Текст книги "Blowback"

Автор книги: Emmy Curtis

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

CHAPTER THREE

When Molly woke, the first thing she checked was her pocket. Then her phone. The notes were still there, and the phone had no text or voice mail. Brandon Peterson had disappeared. Or disavowed her. A prickling of anxiety settled in her stomach, and she blew out air through puffed cheeks, trying to dispel the feeling.

David. She was in David’s room. At last. A year she’d been looking over her shoulder, waiting for him to show up. And now she was here with him. In Athens.

She knew he was worried about her, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe she’d been about to do something in service of her country, but she hadn’t. And it still wasn’t wrong. Her thoughts flittered to Doubrov, wondering if she had done something that led to his death.

Her head felt clear again, even though her back throbbed. She fingered the messages in her pocket. Should she read the other one too? She’d been told not to. She just wished Brandon would return her call so he could tell her what to do.

She stretched and winced again at the pull of the wounds in her back. She needed a shower and some clean clothes. Maybe her luggage had arrived. Suddenly the idea of clean underwear and clothes that didn’t have slivers of glass in it was overwhelmingly attractive. She left David a note and went down to her room.

Bliss. Her suitcase had arrived. She sighed with relief and pulled out a silk blouse and a skirt, hung them on a hanger, and took them into the bathroom with her to steam out the creases. The shower was heavenly, but being alone and naked made her long for David with a heaviness that threaded through her stomach. Nervousness perhaps. She’d spent a year thinking about him, dreaming about him, wondering what she would do if he had actually called. The thought of him actually being here, causing this physical reaction in her, confused her.

She wasn’t sure when she had put it all together in her head, but her boss had married Matt, the other man who’d helped them in Iraq, so it was as if her soul had accepted that David would be hers. Like a perfect and symmetrical outcome. Henrietta had Matt, and she would have David. He must have felt the same, she’d been sure. Every time they’d seen each other, his eyes would never leave hers. They burned into her, making her think that they were connected at some profound level. She was sure he saw her, really saw her. He didn’t say much when he was sober, and only laughed that one time she’d seen him drunk, but they’d seemed to say so much without words that she was sure—no she knew—he would come for her when she returned to the US.

And when the months passed, and her feeling about the man who had rescued her, totally on top of his game even though he’d been drunk at the time, had never diminished. She waited, sure every time she got home that he’d be on her doorstep.

He was hers. Her heart had never accepted even a sliver of doubt, though he hadn’t even kissed her. Two kisses on the freaking forehead were all he’d given her. Maybe if she wore heels she’d be at the right height to get a kiss where she wanted one. But he’d done nothing except hold her close at the airport a year ago. Why had she been celibate just waiting on the off chance that he’d make good on his promise? And why was washing herself in the shower making her want him with every part of her? Every drop of water felt like a touch. His touch. But now he was really here, yet different. More careful, more considered. Still intense, still dangerous. Still wildly attractive.

She shook it off by peeling the wet bandages from her back. And shampooing her hair. Hard. As she was getting out of the shower, there was a knock at the door. Her stomach fluttered. David? Who else could it be?

Excited, she wrapped a large towel around herself and ran to open the door. She checked the peephole with her hand already on the handle. Two unsmiling men stood there. Not David. She took a step back and tightened the towel around her.

The two men discussed something outside, and she leaned in so she could hear. “Open the damned door,” one man with an accent said.

“No, I can’t…” The second man was interrupted with an audible scuffle, and to Molly’s horror, she heard the key card slide into the lock.

Instinctively she looked for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere. Not even large enough furniture to crouch behind. Even the bed was too low to the ground.

The door opened.

She tried to close it again, but the larger of the two men stuck his foot in so she couldn’t. “Excuse me. I’m not dressed.” She tried to convey annoyance rather than the abject fear she had that two strangers were in her hotel room uninvited.

She slammed the door several times on his foot but he didn’t show any expression. The smaller man looked apologetic. “Ms. Solent. I am so sorry for this inconvenience. I am Mr. Stelio, the hotel duty-manager. This is an investigator from the Russian embassy. It seems—”

“You were the last person to speak to Dr. Doubrov before his criminal assassination.” The larger man interrupted in a deep voice with a thick accent, dragging out the word “criminal” like he was in a James Bond movie. “So. We need to talk, you and I. Correct?”

