by Radclyffe
"Yes," Renee breathed.
"Would you like to...go out for dinner or something?"
Renee rested her forehead against Stark's, playing with the hair at the back of her neck, caressing her softly. "There is something I would like to do before the other thing that I'd like to do."
Stark stared at her questioningly. "Translation?"
"I want to see Paris."
"All of it?"
Renee nodded.
"That might take us all night, maybe even longer."
Renee laughed. "Are you tired?"
"I don't think so." Stark brushed her fingers over Renee's cheek and along her jaw. "I don't feel much of anything when I'm with you except you."
Renee's lips parted in surprised pleasure. "You're not allowed to speak until we leave this room. Because every time you say something like that, all I want is to get naked with you."
Stark opened her mouth but Renee swiftly put her fingers against her lips. "Shush. I mean it." Renee's lids grew heavy when she felt Stark's mouth move against her fingers in a soft kiss. "Bad idea." With tremendous effort, she moved away until a foot of neutral ground separated them. "I'm going to get my jacket, and we're going to see Paris."
"Anything you want." Anything at all
CHAPTER TEN
T he Peugeot idled at the curb in front of the entrance to the hotel, Hernandez at the wheel and Reynolds beside him. Blair glanced from them to Cam. "Double-dating?"
Laughing, Cam held the rear door for her. "Just for the vehicular portion of the evening. They're staying outside once we arrive."
"Good." Blair watched out the window as they crossed the Seine and moved slowly through the crowded streets of the Left Bank. "Where's Stark? I thought she was on tonight."
"I rearranged the shifts and gave her some downtime. I want her as lead for the finale tomorrow night."
"Ah yes—the presidential ball." Blair grimaced. "The farewell performance."
Cam reached for her hand and squeezed gently. "Tired?"
"Just the usual travel frazzle." Blair kept her tone and expression light. She'd heard the concern in her lover's voice.
"Will you be glad to go home?"
"Oh God, yes." Blair watched the nightlife pass by outside the window, thinking of how many times she had wished she could lose herself on just such a crowded street, to slip away unnoticed and awaken somewhere else—-to be someone else. With the exception of her clandestine forays into the dark bars and darker hours of so many lost nights, she'd never managed to escape her history or her destiny. Glancing at Cam, she realized that she no longer had any desire to be anyone other than who she was, or to be anywhere else—not as long as she had this one woman's love. "It will be good to get back to New York. I miss painting, and I'm anxious to finish up the last canvases for my show." She smiled and her face was free of worry or regret. "But, despite the circumstances, this has been one of the best trips I've ever had...because you're here."
"There's nothing that I would change about anything," Cam replied seriously, unconsciously echoing Blair's thoughts, "except to give you your freedom."
"Knowing that you understand why it's hard for me sometimes is just as good." Blair gave Cam's hand a small shake. "So will you tell me now where we're going?"
Cam's grin flashed. "Nope."
"There are things I could do to punish you for this, you know."
"I live in hope."
Blair laughed and glanced out the window, raising a brow when she saw the street sign. "Rue Christine. Stein and Toklas's street. Are we going sightseeing?"
"Not exactly."
Hernandez pulled the vehicle to the curb and Cam activated the speaker. "Keep comm channel four open. Parker and Davis are your backup."
"Yes, Commander."
And then Cam opened the door, gestured for Blair to follow, and they were on the street. Alone.
Blair glanced back in surprise when neither of the two agents stepped out to join them. Rarely had Cam acquiesced to fewer than three agents being with her when she was out in public. Perplexed, she glanced at her lover. "Cam?"
Shaking her head, Cam grasped Blair's hand and quickly drew her down the narrow, crowded street to 7 Rue Christine, one of a series of small houses with a tiny landing and stained-glass windows flanking its red painted door. Cam knocked, and a moment later, a petite dark-haired woman wearing a flowing green silk tunic and wide-legged sienna trousers opened the door.
