No Time for Caution

by K. T. Samois

  “It looks worse than it is,” the woman tells Ree.

  A lifetime of babysitting Moira has taught her to trust her instincts, so she plasters a bland customer service smile on her face.

  “Thank you!” Ree chirps, extricating her arm from the woman’s fingers. She has an uncomfortably forceful grip.

  She puts it back under the water with a hiss of relief. The pain is horrendous, but she’s alone, and there’s still time on her shift. I can make it; I just need to cut the burn enough to make it to the analgesic in the first aid kit-

  “Excuse me,” the woman says, as she peers at Ree. “But I’m still waiting for my coffee.”

  Ree, arm under the water, tears in her eyes, cold sweat on her cheeks, can do nothing but stare at her.

  And stare.

  And stare.

  Until suddenly, the absurdity of the command, and the shock of her burn, combine into a mad peal of laughter. It isn’t at this lady, exactly, and it isn’t intentional. But it happens, and once it starts, she can’t stop it. She’s never heard a more absurd request in her entire time serving coffee to stuck-up strangers.

  “No. I can’t help you right now, ma’am. I’ve injured myself.” She jerks her chin at her already-blistering arm. “I’ll be with you as soon as I do first aid. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “It’s just a minor burn,” the blonde hisses, eyes narrowed. “It shouldn’t hurt that much.”

  “And you’re familiar with burns then?” Ree snaps, pain and adrenaline finally getting the worst of her.

  The woman’s lip curls back into an elegant sneer. Ree looks at the row of perfectly white, sharp teeth, and feels her eyes narrow in response. She isn’t about to back down from some pushy executive who thinks she works for her.

  “I want a refund,” the woman snarls with far more malice than a fucking coffee deserves, in Ree’s entirely biased opinion.

  “My pleasure,” she spits, and fishes around in her pocket. The first bill she pulls out is a twenty; she slaps it down on the bar with a shit-eating smile. “Keep the change,” she says, customer service sweet, and the look of loathing the woman shoots her as she leaves, would give her frost-bite if she didn’t feel like her whole arm was on fire.

  As soon as the woman’s gone, Ree’s stiff upper lip crumbles into marzipan. Tears already clogging her throat, she stares down at the red welt on her arm and lets herself have a bit of a cry.

  She’s just grateful there’s nobody around to see.

  ***

  Another round of drinks turns into an invitation to stay for an excruciatingly uncomfortable meal with Riona’s mother and father, her judgemental twin, and her gremlin of a little sister. By the time he’s being driven home, a passenger in his own car, he’s convinced they have given him his last meal.

  Surely now the questions will come. But none do, leaving Hardin all keyed up with nowhere to go. When he and Oisin part ways in the elevator, Riona’s father pulls him into another easy hug before loping off to where his wife waits in a wicked-looking sports car that probably costs more than some missions Hardin’s run.

  Hardin lets himself into their apartment and kicks his shoes off. He doesn’t have to pick Ree up from work until oh-five-thirty, so he makes his way into their bedroom, strips down to nothing, and falls face-first into bed.

  He’s woken up what feels like seconds later by a loud crash and the sound of Ree yelping in pain.

  “Hardin?! I need you!”

  He’s out of bed in a flash, gun in his hands, and safety off. When he makes his way into the kitchen, he stops stock still. When she sees him, Riona can’t seem to decide what to do with her face — her eyes are teary, but she’s got a watery smile on her face as she tries not to look down.

  “Hi, Hardin. Just me. I, um—sorry. Were you sleeping?”

  Hardin’s eyes fix on her arm. “What happened?”

  “I, just…” She inhales once and then exhales slowly. “Oh, just the meanest customer. One of those super snooty executive types.”

  “Oh?” With the safety back on the gun, he puts it to one side. Ree’s eyes follow it, but she doesn’t remark on him coming out armed. Or nude. He reaches for the first aid kit under the sink and she visibly relaxes.

  “Yeah,” she says instead. “And she had a super pretentious coffee order. An extra hot blonde ristretto? Fifteen different types of fancy foams, a billion different pumps of syrup — oh, ouch, Hardin, jeez!”

