No Time for Caution

by K. T. Samois

  “Very well. Then I’d like to have it with you in person. Would you be amenable to that? I can make myself available tonight.”

  Ree nods for a moment before realizing that he can’t see her. There’s something about the tone he takes when he gives an order that makes Ree snap to attention, as eager to please as an Irish Setter.

  “Yes,” Ree says, and his low, pleased chuckle sends warmth through her veins.

  “Good.” A PA does something painful in her ear, and it takes a second for her to realize that it’s on his end. Apparently, all airports everywhere are the same. “Well. That’s my flight. I’ll see you tonight, Riona. Be prepared.”

  Ree’s mind fractures into a million indecent ideas, each more lurid than the last. She can picture him stretched out in her little wicker chair, the one she likes to read in. She goes crimson at the memory of just what she likes to read.

  “Yes, sir,” Ree says. The dial-tone doesn’t sound so much like a dismissal as a promise.

  ***

  When Hardin rings her doorbell, Ree is ready.

  She’s approached tonight with the precision of a forensic accountant and the execution of a battlefield general, but all her preparation does nothing to soothe jangling nerves. Her hand trembles as she reaches out and opens the door.

  “Hello, Riona.” Hardin greets her in a voice like good cashmere. “I’m back.”

  He holds out a spray of cream-coloured orchids.

  “They’re beautiful,” she says, stroking a fingertip along one petal reverently. “Nobody’s ever given me flowers before… Thank you.”

  His thoughtfulness inspires her to press her lips gently to his. He smells delicious.

  “Come in, Captain. Let me put these in water.”

  She links her fingers with his and leads the way; he doesn’t protest. Ree doesn’t bother hiding her smile. She’s so glad he’s home.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Hardin”, she tells him, nodding at the bar stools perched at the counter.

  “How was your trip?”

  Hardin’s already busy removing his coat. He leaves the gloves on, and Ree’s stomach swoops. He remembered…

  “Classified.” He replies in a dry tone, and Ree translates it as uneventful.

  That’s the best kind of gig, she supposes, as she rescues the whiskey from the freezer and pours him a generous splash.

  “Good to know,” she says dryly, handing him a chilled glass. His jaw clenches — but not fast enough to hide his smile. He’s getting worse at hiding them, or she’s getting better at eliciting them; either way, it makes her feel a bit mischievous.

  “So. What’s the weirdest thing you ate?”

  “Goat brain,” he says, voice echoing as he savours the bouquet of the whiskey. She’s appalled to hear the truth in his voice.

  “And you let me kiss you?! Hardin! You knew where your mouth had been! What the hell, Hannibal?!”

  That shocks an actual laugh out of him; it’s straight from the belly and has the effect of draining the blood clear out of Ree’s brain and into her face.

  “You’re foul,” she sniffs with all the pained dignity of an embarrassed cat.

  When he chuckles again, low and warm, she can feel her blood simmer. Her cheeks flush, and Ree’s grip on the flowers tightens. She puts them on the counter before she crushes them. The pretty vases are on the top shelf, and even going en pointe won’t give her the clearance.

  She’s trying it anyway when she feels him press against her.

  For a single lightning-strike second, Ree is sure he’s going to make a move. His hand on her hip, cradling it like it’s made of eggshell. His chest is mere inches away from her back, close enough that she can feel his heat and smell the way his body chemistry has altered his cologne. It smells decadent but not strong. There’s only the ghost of a scent. He must have only used a drop or two—

  Ah, here at the pulse point below his throat. Oh, it smells good… Hardin’s all lean muscle, with the practical strength of an athlete. He didn’t get these in a gym-

  Riona’s aware of him, of the way he’s broader than her, and taller than her, of how he smells and sounds and feels against her.

  “Hardin?” Ree asks, mouth dry, and he rewards her with a cut-crystal vase placed into her hands. “What-”

  “For the flowers,” he says, voice low in her ear. It’s enough to have her sucking in a sharp breath. When Hardin steps away, he leaves her tangled up in her own libido and feeling like she’s sprinted a mile. He looks down at the glass and then takes another considering sip, as though he’s trying to puzzle something out. “May I ask-”

  She smiles up at him. “It’s Red. I got a bottle — you mentioned it’s your brand, right?”