Fear spiked through her. The man pushed his way into the room and stood by the window, looking out over the city. The hotel manager hovered in front of the bathroom nervously wringing his hands.

Molly hitched her towel up as far as she could. She shoved her chin up. “If you wish to talk to me, you can make an appointment, and I will be dressed for it. You can’t just barge—”

“I can do whatever I want to do, Ms. Solent. I am sure you wouldn’t want to impede the investigation into the murder of a member of the Russian government, would you? Especially as you seemed to be so well acquainted?”

Oh my God. What did he know? “I have only met him at conferences. That is the extent of our acquaintance.” Her cadence started to reflect the Russian’s proper sentence construction. Funny thing was, if he hadn’t pissed her off, she would probably have stuttered and stammered through an excuse, but anger superseded her nervousness.

He spun around to face her. “And yet I’ve heard from his security team that you held his hands for so very long before he was shot. Was it a signal? What did you say to him?”

A signal? “I said how nice it was to see him. I really didn’t…” have anything to do with his death…did I?

“I think we should let Ms. Solent get dressed. Maybe you can make an appointment to speak to her further.” Mr. Stelio shifted from one foot to another, obviously uncomfortable.

“Thank you—” Molly began.

“Absolutely out of the question,” the Russian interrupted forcefully. “Time is everything in a murder investigation.” He stepped much closer to Molly than was comfortable.

Her legs pressed against the bed but she had nowhere to go. She wasn’t going to sit on the bed and allow him even greater physical power over her.

“I’m not sure you—either of you—understand the position you, and the whole of this country, are in. A member of the Russian Federation’s government was brutally gunned down at a G20 meeting. In your country.” He raised his eyes to the hotel manager.

“And with you”—looking back at Molly—“an American, being the last person to talk to him.” He slowly put his hands on his hips revealing a gun on his waist. “It really is in your best interests to cooperate with the investigation.”

Molly’s heart jumped a beat at the sight of his gun. She thought Europe had mostly banned guns. What had she gotten into? What were the messages about? What if he took her to the Russian embassy? No one would ever know where she was.

He stroked a thumb up and down the butt of the gun, as if he was contemplating taking it out and blowing a kneecap. “We saw you passing information. That is what his protection thinks. A thumb drive perhaps? Are you an agent for the United States of America? With your dark hair, you could easily be Chechen too. Let me tell you, our administration sees Chechen conspiracies faster than you sell antiquities. And the gulags are pleasant this time of year I hear. If…you survive the journey.”

“Wait a minute. I did not sell antiquities—” but she kind of had. Or at least had unknowingly worked for a company that had sold antiquities that she and her boss had found. He must have really done his homework about her. While she was sleeping, he must have been digging up her past. The thought chilled her more. She tried to gather her thoughts. “I’m here to speak out against such practices. And while we are on the subject of dubious practices, I highly doubt my embassy would look kindly on you barging into my room, not even allowing me to dress, and interrogating me.

A movement in the door caught her eye. David muscled in behind the hotel manager, holding his cell phone up to video what was going on in the room. The Russian didn’t see him. Thank God he’d found her. Her shoulders slumped in relief.

The Russian hissed at her in anger. “Your embassy, you foolish girl, will cooperate with my investigation lest our inquiries point at them. And if they don’t, we will all know that the United States of America assassinated a member of Putin’s government. Trust me when I say they won’t want to go to war over this. They will give you up to us, regardless of what you did, or didn’t do.”

“And will your government give you up when this little movie I’m making hits YouTube? Of you storming a hotel room with a gun and victimizing an American woman who is only here to talk to the G20 countries about archaeology? With no authority?” David said, as if he was having a conversation about grabbing coffee.

That is until the Russian drew his gun.

“Give that phone to me immediately!” the Russian said, flicking a lever on the gun. Was that the safety? Was he really going to shoot David?

Molly’s knees started to wobble, and the hotel manager disappeared into the corridor. She couldn’t really blame him.

