By lunchtime, I’d worked up enough courage to speak to him. But Sebastian, it seemed, had other ideas. He disappeared out of the door before I had the chance to utter a single syllable. I sighed: it looked like he wanted to avoid me.
Marc, however, more than usually sensitive to the emotions of others, was on the trail of a story.
“Come on, Lee, spill your beans. How do you know our Chief Hunter?”
“And how come you didn’t say you know him,” said Liz, sounding annoyed.
“It was a long time ago,” I said, trying to sound casual, and failing miserably.
“And?”
“And nothing,” I insisted.
“Oh, come on, Lee!” said Liz, accusingly. “You get me to tell you all the scandal I know about our mysterious Chief Hunter, and you don’t even mention that you already know him. You’re holding out, I can tell.”
“Yes, chérie,” agreed Marc with a smile, “I, too, think you are keeping secrets.”
They knew me so well. Plus, they were journalists, which made them the nosiest people on the planet.
“I met him when I lived in California,” I said at last. “When I was married.”
“Ah,” said Liz, knowingly. “Fair enough, Lee.”
They both knew I was divorced and didn’t like to talk about my marriage. Thankfully, they didn’t ask any further questions.
I spent an uncomfortable lunch hour wondering what to say to him. What could I say? Sorry about that—I hope I didn’t ruin your life—how are you?
In any event, I didn’t have to say anything because Sebastian didn’t return after lunch. His departure wasn’t commented on by his British colleagues, and they stoically ignored his absence.
The afternoon session continued with little to inform or interest those of us who had sat through these lectures several times before. The only bit I was really interested in came on day two and covered questions specific to Kabul and, to a lesser extent, Kandahar.
I wondered why Sebastian hadn’t come back. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with me? That would just be ridiculous.
When we were finally dismissed for the day, Liz wandered off to catch up with some sources, or so she said. I suspected these were more sauces—and of the alcoholic type. Marc muttered something about a prior engagement and I was left to my own, tangled thoughts.
Irritated with myself and perplexed by Sebastian’s behavior, I spent a dreary evening in my room. I amused myself by writing long emails to Alice and Jenna. I didn’t bother writing more than a few words to Nicole: I knew she only read the first and last paragraphs, unless the messages were from a guy.
I thought that I was at least tired enough to manage a reasonable amount of sleep, but my dreams were haunted by a memory of sea-green eyes, golden skin and naked flesh.
I was rudely awoken shortly after dawn, by an orgasm ripping through me. My back arched and my legs were rigid as I rode out the waves of sensation.
I sat up gasping, shocked at the way my body had betrayed me.
What the hell was that? An orgasm in my sleep?! That definitely hadn’t happened before.
I staggered into the shower, trying to wash away the memories that continued to torment me.
The second day of the training began much like the first, except Sebastian’s continuing coldness toward me became apparent to the others.
“The beautiful Chief Hunter is staring at you again, Lee,” said Marc, unnecessarily. “He does not look happy with you.”
Sadly, I had to agree.
Today the lectures had started off with how to spot a minefield. Dead animals were a big clue, but it was also looking out for areas avoided by locals, particularly if the surrounding area was turned to agriculture, where anything overgrown stood out. Pieces of waxed packaging were something to look out for, too—explosives often came wrapped in them.
And then, for the language section of our training, we were in Sebastian’s capable hands—something of which I’d once had considerable experience.
“Yes,” said Liz, agreeing with Marc’s assessment, “young Chief Hunter narrows his eyes every time he looks at you.”
I sighed and smiled at her. “Maybe my Dari pronunciation is lacking.”
I’d been more than a little impressed to find that at some point over the last ten years, Sebastian had become fluent in Dari, a dialect of Afghan Persian, as well as Pashto and Arabic.
He was teaching us how to introduce ourselves and give our name, job title and nationality in the languages we’d need, as well as a useful passage from the Koran for emergencies.
I remembered how quickly his Italian had improved when we’d first started dating. Ugh, ‘dating’: that seemed such a deeply inadequate word for our tumultuous and passionate affair.
“Perhaps Ms. Venzi can answer that question.”
Sebastian’s voice cut through my bedraggled thoughts.
“Excuse me? Um, what was the question?” I stammered.
He didn’t even bother to answer, but looked away, an expression of disdain on his face.
“Oh, dear! He’ll have you staying behind after class,” chuckled Liz.
Then he told us that a typical answer to a question an Afghan couldn’t answer would be for them to say, ‘because the sea is green and the sky is blue’.
“Tell them that and they’ll think you’re clever,” he said, gazing condescendingly at me.
I felt flustered and annoyed: no matter what had happened ten years ago, there was no need for him to be so unpleasant. I decided I’d have it out with him at the first opportunity.
Sebastian’s habit was to be the first out of the door as soon as a break was announced, dodging ancillary questions from any of the other journalists: either that or to dodge me. After the morning coffee break, I’d taken a seat near the exit so he wouldn’t be able to continue avoiding me as we all left for lunch. And I made sure I paid attention during the rest of the language section so he’d have no reason to pick on me again.
