by Rosa, A.
I know what she was about to say.
"Say it," I demand, smiling as she squirms. I realize why she is so nervous. She likes me. Like, really likes me. That's enlightening. All that worry today for nothing.
Her eyes go wide. "No."
That wasn't the answer I expected. "No? Why not?"
"I'm not used to telling people how I feel." She looks like a helpless, cornered mouse, and the difference in comparison to her normally antagonistic front intrigues me.
"Well, I think you'd better get used it. Now say it," I quip, letting my smile linger on my lips.
She grins as she turns to look away from me. If I am not mistaken, her cheeks turn pink. "I'm afraid if I say what I am thinking, it will be too much too soon."
"Trust me, whatever it is, it isn't too soon. I would go first, but I think I have been honest about how I feel about you. So you should say whatever it is you were gonna say." It's out of my mouth before I have time to process it. I hold my breath, hoping I am right.
She turns back to look at me as if preparing herself for battle. She squares her shoulders and exhales. "I missed you. I missed you all damn day, and I had to come see you. I just had to."
Fireworks ignite inside my chest as I attempt to contain my happiness. I still feel like a fool, but it feels right. I can't help my grin, finding that I cannot take my eyes off her.
"Now that wasn't so hard." I watch her fidget a little more, and I can tell that she has more to say, or more on her mind. "And what else?" I mutter.
She bites back her smirk, as if she is having a hard time containing herself. Without uttering another word, she does something unexpected. Well, the unexpected is usually what I expect with this girl. She is always a step ahead of me.
She leaps into my arms, wrapping them around my neck and kissing me as if her life depends on it. I circle my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. Her lips devour mine, as if she is recovering from a hunger strike and starving for my lips.
Everything that I stressed over all day drifts away as I consume her mouth, commanding her lips to open and allow our tongues to tangle around each other. This is what I have been craving—her.
I pull her inside, closing the door with my foot so I don't have to let her go. I push her up against the wall, pinning her with my hips. I rake my hands over her body, gripping her behind as she moans into my lips. When I pull away, we are both out of breath.
I inhale to regain my equilibrium. "I like your version of hello and I miss you."
She smiles bashfully and whispers, "I don't know what's come over me."
I smile too. "Whatever it is, please don't stop." I lean my forehead against hers. She's here. I have spent most of my day thinking about her and I don't want to waste any more time. She seems like she might be in the mood to run, and I will do anything to prevent that.
I bend down, gripping her thighs and throw her over my shoulders. She yelps in shock. "Jeremy! What are you doing?"
I stroll toward my room with her struggling in my grasp, laughing. It is such a wonderful sound. "I am taking you to my room, and I am going to make love to you over and over again."
I throw her on my bed and waste no time climbing over her wriggling, giggling body. I want to kiss every inch of her.
She raises her hands in mock defense. "Jeremy!" she shrieks as I continue to climb over her. I silence her with my lips. She pulls away to say, "Jeremy, we should talk." She grabs me by the tie, pulling my lips to hers again. This game of mixed signals has turned into my favorite pastime.
I move to kissing her neck. "I don't think you want to talk. Talking will be for later. I've missed you all day, and I want you."
She gives up her reluctant struggle, pulling the tie over my head and starting on the buttons of my shirt. She undoes each cufflink, and then pushes the shirt over my shoulders as I let my hands drag to the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning them and slipping my hand inside.
"Jeremy, what are you doing?" she pleads with a groan as she pushes her hips into my palm.
What a silly question? Does she think she has any chance of stopping me? I am a man on a mission, infatuated with a woman.
I pause, lifting my lips from her skin. I look at her while tucking my hands farther into her panties. A moan escapes her lips.
"It's called foreplay, Alex."
She lets out a series of giggles, but it's mostly a prolonged sigh as she reaches up, and curls her fingers in my hair, pulling me toward her. I am lost in her kiss.
Conversation over. No more talking. Thank God.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Scared or Scarred?
