by Anna Zaires
For just one night, I want to be the husband of her dreams.
Closing my eyes, I focus on her taste, on the way her breathing changes as I deepen the kiss. The way her head falls back and her body melts against mine, her fingernails gently scratching at my scalp as her hand slides into my hair. She’s my world, my everything, and I want her so much I ache with it.
She’s still bundled in her fleecy robe, the material soft on my bare thighs and cock. As good as it feels, however, I know her naked flesh will feel even better, so I grasp the tie at her waist, pulling on it. At the same time, I lift my head and open my eyes to look at her.
As the tie unravels, her robe parts, exposing a V of smooth, tan skin. I can see the inside curves of her breasts and the taut flatness of her belly, but her nipples and lower body are still covered, as if by design.
It’s an erotic visual, made even more sensual by the way she’s breathing, her ribcage moving up and down in a fast, panting rhythm. Her lips are reddened from the kiss, and her skin is softly flushed.
My little pet is turned on.
As if sensing my gaze on her, she opens her eyes, her long lashes sweeping up. We look at each other, and the aching need inside me grows. It’s a feeling that’s somehow different from the lust surging through my body, a complex want that’s layered on top of my usual obsessive craving.
A yearning that terrifies me with its intensity.
“Tell me you love me.” All of a sudden, I need this from her. “Tell me, Nora.”
She doesn’t blink. “I love you.”
My arms tighten around her. “Again.”
“I love you, Julian.” She holds my gaze, her eyes soft and dark. “More than anything else in the world.”
Fuck. My chest constricts, the ache intensifying rather than easing. It’s too much, yet somehow not enough.
Bending my head, I claim her lips again, putting all the things I can’t express in words into that kiss. I feel her breathing growing shallow, and I know I’m holding her too tightly, but I can’t help it. Mixed with the overwhelming longing is a strange, irrational fear.
Fear that I might lose her. That she might slip away, like some beautiful, ephemeral dream.
No. I angle my head to delve deeper into her mouth, letting her taste, her scent, absorb me, chasing away the shadows. She won’t slip away. I won’t let her. She’s real, and she’s mine. I kiss her until we’re both gasping for air, until the fear inside me abates, burned away by the scorching heat.
Then I make love to her, as tenderly as I can.
When I drift off to sleep some time later, it’s with Nora cocooned safely in my embrace.
Chapter 6
Nora
It takes all of my willpower to remain awake as I hear Julian’s breathing take on the even rhythm of sleep. My own eyelids feel heavy, my body lethargic from exhaustion and sexual satiation. All I want to do is close my eyes and let the comforting darkness swallow me, but I can’t.
There’s something I must do first.
I wait until I’m certain Julian is asleep, and then I carefully wriggle out of his hold. To my relief, he doesn’t stir, so I get up and find the robe that had fallen on the floor during sex.
Quietly putting it on, I pad barefoot into the bathroom. My stomach, still unsettled from dinner, roils with nausea again, and I have to swallow several times to keep the food from coming back up.
It’s probably not the best idea to do this when I’m feeling sick. I know that—but I also know that if I don’t do this now, I may not have the courage to attempt it later. And I need to do this. I need to fulfill my promise, to repay the debt I owe Peter. It’s important to me. I don’t want to be the girl who can’t take any action on her own, the wife who always lives in her husband’s shadow.
I don’t want to be Julian’s helpless little pet for the rest of my life.
Splashing cold water on my face, I take several deep breaths to quell my nausea and walk back into the bedroom. The shades are open just a sliver, but the moon is full tonight, and there’s enough light for me to see where I’m going.
My destination is the dresser, on top of which Julian’s laptop is sitting. He doesn’t always bring the computer into the bedroom, but he did tonight—which is another reason why I don’t want to wait to implement my plan.
The plan itself is beyond simple. I’m going to take the laptop, access Julian’s email, and send the list to Peter. If everything goes well, Julian won’t find out about this for a while. And by the time he does, it will be too late. I will have repaid my debt to Julian’s former security consultant, and my conscience will be clear.
Well, as clear as it can be knowing that Peter will likely kill the people on that list in horrifying ways.
No, don’t think about it. I remind myself that those people are responsible for the deaths of Peter’s wife and son. They’re not innocent civilians, and I shouldn’t think of them as such.
The only thing I should worry about at the moment is getting the list to Peter without waking up Julian.
I walk across the room as quietly as I can, my heart thumping heavily in my chest. When I reach the dresser, I stop and listen.
All is quiet. Julian must still be asleep.
Biting my lip, I reach for the laptop and pick it up. Then I pause to listen again.
The room is still silent.
Exhaling slowly, I walk back toward the bathroom, cradling the laptop against my chest. When I get there, I slip inside, lock the door behind me, and sit down on the edge of the Jacuzzi.
So far, so good. Ignoring the churning in my stomach, I open the laptop.
A password request box pops up.
I take another deep breath, fighting my worsening nausea. I expected this. Julian is paranoid about security and changes his password at least once a week. However, the last time he changed it was the day after Frank, Julian’s CIA contact, emailed him the list.
