by Joss Ware
Sage stripped off her cargo pants, then hesitated. After a brief contemplation, she dug in her duffel bag, grabbed what she needed, and pulled off her shirt and bra. With her back turned to the camera, of course. Bundling up the items she’d dragged out of the duffel, she slipped under the blankets and pulled on a pink skinny-strapped camisole that Jade had found in an old store on one of her missions. She hoped that it wouldn’t show up on the camera. And then, for good measure, she flung the extra pair of panties she’d grabbed so that they soared across the room—in front of the camera—and landed by the bathroom door.
She swallowed. Simon was going to come through that door and climb into bed with her. He would be close and big and warm, and her heart was pounding like crazy, and her palms had gone damp, and she wanted…really wanted…to know what it would be like to touch him.
Maybe even more.
The door to the bathroom opened and Simon came out, still fully clothed. He froze when he saw her lingerie on the floor and the expression on his face went even more blank. “Sage,” was all he said.
“It’s all right,” she told him. Her heart ratcheted up again, and she swore the bed was jolting with each pulse.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, back to her, and shucked off his jeans. He flicked off the lamp next to the bed, leaving the room lit only by a glow from the bathroom light. Then, he turned and started to slide under with her.
But Sage sat up, keeping the blankets up over her supposed-to-be-bare breasts. “Aren’t you going to take off your shirt?”
He paused and she saw his jaw move. “No,” he said. Very low, so that it wouldn’t be picked up by the audio. If there was audio.
“You did last night,” she reminded him. Also very softly. “It would be weird if you didn’t tonight.” To punctuate her words, she reached out and touched his warm arm. “Do it.”
Turning away once more, he stripped off the clinging T-shirt and she watched as his broad shoulders shifted, and those sleek muscles rippled over his back. Sage’s mouth went dry and she felt her cheeks flush.
Once again, Simon lifted the blankets and slid under them, next to her. She turned to face him, and he lay there for a moment half reclining on a pillow, arm tucked behind his head, looking at the ceiling.
“You should take your hair down too,” she said. “You did last night.”
“Sage,” he said. “This is…not very easy.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she told him. “I’m fine.”
“Why did you take off your clothes for fuck’s sake?” Though the words came out super low, on the waft of a breath, they were tight and sharp behind his teeth.
“I didn’t. I faked them out. For the camera.”
She felt him relax next to her. Literally, felt the bedclothes shift as the tension eased from him. “Ahh. Buena.” A glance told her that his mouth had also eased a bit in something like a smile. Not quite, but almost. Then, “Sorry.”
“Simon, we’re supposed to be married. It’s probably not a good idea for you to lie there like you can’t stand the thought of touching me.”
He gave a little snort, but then the bed moved and the next thing she knew, he was there. Over her.
A gust of cool air slipped beneath the hot sheets when he raised himself up on his elbows, poised as he drew himself to straddle her hips. Warmth rushed over her face and down her throat as his figure half-blocked the spill of light from the bathroom, casting him in shadow.
Unsure what to do, Sage looked up, hoping for direction in his expression. But his face was turned away, lowered onto the pillow next to her. She felt the slide of his long hair—he’d released it from its tie after all—against her cheek as it pooled on the pillow, and the weight of his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of her shoulders. But nothing else.
He rose above her, warmth emanating from his proximity—from the nearness of his bare chest—but no other part of him touched her…except the brush of her feet against his calves.
Simon rocked rhythmically in his half-lifted position, and the bed jolted and creaked, and Sage lay there, arms crossed over her breasts, feeling at once absurd and bereft. She wasn’t sure whether to giggle or to roll her eyes.
Shouldn’t she move or moan or something?
Shouldn’t he at least kiss her?
Sage shifted, uncomfortable and curious, needing something to do, and before she quite knew it, her hands had moved, all on their own…onto his shoulders. Lightly at first. Then settled there, fingers gently curling over, splaying wide to brush his neck.
His skin…warm and fluid and taut.
His shoulders…broad and squared.
He muttered something unintelligible, his rhythm hitching a bit.
“Simon,” she murmured back, smoothing her hands from the curve of his neck to the edges of his shoulders. Down over the tops of his flexing biceps. So warm. So strong.
Heat rushed through her and Sage realized her body felt damp and tight all over. She wanted to brush her hands over the front of his chest, to feel the slide of his pecs as he moved over her, to determine whether he had hair growing there or whether it was smooth, along with being so warm and solid.
Simon gave a sudden hard jerk that jolted the bed, followed by a deep groan, and then he rolled away, dragging the sheets haphazardly with him.
So. That was it. They were done.
Sage lay there, listening to Simon’s breathing as he collapsed onto the pillow next to her. Surely he wasn’t breathing so quickly because he’d worked all that hard. Because, really, he hadn’t.
She dared not move, not even to turn and look at him. But her hands tingled with the memory of his warm, damp skin and her stomach squirmed as it had last night, wanting…something more.
“You didn’t even kiss me,” she said at last. Low. “Don’t husbands kiss their wives when they make love?”