ALEX TURNER
I bring the sheet up to cover my bare body and perch my head on my hand, propping myself on my side in order to stare at the delectably naked Jeremy Hunt with only a sheet covering him at his waist. He is adorable with his blond hair in disarray and his angular face. His eyes are glittering with warmth.
"You know, it's rude to stare, Jeremy."
A smile spreads across his face. "Why can't I look at you?"
I huff and roll my eyes, but I can't stop smiling either. "Because it makes me uneasy."
"But I like to look at you."
"Obviously," I quip, and lucky for me he stifles a laugh.
I lean in, place a kiss on his lips, and pull away, but he doesn't let me get away that easy. He wraps his arm around me, keeping my lips on his for longer than I planned. I don't protest, but I don't think I will be able to resist Jeremy from this point on. I snicker at the thought.
He pulls away, examining my face. "What are you laughing at? Me?"
I laugh some more. "As funny as you are, I was thinking how I can no longer resist you."
He glows at that, and runs his hand down the side of my blushing cheek. "And to think, all you did when we first met was try to resist me." He nuzzles my neck, placing a kiss under my ear.
"Well, you can be quite persistent, Jeremy." He continues to kiss down the nape of my neck, across my collarbone, but when his lips make it to the edge of my shoulder, nearing my old wound –I flinch. I never expected my initial reaction to be that way, but I know I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. The realization throws me as I pull away, putting distance between him and the evidence of the stinging memory.
He lifts his head to look me in the eye, worry sweeping his features. His blue eyes tense like a coming storm. "What's wrong?" he asks.
How do I get out of this? "Nothing. Nothing is wrong." Shit. Shit. Shit.
As if testing it, he reaches out to touch the scar with his fingertips. This time I roll onto my back to avoid the contact.
"Alex." His tone is stern.
"I don't want to talk about it. Please don't ruin the moment, Jeremy,” I plead.
He opens his mouth to speak, but using his tactic, I sit up and press my lips to his, silencing him.
He appreciates the touch for only a second, before he manages to pull away. "I know what you are trying to do."
I grin and decide one more attempt wouldn't hurt. I lean in to kiss him again. He allows it a couple seconds longer than before, and then pushes me away. It wounds me, and tension gathers in my shoulders. Oh no.
"Did someone hurt you?" I wasn't expecting that.
My eyebrows furrow at such a direct question. I'm not ready for this, and he isn't ready for this particular part of me either.
I give him nothing but silence.
He reaches out at my old wound, persistent. I flinch again, pulling away before he makes contact.
"Alex, who hurt you?" My nose wrinkles at the irony.
You mean, whom did I hurt? Who did I kill for wounding me?
I have an unsettling impression that Jeremy can't even begin to grasp my heartless side. The side that kills on command for the greater good. It makes all my muscles tense, and I realize I can't do this right now. I am scared of my scars and the stories they tell.
"What time is it?" I ask, changing the subject. It's nearly 7:30 p.m.
His face floods with confusion as he realizes why I ask. "Don't go, please." It's a command, more than a request.
I sigh and sit up, holding the sheet to my body as I debate how to handle this.
"I don't like the idea that someone did that to you." His voice is filled with sincere concern.
I practically wilt with disbelief and joy at the statement.
"Jeremy, please don't trouble yourself with my scars. At least not right now, OK?"
"Scars? Do you have more?"
More? That is an understatement. I have been traveling nonstop for the last three years, defending this country and my life from dangerous people. It's not only my body, but also my mind that is scarred.
"Jeremy, please. Unfortunately I have more scars than you can count." The moment it is out of my mouth, I regret it.
"Tell me," he demands.
I get frustrated. "No. Not now, Jeremy. Maybe after tomorrow." This overwhelming wave of panic for what the future holds hits me. Tomorrow is my test, and after, I'll have to reveal the truth to this beautiful man.
"After tomorrow? What does tomorrow have to do with it?"
