After dinner and a few more glasses of vintage champagne, Aunt Elizabeth excused herself to visit the restroom, and Simon took the opportunity to coax and cajole me onto the dance floor. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he pulled me closer than necessary, but I didn’t know how to extricate myself without making a scene. Over his shoulder, I could see Tom in the crowd staring daggers at Simon. The set of his jaw told me how hard he was working to leash his temper, but when Simon placed his hand low on the small of my back and dipped his finger slightly under the fabric, I’d had enough.
“Mr Masterson, would you please move your hand? I feel very uncomfortable, and this is inappropriate from someone who is essentially a professional colleague.” I was quiet but firm in my rebuke, yet he seemed completely unfazed.
“Professional colleagues. I like that,” he replied, smiling. “But you know, we could be so much more than that. I appreciate my timing isn’t great, but I’m a firm believer in making the most of opportunities where you find them.”
The thing of it was, he didn’t sound sleazy or aggressive. It was as though he’d woken one morning having had this great dream of all we could be and accomplish together and he couldn’t wait to share it with me. In his world, I supposed marriages were often based on great ideas that were planned and executed with military precision. Perhaps in his mind, he saw us as two people from compatible backgrounds who could simply make a successful partnership. There was no doubt that he could conduct himself confidently in social settings, mingling with London’s finest as though he was born to it.
His mistake though was in believing I was the woman I portrayed myself to be. Given the choice, the real me would be in worn jeans and a soft cotton shirt, with pencils stuck in my messy bun and not a lick of makeup in sight, while I sat by the fire sketching and singing off-key to some cheesy pop song. He was blind to the dichotomy of how we viewed relationships. To me, anything that truly involved the heart would never be neat and tidy. Love wasn’t colour by numbers and always inside the lines. It was crazy and messy and chaotic, but always full of warmth and passion, and like all great art, it didn’t matter what worth others attributed to it. What mattered was how it made you feel.
“Mr Masterson—”
“Please call me, Simon,” he interjected.
“Simon, I don’t want to be thought of as an opportunity. Your proposal seems so business like and logical, but that’s not the sort of relationship I want. On paper I would imagine that we’d make a perfect match, but there’s just no chemistry between us.”
“But there could be. Let me take you on a date where we can get to know each other better. Where you can open yourself up to the idea of us.”
“Chemistry is the most amazing, unpredictable, crazy thing. But the one thing I do know is that there’s no opening yourself up to it. It’s either there or it isn’t. But even if regard alone was a substantial enough basis for a relationship, this wouldn’t be a good idea. I want my old life back. A life that you wouldn’t want to share. After all this is over, I plan on saying goodbye to London permanently.”
“You know,” he said, smiling, “even when you’re letting me down, you’re beautiful. I handled tonight in completely the wrong way. Despite the fact that I’ve probably made an arse of myself, I really did want to impress you. Perhaps if I were a secret agent I’d know the tricks of the trade. But I’m an analyst. A computer geek really. I thought a drink or two would bolster my confidence, but all I’ve done is make an absolute hash of things.”
“I don’t know,” I teased, “I think my Aunt Elizabeth was actually quite taken with you.”
“Ah, well, at least that’s one Tatem I’ve won over.”
“You know, you’re a lot more fun to be around when you forget about trying to impress people and actually act like yourself.”
“Hang on now. I wouldn’t go that far. There are aspects to my personality that I’m planning on concealing until after I’m married, and there’s nothing my wife can do about it,” he joked.
“Such as?”
“My OCD need to keep every one of my Star Trek Blu-rays in alphabetical order, my complete aversion to letting my foods touch on the plate, and my obsession with The Big Bang Theory,” he admitted.
“You’re fine with The Big Bang Theory, but yeah, I’d keep the other two to yourself,” I agreed.
“It’s the alcohol.” He sighed. “I had two martinis early on, then champagne at dinner. You missed my bout of hiccups earlier. That was particularly sexy,” he said, and I laughed.
“Wow. You really are drunk. Come on, Mr Masterson. I’ve smiled for a thousand pictures, but my feet hurt and my pyjamas are calling, so if you want a lift home with me, now’s your chance.”
“Are you propositioning me, Miss Tatem?” He slung his arm around my shoulders as I guided him off the dance floor and instinctively towards Tom.
“That would be an absolute, categorical, resounding no,” I replied.
“I’ll wear you down, you know,” he warned. “I may lack the brawn of your Neanderthal guard dogs, but I make up for it in brain cells. And now I know you’re quite partial to my sweet, sensitive side, there’ll be no stopping me.”
“You’re incorrigible, and you were doing so well! But then you resorted to insulting people who would give their lives to protect mine, and that doesn’t sit right with me. So, in addition to working on your sensitivity, can I suggest laying off the alcohol and exercising a little quality control by thinking about what you say before you actually say it?”
“Stick with me. I’m a work in progress,” he replied, but he didn’t look all that contrite.
“Why do you dislike them so much?” I asked him, looking directly at Tom.
“Because, whether they mean to or not, they’re going to fuck everything up,” he replied ominously.