"Cameron!" the beautiful woman exclaimed as she stood on tiptoe and kissed Cam's cheek. The deep brown eyes she turned to Blair were alive with quick intelligence and warm welcome. "Hello."
"Bonita," Cam said with obvious affection, "may I present Blair Powell." Cam smiled at Blair's look of stunned surprise.
"Blair, Bonita Ponte."
"Oh," Blair exclaimed, too taken aback to formulate anything close to a sentence. Then, at the sound of the woman's rich melodious laughter, she came to her senses and extended her hand. "I am so honored, Ms. Ponte, to meet you. I so love your work."
"Please, call me Bonita." She took both Blair's and Cam's hands and drew them into the house, closing the door behind them and leading the way into a luxuriously appointed sitting room. Two sofas of burgundy brocade with hand-carved mahogany frames faced each other in front of a marble fireplace. Thick carpets layered the floor in a riot of color. Above the fireplace hung a painting which Blair recognized as one of Marcea Casells's, Cam's mother and—as was her unexpected hostess—a hero of Blair's.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable." Bonita motioned toward the sitting area. "I'll be right back. I imagine that you are hungry."
"I'll give you a hand," Cam said quickly.
Bonita shook her head with an indulgent smile. "No, you relax. I'm sure you've both had a long day." With that, she swiftly disappeared in a billow of silk.
"Bonita Ponte. God, Cam. How do you know her?" Blair still couldn't quite believe they were in the home of one of the world's foremost Expressionist painters. She loved Ponte's work and had studied her style and technique while an art student in Paris.
"I've known her since I was a child. She and my mother are best friends." Cam lifted a shoulder. "I wasn't sure she would be home while we were here, but I took a chance and called her. Luckily, she just arrived back yesterday from a series of shows in Italy." Blair's expression was hard for Cam to decipher. She'd rarely seen her so subdued. "Is this okay?"
Still adjusting, Blair could barely speak. She wasn't certain which was the greater gift, the opportunity to meet one of her idols or the fact that Cam understood how much it would mean to her. Throat tight, she murmured, "It's wonderful. Thank you so much."
Bonita returned with a small serving cart that held a bottle of champagne on ice, glasses, and assorted hors d'oeuvres.
"I spoke to your mother just recently, Cameron," Bonita said conversationally as she handed them flutes of champagne. "She mentioned that you were able to attend one of her shows not long ago. She was very pleased."
"I'm afraid I've missed far too many, but I'm trying to make up for that."
Bonita gave an insouciant shrug. "She understands that your work is important and demanding." She appraised Cam gently. "You look well. You're...recovered?"
Cam blushed, uncomfortable with any reference to her near-fatal gunshot wound less than a year earlier. "Absolutely fine."
"Good," Bonita stated briskly. Then, she turned to Blair. "And you have a show soon, I understand."
Blair nodded self-consciously. "Just a small exhibit."
"Tell me about it."
Cam leaned back, one ankle crossed over a knee as she sipped champagne and listened to the two artists talk. Even though she was soon lost when the topic turned to narrative rhythm, tonality, variations in scale, and dimensional perspective, the flow of conversation was relaxing. The theory and even the practice of painting were not foreign to her, but the passion that the other two women shared was something only an artist could truly experience. See
ing Blair's unbridled delight, however, was enough to make Cam feel more than satisfied.
Shortly before eleven, Bonita stretched with a sigh of pleasure. "I can't remember having such an enjoyable evening in some time. I'm losing my taste for travel," she said as she looked from Cam to Blair, "but not for good company. I'm so glad you both could come."
"It's been wonderful," Blair agreed.
"Would you like to see the studio?" Bonita asked.
Blair's eyes grew large. "Oh, yes."
Pleased, Bonita rose and extended her hand. "Come with me. You too, of course, Cameron."
After a brief tour and further animated discussion, Bonita said, "I would be so pleased if the two of you could spend the night. It's impossible to really show some of these canvases without daylight." She glanced at Blair. "There are several I think you would enjoy seeing."
