No Time for Caution

by K. T. Samois

  “Shit!”

  He quirks a lip when her noise-cancelling earbuds go whipping out. They land on the counter, blaring.

  Ah ah ah ah ah —

  The song goes as the singer simulating sex with an enthusiasm that makes Ree’s cheeks — and clavicle — itch with a blush.

  “I love this song,” Hardin says, deadpan.

  Given the choice between expiring on the spot or laughing at the cosmos, she can’t help it. She laughs so hard she snorts. He stares at her aghast, and that just makes her laugh harder. By the time she’s composed herself, he’s looking at her with something that could pass for a smile. If she squints.

  “Hi, Captain.” It takes a moment for Ree to compose herself. “What may I get started for you, sir?”

  “A black coffee, Riona.” His tone is imperious.

  So is the stare she pins him with in return.

  “-Please.” he adds after a moment, and she beams up at him.

  “My pleasure, sir!” Riona says, and tries to guess what sort of coffee-flavoured candy-drink he’d like today.

  “I am serious.”

  That makes her look over, because the thing about the coffee had been a rank lie.

  Why does he keep doing that? He’s got to know it doesn’t work. So maybe that’s the point…

  “I do like this song,” Hardin says, interrupting her epiphany. “It’s got a good cadence for cardio.”

  Ah ah ah ah ah—, the singer repeats, and Ree wants to sink through the bedrock.

  “How many times have you listened to it now?” Now the eyebrow’s raised, but his voice is lower in timbre and volume. She can feel the temperature in the room rise to a broil.

  She takes a breath to cool her overheated brain down. “Oh God, does it show?”

  “Yes.”

  “Prick,” she says, fondly.

  He bares a leonine smile at her.

  “Yes,” he agrees cheerfully. “I brought you a gift.”

  And now she feels guilty, and her gaze drops to the floor like it’s made of lead. Any blush vanishes like she’s just dropped dead.

  “I couldn’t bring it through security wrapped. In order for it to be a surprise, you will need to close your eyes. Hold out your hands.” he orders. Eager to move past her faux pas, Ree obeys — and misses the assessing gaze Hardin shoots her.

  She catches the weight he puts in her hands. It isn’t heavy, and doesn’t feel breakable, but she’s taking no chances. He’s brought her something from somewhere she’d had to Google.

  I won’t take his thoughtfulness for granted. But still…

  “You shouldn’t have, sir.” She can hear his throaty chuckle in response.

  “You haven’t even seen it yet. But since you’re so eager — go ahead, Riona. Open them.”

  Ree looks down and can’t help the little gasp that escapes. She’s never seen a leather this colour; the rich oxblood red seems to glow, even under the harsh coffee shop lights. It’s intricately carved with vines and whorls, night birds and bats and the strange shapes of the jungles. She turns it over in her hands, appreciating the oiled sheen of it. When she’s given it the regard it deserves, she turns her attention to the gift’s giver.

  “It’s beautiful.” Ree’s fingertips trace over the journal cover. “Is this handmade?”

  “Of course.”

  Her eyes fly wide. “Hardin, I can’t accept this," Ree says, but doesn’t make a move to hand the journal back.

  “I really shouldn’t,” she adds, for good measure.

  “It was my pleasure.” That strikes any argument she might have had dead on the spot, because it’s the truth. Hardin’s eyes meet hers, glacier blue and just as implacable, and Ree feels a shiver race over her skin. Goosebumps follow it, and his eyes follow them. Ree feels bared under his regard, frozen like a rabbit with a hawk overhead.

  “Riona,” Hardin says, and takes that last step into her space. Now only the counter separates the two of them. Ree might not be the athletic one in the family, but she’s always had the best imagination. That counter is no impediment. She could climb over it. He could vault over it. He could just lift her over it, or put her on it, and…

  “It’s polite to say thank you after receiving a gift, Riona.”

  Ree stares up at him with wide eyes.