“This phone? This one? Okay. Oh, whoops. Look at that. Already uploaded. Right next to the video about a cat that loves water. Look. Aw. It’s taking a bath in a kitchen sink.” David showed the phone’s screen to him and then laughed. “It really is so cute. Look, it has over a million views. Oh, do you think your video will beat that? It might go viral.” His voice hardened. “That would be fun wouldn’t it? Your career would be over. You are KGB right? Or SVR? A rose by any other name is as sweet though, don’t you think? KGB, SVR it’s all the same. Tell me, what are their disciplinary measures like? Same as they used to be? Shot by recruits?” He looked at the phone again and grinned. “Guess you’ll find out soon.”

She couldn’t believe he was being so calm. But with his background in bomb disposal, she guessed he was used to being calm under pressure. Dammit, he was so cool.

The Russian holstered his weapon and cracked his neck. “Don’t get in my way. I intend to solve this murder,” he said, as he shouldered David out of his way. The air in the room left with him. As he slammed the door, Molly slumped to the bed.

“Thank God you came. He was threatening to take me to the gulag. That’s probably as bad as it sounds right?” Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. And she was cold.

David sat beside her and rubbed the small of her back, heating the blood rushing around there. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” he asked mildly.

She leaned into him, needing his warmth, and his strength. And him. He’d rescued her again. He’d saved her the previous year when a maniac was holding a gun on her, he’d protected her the day before when someone was shooting, and he’d rescued her again just now from the gulag. Surely third time was the charm. Surely.

He disengaged from her and grabbed the desk chair, dragging it forward. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but that”—he gestured to the door—“was nothing compared with what will happen if you don’t leave. Everything he said was right. I’m not sure how far the embassy will go to protect you if the Russians press the point. If the US takes you in, well, the visuals of the US harboring a suspected assassin at a G20 conference…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know how that will play out.”

She flexed her fingers to combat the feeling that her hand muscles had frozen in place. Isn’t that where rigor mortis started? Her head was shaking. How had this trip gone from something she’d been looking forward to for months to this level of calamity in just a few hours? “I’m not an assassin. Don’t even say that. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

He edged closer and took her hands in his, gradually returning the feeling to them. “It might be crazy, but this is where you are now. You have to leave. Today, if we can get you on a flight. I can’t stay with you. I have a job here too.”

Molly suddenly realized what he was saying. “You’re leaving me? Again?”

“Strictly speaking, you’ll be leaving me. We have about a couple of hours, maybe three, before he comes back with the Greek police and a warrant. You need to be gone by then.” He sat back as if the matter had been settled.

“That’s absolutely out of the question.” Her voice rose, and she could feel the hysteria growing in her body. “It’s not happening.”

David looked stunned, but try as she might, she couldn’t dial it back. She jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She braced herself on the vanity and took some breaths. Okay. This wasn’t his fault. She was trying to blame someone other than herself.

She looked in the mirror and tried to gather her wits. How stupid could she have possibly been to agree to Brandon’s plan? She wasn’t a spy. She was terrible at that stuff. She was shit at lying, shit at hiding things…she wasn’t exactly stellar at keeping secrets either. What had possessed her to get involved? Now a man was dead, and David thought she was a total idiot.

She’d ruined everything. This tour of speeches and conference was her way of atoning for the mess she’d found herself in last year. She’d spent her whole adult life working to preserve archaeological artifacts, only to find out that the company she’d done digs for was stealing the treasures from under everyone’s noses. This speech here at the G20 was the culmination of her penance. This was the one that would get worldwide coverage. The grand finale. The one that she knew would make a difference. She wasn’t sure if she could walk away from it. To go home and just go back to work as if none of it had mattered.

And she hated herself, really hated herself, that she was also pissed that David was leaving her again. He hadn’t even flirted with her. Not so much as a look that might have had a double meaning. She was so stupid to have wasted a year on the mere hope of him. Someone she’d known had died, and here she was thinking about a man, for God’s sake.

She sniffed back tears. She wished David wasn’t outside the bathroom door. She’d give anything for a legitimate sobfest. But she had to man up and deal with what was going on. She stood up straight, and tried to look as dignified as she could in a hotel towel.

