The wicked grin again. “Aye, in my wallet. And, aye, the bed. I want you on top. In control, doing this the way you need it until you come all over me—because I want to see that again. And feel it.”
Her belly flipped. A laugh bubbled up—from shock, from embarrassment, from pure freaking joy. Even now, with his need so strong his jeans might well rip, he was empowering her, building her confidence, giving more than he was taking.Sogood for her.
God, he was everything. Everything except available. Everything except hers.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAMIEWOKETOthick darkness, the air a cold sheet over his exposed skin, one side of Samira’s body grazing his. From the living room the clock ticked hollowly. He exhaled and reached for his watch on the bedside table. Pain bolted up his arm. He clutched the elbow and rolled over, picking up the watch with his other hand. Shite—only half an hour since he’d last woken. His mind and body were too overstimulated to stay asleep—pain, vigilance, Samira, the ghosts of this place.
Something about the smell here was so familiar, something undefinable. The trees and plants weren’t flowering, so it couldn’t be that. Wood smoke, the lingering scent of recent cooking, the stone walls, metallic and earthy. The loch, crisp and decaying at the same time. And the sounds were the same, if deadened by the approaching winter—the haunting cry of a gull, the tiny splash of fish or birds, the cottage creaking like an old man’s joints.
When he’d woken here as a boy it was to the promise of a lazy day, the chatter of voices on the water, the slap of an oar—his parents sneaking out fishing, or for a chilly morning dip. His chest twisted. It seemed less like the past and more like a previous life. His father was gone, his mother might as well be, his sister had written him out of her life—understandably.Everything’s always been about you, hasn’t it?she’d hissed, as he’d walked out after the funeral.
He swiveled, planted his feet on the cold floor and adjusted the blankets to cover Samira. His upper arm was hot and painful to the touch. Not a lot he could do about it now.
His parents had been so happy at the loch. Everything was okay when his parents were happy. Every time he topped exam results, won academic prizes and sports trophies, landed scholarships, his first thought would be their faces, that happiness, that pride. Their shoulders would straighten, their eyes would gleam, his mother would clap her hands together, just once, they’d make inane jokes that failed to disguise their delight.Hope you left something for the other kids! Hope that trophy comes with a bigger house!In his recollection they were always pleasantly surprised—even though healwayscame top of his class,alwayswon everything. They credited genes or sheer talent but in truth he’d worked his skinny arse off—through school, college, med school, the hospital—because he got off on seeing that light in their eyes, that skip in their voices.
That was why he couldn’t see them face-to-face after he lost his job and his future, couldn’t even call on the phone. He’d posted a letter from Heathrow explaining the whole sorry story. By the time they’d received it, he was in France, incommunicado. No way could he have handled hearing the shock in their voices, seeing that light go out, seeing those shoulders slump. Better they got the news away from him, to save them trying to put up a brave front. For him, imagining their reaction was pain enough. Was still painful.
He pulled on his boxers, awkwardly with his arm a dead weight, padded out to the living room and lit the candles on the plate. The sedative was still sitting on the counter, still loaded. He stared at it until it blurred. He should empty it down the sink, remove the temptation, discard the remaining doses. He would. The fire was down to glowing embers but he could work with that. He drew the bedroom door closed so Samira didn’t wake at the sound of ripping paper.
He knelt before the hearth and rubbed his face. Shite, if there was any time he could use sleep, it was now. Or he could use another round with Samira, who was still deliciously naked under the covers.Jesus, don’t go there.She needed sleep, too. The sex had been almost too good an escape—it made the thumping return of reality harder to bear, like a hangover to make you regret a great night, a reminder of what life could have been.
He dragged the wood basket closer and got started. God, he wanted her—for more than sex, for more than a day or two. But her limbo would end when this crisis passed. His would continue—no thought about the day before or the day beyond. Living for the moment—wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? He had nothing to return to the real world for. No possibility of a meaningful job, nowhere else he belonged. Samira—or any woman—would soon learn the meaning ofdourif she took up with him. Not that she was asking.
He watched over the fire until it was away again and opened the bedroom door. In the flickering light he could just make out the shape of her. He envied her oblivion.
Oblivion. He looked at the syringe, looked back at her. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Just a moderate dose to take the edge off. It’d wear off by morning. If she woke first she’d just think he was a heavy sleeper—which was far from the truth but they wouldn’t be together long enough for her to discover that. The last time they’d shared a bed neither of them had thought of sleep. They were safe, for now. If Hyland knew where they’d gone, his goons would be here by now. She needed him rested, sharp. A temporary fix. He’d be back in Corsica soon enough, away from temptation—in all forms.
A few minutes later he climbed into bed, gently pulled her into him so her back skimmed his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. She murmured. He kissed the smooth bump at the top of her spine—her C7 spinous process. He inhaled deeply, momentarily aware of his dimming thoughts, the receding pain.
Oblivion, come and get me.
* * *
SAMIRAWOKETOa buzzing, and a tightening in her heart. Her alarm. Just her alarm. She rolled and grabbed her phone, Jamie’s arm slumping off her waist. She swiped and the buzz silenced. She lay back down. Not theA-Team. Just time to check progress on the hack.
She listened to the rhythm of Jamie’s breath, willing it to calm her. In the low glow from the fire in the living room she could just make out the contours of his face. Peaceful. The joker and flirt had slipped away and let the real Jamie through. As generous and caring in bed as he was out of it. Sex really was the ultimate expression of living for the moment. You couldn’t enjoy it if you were worried about the past or the future. You had to let go of fear and doubt.
And yes, her fear and doubt were back but she seemed distanced from them, like they were less an all-consuming fire and more background noise.
It’s okay to listen to your fear—just don’t let it make all your decisions for you.
She levered herself up and pulled on her clothes. Somehow she’d also managed to let go of any self-consciousness about her body or whether she was doing the right things. Just like last time. But even better.
She leaned over and stroked his cheek. He didn’t flinch. “Thank you,” she mouthed, dipping to kiss his soft lips. They wouldn’t have more than this, but that was okay.
I wish I could, Samira. I really do.
She pushed up from the bed and walked into the living room. She’d been about to ask why he couldn’t when he’d kissed her. He might have let down his guard but he was still a multilayered game where you had to work at unlocking the levels to earn new insights.
As she sat down at the table, she touched the computer’s mouse pad. The script terminal came up. The screen had stilled.Successful password detected.
Holy shit. She pressed her hands over her nose and mouth and sucked in a series of quick breaths. Using as few fingers on the keyboard as possible, she loaded Hyland’s Gold Linings server and scrolled to theTrésorfolder. She extended her right pointer finger, fisted the rest, paused a few seconds, then entered the letters and digits as deliberately and haltingly as a Ouija board. She squeezed her eyes shut a second, opened them and pressed Enter.
The loading screen came up. She was in.
She bounced on the chair and let out a suffocated squeal. Her belly twisted like a pit of snakes. The bedroom remained still and dark. She would let Jamie sleep a little longer. Maybe she’d wake him once she’d transferred the files to Tess, announce that it was all over and slide back into bed for a little...celebration.