  “I’m sorry, Riona.”

  He’s been trying not to hurt her, but there’s nothing for it. It’s already come up in blisters. He blows on the antiseptic gel to cut the heat, and Ree makes a little noise of relief in her throat.

  “Mm. Well, don’t you apologise. Anyway, it’s my own stupidity that got me burnt. I was trying to peek at her.”

  “You, distracted by people-watching at work? Now, that I don’t believe.”

  “You think you’re so cute,” she sniffs, nose in the air. “Anyway, she was interesting, but nobody I’d want to get to know. She even pulled my arm out of the water.”

  That catches his attention like a fish-hook. “She what?!”

  “Right? What the hell! And then she got mad at me for not making her drink.”

  He breathes out slowly through his nose. “No.”

  “Yes! She said it wasn’t bad and that I ought to finish making her ristretto.”

  Hardin’s mouth goes pinched and white with fury; his fingertips never tighten their grip on her arm.

  “You didn’t.” He says flatly. His eyes look capable of homicide.

  “Of course not! I told her I was a bit preoccupied, but I’d be right with her. Then she said that was unacceptable and demanded a refund.” Ree pauses for a breath.

  “So I threw a twenty at her and told her to keep the change. I really hope we get this job, Hardin, because I’m pretty sure she’s going to call my boss and demand a pound of flesh. Possibly literally. Crazy bitch.”

  She’s treated to an expression of surprise on Hardin’s face. Ree relishes the novelty; she so rarely catches him off-guard.

  “My goodness,” he says, a bit taken aback, and she giggles at his scandalized tone. “The mouth on you.”

  “Sorry! She’s just — well. I’m jealous of people who haven’t met her.”

  “Mm,” Hardin agrees. “All wrapped up.”

  He releases her forearm. She exhales a shuddering breath, and the tension leeches out of her shoulders. When he hands her a pain-killer and a glass of water, she takes both with a smile.

  “Thank you, Hardin,” Riona asks, voice soft. “Will you take me to bed, please? I’d like to fall asleep with you.”

  ***

  It’s so early in the morning that it’s still practically last night when Isabel’s phone vibrates with an incoming text.

  She puts the Mountain Dew down and checks the screen.

  UNKNOWN NUMBER -

  But there’s no associated text visible. Isabel thumbs through, and as she does, she gets another chime as a text appears.

  Hello Isabel.

  I hear you found my lost dog.

  Let’s chat.

  -J

  Isabel’s still staring at the little screen when a knock at her door makes her rip her headphones off of her head. Her roommate sticks her head out of her bedroom and snarls something at her, but she shuts up and shuts the door when she sees the gun Isabel’s holding. She creeps right up to the door, but when she gets there, she can’t see anything through the peephole.

  Knock Knock.

  -J

  Isabel unlocks all the deadbolts and slides with a shaking hand. There’s no sense in hiding; clearly, someone knows she’s here. When she wrenches the door open, there’s a blonde woman in a bespoke suit leaning against the doorframe, immediately out of the sightline of the peephole.

  “Hi,” J says in a cooly amused voice. “I’m here about a missing hound-dog.”

  Oh no, Isabel thinks in the one corner of her mind that isn’t
shrieking at her to not move, that this thing hunts by movement. She’s hot.

  Chapter Ten

  Hardin gives the bodega tabby one last scratch before stepping into the brisk autumn evening.

  The light’s fading, and he can smell rain in the air. It’s quiet on the walk home, but not melancholic; Hardin swings the bags of snacks idly and wonders if Ree’s chosen their movie yet. He stops in the lobby to collect the mail and flips through it as he walks up the stairs to their fourth-floor apartment. Furniture catalogue, spam. Phone bill. Spam. Spam. Riona’s phone bill, and -

  He’s staring at a brown manila envelope with an address printed on it.

  Above the address is a logo recognizable enough that Hardin nearly fumbles it with suddenly numb fingers. The envelope is thick, heavy, and sealed with a tamper-proof label. Hardin’s pace increases to a lope in a rare show of excitement.