She opened the door and forced her chin up. “Okay, I’m sorry…”

He held his finger up. He was on the phone. “Yes sir. Yes. Of course, sir.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shook her head.

It didn’t matter. She just needed to get dressed and leave. Go home. Forget all this. She couldn’t rely on anyone. Not Brandon, and not David. She had to take control of the situation. Regardless of how woefully inept she’d already proved herself to be. At that sliver of a negative thought, a wave of insecurity washed over her.

He was still on the phone with his back to her, nodding occasionally at whatever the person on the other end had said. She took a breath and just watched him in a way she’d never been able to before. His shirt was tight across his back, his waist was slim, and his jeans rode low. They were the type of jeans you wore when you weren’t concerned with designer names, and they suited him perfectly. A little frayed around the edges, a little beaten up, but still functioning…and sexy. She gave a little smile when she realized she could have been describing David. Something twinged in her. God, she still wanted him so much. Wanted to love him. Wanted to see what he looked like when he was having sex. Climaxing.

Jesus…What she wanted to do is get a grip. She wrapped her towel firmly around her body and caught sight of herself in the floor length mirror outside the bathroom. She wanted to cry. Despite everything, how could this moment be any more convenient? She was almost naked, David was in the hotel room with her? And still he wasn’t interested? Well that did it. She just had to admit how completely stupid she’d been this past year and move on.

“Roger that, sir. Nope, I’ll pass Mal the message for you.” He nodded another couple of times and then hung up.

“Are you almost ready to go?” he asked, barely offering her a look.

“Nope,” she said, trying to tamp down her annoyance. “I’m staying. I don’t care what happens to me, but I am giving this speech. I’m sorry that you got involved, and of course, thank you for helping me last night, but you should go now. Get on with your life, and let me get on with mine, at last.” She twisted her finger in the air, telling him to turn around so that she could get dressed. Why she bothered doing that though, she had no idea. It was obvious he had no residual feelings for her.

Must not touch. Must not touch, he repeated to himself as he obediently looked out at the Greek government complex opposite. He heard her towel hit the floor, and his dick sprang uncomfortably to life in his jeans. He shifted from leg to leg, trying not to give in to it.

He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his life. But to keep her out of the hands of the Russian SVR he had to be thinking about their next move, not how lush her body looked, dewy from the shower. How sexy she looked with her chin shoved up, telling him to get on with his life. Her tan skin peeking out from the crisp white towel. The dreams he’d had about her all year. The vivid, tactile dreams that left him awake in the morning with a hard-on that propped up the sheets and the blankets on his bed. Every bad thought he’d had in the last year had been about her.

Even though they had never kissed. Even though he’d been mostly drunk the whole time he’d known her. Understandably so, but still. It was as though merely hugging her that last time they saw one another at the airport in Iraq—just that one embrace—had embedded her DNA so deeply in him all he could think about was her.

It took the will of a saint not to turn around and look. Touch. Taste. But something was off with Molly. Something she wasn’t telling him. And he intended to get to the bottom of it, come hell or high water, before he succumbed to her. He could feel her pull, like attracting magnets. Dammit. He had to get his head back in the game.

He’d already made himself a target by coming into the hotel room. He could have let the Russian intelligence officer continue his interrogation, and kept his identity out of it, but, yeah. That hadn’t really been an option.

When he saw the hotel manager standing by Molly’s open hotel room, he suspected the worst. His whole world had almost collapsed in on him. She was dead. Whoever had killed the minister had come back for her. In the two seconds it had taken him to reach her doorway, he’d already imagined his life without the possibility of her in it. Trying to live knowing that she’d died on his watch. Wondering if he’d survive the crushing defeat his soul had felt. It wasn’t anything he wanted to experience again. It wasn’t anything he was going to let happen. Whatever happened now, he was staying with her. And his boss was going to kill him. Maybe even fire him. And given David’s instinct to protect Molly rather than the man he was actually being paid to look after, he couldn’t really blame him.

