Текст книги "Hard Beat"
Автор книги: K. Bromberg
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
Chapter 18
“Tell me again why we use your room for reports?” I ask Beaux as I look over to her and laugh when she shifts on the bed and the springs squeak.
“Location, location, location,” she says, and I join in on the last repeat of the word with her. And really she is right. At this time of day, the early evening’s natural light through the windows is soft enough that I can file a live report and not look like I’m cordoned off in some darkened cell like I would if I were in my room.
“I’ll give you location, all right,” I tease as I turn my computer off and hold my hand out to her. “Come with me.” I love the little surprised tilt of her head.
She stands cautiously, squinting her eyes as she tries to figure out just what I’m doing. And it’s nothing really, nothing except realizing Beaux deserves a little something special, something girlie in this land where we’re faced with so much harshness.
The rooftop door sticks like usual until I thrust with my shoulder on the right-hand edge to get it to fling back. Beaux laughs as I play up my demonstration of strength by pointing out the dent in the metal that’s always been there. With fingers crossed that all of my preparation and bribes have worked perfectly, I put my hand on the small of her back and usher her over the threshold first.
She walks from habit around the one rooftop vent that blocks the view of my spot, and the minute she clears it – the moment I hear her sharp intake of air, my name in a surprised tone on her lips followed by a hand flying up to her mouth – I know the past week’s preparation has paid off. Beaux turns to face me, tears welling in her eyes before looking back to the scene before us as she walks slowly toward the mattress.
When I can force myself to look away from her, I’m filled with relief to see the scene set to perfection by some of the hotel staff that I had paid on the side. A small canopy made with local fabrics from the closest market has been rigged to hang above the mattress. Scattered across the ground are glass votive candles that create a soft light against the skyline. The mattress itself has a new cover; the colorful tote I bought sits on top of it.
Beaux takes in everything, her hands smoothing over the fabric, moving past the flame of a candle, and running over the mattress. All the while her eyes flicker back and forth to me to make sure all of this is real.
“You did this?” The incredulity in her voice tugs on every damn heartstring I have. “How? Why? I…” Her voice fades off as she shakes her head.
“It’s not much, but —”
“It’s perfect!” There’s appreciation and so much more woven in her tone. “Just perfect.”
And the repetition of the word mixed with the break in her voice tells me that this was the right thing to do, that my sister was right: Every woman needs to feel like she matters regardless of how many hours you spend together a day.
“I won’t take all of the credit. I had some help.” Her eyes whip over to mine, but I just smile at her. “Relax. Hotel staff that don’t know us from Adam. It wasn’t anyone who works with us.”
When her smile softens as she turns to survey the scene again, I reach out and grab her hand, tugging her body so it lands firmly against mine. As she looks up to me, her eyelashes flutter, and her eye color is such a sharp green in this vast backdrop of tan landscape. “I just wanted to give you a real date like you deserve. Something more than sex in a hotel room…” I pause when we both laugh. “Which is kind of the only way we can have it here, considering the circumstances, but…” I have to stop myself from rambling, because even though I am never unsure of myself around women, for some reason, right now, I am nervous.
I don’t know if it’s the look in her eyes or the fact that this is the first time in forever that I really, truly wanted to try to make something special for someone, but the sudden sense of insecurity that I feel is foreign and oddly welcoming. Yet at the same time the feeling is a pain in the ass.
And I think she senses my conflict, sees me falter over the words that I can’t form, because she steps up on tiptoe, uses her hands on my shirt to pull me down to her, and presses her lips against mine. The kiss lingers over the next several minutes, tongues fluttering as we drink each other in, before she leans back and looks at me. “It’s the nicest thing that anyone has done for me in as long as I can remember. Thank you. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.” Tears glisten in her eyes as I pull her into my chest, wrap my arms around her, and just hold on.
We stand like this as time moves slowly amid the glow of tiny flickers of light and colors illuminating the sky on the horizon. And then, I begin to sway back and forth with her, stepping side to side, dancing to the beat of our heartbeats in rhythm together. I twirl her out at arm’s length, her gasp of surprise turning to a laugh that causes her head to fall back and her hair to hang farther down her back. She spins into my arms again, so that our chests touch and our hearts are connected once more.
