MaryJanice Davidson - UC Anthology - Sweet Strangers

by UC Anthology(lit)

  "Jesus Christ!"

  She looked up, dangling. Her hands were screaming, and her wrists felt like blocks of wood. Eric-the-stalker was staring down at her from the balcony. His eyes were huge.

  Well, I'm not going to scream for help like some loser Mm. I'll just hang here for a minute and then swing a leg up and be on my way and I'll be just—

  "Errrrrrrrrrrrric!"

  "Hold on!" he shouted down. Then he disappeared.

  The rat bastard! Trust the NSA to disappear when you need them to do something in this country. So damned typical. So—

  He appeared suddenly, and if she'd blinked she would have missed it. He had obviously backed up to get some room, then bounded up—and over!—the balcony, his momentum carrying him to the skyway. For a moment he was silhouetted against the sky like a suit-wearing bat. Then he landed with a heavy thud, right in the center of the roof.

  The bum made it look easy.

  Her left hand spasmed and let go, and suddenly her right hand was entirely responsible for keeping her hundred-thirty-two-pound frame attached to the skyway, as opposed to splattered all over Second Street. She shrieked—

  —and suddenly his hands were there, locked around her right wrist, and he was crouching in front of her.

  She could hardly see him. Stupid wind, it was making her eyes water. As if she didn't have enough problems right now! "Don't let go," she said. "I'll be really really pissed if you do."

  "I've got you, sweetheart. But you have to let go of the edge so I can pull you up."

  She tried. But it was no use… her fingers were spasmed into an unmoving claw. He let go of her with one hand, and gently pried her fingers loose. At least, that's what she assumed he was doing. She couldn't feel his touch. Maybe he was trying to get his wallet back.

  After a long moment he stood and lifted her to him as easily as a mother picked up her child.

  "You fucking idiot," he said, and hugged her so hard she lost all her breath.

  "Whooof! Jeez, let me get my breath."

  "I ought to throw you right off this roof. Right Off."

  "Take it easy, you're gonna crack a rib."

  "I ought to crack your skull, you stupid, stupid girl." He spoke roughly, but gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  "That it was stuffy in that hotel room and I wanted a breath of fresh air," she said with a straight face, then grinned when he laughed unwittingly.

  "Well, Miss Genius, what was your plan for getting off the skyway roof?"

  "Well, there are often ladders—"

  "Not this time."

  "No need to sound so smug," she muttered, then pointed to the large windows of the office building, which connected with the hotel via the skyway. The windows were six feet tall and easily reachable. Plus, it was a Saturday. The building was likely deserted.

  "And if an alarm goes off when you break the window?"

  "Unlikely, in this neighborhood. If anything's alarmed, it'll be the front door, not the second story window." She looked down as a car honked at them. "Well, that's quite enough attention, I think. I'm outta here. Bye."

  "Not without me," he said firmly, and dogged her heels to the window.

  "If you come with me, it sort of negates the whole reason why I escaped in the first place," she griped, then broke the window with an elbow strike.

  "At least you're wearing a heavy sweater," he said disapprovingly. "As for negating your reasons, I couldn't care less. We have a conversation to finish."

  "Yeah, yeah." She reached in, found the catch, turned it, slid the window open, and carefully stepped inside the building, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. She stood for a long moment, listening.

  Nothing. No lights, except from the computer screen savers. The rooms were still, that peculiar stillness that comes from an unoccupied floor. The place could be wired for silent alarms, but given the general shabbiness of the cubicles and equipment, she doubted it.

  She turned just in time to see Eric step inside. Then he took her into his arms and kissed her so hard she thought her lips would go numb.

  "Umm," he said after a long minute.

  "Umm? That's it?"

  "Strawberry Chap Stick. I love it. Also, you owe me your life."