Distracted, he turned to tell her that he would stay with her. For as long as she was in danger. Big. Mistake. She was naked, sure. Phenomenally naked. But what struck him, made it impossible to turn away, was the worry on her face. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, the crease on her forehead spoke of worrying thoughts floating through her head.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not leaving you again.” He hoped she couldn’t hear how unsteady his words were.

She looked up, startled. Her instinct was to look for something to cover herself with, but there wasn’t anything within reach. He wanted to do the honorable thing. To turn around and give her the privacy she asked for. But he couldn’t. He took a step toward her, never taking his eyes from hers.

Her lips trembled beneath his gaze, and she held up her hand to stop him. He stopped in his tracks.

“You promised to come find me, but it felt like you were promising more.” Her voice wavered as she attempted to cross her arms over her breasts. He tried to keep his eyes on her face.

There was no way he could lie to her, not with her standing there, naked and vulnerable.

“I did promise”—he paused—“but I probably was in no shape to promise anything.” And now he wanted to promise her everything, but still wasn’t sure if he should. “I’m sorry. I should have called. Written. But it never felt like the right time…” I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never deserved you.

“Did you think about me?” she asked softly.

His dick was heavy and hot in his pants. He didn’t answer her immediately, wondering if he should admit to his weakness. He was trying to control this dynamite, trying to get some control over the room again, when every part of his brain wanted to lose itself in her.

“Every day. I…”—He stopped himself going too far. Past the point of no return—“Every day.”

Her crossed arms dropped, as well as her gaze. His body started working without permission.

He couldn’t even put up a token resistance. An honorable one. Honor was already in his rearview mirror.

He tugged his T-shirt over his head and slowly went to her. Slowly so he could marvel at her, the sudden light in her eyes.

He was far from certain. About what he wanted from her, about the wisdom of getting entangled—because he had no doubt that is exactly what he was doing. With every step he was getting irrevocably entangled in Molly.

He stopped a few inches short of her glorious nakedness. The briefest flicker of a frown danced across her forehead. He took a breath and with both hands, pulled her against him, fast and hard. As she gasped, he claimed her mouth with a ferocity that startled him. For a second. And then he was drowning. He’d fantasized about the taste of Molly. Now it was all his. All fucking his. And so was she.

Her hands ran through his short hair, and one settled on his neck as she let him bend her backward with his need to consume her. Her other hand splayed against his chest. Blood pumped through him like he was in combat. Throbbing heat flooded over him, and instinct took over.

Yes!

There was a second of triumph and relief when he’d admitted to thinking about her every day. When she realized for absolute sure that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. At freaking last. The tension of being so close to him, but not actually being close to him, evaporated, and all her birthdays and Christmases arrived at once. David. Holding her. Kissing her with the fierceness with which a warrior stalks his prey. He felt out of control to her. She loved it, and was scared by it.

She felt brazen and vulnerable at the same time—her nakedness pressed against his half-clothed body—and more like a woman than she ever had before.

“Are you sure?” his voice rasped against her throat, sending shivers of excitement through her. She couldn’t find the words to reassure him, so she traced her fingers down his arm, and drew his hand between her legs.

A groan rumbled through his body when he felt how wet she was for him, as she had been ever since she’d woken up in the same hotel room as him, desperate for his touch. She wanted to do a victory lap. This was really happening.

He stroked along her wetness, virtually trembling against her as he felt his way around her. Her breath mirrored his, unsteady as he circled her clitoris slowly, deliberately. Her head dropped back, limp with the waves of pleasure both physical and mental. Electricity fritzed in her lower back as he stroked her steadily and firmly.

He pulled his hand away, and she moaned, opening her eyes. He gazed at her for a second, and pulled her upright and put his hands on her shoulders. “You deserve all the promises in the world. I’m just not there yet. I’m—”

She laid her fingers against his lips. “Shhh. I’m not asking for any promises. I’m not asking for tomorrow. I’m not making that mistake again. I’m not asking for your soul, either.” She frowned. “I just want now. This second. I just want you.”

He held her gaze for a couple of seconds, as if measuring her sincerity. And then he dropped his head. “I don’t des—”

“Don’t say that. You might get to choose what you deserve. But I do too. I deserve this.” She wanted to stamp her foot. “I deserve you. I waited so long. Thought about you for so long. Said ‘no’ to so many dates. You ruined this past year for me. So the way I see it, you owe me now.”