  He doesn’t open it. Ree needs to be there if-

  He opens the door with a bit more force than necessary, nearly embedding the doorknob in the drywall. Ree whips around.

  “Hey, security deposit-” She must see something on his face, or maybe in his hand, because she goes abruptly quiet.

  “Riona-”

  “Have you opened it?”

  “No. I was waiting for you.”

  Riona comes to tuck herself up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and her arm easily around his waist.

  “Okay — you do the honours.” Ree’s hands shake with nerves, so Hardin tears the security seal tab and opens the package.

  He extricates a manuscript’s worth of paper. There are black and white forms with a red [CLASSIFIED: TOP SECRET] stamped on each of them, an honest-to-God brochure advertising locations, and instructions thick with jargon. He can feel Ree lean forward with interest, and he hands her the stack of paperwork. She pounces, and he can already tell she can’t wait to sink her teeth into the logistics. He keeps the single sheaf of heavy-weight, cream-coloured paper on top. It carries the coveted blue triangle and eagle, neatly signed with actual ink at the bottom.

  Hardin stares at the paper until it blurs.

  “Congratulations, Captain,” Riona whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I knew you could do it.”

  “We did it,” he corrects her. “This is as much — more, really — your triumph than mine.”

  Ree doesn’t deny it. It’s true, after all.

  “Do you know what this means?” Ree asks in a stage whisper.

  “It’s time for helicopters instead of taxis?”

  “We could get a place with no shared walls!”

  When she bounces at him in an eager hug, he scoops her up into his arms and whirls her around their kitchen. Ree lets out a peal of laughter; when it appears he’ll put her down, she wraps her legs around his waist instead. He indulges her by getting a firm grip on her ass, eliciting another delighted giggle.

  “I think we have a few more zeroes to play with than that, kitten,” he purrs, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

  She giggles, brushing her lips against the rapid fire pulse in his throat.

  “Yeah? Then maybe I’ll dream a little bigger…”

  “Mm?” He walks her easily down the hall; she’s tall but willowy, and he’d be no soldier at all if he couldn’t lift his woman. “And what would that be, Riona?”

  “Me to know and you to find out.” she teases from her perch on his hips. He fumbles with the door to their bedroom but can’t quite get it. Riona’s hand finds the knob and turns, but before he can take a step in, Hardin hears Riona’s voice in his ear.

  “The chair, sir. Sit in the chair, please.”

  ***

  Evening’s fallen outside, and their bedroom is lit only by the warm glow of her paper lamp.

  Hardin settles into the wicker chair by her bedside, his preferred spot to relax. He looks good in it, lounging with legs splayed. Ree can imagine herself between them all too easily.

  “Hey Hardin?”

  He makes a noise that means he’s listening, and Ree grins. Time to twist the knife. She leans in, keeping her hips fused to his. Her lips brush the shell of his ear, and she steadies herself with her hands on his shoulders.

  “Did you know I used to dance?”

  “Ballet, wasn’t it?” He tries to sound cool and unaffected, but she can feel the way every one of his muscles is tensed beneath her.

  “Mmm,” she says, because a beat’s a beat.

  Speaking of-

  “Hey Mimi, play Bops.” Her late-night playlist, filled to the gigabyte with Moira’s filthiest music recommendations, comes over her speakers.

  “Seriously?”

  “If you judge me, Hardin, I swear to God I’ll wear sweatpants to bed.” She takes a breath, but Hardin raises his hands in surrender.

  “No, by all means. Bops it is.” he says as he settles back into his throne. A bass-heavy track queues onto the playlist, something slow and seductive. With the lights dim and the music loud, Ree knows this is going to work. It takes a moment to feel the rhythm, but with Hardin’s hands on her hips, it isn’t hard to find. And just like that, she feels her inhibitions lift. Riona’s always loved dancing, inhabiting the character, and using her body to convey their emotions. Giselle’s melancholy. Odette’s innocence.

  Carmen’s seductiveness…

  Her hands rise into her hair and remove the pins holding her bun in place. Her hair tumbles down her back nearly to her waist, and she sighs at the release of tension.