Sarah
The atmosphere was as frosty as the weather. I still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of why Simon disliked the SAS so much, but he seemed to go out of his way to deliberately piss them off. For the most part, Eli just ignored him, acting the part of the dutiful chauffeur and paying him little attention. But Tom was another matter. By the time he held the car door open for me, he looked as though he was one stray hand away from knocking Simon out cold. No doubt it was exactly the reaction Simon was hoping for. It would mean an end to Tom’s involvement in this operation, and I guessed there was always the possibility of MI5 taking over completely. So I did the only thing I could think of to ground him. As Simon walked around the car, I climbed in through the door Tom held open and reached for his hand. Stroking my fingers gently from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, the touch was fleeting and lasted barely a second or two. But it was enough. Enough to ignite the spark from earlier that never really went out.
As soon as he sat in the passenger seat, I felt the intensity between us as though it was a physical, tangible thing. Simon chatted, making polite conversation as we drove, and I hoped I nodded and smiled in all the right places, because the truth was I had no idea what he said. I was oblivious, locked in a world that belonged solely to the both of us. We couldn’t touch or speak to one another, but it didn’t stop us from communicating. Every now and then, he would give me a heated look that spoke of everything he was going to do to me when we were finally alone. I wasn’t skilled enough in the games that some women played to bat my eyelashes and look coy. I met that look with a huge smile that stayed with me for the whole journey. I could tell he was affected by my good mood, as though happiness was infectious. Even when he turned away from me to face the road, his profile still showed the ghost of his smile. From a man who was always so serious, it felt like a monumental achievement. The only one who didn’t share my excitement was Simon. As if realising that he wasn’t the one responsible for my good mood, he soon abandoned the chatter in favour of sulking.
As the car slid smoothly to a halt, he took one more opportunity to take a jab at Tom. Sliding next to me, he leaned forward to kiss my
cheek goodbye.
“God, you smell divine,” he murmured, quietly enough to seem intimate but loud enough to be heard. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Sarah. I thoroughly enjoyed our dance, and I’ll do my very best to ensure that we repeat the experience again soon.”
I rolled my eyes at Tom’s scowling face, completely bemused by the way he allowed Simon to rattle him, given the truth of the way things were between us. His lips had never touched mine, but I was already his, and we both knew it.
“Goodnight, Simon. I look forward to seeing you at work,” I replied, emphasising the word work to make my point.
“We’ll see!” he said cheerfully, his spirits buoyed by having successfully pissed off Tom. When he climbed out Tom and Eli followed, shutting the doors behind them and effectively blocking me from eavesdropping on their conversation. Eventually, the door opened again and Tom climbed in to sit next to me, immediately reaching for my hand.
“Better?” I asked him as he let out a sigh. Eli was back in the driver’s seat, and we glided along once more through the brightly lit London roads.
“If I had five minutes alone time with the dickless wonder, I would be, but this definitely helps. That fucker’s got more hands than an octopus.” He gently squeezed my hand.
Not wanting my next words to be overheard, I leant my head back to whisper in his ear. “How about if I let you put your hands everywhere that he did, so that yours is the last touch I’ll feel?”
In answer, he reached inside the split in my coat to wrap a hand around my hip. I had no idea how Eli felt about us, but if Tom wasn’t stressing his reaction, then neither was I. Tom’s head tilted towards me like he was going to whisper back to me. Instead, he grasped the lobe of my ear, being careful of my earring, and teased it with his teeth. My quiet groan was instinctive. Grabbing hold of his strong bicep to anchor me, I arched my body involuntarily towards him. Like an instrument, he played me, making me want things here in the car that nice girls shouldn’t even be thinking about. When I’d twisted enough that his hand reached the small of my back, I moaned again. The feather-like strokes from Tom’s calloused fingers fired arrows of pleasure straight through my body, making me achy for relief that only he could deliver.
Eli coughed discretely, and reason wormed its way between us enough for me to realise that I didn’t want an audience to something I wasn’t willing to share.
“Please tell me the evening doesn’t have to end with you and I in separate bedrooms because the world and his wife are listening to every word we say,” I said, knowing full well he couldn’t do anything about the reality of our situation, but complaining anyway.
“You know the bathrooms don’t have any microphones, and that shower of yours is pretty roomy,” he replied, quietly enough for just my ears. “I wouldn’t want that for our first night together, but there are still things I can do to take the edge off.”
I closed my eyes against the onslaught of images, the most powerful of which had Tom on his knees between my legs, bringing me to the edge of oblivion. So lost was I in the spell of lust, that I barely registered the explosion before the brakes of the car screamed in protest and my head whipped to the side sharply enough to crack against the window. At first there was nothing, just a loud buzz in my ear that was killing my head. But as that sound faded away and my normal hearing returned, I could hear screams and the pounding feet of people running. Something very bad was happening, and we were in the middle of it.
“Sar, are you okay?” Tom asked. He grasped my head firmly between his hands and stared deeply into each eye, obviously looking to see if my pupils were dilated.
“I think so. What’s going on?”
“We think there’s been some kind of explosion up ahead. There’s been a pile up and the car behind slammed us into the car in front. You sure you’re okay?”
