look around the patio and inside the suite. This isn’t our place. What is he doing here?
The lights inside the suite are off, and the bed is illuminated only by the light of the television screen. As my eyes adjust a little more, I make out a large fat figure, probably a man, lying in bed. Logan walks through the open patio doors and toward the bed.
What the hell is he doing? I wonder. I need to get a better look. Quietly, I tiptoe toward a closer palm tree and again hide behind it.
Logan grabs a pillow off the sofa at the foot of the bed and takes it between his hands. He walks up to the man and puts it over his face.
What!?
I peer into the darkness just to make sure that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. The man’s legs and arms flail around as he struggles for life. But Logan doesn’t give in. He leans over him more and presses the pillow harder into him.
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