  “Thank you, sir,” she breathes, feeling a bit off-kilter after the rude awakening from a scorchingly inappropriate fantasy. He reaches out, and she allows him to take the journal. His leather-gloved hand traces along the red vines and crescents, and she imagines the way they’d feel on her.

  The silence stretches out, taut as a harp string. She breaks first. “Hardin, thank you,” she babbles, nerves making her voice high. “It was kind of you to think of me! I hope the trip was… uh…” She pauses, not sure how to convey what she means, and settles for the wholly inadequate:

  “Uneventful?”

  Hardin sees right through her bullshit. She knows better than to know too much, and he seems to think that if he doesn’t tell her, she won’t have to lie. He grins with all of his teeth, and Ree wonders why it looks like gallows humour.

  “Uneventful,” he agrees.

  “So what was your favourite part?”

  Hardin stares at her. “Of what?”

  “Honduras, Hardin! Or did you not get downtime?”

  He leans against the counter, inserting himself into her space with an ease that should be appalling. She knows he should intimidate her, but he doesn’t.

  “Some. Did some shopping.” He nods at the journal and holds it back out to her. Token protest completed, Ree clutches it to her chest.

  “Sightseeing with the locals,” he adds, and she rolls her eyes. That probably means he’d buried someone in a jungle ruin; she was not going to pry. Ree doesn’t want to know. She has a more pressing problem, anyway. Namely: he really is cute. She’s been thinking about this guy way too much these days. It’s like sticking a live wire into her id.

  What’s worse is that he’s handsome and knows it. He wears confidence appallingly well. He’s not shaped like a Dorito the way Moira likes them, but he’s got the sort of lean leading-man panache that makes three-hour musical movies worth it. Ree’s always been a romantic. She’d watched The Sound of Music enough as a child that she’d joined dance just to learn the Laendler. Now, her very own Captain is smiling down at her, gift in hand.

  Careful, Ree. This guy’s dangerous. If you accept this…

  She cuts the tracks on that train of thought because he’s brought her a gift… one she wants to accept. She tucks it away with her phone behind the counter, smiling to herself when she catches him watching her.

  “I think I did the same thing the other day. Sight-seeing with the locals, I mean.” Ree says, stretching out the moment. “There was this street fair under a bridge-”

  “… A street fair. Under a bridge. Was there candy? Were there strangers?” He sounds incredulous, and she giggles.

  “Under the Manhattan Bridge! There’s an entire market there, and there’s lots to see. Also, great food. You’d enjoy it.”

  He watches her with a measured gaze. “And why do you say that?” He sounds like he’s reserving judgement, but hasn’t quite bought what she’s selling. “Are you insinuating I’m a troll?”

  “Ha! No, not at all! It’s just…”

  She looks at him, with his dark sunglasses tucked into the collar of his comfortable — and expensive — crew-neck sweater. “Every time you come in, you have those sunglasses… but I only ever see you take red-eye flights. My guess is that you put those on when you want people to think you’re sleeping, but you’re actually people-watching.”

  He stares at her as though she’s started speaking Cantonese.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. You don’t strike me as the sort of guy who can sleep in airports. If you put your glasses on, you can scope people out without them knowing. I do it all the time.”

  “I know.” He says, and Ree flares red
as a Pacific sunset.

  “Anyway.” She stammers, desperate to move past her idiocy. “It’s a great perspective to see the Bridge from.”

  “Will you try to sell it to me?” He teases, once more leaning into her space. She feels a frisson of heat. Chemistry in action, she thinks, and licks her lips as her mouth goes dry.

  “Would you buy it if I tried?”

  Ree can’t believe her own audacity; neither can he, if his expression is anything to go by.

  “I might.” He replies, voice insinuating. Every drop of blood in Ree’s veins ignites into a slow simmer. She can feel his interest the way she can feel thunderstorms just before they crack open: first the anticipation, and then the rush. Her body betrays her; thighs pressed together, she looks anywhere but at him.

  He notices and leans in. Ree, helpless, tilts her face up.