Sure enough, as soon as Major Parsons called a break, Sebastian headed for the door.
“May I have a word, please, Chief Hunter?” I said, as he shot past me.
He almost skidded to a halt, but before he turned to look at me, an expression that I couldn’t catch flitted across his face.
“I’m rather busy, Ms. Venzi,” he snapped.
“Too busy to say ‘hello’?” I shot back.
He stared at me for a long second.
“Yes, I’m too busy for that,” he replied, then stormed out of the door.
Well, fuck you, too!
Unfortunately, I could see that our little tête-a-tête had been far from inconspicuous.
“Bloody hell, Venzi! What did you do to the poor bastard? He looks as pleased to see you as a fart in a teacup.”
I shook my head in frustration.
“I have no clue,” I lied.
“He is a rude man,” concluded Marc. “He is certainly no gentleman.”
I had to agree, but the thought saddened me. Ten years ago, Sebastian had been the gentlest of souls. I couldn’t help thinking back to his many acts of kindness toward me. Well, that had been a long time ago: it was obvious that he detested me now.
I decided that I’d done as much as I could: if he didn’t want to talk to me that was his prerogative. I wouldn’t push it. Besides, this wretched training would be over soon, and I hoped to be on my way to Leatherneck within the next two or three days. I’d contacted my editor, and he’d promised to make some calls on my behalf to get things moving.
It seemed my last chance to talk to Sebastian had gone already, because he didn’t return after lunch for the end of the training. No comment was made about his absence, but I got the feeling that the British officers were relieved he’d disappeared.
“So, I hope you found the last two days useful, Ms. Venzi,” said Major Parsons, as I was packing up my bag.
“Most informative,” I said, blandly.
“Glad to h
ear it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Did you actually learn anything new?”
“I have doubled my vocabulary in Dari and Pashto,” I replied.
He looked puzzled.
“I didn’t know you had spoken any before?” he said.
“I hadn’t.”
He grinned as he caught the gist of my meaning.
“I see! Well, perhaps I can make up for your lack of progress by buying you a drink tonight?”
Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.
“That’s very kind of you, Major, but I have some notes to prepare. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
He took my rejection well, returning my handshake with just the right amount of pressure.
“Good luck out there,” he said seriously. “Keep your head down: I’d hate to hear that anything had happened to you.” He hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps we could meet up—next time you’re in Geneva—or in fact anywhere in Switzerland. I’ll be in this post for the next six months at least.”
“Well, thank you. I don’t have any plans to be in the country again, but I’ll certainly make a note of that.”
At which point he resigned the field, and left with his dignity intact—and my opinion of him rose even higher.
“You are not interested, Lee?” said Marc, a knowing look on his face.
“What’s the point?” I sighed. “I won’t be in Switzerland again for months, if ever.”
“You could just take him for a quick ride—see what his rising trot is like,” Liz smirked.
I rolled my eyes. One-night stands had never been my thing, and what I’d said was true: there was no point in starting such a long-distance relationship. Apart from which, I’d have been a fool to get mixed up with another military man after my disastrous marriage.
We headed to the bar and spent the evening with some of the other journalists, swapping tall tales about some of the locations we’d reported from. Liz’s tales were by far the tallest—although in her case, I was willing to bet they were all true.
Shortly before midnight, I headed back to my hotel, feeling in a much better mood. I still hadn’t heard back from my editor during the day, but I was hopeful I’d be on the move soon.
I threw off my clothes and showered quickly, before checking my emails again. Still no word about my ride to Leatherneck. Annoying—but I wasn’t going to worry just yet.
I programmed my cell to wake me in the morning and turned off the light, hoping against hope that I might actually get some sleep.
I was woken abruptly when someone banged on my bedroom door. I scrunched up my eyes and peered at my phone. Jeez! Two in the morning. Who the hell was knocking on my door at this hour?
Grumpily, I switched on the bedside lamp, squinting against the light, and fumbled for my robe.
“Who is it?”
“Let me in, Caro.”
No one had called me ‘Caro’ in years; in fact, only one person had ever used that version of my name. And I knew his voice—except the tone was off.
Surprise and shock made my heart rate spike suddenly.
“What do you want, Sebastian?” I called through the door.
“Let me in,” he mumbled again. “I need to talk to you.”
Now he wanted to talk?
He banged on the door again. “Caro!”
At this rate he’d been waking up the entire hotel. God, he was irritating. And his sense of timing was lousy.
Reluctantly, but curious nonetheless, I pulled the door open.
Sebastian was leaning against the door frame, deliciously rumpled in old jeans, black t-shirt and a brown leather jacket. Irritating and gorgeous.
“Caro,” he said, a leer on his face.
Oh hell. And also very drunk.
“What do you want, Sebastian?”
He didn’t answer, but pushed past me into my room.
“What are you doing?” I said, my temper rising.
“Catching up with old friends,” he smirked
“How did you find me?”
He grinned and tapped the side of his head with one long finger, “Military intelligence.”