  ***

  It is his brand. And he’d mentioned it months ago, in passing. Condensation beads up where his fingers rest, the warmth of his hand a counterpoint to the chill of the glass. Likewise, Riona’s concern is a spring rain; it thaws out whatever’s left of the mission creep and has him relaxing like someone’s cut his strings. Interest weighs out, and Hardin takes another sip of the whiskey.

  “It is. Thank you, Riona. That was very considerate of you.”

  “Slainche,” she toasts, and he chimes their glasses together. Riona takes a gulp of her whiskey and winces her way through the swallow.

  “Bracing,” he teases. She scowls up at him, tears beading in the corners of her eyes.

  “Yeah, that’s the word.”

  “Was that liquid courage?” Hardin teases, because he wouldn’t blame her if it was.

  She nods, confirming his guess.

  “And it’s not that I’m afraid of you,” she rushes to assure him. “Or I mean, I am a little. But not of you, exactly. More… of the things you make me want. Of the way you make me feel.”

  She’s at the point of stammering embarrassment, fire-hydrant red from the tips of her ears to… below the neckline of her white silk blouse. He can see the goosebumps along her arms and the way the fine hairs at her nape rise when he comes near her. He hasn’t forgotten that sharp little inhale, or the way she sidles around him like a curious cat.

  “And how do I make you feel?” Hardin asks, voice low, and Ree darts a look at a closed door off of the living room.

  “Like I don’t want an audience.”

  “Are you inviting me to your room, Riona?”

  She quaffs the rests of his whiskey in a single shot and smacks the glass down on the stone countertop with a sound like a rifle retort. Her nod hits like a brick.

  “Yes, Hardin. I am. Is that okay?”

  He thinks her determination might be more charming than any attempted seduction. He nods.

  It’s clear she’s new to desire. When Ree twines their fingers together and leads him to her room, he lets her take the lead. When she opens the door to her room, her room looks like a fairy-tale.

  Or maybe it looks like this all the time, and normal people live this way.

  She pauses in front of a queen-sized bed he isn’t sure would fit through his own front door. The bedding on it looks butter-soft and has the sort of sheen that speaks to a luxury thread-count, and there’s a blossom of pillows at the head of the bed in a soft rose-petal pink. The dim light turns the walls the colour of blush and makes Riona’s skin look the colour of fresh cream.

  Hardin’s desperate for a taste.

  ***

  He takes his time going through her room, and somehow, she isn’t at all surprised. She’s noticed that about him. Hardin cases every room he steps foot in, cataloguing exits and blind corners. He notices little details the way Ree does, so it’s a bit of an uncomfortable feeling to be on the other end of that scrutiny. She knows she can’t get anything past him... which is the point, give or take.

  Mostly take, her id pipes up as Hardin settles himself into her wicker chair. He looks like some giant predatory cat making itself comfortable in a box — simultaneously terrifying and absurd, and completely out of place in her wheat-colou
red room. His black leather coat stands out like an oil smudge on ballet slippers, and when he smiles at her, Riona shifts where she stands and prays she doesn’t embarrass herself.

  “Beautiful,” he says instead, and Ree relaxes like someone’s cut a marionette cord. “And very you.”

  “Thanks! I think it’s because I live here.” she says, babbling with nerves. “I spent forever cleaning. I wanted everything to be perfect, you know? Because you were away and then you sent me that text — seriously, Hardin, that was the sketchiest thing. I thought you were dead or dumping me-”

  “Riona-”

  “Which would have been awful, Hardin, really awful, and I know I’ve made a hash of this and been hot and cold. And I shouldn’t have come on to you during our game, and — and you didn’t run away when I said I was going to wait, and then I was… I was grinding all over you-”

  “I recall. Often, and at length.”

  Ree squirms with mortification where she sits. She’s perched on her bed, sitting back on her haunches. Hardin has dwarfed her little wicker bedside chair; she’s pretty sure it’s stress-rated for a petite college sophomore, not a grown man. It’s easy to disregard until you’re in a room with him, but Hardin catches the attention like a fishhook. He exudes quiet competence and an aura of command. He looks dangerous, but more than that — he feels dangerous.