The rough breathing next to her stopped, then started up again on a sort of gasp-snort-curse. “It’s not necessary to the act,” he said at last. “Believe me.”
She lay there silently, tense, edgy, and warm.
After a long moment, he moved again and Sage tensed in expectation. But he shifted the other way and slipped from the bed. She caught a glimpse of his long, sleek back and tight—holy crap, bare—buttocks before he disappeared into the bathroom. Still limping.
Still in character. The man never missed a trick.
And when the heck had he taken off his undies?
Sage felt her face burn hot in the dark as she realized he’d been under the covers with her, completely naked.
The door had closed, shutting off the last bit of illumination from the bathroom. She heard clunking and movements from the other room, and then the spray of the shower, and she lay there, still and stiff. Waiting.
In the absent light, she glowered at the shape of the dog picture across from the bed and silently cursed at the men on the other side of the screen. If only there were a way to “accidentally” block the camera, to cover it up or move the picture…
And then she had an idea.
The thought settled over her, followed by a combination of thrill and fear. It might work. And…and…she could assuage some of her curiosity at the same time.
Innocently.
Heat rushed her face and she suddenly found it hard to swallow. But did she dare?
Just then, the shower turned off.
Sage knew she had to decide before Simon came out of the bathroom, or the chance to take him by surprise would be lost. So she flung the covers up and slipped from the bed, hoping that the darkness hid the fact that she was still wearing panties. Heart pounding, she hurried over to the low table that sat just in front of the dog picture and hoisted herself up on it.
Just as the bathroom door opened, light spilling into the room.
Simon stood there, glistening with droplets from the shower. His hair, though combed back from his face, was plastered against his head, neck, and the sides of his jaw.
> And, no, he didn’t have a big patch of hair on his chest. Just a slender little trail that ran down his belly to the towel he’d slung about his hips. Sage could hardly breathe. Holy…crap. The rest of him was just as beautiful as his face. Like, the pictures she’d seen of Michelangelo’s David were nothing compared to this guy. Not that she could see everything, like in the statue, but…
At first Simon didn’t see her perched on the table, but then he must have noticed that the bed was empty and he turned to look.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice mild. But she watched the tension settle back over him. What was wrong with the guy, to always be so darn uptight?
He came into the bedroom, eyeing her warily, clutching the towel, and began to rummage in his backpack. When he seemed unable to find what he was looking for, he snatched up the pack and took it into the bathroom without waiting for her response.
He reemerged a few moments later, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, and dumped the pack on the floor.
“Sage, what’s up?” he asked again.
“Come here,” she said, hardly able to get the words out. There was one problem with her idea. If he resisted, it would look really bad. “I need you to come here.”
Simon came closer. “Are you all right?” Now he sounded concerned, and he moved without hesitation, coming to stand right next to her.
Sage sat on the hip-high table and she’d positioned herself so that one leg was folded up under her, half-lotus position, and the other dangled. She looked up at him. Their eyes met and she hoped he could read the expression in hers that said, Go with it.
And then…she chickened out. “I…think I have something in my eye,” she said in a rush of breath. “Can you take a look?”
He paused, looking at her. “There’s better light in the bathroom.”
“Right here is fine.”
Simon made a little sound, but when she widened her eyes and gave him a meaningful frown, he seemed to relax. She tilted her head back, resting it against the picture behind her, and, as she reached up to pull away her lower eyelid she told him, “In my right eye.”
“Uh, that’s your left eye,” he said, his voice mild with…a bit of humor? But then he bent closer as if to look.
Sage moved her head against the picture and, reaching up behind her, shoved at the bottom of its frame with her hand. “Oops,” she said loudly. “Be careful, Simon!” The picture moved behind her as she bumped it with her shoulder, making it sure it went totally out of whack.
By that time, Simon had stepped back and when she looked up at him, she saw that he was grinning. Actually grinning. And…wow. The bottom of her belly dropped a bit.
“Better now?” he asked.
“Much.” A little shaky—from what?—she slid off the table and saw that the picture was now hanging crookedly enough to block the camera’s view.
“Nice going,” he said under his breath.
She looked up at him and realized they were both standing there—she dressed in that skimpy little tank top and a pair of black panties; he still wet-haired and in clothing that had damp patches from his showered skin. “Thanks.”
The moment stretched, long and quiet, and Sage realized her breath had become weighted and slow. Then suddenly Simon, his voice low and rumbly, said, “Theo would be proud. That was clever.”
Theo.
Right.
Sage opened her mouth to say…something…but then closed it.
But why was her heart slamming so hard?
And why did the mention of Theo, whom she cared for, and loved, and had kissed…feel like nothing but an annoying mosquito? Like something she wanted to brush off?
Simon moved away and Sage started toward the bed. But she was surprised when he reached under and pulled out two packs from beneath it. She recognized them right away, and their eyes met.
He nodded, but, still leery of potential audio recording, Sage didn’t ask the obvious questions.
“Ready for bed?” he said quietly.
“Yes. I’m exhausted. You wore me out, injured leg or not,” she said, walking over to look at the packs.