Julian changed it when I was already hatching my plan—and I made sure I was nearby when he did so. I didn’t stare at his laptop, of course. That would’ve been suspicious. Instead, I quietly filmed him with my smartphone while pretending to be checking my email.
Now if only I interpreted the recorded keystrokes correctly . . .
Holding my breath, I put in “NML_#042160” and hit “enter.”
The computer screen blinks . . . and I’m in.
My breath whooshes out in relief. Now all I need to do is find the email from Frank, open the attachment, log into my own email, and send the list to the same email address that Peter has been contacting me from.
Should be easy enough, especially if I can keep my dinner down.
“Nora?” A knock startles me so much that I almost drop the computer. My lungs seize with panic, and I freeze, staring at the door.
Julian knocks again. “Nora, baby, are you all right?”
He doesn’t know I have his computer. The realization causes me to start breathing again.
“Just using the bathroom,” I call out, hoping Julian doesn’t hear the adrenaline-induced shakiness in my voice. At the same time, I open Julian’s email program and begin searching for Frank’s name. “I’ll be out soon.”
“Of course, baby, take your time.” The words are accompanied by the fading sound of footsteps.
I let out a relieved breath. I have a few more minutes.
I begin scanning through the emails containing the word “Frank.” There are over a dozen from last week, but the one I want should have a little attachment icon next to it . . . Aha! There. Quickly, I open it.
It’s a spreadsheet containing names and addresses. Automatically, I glance through them. There are over a dozen rows, and the addresses run the gamut from cities in Europe to various towns in the United States. One in particular jumps out at me: Homer Glen, Illinois.
It’s a place near Oak Lawn, my hometown. Less than a forty-minute drive from my parents’ house.
Stunned, I read the name next to the address.
George Cobakis.
Thank God. It’s nobody I know.
“Nora?” Julian’s voice is back, and the tense note in it makes my heart jump into my throat. His next words confirm my fear. “Nora, do you have my computer?”
“What? Why?” I hope I don’t sound as guilty as I feel. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Frantically, I save the list to the desktop and open a new browser.
“Because my laptop is missing.” His voice is tight with the beginnings of fury. “Are you in there with it?”
“What? No!” Even I can hear the lie in my voice. My hands are beginning to shake, but I get to the Gmail page and begin putting in my username and password.
The doorknob rattles. “Nora, open the door. Right now.”
I don’t respond. My hands are shaking so much that I mistype the password and have to put it in again.
“Nora!” Julian bangs on the door. “Open this fucking door before I break it down!”
I’m finally in my Gmail. My heart hammering in my chest, I search for the last email from Peter.
Bang. The door shakes from a hard kick.
My nausea intensifies, my pulse racing as I find the email.
Bang. Bang. More kicks against the door as I click “reply” and attach the list.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I hit “Send”—and the door flies off the hinges, crashing to the floor in front of me.
Julian is standing there naked, his eyes like icy blue slits in his beautiful face. His powerful hands are clenched into fists, and his nostrils are flared, spots of color burning high on his cheekbones.
He’s magnificent and terrifying, like an enraged archangel.
“Give me the laptop, Nora.” His voice is frighteningly calm. “Now.”
Bile rises in my throat, forcing me to swallow convulsively. Standing up, I walk over to him on trembling legs and hand over the computer.
He takes it from me with one hand and, before I can back away, wraps the other one around my right wrist, shackling me to him.
Then he looks at the screen.
I see the exact moment when he realizes what I did.
“You sent it to him?” Setting the computer down on the bathroom counter, he grabs my other arm and drags me closer to him. His eyes burn with fury. “You fucking sent it to him?” He gives me a hard shake, his fingers biting into my skin.
My stomach somersaults, nausea washing over me in sickening wave. “Julian, let go—”
And jerking out of his hold with desperation-fueled strength, I dive for the toilet bowl, just barely reaching it before I throw up.
* * *
“How long have you had this nausea?” Dr. Goldberg takes my pulse as I lie on the bed, with Julian pacing around the room like a caged jaguar.
“I don’t know,” I say, my eyes tracking Julian’s movements. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans now, but his feet are still bare. He’s making circles in front of the bed, every muscle in his body taut and his jaw tightly clenched.
He’s either still mad at me, or madly worried about me. I’m guessing it’s a combination of the two. Within minutes of my throwing up, he had the doctor in our room and me bundled comfortably on the bed.
It reminds me of how quickly he acted when I got appendicitis on the island.
“I think I just ate something bad or maybe caught a virus,” I say, turning my attention back to the doctor. “I started feeling sick at dinner.”
“Uh-huh.” Dr. Goldberg takes out a plastic-wrapped needle with a tube attached to a vial. “May I?”
“Okay.” I don’t particularly want him to take my blood, but I have a feeling Julian won’t let me refuse. “Go ahead.”
The doctor finds a vein in my arm and slides the needle in while I look away. I’m still slightly nauseous and don’t want to test my stomach’s fortitude with the sight of blood.
“All done,” he says after a moment, removing the needle and swabbing my skin with an alcohol-scented cotton ball. “I’ll run the tests and let you know what I find.”