I swallowed hard as I tried to find my voice. “I’m fine,” I croaked, and I was. My whole body hurt like I’d been thrown from a moving bus, but it could have been so much worse. We were all in one piece, and the car was still upright. Unsurprisingly, Tom and Eli reacted instantly. Eli issuing rapid-fire updates to Will through his communication unit, while Tom freed me from my seat belt and carried on checking me over.
“Are we in danger?” I asked. Panic crept into my voice, despite my best intentions to remain calm.
“Baby, we’re going to be just fine. I’m going to get us out of here, okay?”
I nodded my head in reply, and he gave me a tight smile as he rubbed his thumb reassuringly across my cheek. Letting me go, he moved over to speak to Eli. They spoke quietly, but I could still hear them.
“We need to move,” Tom said.
“I don’t have any intel on the ground yet. No word on whether the area is secure,” Eli replied.
“I don’t care,” Tom exclaimed. “I need to get her out now, Brit. She’s not looking good, and I’m pretty sure we’re leaking fuel. Blue Thunder will be here in under five minutes, so we take our chances.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli replied. “Emergency extraction needed on Tower Bridge now. Cover vehicle unsafe. ETA for pick up required,” he barked at Will before pulling out a handgun from a holster inside his jacket and climbing out of the car.
Tom tried both our doors, but they were stuck. He was so fast and fluid, while I felt like I was swimming through treacle. Lying back, almost across me, he kicked hard at the door, which flew open, flooding the vehicle with the sound of panic and fear. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed, but there was no time to register where it came from. Dragged from my seat, we ran hard and fast. When we found the cover of the vehicle they were aiming for, I was pushed to the ground and flanked by the guys. With their weapons raised, and on bended knee, they looked like sentries guarding over me. The acrid stench of petrol and burnt rubber filled my lungs and I raised my head slightly to witness the panorama of lights that illuminated this beautiful landmark at night, punctured with ominous and terrifying plumes of black smoke. It was the only evidence I could see of the explosion. The wretched piles of twisted steel that had once been cars bled with the cries of those trapped inside, and injured victims that could, scrambled to find any sort of safety. The look of abject terror on their faces was one that would haunt me forever.
The first wave of frightened bystanders had fled, but unbelievably, I could see at least two people remained, their mobile phones held out in front of them like talismans to ward off impending doom. It took me a moment to process that they were actually documenting the carnage. I could understand if they were immobilised with fear, but taking out a phone and pressing record took rational thought. In a fight-or-flight situation, the conscious decision to do neither baffled me. I guess most choices in this situation were instinctive, and the minute I heard a scream of pain, mine was too. Pumped full of adrenaline, I lifted myself off the road and tried to run towards the sound, before a strong hand pushed me back down.
“They need help!” I screamed.
“If you get shot, you’ll be another casualty in the way of them getting the treatment they need. Now stay down,” Tom ordered. There was no affection or any other emotion in his voice. No panic or fear. He was all soldier, and his orders left no room for negotiation. I wanted to argue against him. Promise him that I wouldn’t come to any harm if he only let me help, but as my vision started to blur, I was blindsided by a wave of dizziness. Above me the whir of helicopter blades drowned out any other sound, its search light illuminating us all just as everything went black.
I woke to a room full of tired, angry-looking hard-arses. Nobody had realised that I was awake, so I took a moment to orientate myself and make sure everything still worked. The whole team was there. Eli, his open mouth emitting a soft snore, napped on a chair, while Will, Tom, and Crash were in a heated discussion, their voices low and almost whispered. Having been in combat situations where stealth and discretion were necessities, I imagined the skill to communicate silently was one they’d perfected. It was clear we
were in a hospital room of some sort, but I had absolutely no idea how we got there. Intrigued to hear what they were talking about, I pushed myself to sit higher in the bed, but the jarring movement brought on the mother of all pains to the side of my head.
“Fuck,” I muttered, pressing my hand to the gauze pad taped there.
“Take it easy, buttercup,” Tom said, rushing to my side. He was still dressed in that deliciously fitted tux that made him look ridiculously handsome, even if it did look as though it had been through a meat grinder.
“You know, when I thought about you getting me into bed, this wasn’t what I had in mind,” I said, making him laugh.
“Only you could make jokes about being blown up.”
“So it was definitely a bomb then” I asked, completely stunned.
“It went off on the far end of Tower Bridge. We’re still trying to get to the bottom of what went down, but we don’t think the bridge was the intended target.”
“Why not? It’s a big landmark.”
“Not enough casualties,” Will said, matter-of-factly. I was horrified that this was their reasoning, but nobody argued against him.
“This doesn’t leave the room,” Tom told me, “but MI5 have already started their initial investigation on the scene. The explosives used in the blast are the same ones the terrorist cell responsible for the recent attacks has been using in their firebombs, and it went off at a time of night where traffic was fairly minimal.”
“Assuming the bridge was the target, our best guess is that the explosives were being planted, ready to go off at rush hour. There’s a passenger ferry that passes under the bridge several times a day. If they followed their usual M.O. and firebombed that while exploding the bridge, it would be a massacre,” Will added.
“What went wrong?” I asked.
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