  This close, Ree can feel Hardin’s magnetism like a lodestone. Her attention focuses on him; she watches him swallow a mouthful of scotch and pictures following the line of his throat with her tongue.

  “Hardin?”

  “Mm?”

  “You — you’re not mad I led you on?”

  “Not at all - I like the thrill of a chase. I know what I’ve signed up for, Riona.” He purrs into her ear, just to see her shiver. “What I would like to ask you tonight are the rules to your little game of hide and seek. I assume you have some?”

  “Yes.” Ree says.

  He nods. “Tell me.”

  It’s a direct order, and Ree doesn’t want to resist, so she obeys instead. This only works if you’re honest. If you communicate. Ree reminds herself of that fact when her mouth threatens to snap shut on her words like a fox trap. She won’t allow herself to clam up — Not when I’m this close to getting what I want — so she barrels on ahead.

  “So long as I’m chaste on my wedding day, I’m open to suggestions.”

  Hardin snorts.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This is how I know you had a good parochial education. Oral is moral, Riona?”

  “They say the holiest place is on your knees, Hardin.” The schoolyard reply is out before she can think better of it. It might be the most juvenile thing Ree’s ever said, but the look of drop-jawed shock that flashes across Hardin’s face before he regains his composure makes it worth it.

  “The mouth on you.” Hardin mutters.

  The whiskey, the contact, the way he’s barely touched her, but she feels like she’s danced a double feature… he makes her feel wild. It’s the same manic joy as an improvisational solo. She has no idea what will happen… only that she can’t stop.

  “Would you like to do something about it?”

  Hardin rises from her wicker chair and prowls over, sinking his weight into her mattress like he’s staking a claim.

  “Be careful what you ask for, Riona. I might give it to you.” He sounds like temptation itself. Ree wishes she could rub her legs together, but his knee is in her way, driving her to distraction.

  “What if I asked politely, sir?”

  His eyes make her feel like she’s in sniper sights; his focus on her is that all-encompassing. He’s hard as steel against her. In a moment of lust, Ree wonders if he’ll let her take a page from his book and find out if Becca’s right.

  “Then it would depend on what you wanted, Riona.”

  He sounds interested, and now his hands trace over her cheekbones and down, cradling the fine bones at the base of her skull. Ree leans back into the touch like a cat; he obliges her by kneading his fingers through her hair. Heated as she is, she moans; his grip tightens instinctively — but relaxes immediately.

  “Mm, green light,” Ree informs him playfully. “You can unbraid it, if you like. I only keep it up-”

  Because everybody loves to make a big fucking deal out of it. Carpets and drapes. Titian redhead. Jessica Bunny or whatever the Hell. Everybody wants to touch it-

  “So it doesn’t cause a mess. But if- if you like it, you can play with it.”

  The smile he shoots her is all teeth. “Would you like me to?”

  Bastard, Ree thinks, even as his question makes her squirm against him. He can feel it; she knows he can, but the only sign is his jaw tightening.

  “Yes.” She says. He rewards her with that flash of teeth that makes her think sinful things.

  “Good girl. You understand how this will go, Riona? You will not lie to me.”

  He’s a heavy presence around her, with a knee between her thighs and his bulk above her. He’s lean, but she’s willowy, and he’s got a few inches of broadness and height to his advantage. Rather than intimidate her, it makes her feel protected. He’s gentle with her and careful where he rests his weight — but he’s as immovable as granite, and Ree knows that if he wanted her, he could take her at his leisure.

  One day, Ree thinks. Her own avarice surprises her.

  “What if I’m shy?”

  “You could write it down,” Hardin suggests, and Ree flushes red as the journal she’s going to pretend she doesn’t keep at her bedside.

  Please God, don’t let him look in the drawer.

  ***

  The lights are dim. The air is thick with arousal, but Hardin wants… more. If this is to be Riona’s first — anything, he thinks with avaricious delight — then he will not disappoint her. There’s no need to be nervous. I’ve got you, kitten. You’ll be all right.