He raised his head with the beginnings of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I owe you, huh?” He narrowed his eyes and walked her backward until her calves hit the bed.

“Yes you do,” she replied in a whisper. “And I intend on collecting.” She put her hands on the front of his pants, as if she was going to undo them. But instead she stroked down and fluttered her fingers over his dick, which felt hard and strong under the denim. Her whole body reacted to the anticipation of having him fill her. Own her. Complete her.

He let her stroke him through his pants for a few seconds, but when she could tell he needed more, she undid his button and slowly drew down the zip. As tight against the bed as she was, she had to sit on the end to drag them off his hips. His dick sprang free and she closed her eyes briefly in reverence. She couldn’t believe that she was here, after all this time.

She blew lightly on his dick, causing him to sway backward a little. He probably expected her to tease him a little, so instead she opened her mouth and placed it around him in one swift motion so that he would feel her tongue, the heat of her mouth, and the tightness all in one sensation.

“Jesus,” he hissed between his teeth, as she sucked the length of him between her lips. She stroked his balls as she released him, sucking briefly again on the tip.

In a single movement, he lifted her up until she was standing and kicked off his pants. The tip of his dick fit perfectly between her legs as they stood. Purposefully she shuffled forward so that she could clasp her thighs around him.

He withdrew from her and bent to claim a nipple. He bit until she gasped, making the hard nub ache for more. Threads of desire rushed from her breasts to between her legs, a heavy wetness settling there, waiting for him.

She moaned and couldn’t help but squeeze her other nipple in tandem. He pulled away and watched her hand for a second before gently kicking her feet apart until she was standing with her legs wide open. He stood back, his dick dancing upright, begging to be touched, but he wouldn’t let her.

Instead he very deliberately looked at her pussy, watching as he slid his hand over her mound. His intent gaze turned her on so much, she felt light-headed. He pushed her so she was sitting again on the end of the bed. Her legs were still wide open, and he knelt between them.

“You’re beautiful down here. Pink, luscious…” his words trailed off as he used two fingers to open her folds. He licked her clitoris firmly, then pulled away to look at her face.

“Do you like touching yourself?” he asked hoarsely.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, as he placed a finger at her entrance.

“When do you touch yourself?” He slowly started to slide one finger inside her up to his knuckle.

She whimpered.

He pulled his finger out, and paused. “When do you touch yourself?” he repeated.

“When I’m alone,” she said. “When I’m in the shower. When I’m thinking about you.” It was true, and she felt brave and sexy telling him. Saying the words out loud.

He slid two fingers into her, and her head fell back in submission to the waves of need pulsing through her. “When you’re touching yourself, what do you imagine I’m doing to you?” He reached down again and started tonguing her clit again. Heat spiked through her spine.

“I’m going to come!” she said, surrendering her body to the familiar tipping point.

But he stopped. “No, you can’t come until you’ve told me what I’m doing to you when you’re masturbating. I want to know.”

Desperate for her release, desperate to have him inside her, she gave in. “I close my eyes and think of passing you in the street. We look at each other but don’t say anything. You push me into an alley and hitch up my skirt so if anyone was walking by, they’d see us, and you’d shove your hand in my panties and stroke me until I came.”

“I can do that. Do you like the idea of being caught, of being watched?” He stood, knelt on the bed, picking her up and laying her on the bed.

“Yes,” she choked out, almost but not quite embarrassed. If she was going to give herself to David, for one night, or two, or maybe forever, she may as well expose herself totally to him.

He wrapped his hand around her neck in such a way that it was almost dangerous, almost brutal. He kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue dominating hers, but she felt only desire for him. Already, this was so much better than her fantasies.

She opened her legs, begging for his touch, and he slipped his hand there as if it had belonged there their whole lives. It probably had.

He stroked her, using her lubrication to dance his fingers around her clit, and smooth across her ass. He pressed for admittance, and she returned the pressure. He seemed to laugh to himself a little as he moved back to her clit.