“I guess I could play some music on my phone,” I say in a pseudo apology, suddenly embarrassed that I forgot such an important element of the evening. But when I start to let her go, she just holds on tighter.
“No. Don’t. It’s perfect just like this. Everything is…” Her voice trails off as emotion thickens it.
So we dance for a few more minutes, spinning around the rooftop and laughing until our bodies home in on the need to be close again, before we sit down on the mattress. Beaux looks at me over the bag, and her face lights up when she pulls out a bottle of wine followed by cheap plastic glasses and some cheese, crackers, and chocolate. “Oh my God, this looks like Heaven!” She takes a bite of the gourmet cheese that I had to pay an arm and a leg to get here, but for the look in her eyes and the smile on her face, I’d have paid double.
“I pulled out all the stops. Even the fine china,” I tease, thinking that in a way this date is beyond silly but still perfectly fitting for the two of us. In the life we lead chasing stories, it comes down to the little things that mean so very much – and tonight I’m glad to know by her reaction that she feels the same way.
“You did!” she says as she leans over the food spread between us and presses her mouth to mine. “When did you do all of this?”
“You’re not the only one who can go wandering the streets all by themselves, rookie.” I give her a quirk of my brow and receive a head shake from her in return.
“Should I give you the same lecture you give me?”
“It’s different.”
“No it’s not!” She swats my arm.
“I’m a guy. It’s totally different,” I repeat.
“And I’m a woman,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest in mock irritation.
“That you are,” I murmur, a suggestive smirk turning up the corners of my mouth. “A mighty fine one at that, and I most definitely am not complaining.”
“Good to know you approve.”
I trace my fingertips up the bare skin of her thighs. “Oh I approve, rookie. I definitely approve.” Desire stirs in an atomic bomb of need curling in the pit of my stomach.
“Later, Pulitzer. You’ll get to approve a lot more later.” She laughs as she pushes the bottle of wine against my chest to fend me off.
“That’s cold!” I take the bottle, though, and start to open it.
“Do you actually think you are going to hand a woman who has been deprived of indulgences a bottle of wine and a bag of chocolate and who knows what else is in here and think you’re going to distract her with sex?”
“Did I just get denied for food?”
“It’s not just food. It’s chocolate. That’s like the holy – Tanner, what is… really?” Her voice escalates in excitement and then laughter as she pulls two kid-sized bottles of bubbles from the bag.
She glances over to me again, and I can feel the look she gives me along every single inch of my skin causing the part of me that second-guessed the bottles to vanish. The look is raw and real and vulnerable and accepting and so many other things I stop trying to analyze because right here, right now, I have an absolutely gorgeous woman sitting beside me, enamored with the silly little touches I added to the date, and so there’s no need to question a damn thing. I’m just going with it.
“Bubbles,” she says softly. “I haven’t opened a bottle since I was a kid. But I used to love to sit in the front yard blowing them and watch the breeze take them up in flight, and see just how far they could go before they popped. Do you have any idea how cool it is you bought these for me?”
“I wanted us to take tonight to enjoy the little things.” I shrug as she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “Besides, no one will ever regret the time they spend blowing bubbles.”
“Never,” she whispers softly before breaking the moment and looking away, almost as if she’s afraid I’ll look too deeply inside her and see the feelings written all over her face.
She opens the bottle as I finish pouring the wine, and by the time I’ve handed her a glass, she’s blowing a blizzard of bubbles around us. We dig into the cheese and chocolate, all smiles even though we are in a fierce battle, first over who can blow the biggest bubble and then who can get a bubble to travel the farthest before it pops.
“Yes! See! Mine is definitely bigger!” I raise my arms in triumph as her laughter booms around me.
“I guess I’m a lucky woman then since yours is the biggest,” she says sarcastically. Glancing over, I spot a small bubble still on the top of her hair.
“Lucky you,” I murmur as I reach out to cup the side of her face, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. But deep down I know I’m the lucky one. Hands down. I lean forward to show her just that – that her being here with me is so much more than a mere consequence of workplace attraction that will fade when the assignment ends – and brush my lips against hers.