  Ah, ah, ah! — the singer pants, and Ree’s cheeks flare a sudden and painful carmine. When he leans in, every nerve in her body hums with awareness.

  “I might-” He repeats, voice intimate, “-also ask if you were interested in doing the sales pitch in person.”

  Well, that’s a gauntlet, Ree.

  “Is this a date?”

  She blurts it out with the sort of madcap courage that only occurs at half-past three on a Friday night. They’ve shared book recommendations, music preferences, and complaints about subway delays and baggage claims. But this is the first time he’s asked her anywhere in particular, and she wants to be sure.

  Maybe she’s misunderstood. He might have reconsidered. Maybe her rye bagel had ergot, and she’s hallucinating this whole thing. She should apologize, and then immediately flee the country. She could bribe the gate agent, although given her Captain’s line of work, he could track her, catch her—

  “Yes,” he says, and Ree feels her jaw drop.

  “Holy shit!”

  Hardin snorts out a breath through his nose. “Is that a yes?”

  “Oh! Yeah! I mean, yes.” She chuckles, nerves expelled as giddiness.

  “Then I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.” The innuendo is back. So is his smirk. That it makes the little smile-line by the corner of his mouth crease into a dimple is just a fresh new torture.

  “I don’t think you could if you tried, sir,” she tells him, and she knows — she knows — what it sounds like.

  So what? She’s flirting, and she means it, and he likes it, and she’s got a date. Ree’s leaping from instinct to improvisation and back; she’s always had exceptional balance. This close, she can see that the skin of the corners of his eyes has the fine squint-lines of a man who spends his time looking at things in the far distance, shielding his eyes from the sun. The cut of his jaw is even sharper up close, his mouth that much more expressive. If she plays her cards right, maybe he’ll kiss her-

  “Riona.”

  She’s jolted out of her own head by Hardin’s voice, sharp — but a bit amused, if she’s reading the quirk of his eyebrow right. Her face flares with mortification. “Mm?” She tries to play it off, but he’s having none of her nonsense.

  “A million miles away, weren’t you… I had said, you’re staring at my mouth.”

  Ree feels her spine cringe, but she holds the line — and his eyes.

  “You, um, have a crumb…” she lies, and motions to the corner of his mouth. Hardin’s eyes narrow, and it takes Ree a second to recognize it as playfulness. He knows she’s fibbing.

  “Thanks,” he says, and raises his hand. He wipes the imaginary crumb away with slow care, bracing his hand against his jaw and brushing his thumb along the crease of his lip in a slow swipe. Ree’s eyes follow it like it’s a lure, and when Hardin pops his thumb into his mouth for a moment, chasing flavour, Ree feels her fingers flex on the counter.

  “Since you are interested-” he says, now that he has her complete attention, “-when are you free?”

  “Whenever you want me.” a rogue brain cell suggests.

  Her traitor tongue says it before she can stop herself. Hardin laughs, a tenor rumble that makes her skin goosebump with the intensity of her desire. She feels twisted between mortification and desire. Ree’s never felt lust before, but now she can understand why it counts as one of the seven deadly sins.

  “Don’t worry,” Hardin soothes, and Ree can imagine him whispering it in her ear. “I won’t keep you waiting long, Riona.”

  There’s something about the way he says her name that makes her ache to touch and be touched, and she knows that’s a dangerous sign. She hasn’t noticed her breath racing until his fingertips gently cup her chin. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, and if he were to kiss her right now, she wouldn’t say no.

  “And Riona—,“ he adds, with a tone of command that makes every part of Ree sit up and take notice, “—if I had my way, it would be immediately.”

  She shivers, once and hard, and then again when cool air floods between them. Hardin has stepped back, leaving her heart thudding in her chest and her body swaying for ballast. Given that modicum of space, Ree takes a shuddering breath, feeling like she’s been a little bit electrocuted.

  “It would?” She breathes, and he nods. His smile is wide and white, and looks sharp. I can imagine those teeth on my skin.

  “Our date? Oh yes. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.” He says it in a tone so cool that butter wouldn’t melt, even as Ree feels like warm oil. “Are you free this weekend?”