  She’s watching him with silent wariness, stiff with nerves, and he smiles at her.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Riona. I’m seducing you, not interrogating you,” he says mildly. She stares at him, unreadable as the Sphinx. For a moment, he thinks he’s gone too far.

  Then Riona shrimps up, one hand around her middle and the other covering her mouth. Jitters escape as a froth of giggles, and her nose scrunches up as she laughs. When she uncurls herself, she’s far more relaxed.

  “You’re awful, Hardin.”

  “I’ve been advised,” he agrees with a sly smirk, and Ree goes pink. If he’s lucky, he might be so fortunate as to see how far her blush extends. Hardin kneels over her and his gloved hands unwind the scrunchie she used to hold her braid. Blood-red waves cascade over the leather of his gloves. He’s careful not to tangle it as he kneads the muscles at the base of Riona’s neck with his thumbs.

  “If you need clarification or a break, tell me. No questions asked. Do you understand, Riona?” He keeps his voice level; if she’s new to this, she needs to know it. Hardin isn’t a good man. He isn’t even an adequate one. But Ree — Ree’s better than his usual company by far; she inspires him to more.

  “Yes, sir.” She says, and there’s no tone of irony or self-consciousness in her tone. She uses his title as though she can’t conceive of anything else.

  “All right. The rules are the same as stoplights. Green is good to go; yellow is a check-in, and red is a stop.”

  Ree nods, attentive as ever. Hardin’s voice continues, even as his hands shift lower. “If you ever need to use it, do. Do not wait for me to ask for a red. If you need to stop, say so.” He touches her in slow, leisurely strokes as though petting a cat. Her eyes close until all that shows is a flash of green under sooty lashes. Her mouth parts on a breathy little sigh Hardin thinks might have been his name.

  “Green light?” Hardin asks, setting a benchmark. Riona hums a pleased affirmative.

  “Yes, sir. You can do that whenever.”

  The only man in the world with her express invitation. He knows exa
ctly what a woman like Riona is worth — down to the dollar and cents, God help me — and is awestruck that she’d give herself to him. Hardin strokes his leather-gloved hands down the arch of her neck and arms, her collarbone and decolletage, while Riona leans into the massage like an indolent cat.

  “Green,” she says in that lazy tone he knows has nothing to do with sleep.

  “Green,” she whispers when the backs of his fingers trace over the bones of her jaw. His thumb traces along her lower lip in the gentlest parody of a kiss, and she rewards him by bestowing a real one to the pad of his thumb.

  She goes a bit further, then; those tiger-green eyes of hers meet and hold his as she presses her tongue to the tip of his thumb for a moment. It’s a deliberate insinuation, even as her cheeks go pink. He’s careful to show no expression, but that only makes her smile widen.

  “Green?” she asks when she pulls away. He chuckles, low.

  “Yes,” he answers.

  “Okay!” Riona chirps. “Tell me what you like, too.”

  His smile darkens into something with intent, and he can hear her catch her breath. “No.” Hardin says, sliding his hands over the curves of her shoulders and down her arms. He watches as she shivers, reckless and helpless before him.

  “I won’t tell you what I like, Riona. I’ll teach you.”

  His gloved hands wrap around her wrists, bracketing them with thumb and forefinger, and Riona sways like a birch in a stiff wind.

  “Could you please?” She asks, and Hardin bites back a smile at the eagerness in her voice.

  “All right, Riona. But you’re a bit overdressed for our game.”

  She nods, and Hardin rewards her by unbuttoning the silk of her blouse with practiced ease. It’s quick work, even with the leather gloves. Ree wriggles out of it as soon as she can, helpful as ever, but when he taps his fingers once against the button of her jeans, she hesitates.

  “Don’t worry, Riona.” Hardin soothes, words a susurrus against the tender skin between shoulder and neck. “You need only say the word. What is it?”

  “Red.” She tests it out on her tongue and nods when his hand lifts off of her zipper. “Right. Okay. Green light,” she says, and undoes the button of her jeans herself. Hardin notices her fingers tremble as she does, but doesn’t mention it, filing the memory away for later enjoyment.