Our kiss deepens, then lingers as we pour all of the emotions we feel into it. I lean back some, prop myself up on an elbow, and brush the hair away from her cheek as I stare into her eyes. There are so many things I want to say, so many things I want to confess and need her to know, but the words die on my tongue because all I can think of is, how in the hell did I find this incredible woman in this hellish place?
“Tanner?” she murmurs with lips swollen from my kisses and with a desirous expression in her eyes.
“Hmm?” Her body is so warm and inviting that I’m more focused on the feel of her against me than on what she’s going to say next.
“I’ve fallen in love with you. How are you going to handle that one?”
All I can do is stare at her as my heart tumbles in my chest and every nerve ending in my body reacts viscerally to her words. I don’t know what the fuck this feeling is, but I know the sound of those words being said to me scares me and exhilarates me like never before. I just sit there, my face inches from hers as a slow, smug smile tugs up the corners of my mouth. The words to echo her admission stall on my lips.
“Hmm, I think we need to blow more bubbles,” I say with a resolute nod of my head, and I flash her a smile.
“Bubbles?” she says, obviously taken aback by my response.
“Yep, bubbles. Because that means nothing has changed from a few minutes ago except now I finally know this is real between us. That what I see in your eyes and how you look at me is real. That what I feel is real.” I drop my head down for a minute, totally blown away by the moment, by the surge of inexplicable emotions within me. “Beaux… I… I…”
My voice fades off because for the slightest of seconds Stella’s comment flickers through my mind. About how when the love I feel is real, I won’t be so quick to say the words back to someone. It turns out that she was absolutely fucking right. When you really mean it, you don’t want the other person to think you said it out of obligation.
As I continue attempting to speak, to untangle myself from the asshole I feel like while I’m stuttering and falling flat, I need to make sure she doesn’t take my reaction the wrong way. It’s not that I don’t feel the same, because I do. It’s just that I don’t even know what to say or how to react, and it’s pretty damn hard to figure out when your heart is racing out of control and your mind is thinking of possibilities.
But she doesn’t let me talk. She just presses a finger against my lips and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to respond. I just want you to kiss me,” she whispers.
So I do the only thing I can. I kiss her. But not just any kiss. I take everything I feel inside and try to express it with the tenderness and reverence of my touch. And just as her fingers thread through my hair and my hand finds its way beneath her tank top, my phone disrupts the rooftop’s silence.
We both groan, but at the same time the distinct ring tells me it’s Sarge, and a quick glance at the face of my phone tells me my assumption is correct.
“What is it with him and his awful timing?” I mutter as I lift my phone to my ear, recognizing that it’s the second time he’s interrupted us. “Sarge,” I say in the way of hello to also let Beaux know I didn’t break the moment up between us over something unimportant.
“Be at the usual meeting place tomorrow. We move out at sixteen hundred hours.” His voice is clipped, all business.
“What’s going on? Yes, of course. We’ll be there,” I respond, my words trying to catch up when I’d felt like I’d lost this story and now here’s a chance to report it. “Was my source —”
“Wrong. Very wrong. No questions, Thomas. You and BJ are on the mission, but you will be removed from the action. We’re coming in for cleanup after air support moves out.”
“Can —”
“I said no questions,” he snaps, not letting me get a word out. “It’s this or nothing. I’m sure Pauly would kill for the ride if you have a problem with the terms.”
I’d say he’s under a bit of stress right now since I’ve never heard him like this.
“Ten-four. We’ll be there at sixteen hundred hours.”
As the line disconnects, I look up to meet Beaux’s widened eyes before dropping the phone on the mattress beside me. “We’re in, baby!” I exclaim, completely confused over the information that Omid gave me but reeling because that buzz is back with such a vengeance that when she raises her arms in the air and lets out a whoop, I tackle her playfully until she’s on her back and my body is flanking hers.
“I thought we were going to blow more bubbles?” She giggles, and it’s the best sound.
“Bubbles can wait. I’ve got more pressing things to do,” I tell her as I push my hips forward before smothering her laughter with my own mouth, to try and take advantage of the moment and the high of being with her tonight and what promises to be a kick-ass exclusive tomorrow. She responds without hesitation, hands hooking under my arms and over my shoulders, and actions speaking without words.