  "Well, I probably would have been able to—"

  "You owe me your life," he repeated firmly, and lowered her to the carpet.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  « ^ »

  Somehow, her sweater was hanging over the nearby computer monitor, her left shoe was in the cubicle beside them, and her right was over by the coffeemaker. Eric was kissing her mouth, her chin, the soft skin of her throat, and he was giving her goose bumps. Certainly not from the chill in the air; she was far from cold. She was very warm, almost too warm, and she pulled and tugged at his clothes until his bare chest was settling against hers.

  You don't have time for this.

  Shut up, inner voice.

  "Stupid back-clasp bra," he growled in her ear, tugging. "Get rid of them. Only front-clasp brassieres from now on."

  "Who says 'brassieres'? Where the hell are you from?"

  "Shut up and kiss me back."

  "OK, but after that, I get to boss you around."

  He laughed into her mouth. She curled up her tongue to meet his; he tasted like martinis and smelled like crisp cotton. She could feel his hands stroking the skin of her belly, then sliding beneath her and fumbling with her bra. There was a wrench—

  "Ow!"

  "Sorry."

  —and then her breasts were free and he instantly captured one of her nipples with his mouth. He sucked, hard, then eased up and licked, his tongue rasping across the taut flesh until she thought she'd scream.

  She clutched double handfuls of his thick, wavy hair, then forced herself to ease her grip and ran her fingers through the silky strands.

  "What are you thinking about?" he asked her cleavage.

  "That I've never made out with anyone who had long hair and wore business suits."

  "And?"

  "It's definitely something to write home about," she laughed. Then she gasped as he nuzzled lower, licking the lower curve of her breast. "Oh, jeez, that's really great."

  "Umm. I was thinking much the same thing. Oh, good—leggings. Easy off." She could feel his hands on her and raised her hips, the better to be stripped. In another few seconds, her pants were hanging over the cubicle wall.

  Two days ago she'd been head of security for Anodyne. A day ago she'd been jobless and on the run. This afternoon she was making love with the guy who caught her.

  It was madness, but it seemed, oddly, a reasonable reaction to the chaos of the last forty-eight hours. And she was so, so tired of running… and he felt so good… and held her so gently… and his mouth… his mouth…

  She reached down, unzipped his pants, and slowly eased her hand inside. She felt something sinfully soft—silk boxers?—and then grasped his long, hot length. Nothing soft there… but still sinful, oh, yes.

  He stiffened against her and his eyes rolled up. "Good thing I'm prone," he managed, "because I think my legs just buckled."

  This is crazy, crazy, crazy. You haven't even known this guy for two hours.

  Shut up, inner—

  Well, you haven't!

  "Quick," she groaned as she felt him slip a finger past the elastic edging of her panties. "Tell me something deeply personal."

  "Uh—I'm a Capricorn?"

  "Deeply personal, jackass."

  "Do we have to have this conversation while we've got our hands in each other's underpants?"

  She smothered a giggle. "Can you think of a better time?"

  "Uh—I was born in St. Paul. Joined the Air Force after high school. Used—oh, Christ, that's nice, don't stop doing that—used the—um—GI Bill to—uh—to… What was I talking about?"

  "Using the GI Bill to pay for college," she replied, delighting in the way he was trembling above her. She was
stroking his velvety length, running her fingers up and down, occasionally rubbing the now-slick tip with her thumb. This appeared to be done to good effect, if his harsh breathing was any indication. "Then what?"

  "Then I died and went to heaven."

  She squeezed, and he groaned. "No, really."

  "Um… the Air Force paid for my master's in criminal justice. Then the NSA recruited me. Then I got tired of the NSA. Then you kissed me in the elevator and I became your slave."

  His fingers were caressing her inner thighs just outside her panties, and his thumb was stroking sweet circles around her tender flesh. She squirmed and spread her legs to give him better access. He bent and nibbled softly on her lower lip, then sucked it into his mouth. She breathed his breath, and it wasn't nearly enough.

  "How much longer are you going to make me wait?" she nearly whined. She squeezed again, harder.

  "Ah! Don't do that. Never mind, keep doing that. Harder next time. What?"