I closed the door, hoping that no one had seen or heard his noisy entrance into my room. But the hotel corridor was silent.
He fumbled out of his jacket and tossed it toward the chair, missing by a mile. I couldn’t help noticing that his t-shirt was snug on his body in a way that brought back too many memories.
He sat down on the bed, and patted the space next to him, suggestively.
“Come and sit with me, Caro,” he slurred.
Oh, I really didn’t think so.
I folded my arms across my chest and stayed standing. His gaze drifted up and down me in a way that heated my whole body. I hadn’t blushed like that in a long time.
“Why are you here, Sebastian? You had your chance to talk to me earlier today, but you preferred to ignore me.”
He blinked up at me, his sea-green eyes puzzled. It was strange seeing him so far from the ocean. Then he smiled again.
“You still have a great ass, Caro.”
Enough was enough.
“Okay, I think you’d better go now. Whatever you have to say to me can wait until you’re sober.”
He just sat there smiling at me. I decided to make the hint more obvious. I walked forward to pull him off the bed, but instead he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my chest. This was getting ridiculous: couldn’t the man take ‘no’ for an answer? And I certainly didn’t want to be part of any harem.
“Sebastian, stop that,” I said forcefully. “I want you to go. Now!”
But he increased his grip, and his shoulders started to shake. With something like horror, I realized he was crying.
“Why didn’t you come back?” he sobbed. “I waited and waited for you, like I said I would, but you never came back! Why? Why didn’t you come back? I love you I love you I love you.”
I was stunned. No. This was not what I’d expected at all. And then I wondered if all his apparent dislike, all the rudeness he’d shown me, was just a wall protecting him from the pain I’d put him through; a rejection that had lasted years. He still loved me?
Oh no.
He couldn’t mean it. No, it was the alcohol talking.
“Sebastian…” I began.
He clutched me tighter and started kissing my chest, pulling open my robe and exposing my breasts. He fastened his mouth over my nipple and began to tug gently with his teeth.
I tried to push him away.
“No!”
But he didn’t stop. He pulled me onto the bed and pushed himself on top of me, kissing my throat and breasts over and over. He was so strong, I couldn’t fight him off; his arms held my wrists and his body was heavy, crushing me into the mattress.
“Get off me!” I yelled at him, dragging my hands free and pushing at his chest with all my strength.
With a long sigh, he rolled onto his back and was still.
I sat up, shocked and afraid. I pulled my robe together and stared at him. He was fast asleep, passed out drunk and snoring softly.
I was shaking from a fear-fueled adrenaline rush.
I shoved him with my hand.
“Sebastian, wake up! Wake up!”
He mumbled something and rolled onto his side.
Shit. Just what I didn’t need.
I wondered what the hell to do. If I phoned for help, everyone would just assume we’d slept together. I didn’t want to ruin my already dented reputation; and if I reported his assault, he’d be arrested and court-martialed, with the distinct possibility that our illicit past would be uncovered.
No matter how far I traveled, no matter how hard I worked, I was never able to outrun my past. The thought made me cold with fury.
In the end, I decided the simplest thing to do was to leave him as he was. He certainly wasn’t going to be making any more passes at me in that condition, and a small but insistent part of me remembered that we’d on
ce been in love.
I wrestled his heavy biker boots off his feet and pulled the duvet over him. I definitely wasn’t going to sleep naked like I usually did, so I hunted down a loose t-shirt, pulled on a pair of panties and crawled back into bed.
It felt so strange to have him lying next to me again after all these years. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sound of his breathing, a flood of memories stirring my brain and warming my flesh.
When my alarm woke me the next morning, for the briefest moment, I couldn’t remember what had happened. I froze when I realized I wasn’t alone in bed, and then it all came back to me: Sebastian banging on my door; his fumbling kisses, his strange admission—drunken Sebastian passing out in my bed.
I felt his body shift on the mattress and he flexed his hips, lightly pushing his very noticeable morning wood into my back. Some things never changed.
Cautiously, I moved away from him and sat up.
A sleepy blue-green eye blinked up at me. He looked puzzled.
“Caro?”
“You’re awake then,” I said, sharply.
He looked embarrassed and confused when he realized where he was.
“Did we…?”
“No, we most definitely did not. You woke me up in the middle of the night by banging on my door, and then passed out on my bed.”
“Oh, right.”
He leaned up on one arm and looked down at the clothes he was still wearing, assessing the truth of my statement. Then he grinned at me.
“Sorry about that. We can make up for it now if you like?”
I couldn’t believe him. Who the hell did he think he was?!
“Astonishing as this may seem, Sebastian,” I said in a cool voice, “your charming offer doesn’t thrill me.”
His smile slipped and for a moment he looked hurt: I remembered that look. Then his arrogant expression was back.
“Whatever.”
He swung his long legs out of the bed and sat up. He didn’t seem to be experiencing any hangover effects whatsoever. God, he was annoying!
“Where are my boots?” he muttered.
“Under the chair,” I said, pointing. “Along with your jacket.”
The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline Page 40