"If it isn't an imposition," Blair glanced at Cam, who nodded her assent, "I'd love to."
"Wonderful!" Bonita slid an arm around each woman's waist and drew them down the hall to a guest room at the far end, "Here you are. Everything you need is in the cabinets in the bath." She withdrew toward the door. "And if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire. I still haven't quite recovered from my latest sojourn."
"Thanks, Bonita."
"Yes," Blair echoed. "Thank you so much."
"Oh, you don't need to thank me. I'll see you in the morning." She gave them one last smile. "There's no need to rise early. I don't intend to, but if you do, I trust you'll find the coffee on your own."
When they were alone, Blair gazed at Cam with an expression that Cam had rarely seen before. Contemplative, questioning, almost uncertain.
"What is it?" Cam asked, worried. "Didn't you have a good time?"
"Oh no,I had a fantastic time."Blair leaned against the doorway to the bathroom, regarding, her lover with fierce concentration. "I don't understand what's in it for you."
"What?"
Blair frowned, searching for words to describe what baffled her. "Me. Us."
Cam blinked. "You don't know?"
Blair shook her head. "No," she said slowly, softly. "There's so little I can really give you. You brought me here tonight because you knew it would make me happy. And it did...wildly. That you would know that, do that, makes me feel so...loved." She sighed, shook her head again. "I don't even know how to begin to give you that."
"Blair," Cam whispered, her voice deep, her eyes tender. "You don't have to do anything. It's you., just you. For me, the joy is in loving you."
Blair's eyes brimmed with tears and before she could stop them, they spilled over. Cam gave a small cry and quickly took Blair into her arms.
"No," Cam murmured, her lips pressed to Blair's forehead, her fingers gently catching the falling tears. "I wanted tonight to be special. To make you happy, not to make you sad."
"I never thought it would be possible," Blair confessed, her face to Cam's neck, "but I'm actually crying because I'm happy."
Softly, Cam laughed. "Don't scare me, then."
Blair smiled and brushed her palm over Cam's chest. "Did you know that Bonita was going to ask us to stay here tonight?"
"No. But I wouldn't be surprised if she and my mother discussed it."
"I'm not certain if I should be embarrassed or not that your mother is arranging trysts for us." Blair laughed shakily, unused to having so many people care for her.
"I think the tryst is just a side benefit." Cam teased Blair's blouse from her slacks and slipped her hand beneath, massaging her fingertips in the hollow at the base of Blair's spine. "Bonita obviously had a great time talking to you this evening."
"Mmm." The gentle kneading was lulling her mind even as it awakened her flesh. "I hope so. It was amazing for me."
"Are you okay with staying here tonight?" Cam brought her free hand between them and began to work open the buttons on Blair's blouse.
Blair unbuttoned Cam's chinos and slid her fingertips beneath the polo shirt to circle Cam's navel. "I'll stay anywhere with you if we can be alone. Staying here is a dream come true."
"That's good," Cam's voice was husky as she made her way up to unclasp Blair's bra, "because I have a terrible need to spend the night with you."
"Then let's get started." With her eyes locked on Cam's, Blair drew her lover to the bed.
Paula Stark craned her neck and scanned the enormous structure. Spotlighted against the night sky, the Eiffel Tower looked majestic—and really, really tall. "I read somewhere that there are 1665 steps to the top level."
"That's true," Renee agreed reasonably. "But you can't walk to the top level any longer. Only to the second level and then you take an elevator to the final floor. So there aren't really that many steps."
"Oh, I see. 1625 steps, That's much better." There was an edge of sheer terror in Stark's voice. "If we walk all the way up, I'm going to need an ambulance to take me back to the hotel."
Renee laughed. "Oh, come on. You're a Secret Service agent. Besides, I've seen your body. I know you're in great shape."
Even in the dark, Stark had a feeling Renee could see her blush. "When?"
"When, what?"
"Have you ever seen my body?"
"I've seen you in the gym." Renee edged closer in the line to the admissions booth, letting her thigh rub against Stark's. "And besides that, I've had my hands on you. I know just how well built you are."