His lips twitched in a bit of a smile—another one?—and as she leaned closer he said on a low breath, “I’m going out. Come with me?”
She looked at him in surprise. Then nodded, knowing that her eyes were wide with delight. She’d assumed it would have been a battle getting him to allow her to help do anything.
With Theo, it would have been.
“Good night,” he said in a louder voice.
“Night, Simon,” she replied, watching as he quickly changed from shorts into a pair of cargo pants.
She realized she’d better do the same, and turned to don her own protective pants and tank top.
Moments later, they were out the door, silent as shadows.
Simon carried the two packs over one shoulder and gripped her hand with his strong fingers. She tried not to think about the feel of his smooth fingers enclosing hers, how steady and solid his hand was, silently directing her to follow, turn, pause, start as they made their way out of the Community House.
There was a half moon obstructed by fast-moving clouds, which gave the odd effect of a low light coming on then fading as the wisps of heavy gray moved across it. Storm clouds, perhaps, Sage thought, glancing up at them.
Simon synchronized their movements with the ebb and flow of light, staying to the shadows when the moon was exposed, and urging her across expanses of grounds when the half-orb went dark. The night whisked its silence about them, broken only by the distant howl of a wolf and the closer chirp of crickets. Not one sound of human origin reached her ears.
It didn’t take Sage long to confirm her suspicion that he was taking her to the supposedly abandoned house. He probably intended for them to try and set up the NAP, as he’d suggested earlier today. Excitement and, yeah, a little apprehension and nervousness, shot through her body, but she kept up with him and when they approached the buildings, she was gratified to find that they were dark.
Apparently, the men who “hung out” at these houses were in bed for the night. That made sense to Sage—the men were all home trying to impregnate their wives. Or should be, anyway.
Simon looked at her, meeting her eyes, as they waited in shadow near the mansion. He made a motion for her to stay and then disappeared into the darkness.
Sage huddled into the corner of a chimney jutting from the house’s rough wall, feeling the cool damp of decades-old brick pressing against her bare arm. The structure loomed above her, tall and broad and dark. She still found it mind-blowing that single families had lived in such large spaces.
It must be well after midnight, and she wondered how much time they might have to move about safely, without running into an early riser—or did they have guards that patrolled the area? The thought sent her pushing even more deeply into the darkness, straining her ears to listen…for the approach of a guard, or for the return of Simon.
The minutes ticked by and the night remained calm and quiet, the air shifting with a gentle breeze over her bare arms and throat. During the day, the sun made the temperature uncomfortably warm and humid. Especially when working in the garden. She was going to have to wear a hat tomorrow if she didn’t want to burn her skin. But now, at night, the air was more comfortable.
A distant howl broke the silence, and Sage’s gaze wandered over the dark blobs that were trees, bushes, and distant buildings. Where was Simon? Surely he’d been gone for more than fifteen minutes. Twenty? Thirty?
And then suddenly, he was there, appearing as if from nowhere, silent and sudden. She nearly gasped when he stepped toward her, melding into her insulating shadow from seemingly nothing.
“All clear,” he said, and reached for her hand, tugging her gently from the cover of darkness along the edge of the house toward its rear. She noticed right away that he no longer had the packs on his back. Following his footsteps, trying to remain as noiseless as Simon, she paid careful atten
tion to anything she might trip over or bump into. They made their way to a side door that opened easily under Simon’s clever fingers.
Inside, Sage hung back as he paused, listening, and then started up again, pointing to a staircase that rose in a grand sweeping curve. It reminded her of the one in that movie with Scarlett and Rhett, where he caught her up in that dark red dress and carried her up the stairs.
And for a moment, Sage remembered that catlike smile on Scarlett’s face the morning after what had surely been a most passionate night.
Sage paused when she heard the low rumble of voices from below, looking up into Simon’s face. He nodded and pointed for her to go up. “They won’t hear us,” he said, breathing warmly into her ear.
She started up the steps. The little brush of a rodent scampered over her foot, but she barely hesitated. Two, three, five, eight steps up…and then it happened. She stepped on something that moved, lost her balance when she tried to compensate, and fell against the wooden railing. Managing to muffle a scream, Sage felt Simon move quickly to yank her back, but the aged railing had splintered under the force of her fall.
As he pulled her away, a whole portion of the rail tumbled over to the floor below, landing with the loud clatter of wooden pieces against old tile.
“Oh my God,” Sage mouthed at Simon, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry!”
But he’d already moved, grabbing her by the hand and hurrying up to the top of the flight of stairs. The sounds of urgent voices came from below, along with the pounding of feet from the basement.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Simon squeezed her hand and pulled her silently into a shadowy room. Sage saw a large desk against one wall and bookshelves lining another, and the next thing she knew, Simon was pushing her toward a dark corner. He followed her and, as the voices and foot pounding drew closer, they huddled into the shadows.
“Don’t move,” he said in her ear.
Sage’s heart pounded with fear and apprehension. She heard the shouts as the men got to the top of the stairs; of course they’d seen the broken railing in a pile in the middle of the foyer. They’d have to know someone was there!