  "What?"

  "What did you say?"

  "I don't remember. It would be much easier for you to fuck me," she said helpfully, "if you lost the pants and the boxers."

  "Thanks for the tip," he said, so dryly that she laughed. "But that's just what I'm afraid of. I—ah—am not in the habit of bringing condoms along on business trips."

  "What, are you kidding?"

  "No."

  Shit. She sighed and threw a forearm over her eyes. Shit, shit, shit. "Then you'd better get your hands out of my underpants."

  "Well, I was thinking—"

  She sat up and shoved him off. "No, no, no. You're right This was a bad idea. Very very very bad."

  "Maybe we could improvise."

  "What, Saran Wrap and a rubber band? Pass." She stared at his bare chest She'd ripped his shirt open a little too roughly, she could see at least two buttons on the carpet. He had the absolute nicest chest. Lightly furred, with yummy tan quarter-sized nipples and amazingly denned abdominals. He really was very—

  "—else we can do?"

  He sounded so plaintive, she hid a smile. "This was nutty enough without risking my health—or my life. For all I know, you could be riddled with disease."

  He snorted.

  "I know, I know, but we're not a couple of horny teenagers with no impulse control."

  "Funny," he muttered, sitting up and pulling his shirt together. "I sure felt like one five minutes ago. Jesus, how many of my buttons did you eat?"

  Teenagers. No, they weren't teenagers. Far from it.

  But that gave her a delicious idea. She abruptly straddled him and pushed him back until he was lying on the carpet.

  "What now?" he complained, but there was a gleam in his eye she quite liked.

  "Well… we're pretty charged up… and we've decided we're not going to be careless…" She slid down a bit and began to wriggle against his hips. "But that doesn't mean we have to walk away totally frustrated."

  He caught on at once, and put his hands on her ass to pull her closer. She was wearing her panties and her socks, and nothing else. His shirt was open and his shoes were off, but other than that he was fully clothed. So when he pressed her to him and started to twist against her, the friction was absolutely delightful.

  "I haven't gotten off like this since I was in college," she giggled, rubbing against him.

  "Stop talking now," he growled.

  "You'd have to gag me."

  "Next time," he promised. He yanked her down to him, holding her shoulders with bruising strength, and then his tongue thrust past her teeth and she groaned into his mouth.

  They rocked together; the only sound in the deserted office was their muffled gasps and groans. She felt his hands sliding down, cupping her breasts, forcing them together into deep cleavage, and then his fingers were rubbing her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pinching them, while he thrust, writhed, against her, and she spun away into orgasm, clutching him so tightly she would later notice bruises on his shoulders.

  She was drenched, and not just with sweat. She gave not a shit. The only thing that mattered was that amazing feeling, the way her uterus contracted when the waves of pleasure—

  "Ah, Eric, that's so good!"

  —crashed over her again. And again.

  His grip tightened a moment later, very close to pain, and then he relaxed. His forehead was sheened with sweat and he was panting lightly, as if he'd jogged around the block.

  "Oh my."

  "Exactly."

  "That was awesome."

  "To put it mildly."

  She yawned. "I need a nap. It's been a weird couple of days."

  "I need to change my pants."

  She giggled. "Gross."

  "I'm gross? You're the one who did this to me." He pulled her beside him into a companionable embrace. "I haven't had to—er—change my pants in the middle of the day since I was a teenager."

  "I'll bet all the girls were crazy about you."

  "Hardly. I was a beanpole, and I stuttered when I got nervous."

  "You did not!"

  "Swear."

  "Huh." She settled against him, got more comfortable. "I figured you for a Big Jerk On Campus type."

  "Not until senior year. I shot up six inches and put on thirty pounds of muscle."

  "And then?" she teased.

  "I had my fair share of dates," he admitted. "But that's quite enough about me. You've got the gift of drawing me out, Miss Renee, but I still don't know a thing about you except that you're a bioterrorist."