Stark's step faltered as her legs turned to jelly. She gulped, audibly, she was certain. "You can't say things like that if you want me to climb up hundreds of stairs."
"We can see all of Paris from up there," Renee whispered. She slipped her hand into Stark's, and their fingers entwined as naturally as if they'd touched a thousand times. "I want to remember two things about tonight—seeing Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and making love with you."
"Oh, jeez," Stark whispered in an agony of arousal and wonder. "I'll climb it twice, if you want."
"I believe you would." Renee swallowed around the lump in her throat. "And that's exactly why I'm crazy about you."
"If you want my legs to work long enough for me to get up to the top of that thing," Stark complained breathlessly, "then you have to stop saying things like that."
Renee laughed and rubbed her cheek against Stark's shoulder. "I can't make you any promises."
Smiling at Renee in the glow of the lights from the monument, Stark swung their joined arms in a slow, easy arc. "That's okay. None are required."
"We can go back to the hotel now," Renee said quietly. "I'm finding it pretty hard to keep my hands off you, and I've made you wait when I'm not even sure why."
"No." Stark realized that there was no hurry, not when every second they spent together—talking, walking, gently touching— was magic. "Let's go to the top and see Paris first. Let's have it all."
"Oh, yes." Renee let caution slip away on the promise in Paula's eyes. "Let's have it all."
2345 16Aug01
The brown-haired, blue-eyed American joined three men and one woman in a third-floor apartment on the outskirts of Paris. The other men, like himself, were dressed casually in open-collared shirts and rumpled trousers. His service weapon was secured at the small of his back beneath his lightweight linen jacket. The thin, sharp-faced blond woman, in dark jeans and a blue work shirt, carried her Vector Mini Uzi automatic pistol in a hip holster on the right side of her wide leather belt. Two Olympic Arms PCR-5 assault rifles lay on the coffee table in front of a frayed, stained sofa.
The room smelled of stale takeout and too many cigarettes. Through an open door on the right that led into what was meant to be a bedroom, he could see the pale glow of computer monitors and assorted communication devices. Before speaking, he removed a small black box the size of a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. When he pushed the power button, a blinking red light appeared.
"We're secure," the woman said impatiently. "Do you think we are amateurs?"
Silently, the American quickly and efficiently
swept the room with the surveillance scanner. As he dropped it back into his pocket, he addressed the tail, dark, bearded man who sat on the sofa regarding him impassively. "There was no choice but to abort the mission this afternoon. The premature press release created an unexpected obstacle due to the number of press vehicles and reporters on-site."
"We could have lost our people," the man said flatly. "Why was the order given so late?"
The question was posed with little inflection but the implied criticism was apparent.
The American flushed, but kept his voice even. "The alteration in the motorcade's route was made by the security chief only minutes before arrival."
"That woman is a problem and should be eliminated," the woman pronounced acerbically. "This is the second time she has interfered with our plans."
"No," one of the other men objected. "Any move against her would only alert others of our primary target."
"I agree," the American said, "I recommend-—"
The man on the sofa stood abruptly, and the room fell silent. "I have just received orders from Hydra command. The strike is on schedule, and we have been directed to take her at the same time. By executing both plans simultaneously, we will demonstrate our power to the world just as we expose the soft underbelly of the decaying'American pretenders."
"When—"
"You'll receive your orders from our allies in your country when the time is near. You must be prepared to act at any moment, because the wait will not be long. Our people are already in place. It has begun."
The American felt a thrill of excitement. For years he'd been nothing more than a silent player, providing information while others planned and executed missions. At last, he would have the opportunity to act—-to take back his country and deliver it into the hands of those who understood its true power and destiny. "I am ready."
God Bless America.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
" O oh." Blair sighed with a sensual moan. She stretched, naked, rejoicing in the warmth of Cam's body beside her and the cool cotton covering them both. "How can crisp, clean sheets feel so incredibly wonderful?"