  “Yes.”

  He grins at how quickly she slaps out the affirmation; she’s flattered him.

  “I mean, yes, that should work. We could meet there if you like?”

  “And if I’m old-fashioned? What if I’d like to pick you up?”

  “Are you for real?” she asks, wondering if maybe she’s eaten one of Moira’s gummies by accident and is just tripping balls right now. Nobody is this gentlemanly anymore. Half of the time, she’s lucky if the guys meet her eyes, let alone bother with pick up lines. He stares at her like he’s trying to diagnose a minor stroke.

  “Did you mean to say that aloud?”

  She had not, but she ignores him with feline dignity. “I don’t mean to be insulting. It’s only… well, you’ve seen how guys act around me. You’ll have to excuse me if I appreciate being treated like a lady. It’s just — it’s nice. You’re-”

  “… Nice?” Hardin supplies, but his smile curls with wicked insinuation, and Ree remembers the way he’d made her feel without so much as touching her.

  “No”, she murmurs, breathless again under the force of his predatory regard. She feels like she’s just come face to face with some savannah cat. “You’re not nice at all.”

  He smiles widely, leans in again, and delivers his response with Shakespearean gusto.

  “You have no idea,” he drawls, and Ree remembers every rainy day spent watching animated movies with her sisters. Her eyes flash to his, and he winks. Her peal of giggles is bright enough to power a solar grid, and she can see him thaw. He’d been hamming it up to make her laugh. The realization warms her belly in a way that has nothing to do with desire. To distract herself and fill her idle hands, she takes a breath to settle her nerves and gets started on his drink.

  “Then it’s set.” His eyes stay on her face, steady and interested. “I’ll text you with the details, and we’ll work the rest of the kinks out then.”

  He means nothing by it — Probably… — but Ree’s imagination spins out a million different threads. Her id bats at each like a kitten, making an almighty mess and needling her with its razor-sharp claws.

  Pick me, says the little voice reminding her that all soldiers know their knots. No, me, whispers the voice that’s noticed his black leather gloves. Me first, begs the voice that wants something decadent, and wicked, with masks and gloves and—

  “Riona.”

  “Sir!” she squeaks.

  Hardin raises an eyebrow, and she looks down. She’s been trying to pour soy milk out of a closed container.

 
“Right,” she says. She scrambles to undo the screw-top lid without making a bigger fool of herself. Once it’s done, she hands it to him with a smile. If her hand lingers a moment too long to be strictly professional... well. So be it.

  “Be safe,” she orders instead of a soggy farewell, and he grins at her, snapping a quick salute before loping away towards his gate.

  Soon, she thinks, and beams.

  Chapter Three

  It’s crisp enough tonight for a coat, but not a hat, and Riona’s tucked her hair into a loose chignon at her nape. The humidity has made little curls escape, and his fingers itch to touch them — and the skin beneath.

  The weather had rained them out of their adventure. A quick thought and a called-in favour had netted them a reservation for seven-thirty at Emerald Pavilion, a dim sum restaurant so exclusive even the favour-giver had told him to “look smart.” Now, Hardin’s glad he did, because Ree is drawing every eye in the place as he ushers her inside. Old habits die hard, so he guides Riona to their table with a hand between her shoulder blades. She shoots him an odd look when he does, but doesn’t mention it. When Hardin holds the chair for her, he’s rewarded with a smile brighter than any blood-diamond.

  They’ve only seen each other at work, and he’s never had the time to appreciate her. Out of the green apron, she’s a vision in a silk dress the colour of the night sky, and a hunter green duffel coat that makes her red hair look like a flare in a forest. Hardin’s never seen anyone more beautiful. When she closes her eyes and inhales, only training keeps his face blank.

  She releases the breath with an appreciative little hum.

  “This smells amazing,” Riona says, while his pulse is still deciding whether to rush to his head or his brain. “How did you get us in here literally the same day?! Sorcha said this place books reservations months in advance!”