  "You know that's bullshit," she said, stung.

  "Prove it Tell me about your week. I want to hear everything. Let's go back to my hotel, we'll shower, change—"

  "These are the only clothes I have."

  "I'll buy you more at the hotel shop."

  "You don't have to do that."

  "Shit, lounge around naked for all I care. In fact, that's highly preferable. Then you can tell me everything."

  "And why would I do that?" she asked, as if she wasn't dying to do exactly that, as if she didn't want to cuddle up with him and let him solve all her problems. Very unlike her! But then, this week wasn't exactly typical. Why not act like someone to be saved, for once in her life? "I've been taking care of myself for a long time. So why should I unload all my troubles on your admittedly broad shoulders?"

  "Because I want to help you," he said simply. "And I can, too."

  "Oh, is that a fact, now?"

  "You watch. By Monday, you could have your life back."

  That sounded unbelievably wonderful. In fact, it sounded too good to be true. She thought back to last Monday—six days ago. To be able to go back to that…

  "And all I have to do is go back to your hotel room and give you the skinny?"

  "I'm hoping you'll give me more than that," he said, his gaze dropping to her bare breasts. "Ow! Don't pinch."

  "What if more of Anodyne's goons are hanging around?"

  He grinned at her. "We can always try your elevator trick again."

  They made it back to his suite without incident, for which Renee was profoundly grateful. She didn't think she could handle more confrontations today.

  The first thing she did was order room service—she never did get a chance to finish her meal. Then, with Eric's blessing, she called down to the hotel shop and ordered underpants, a T-shirt, and a pair of shorts in her size.

  "Tell them to send up a pack of condoms," Eric shouted from the bathroom.

  "Forget it!" she yelled back. That was the last thing they needed to get tangled up in—again—and never mind that she was tempted to order a damned case of the things.

  "Spoilsport." He walked into the sitting area, a towel draped casually over his hips, his long hair still damp from the shower. She tried not to stare. She failed.

  What the hell. He really is gorgeous.

  Uh-oh, his lips are moving. He's probably talking to me.

  "What?"

  "I said, shower first, or the skinny?"

 
"The skinny," she said, "assuming that's not some weird sexual euphemism popular at the NSA." She couldn't help it, she crossed the room and pressed a kiss to his mouth. His grip tightened at once, the towel started to slip, and she reluctantly pulled away and sat on a couch worth more than her entire living room.

  She took a deep breath. Why was this so difficult? She hadn't been so reticent about making the guy come, but she couldn't tell him how she'd gone from upstanding citizen to jobless thief. Not too smart.

  "Renee?" Eric was adjusting the towel, beneath which there was quite an interesting bulge. "Are you all right?"

  "Sure. It's just kind of a long story. The thing is—well, let me tell you how it was…"

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  « ^ »

  Once upon a time, there was a girl named Renee who was never very good at girlie things. When other kids were playing house, she was playing sniper. When other kids were pretending to shoot with their Sega GameBoys, she was in the woods with her father, putting dinner on the table. By the time she graduated from college, she had multiple black belts, deeply enjoyed picking fights with wife beaters, and was interested in finding a job where she could get into fights for a living.

  Before she could join the police force, she was recruited by a mean man named Nicholas Jekell, whom many people referred to as the Jackal. Dr. Jekell was starting a company called Anodyne, and he wanted lots of people to protect his company's assets and, therefore, his precious bottom line.

  The mean man offered the small-town girl a ridiculous amount of money, and, being up to her eyeballs in school loans, she joined his company, eventually working up to head of security.

  Aside from security, there were a great many well-paid, smart people working at Anodyne. One of those smart people was named Dr. Thea Foster, and she was perhaps the cleverest of them all.

  Dr. Foster thought up PaceIC, and then set about inventing it. And once she had invented it and perfected it, she told the mean man it was ready.

  And sometime between Foster telling Dr. Jekell it was ready and lunch last Wednesday, PaceIC ended up in Renee's bag.