“She’s also constantly tired,” Julian says in a low voice, stopping next to the bed. He’s not looking at me, which annoys me a bit. “And she’s sleeping poorly, with the nightmares and all.”
“Right.” The doctor rises to his feet, clutching the vial. “I need to run this to my lab. I’ll be back within the hour.”
He hurries out of the room, and Julian sits down on the bed, looking at me. His face is unusually pale, a frown etched into his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick, Nora?” he asks quietly, reaching out to pick up my hand. His fingers are warm on my palm, his grip gentle despite the turmoil I sense within him.
I blink in surprise. I thought he would question me about Peter’s list, not this. “It wasn’t too bad at dinner,” I say carefully. “I felt better after I took a shower and we . . . well, you know.” I wave my free hand in a gesture meant to encompass the bed.
“We fucked?” Julian’s tense expression eases slightly, unexpected amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Right.” Heat crawls up my body at the mental images his words bring up. Apparently, I’m not too sick to be turned on. “That made me feel better.”
“I see.” Julian regards me speculatively, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “And you decided that since you were feeling so well, you were going to hack into my computer.”
And there it is. The reckoning I anticipated. Except Julian doesn’t seem as angry as before, his touch on me soothing rather than punishing.
It looks like food poisoning—or whatever I’ve got—has its perks.
I offer him a cautious smile. “Well, yeah. I figured it was as good of an opportunity as any.” I don’t bother apologizing or denying my actions. There’s no point. It’s done. I paid my debt to Peter.
“How did you know my password?” Julian’s thumb continues moving over my wrist in a circular motion. “I never told you what it was.”
“I filmed you when you were changing it a few days ago. After I found out that Frank came through on the list.”
The corners of Julian’s mouth twitch, almost imperceptibly. “That’s what I thought. I was wondering why you were on your phone so much that day.”
I lick my lips. “Are you going to punish me?” Julian seems more amused than angry at the moment, but I can’t imagine he’ll let me off scot-free.
“Of course, my pet.” There’s no trace of hesitation in his voice.
My pulse jumps. “When?”
“When I choose.” His eyes gleam as he releases my hand. “Now, would you like some water or anything?”
“Some crackers and chamomile tea would be nice,” I say on autopilot, staring at him. I’d expected this, of course, but I still can’t help feeling anxious.
“I’ll get that for you.” Julian gets up. “Be back in a few.”
He disappears through the door, and I close my eyes, my earlier tiredness returning now that the adrenaline rush is over. Maybe I’ll just catch a quick nap before Julian comes back . . .
A knock on the door startles me again, causing me to jerk to a sitting position. “Yes?”
“Nora, this is David Goldberg. May I come in?”
“Oh, sure.” I lie back down, my heart still beating too fast. “Did you already run the tests?” I ask as the doctor enters the room.
“Yes.” There is an odd expression on his face as he stops next to the bed. “Nora, you’ve been fatigued lately, right? And unusually stressed?”
“Yes.” I frown, starting to feel uneasy. “Why?”
“Have you noticed anything else? Mood swings? Atypical food cravings or dislikes? Maybe some tenderness in your breasts?”
I stare at him, a cold fist seizing my chest. “What are you saying?” The symptoms he’s listing—surely he can’t mean . . .
“Nora, the blood tests I ran showed a strong presence of the hCG hormone,” Dr. Goldberg says gently. “You’re pregnant.” He pauses, then adds quietl
y, “Given the timing of the implant removal, my best guess is you’re about six weeks along.”
Chapter 7
Julian
Carrying the tray with tea and crackers, I walk up the stairs toward the bedroom. I should be furious with Nora, but instead, my worry for her is tinged with reluctant admiration.
She defied me. She locked herself in the bathroom and hacked into my computer to pay a debt that she believed was owed. She had to know that she would be caught, but she did it anyway—and I can’t help respecting her for it.
I would’ve done the same thing in her shoes.
In hindsight, I should’ve expected this. She’s been adamant about wanting to get the list to Peter, so it’s not all that surprising that she decided to act on her own. From the very beginning, I’ve sensed a quiet, stubborn strength within her, a steel core that belies her delicate appearance.
My pet might be compliant much of the time, but that’s only because she’s smart enough to choose her battles—and I should’ve known she’d choose to fight this one.
As I approach the bedroom, I hear voices and recognize Goldberg’s slightly nasal pitch.
He’s back with the test results, and Nora sounds upset.
Fuck. Fear, icy and sharp, bites at me. If it’s something serious, if she’s truly sick . . . Picking up my pace, I reach the door in two long steps. Tea sloshes over the rim of the cup, but I barely notice, all my focus on Nora.
Gripping the tray with one hand, I push open the door and step in.
She’s sitting on the bed, her eyes huge in her colorless face as Goldberg says, “I’m afraid it is possible—”
My heart freezes. “What’s possible?” I ask sharply. “What’s wrong?”
Goldberg turns to look at me. “Oh, there you are.” He sounds relieved. “I was just explaining to your wife that the morning-after pill is only ninety-five-percent effective when taken within twenty-four hours, and even though the likelihood of conception was low given the timing of the implant removal, there was still a small chance of pregnancy—”