  Hardin’s settled into the chair like it’s a throne, and he’s watching her so openly that Ree feels heat sluice through her veins. Men have been staring at Ree from the moment she hit puberty, but it always feels different when Hardin watches her. Rather than stare at her nice tits, baby! the way the others do, he follows the way her hands move through the air to illustrate a point, or the way she rises on tiptoes when walking in bare feet out of habit.

  Ballet, wasn’t it?

  That gives her an idea. Ree slithers out of his lap and onto her feet. Standing between his legs, Ree sways her hips to the beat. Hardin opens his mouth to speak, but Ree holds her own finger to her lips, and he goes quiet. She holds his gaze as she rises on to demi-pointe and can see him swallow hard.

  His hands move to the wicker arms of the chair, black gloves gripping tightly.

  God, he looks good like that… He really shouldn’t, though. This whole dangerous bad guy thing shouldn’t suit him the way it does.

  Why not? Comes a steel-girded response. You run a security contractor. Be a badass for once.

  Riona takes a slow breath and then slides her hands down from face to throat to breasts. They linger there for a moment, but his eyes stay riveted to her face. She holds his gaze as her hands keep roaming in time with the music. When she pulls the hem of her loose sweater over her head and tosses it aside, she’s wearing a demure lace brassiere under it. It’s one of his favourites. The sight of lace wrenches a sharp noise out of him, and his hands tighten around the arms of the chair.

  Riona lets him look for a moment and then dances out of reach. She’s wearing a pair of painted-on leggings, so Ree takes her time peeling them off, revealing pale skin inch by inch.

  Under them, her panties match the brassiere and do about as much to hide her arousal. She can hear him breathing sharply through his nose, inhaling the scent of her desire. If Ree’s preferred sense is touch, his is smell- or maybe taste…

  Either way, he all but drinks her in, and Ree feels like the most wanted woman in the world.

  “Riona.” he says, and her name in that voice of his is the sexiest thing she’s ever heard in her life. Her entire body comes up in goosebumps, and her skin craves the touch of his gloves like a drug.

  “Yes, sir?” I’ll do anything you want. Anything you ask. Just ask. Please, please ask.

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  She flushes at the compliment, going red from cheeks down her throat and to her bust; he watches as the flus
h rises anywhere there’s a vein. Her skin prickles with warmth, but as she watches, he literally licks his lips.

  “Once you’re done your warm-up, I think I’ll have you.” His tone is conversational, as though she’s his to enjoy at whim.

  Oh my God, she thinks, so aroused it nearly hurts. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of-- Her rational brain ticks over like a cold engine.

  Wait, warm-up? Asshole!

  Ree’s always risen to a challenge, and she’s drunk on endorphins. She knows she’ll regret it in the morning, but she snaps her leg up in a perfect front attitude. With her right foot still in perfect demi-pointe, she’s able to rest the ball of her left on the low back of the chair.

  Hardin, now at groin level, wipes every hint of an expression from his face — a sure sign Ree’s scored a point.

  “I think I’m warmed up, sir,” Ree says, and the noise Hardin makes is feral. It’s nothing compared to the high gasp he wrings out of Ree when he slides his teeth along the expanse of bare thigh by his mouth.

  When he slides the flat of his tongue along the front of her panties, Ree jerks her hips up sharply, as though struck by lightning. She’s just grateful she doesn’t break his nose.

  She does nearly lose her balance, wobbling drunkenly on tiptoe until he steadies her with a firm grip on her ass. It has the secondary effect of bringing her closer to his mouth. When he teases her with another slow slice of his tongue, she sobs, one hand tangling in her own hair.

  “Sir — please don’t stop.”

  “Oh no, kitten,” he whispers against her skin, sounding almost drunk. His mouth is wet, leaving a shine against the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. “The show must go on.”

  She wheezes out a desperate little laugh, but his hands grip her tightly for a moment, catching her attention.

  “Talk to me, Riona. Tell me all about these bigger dreams, kitten.”