I lose myself to the moment under the cover of this desert night with the star-riddled sky above and a woman who loves me beneath me.
Chapter 19
I replay Sarge’s phone call from last night in my mind and try to piece everything together. The crux of what I can’t figure out is why Omid would tell me the meet had happened when it hadn’t. Was he found out? Was he trying to protect me? Or more likely himself from a threat?
I remind myself I shouldn’t care because we’re getting to ride along and get the story and that’s what we are here to do. But it still bugs me to the point that I’m wasting time surfing the Internet.
But when I raise my eyes above the screen of my laptop, I stop worrying simply because it’s much more interesting to watch Beaux while she works. She’s methodical and precise and double-checks everything as she moves through her camera bag to make sure each compartment is properly filled, adding extra batteries, memory cards, lenses, and filters.
She’s in perfect silhouette against the sun’s rays behind her that are somewhat muted from the sheer panels on the window. And she’s not doing anything fascinating, yet I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Perhaps it’s the words she expressed last night that I can’t get out of my head nor stop thinking about. The ones that made me realize how very meaningless everyone else before her has been. I mean, yeah, I loved Stella, but not this way. Not the kind where I start to look at the future stretched out beyond the next assignment, the next country, or after the hard beat’s over.
I wonder if this is how she’d look on the deck in my backyard with the ocean behind her: wisps of hair dancing around her face, a drink in her hand, and the freedom to do as we please without the danger that hinders and plagues our every movement here. Could we survive as a couple in the everyday world? With real life and the problems it creates?
The thought makes me shake my head, because of course we could. We’ve spent every day together for weeks on end in the tight confines of the hotel. Sure our relationship – because yes, I can most definitely admit that this is a relationship now – is still in the proverbial butterflies-in-the-stomach stage, but we are under a constant pressure here that doesn’t normally occur in the real world. We’ve gotten annoyed with each other, figured out how to give each other space, and passed the ever-important phase of don’t-push-each-other’s-buttons-on-purpose.
Suddenly I scrub a hand through my hair, completely and utterly shocked at my train of thought. The no-go compartment of my mind opened without the crowbar I thought I might need someday to even begin this thought process.
Then my fingers run back and forth on my keyboard, lost in thought momentarily before I lift my phone without her knowing and frame her in the lens of the camera.
“Do you ever think you’ll quit this life someday?” The question comes out almost on a murmur, my thoughts spoken aloud as I click the shutter on my screen.
Beaux’s hands fall still, half-submerged in her camera bag, when she turns her head to look at me. Her eyes narrow as I click another photo.
“What are you doing?” She smiles shyly.
“Ah, the photographer doesn’t like to be the subject, now does she?” I tease as I click another one, a shot that turns out blurry since she’s walking toward the bed.
“Never.” She laughs softly, angling her head to the side as she takes a step toward me where I sit on the bed in my boxer briefs, one hand behind my head against the headboard, the other holding my phone. “Gimme.”
“No way.” I laugh as she crawls her way over my legs, picks up my laptop to move it off my lap, and takes its place. At the warmth of her pussy resting right over where I want her the most, I have to bite back the hiss I want to emit. “Are you trying to distract me, Croslyn?”
“Nope. I just wanted to add you in the picture.”
I stop fighting immediately at the comment, my eyes meeting hers and loving the coy smile that spreads over her lips. She leans forward and brushes a kiss to my lips before causing me to groan when she slides off my lap to sit beside me with her head resting in the crook of my arm.
“Smile,” she says as she holds the phone out and captures us together in the small square window. “See? Perfect. Now what were you asking me?”
I’m reminded immediately of my question that had slipped out, but I refrain from repeating it. “Nothing. Forget about it. It was nothing.”
“No it wasn’t. Nice try, though.” She shifts her body so that her head is on my chest and one hand runs idly up and down my midline. “You asked if I’ll ever quit this life.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur.
“Will you?” she asks, and I’m so mesmerized by the surge of desire I feel at her touch that I don’t immediately realize I’m answering my own question before she does.
“Someday when my career has run its course… This life isn’t fair to kids, and I definitely want to have kids someday.”