I sigh and climb out of his bed in search for my clothes. He's going to think I am leaving because of my scars, and he would be half right. I should at least be studying.
You're running, Agent Turner.
Am not! … Fine, maybe a little.
I ignore his question. "Jeremy, I should be studying for my exam tomorrow. I have to be there at 7 a.m."
He sits up, watching me search for my underwear. When I find them, I slip them on.
"Stay here," he says. "I am sorry I asked about your scar. Please don't run away."
The statement causes me to freeze, one leg in my jeans. It's as if he can read my mind; it's as if he can sense my fears.
I turn to look at him. There's panic in his icy blue eyes.
Oh, Jeremy, please don't do this. It's my fault, not yours.
"I promise you, I am not running. I really should be studying. You have the right to ask about my scars. You and my body are well acquainted, and you should know the story it tells, but not today."
"Then when?"
"I told you: tomorrow. I promise you can ask me any and all questions then, because trust me, you will have tons."
His face heats with frustration, and I worry that kind, caring Jeremy is fading away. I finish putting on my jeans and tank top, and then climb onto the bed, on top of him, knocking him back. He doesn't resist my oncoming lips. I command our mouths, straddling his body, and grinding into him. I brim with lust and have to pull away.
His face calms a little at my touch, but his features are set in a hard line. "I wish I knew what the hell you are talking. You have me worried."
I can't help but slump at the statement. "I wish you wouldn't worry, but I can't blame you."
He cups my face, kisses each cheek tenderly, and says, "What are you scared of, Alex?"
Bingo. Fear. I am terrified of losing you.
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath, and tell my brain to cement this memory in my head. His smell, his touch, his gentle kiss, and his crazy way of reading me like a book. I don't want to forget this, because I don't know how tomorrow will go.
I open my eyes again. His glacier eyes greet me, and they swallow me—body and soul. However, I have to go.
I pull away from his embrace, place a sweet kiss on his lips, and sit up. "Jeremy, can you remember one thing for me tomorrow?"
All previous tension is forgotten as he gives me his undivided attention. "What's that?"
I manage a weak smile for him. "I know I sound like a broken record and all, but just know that I am crazy about you, and nothing will change that."
He smiles but furrows his brow in confusion again. "I never had any doubts."
This time I grin. Why do you have to be so perfect? I sigh, shake my head at this crazy man, and climb off him.
"I have to go. Don't get up." I wink, trying to leave him with the happy version of me. "I will see myself out. I'll pick you up after my exam, and then we will talk." He starts to protest, but I raise my hand to silence him. "No buts about it. I'll pick you up around one o'clock at your office. I will explain everything at that time. Don't chase me. Well, at least not today."
I rush over to him again, and place a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. With that, I practically run out the front door, leaving Jeremy to his thoughts. I am sure he is confused as hell.
I make it to the elevator, and breathe heavily as it descends to the parking garage.
What's happening?
You're just scared, my subconscious chimes in.
I don't want to lose him.
Whatever happens, your survival instincts will kick in, and you will survive.
For some reason, I don't believe you, subconscious, though I do appreciate that you are always quick with an answer.
I heave in one last sigh before I exit the elevator and make my way to my car.
Just have faith.
Agents don't really do that. How do I deal with this?
You roll with the punches. You play the cards you were dealt, you know this.
OK, I can do this.
Damn, I miss him already.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Reveal
JEREMY HUNT
I march, leaving my office building in a rush. It is already 1:10 p.m. I'm running ten minutes late, and that is not how I wanted to start my afternoon with Alex. Last night ended on a more awkward note than I would have liked, and I feel like I need to level it out.
I threw myself into work all day. I forced myself to let everything go and to have faith in the situation. For the most part, I was able to leave my wandering heart at the door while I went to meetings and answered waiting messages. It was a lot harder than I imagined though.
The text from Alex said I would be picked up out front of the building, but as I approach the curb, I hear my name,
"Excuse me, sir, Mr. Hunt?" The deep voice is definitely being short with me, and I tense. I am not in the mood.