“How will you know it’s run its course?” she asks, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of my neck.
“When the buzz is gone,” I say matter-of-factly. “Then I’ll know that I’m too complacent, too cautious, and not worthy of this job anymore.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can sense her collecting her thoughts, trying to figure out what I mean. “The buzz?”
“Yeah. That adrenaline buzz you get from getting a story or for you the perfect shot. The one that —”
“Lights your blood on fire and makes you fidget with the unexpected anticipation of what’s to come next,” she finishes for me, and causes my breath to hitch because she gets it. Gets me. That’s a rarity.
“Exactly.” I press a kiss into the crown of her head. “The day I no longer feel that from the first phone call on, I need to hang up my credentials.” I laugh halfheartedly. “But I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I love what I do too much. Am addicted to that buzz in a sense. It’s what drives me on a story, and the promise of it is what keeps me patient in the lulls between them.”
“I feel the same way, in a sense. I always told myself I’d do this job until I met the one,” she says, reminding me immediately of that first night we met, the “You’re the one” that fell from her lips, and I immediately clear away the thought, knowing that isn’t exactly what she was referring to. “And then I’d have to domesticate myself, and my only clients would be babies and brides.” She mock shivers. “So in other words I’ll be doing this for a long time, because I don’t feel that urge coming anytime soon. What would you do, though, Tanner, if you didn’t do this?” Curiosity infuses her tone, and for the first time ever, I don’t feel stupid telling someone besides my family the answer.
“I’d like to write a book.” I wait for her to make a sarcastic comment, but none comes.
“You’d be good at it,” she muses in a way that warms me from within. “Some people like to create storms and then complain when it rains. You, on the other hand, like to stand back, watch the storm move in, churn, and affect people, and then document the fight and fallout. You’re able to separate yourself from the emotions of it all in self-preservation, and yet you can still explain and express what happened so that people feel like they were there. It’s an incredible gift.”
Frankly, I’m a little shocked by her assessment. Flattered by it really. “Thank you,” I murmur to Beaux. It’s all I can say as a comfortable silence falls around us, and I wonder if her thoughts are as foggy as mine on the topic right now. I shift my weight so that we are lying face-to-face on our sides with my hand on the side of her neck; I’m enjoying this moment and completely ignoring the hornet’s nest we will be walking into later today on the embed.
She responds instantly when I brush my lips against hers, her body fitting into mine perfectly as I deepen the kiss.
I lean back and look into her eyes, knowing that my period of hesitation is over. I’ve let the emotions churn and swell within me long enough, and I’m ready to tell her. “Hey, Beaux? I l—”
“Open up, Thomas!” A fist pounding on the hotel room door knocks the words from my mouth. As soon as she recognizes Pauly’s voice, Beaux scrambles up from the bed to grab for a pair of jeans resting over the back of a chair.
“Hold on!” she calls out, but looks at me with a mixture of unease about getting caught in a relationship – as if Pauly didn’t already know since he’s knocking on the door of her room – and confusion over why in the hell I’m not getting some clothes on myself. I snicker as she does the hop-around-to-get-into-her-jeans thing and then succumb to full-blown laughter when she falls over to the ground in the process.
I rise calmly from the bed and pull on my own jeans and slip a shirt over my head as I walk to open the door, still laughing at what just happened. Once I know Beaux is clothed and doesn’t look like we were just rolling around in the sheets, I open the door.
“What’s up, man?” I open the door for him to come in and head back to stand near the table, sliding Beaux a glance and trying not to laugh.
“Nothing. I was just curious if you’d gotten wind of anything, because word on the street is you might have gotten a mission to tag along on,” he says as he leans a shoulder against the wall, eyes flicking back and forth between Beaux and me, lips pursed, expression leery.
Fuck. Now I have to lie to my friend on top of being mad at him for interrupting us and the perfect moment for me to tell Beaux I was in love with her too.
“Possibly. I’m still waiting to hear from my contact.” I figure a partial truth is better than a complete lie.
Still, the moment he asked, I knew Pauly was on the scent, and he’d follow us in his own transportation if necessary in order to get the story he thinks we have for his own, which means we need to figure out how to leave in the next few hours and do so without him finding out.