I straighten my tie and twist my body to look at whoever is trying to get my attention. What I see surprises me: a burly man in a tailored suit with a sharp shave. I assume it is someone in the media. "I'm sorry. I am not doing interviews right now." I scan the street for a sign of Alex, but the man keeps talking.
"No, Mr. Hunt. I need you to come with me."
I freeze. The man slips a wallet from his blazer, and flashes me some kind of government badge. What the ...?
I understand what that means, and before I demand my lawyer, he cuts me off, "Sir, let's not make a scene. Can you please step inside? Everything will be explained. No harm will come to you."
As if knowing that I won't refuse, he opens the door to an unmarked black Cadillac.
I glance around the street and come to the unfortunate realization that people are staring. I boil with anger and straighten my tie again, unwillingly taking a seat in the back of the car. Before the man with the badge shuts the door, I get a glimpse of its lettering.
"The FBTCP, what the hell is that?" Where is Alex? Worry and guilt sweep through me.
I pull out my cell phone, but the man slips in the front seat and says, "Sir, no calls. Please."
I'm angry and confused as I slip my phone back into my pocket. What the hell is going on?
ALEX TURNER
I'm sitting on Alvarado's desk looking through the open-walled windows, anticipating Jeremy's entry. My heart thumps as if it's going to beat out of my chest. I should have been the one picking him up, but because of stupid protocol ...
Derek jabs me in the arm. "It's gonna be fine, Turner."
I smirk in response but I just don't believe him.
JEREMY HUNT
The man who was waiting for me at the door won't let go of my arm. He tugs it sharply as he guides me down a hallway and through another door. Who does this guy think he is? Where am I? Where is Alex? A pang of
worry shoots through me again.
Looking around, everything is sterile, unlabeled, and mysterious. I have no idea where I am. The drive gave away nothing.
I look at the stone wall that is this man and decide to try him. "Where is—?"
"Sir, I apologize, but you are going to have to hold your questions until you see Chief Alvarado."
Chief Alvarado? Who the fuck is Alvarado, and why is he a chief?
We reach large, gray double doors, and the man, who is the worst chauffeur I've ever encountered, enters a security code into a keypad. The door clicks open, and we step inside.
We are in an office, in what looks like a police station. A police station? What? The large room is buzzing with people and filled with scattered cubicles, bordered with offices. Standing inside one of the offices, looking me dead in the eye, is Alex. My throat goes dry. What the hell is going on? When did I enter the twilight zone?
"Sir ... Sir ..." I look over at the man and realize he is talking to me.
My tone is clipped. "Yes?"
"You're going to want to go into office 212. Chief Alvarado, and agents Matthews and Turner are waiting for you."
"Agent Turner?" I say, dumbstruck, realizing that I wasn't supposed to say that aloud. I am floored. Then my professionalism kicks in, and I tighten my shoulders and smooth out my suit.
I was in a more relaxed mood earlier, thinking I was going to see Alex. Now I am in mergers and acquisitions mode. Emotionless CEO feels fitting.
I step out of the man's grasp and walk toward the office, toward Alex. She looks stoic and emotionless too. No, she looks scared.
I don't bother knocking as I step inside. There is an older gentleman in his fifties sitting behind the desk. Chief Alvarado maybe?
Another man, young and solid, is leaning against the window behind him. I turn to look at Alex, or is it Agent Turner? Her hair hangs loosely around her face in soft curls, and I still ache to run my hands through it. Could this girl be any more my weakness? She is wearing tight black pants with a white, sleeveless ruffled blouse tucked in. She looks calm, sleek, professional, sexy, and something I hadn't noticed before, she looks deadly. What shocks me the most is her no-shame appearance. She dons a leather vest that holds a small pistol on either side of her ribcage. The sight throws me for a loop. Here I was, thinking her sweet smile veiled her innocence. How wrong was I?