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"By the way," he sighed as she lowered herself on top of him, "it really turned me on when you punched Dr. Krendall in the kidneys to get him to give us his brother-in-law's name."
"Thanks," she said, almost moaned, as she settled herself over him. Oh, Christ, that's what she needed, that's what was missing. She began to rock against him as he gripped her hips and thrust against her.
"Tara...oh, God ... Tara . .."
She leaned down and nipped the side of his neck as he thrust faster; he reached between her legs and found her clit again and stroked it with the barest of butterfly strokes, and that delicate touch, coupled with the sweet size of him thrusting inside her, brought her to orgasm, made her close her eyes and
shiver with the glory of it.
"Come now," she said, almost pleaded, and he wrapped his strong arms around her and pumped against her, and obliged.
* * *
Later, in the gloom of the room, they reassembled their clothes and tried to get their breath back. Tara was having a hard time looking at Ben; she felt curiously shy. It wasn't like her at all to just jump some stranger's bones. Except Ben didn't feel like a stranger. And wasn't that odd? They'd known each other
... what? Five hours?
Trying to get her mind back on business, she peeked out the window but only had a view of the next building; she couldn't see any cop cars.
He came up behind her and dropped a kiss to her neck. She shivered and leaned back against him. It was odd. Very very odd. She should be anxious to be gone. But all she wanted was to go home with him and rent movies and make out on the couch and sleep late the next morning.
"Ready to sneak out of Dodge?" he teased. "The Damon parking ramp is a couple of buildings away."
"Sure."
"I'll get the rat."
She paused, then said, "Janet. My real name is Janet."
Now it was his turn to pause. He turned her around, kissed her softly, then said, "Thank you."
She had no reply; what else was there to say?
Eleven
Ben sighed, stretched, and rolled over to grope for her. What a day! What a night! After she'd insisted
on renting movies, she'd been unstoppable in the sack. Not that he had tons of sack experience. But still. She'd been something else. Now he'd make her breakfast—well, take her out for breakfast—and they could spend the day together, like two ordinary people in—
She was gone.
He sat bolt upright. "T—Janet?" he called, knowing it was useless; his house had the familiar feel of emptiness to it. "Janet?"
He rolled out of bed, jumped into a pair of cutoffs, and quickly searched the house. Nobody home but him. Even the rat was gone.
He couldn't believe it. The day they'd spent together had been amazing enough, but the night had been . .. well. .. magical. She'd been alternately urgent and tender, and he'd been more than happy to meet her needs. Afterward, drifting off with her head on his shoulder, he'd felt like the happiest man who'd ever escaped from a lab.
Well, she was . . . she was an independent woman. A free spirit. And they'd just met, after all. Maybe
she needed to, um, water her plants or whatever. It's not like they promised each other anything. It's not like he had something . . .
. . . something she wanted.
Oh, shit.
It took him forty seconds to ascertain that she had taken both key cards. He stormed up and down his lab, running his fingers through his hair, cursing himself for being ten kinds of a fool. He was an idiot!
Of course she didn't likehim ; of course she wasn't going to stay with someone likehim . She wanted the key card, and she got exactly what she came for.
God, the things he'd said to her! "You're so beautiful; you're so wonderful." His face burned with anger and embarrassment. She'd played him like a real chump. And she'd been right to do it... He was a chump.
Dr. Ben Dyson, Chump.
Fuck.
Twelve
"Dr. Dyson, we're getting to be sort of friends, don'tcha think?"
Ben, who had just returned from the grocery store, put the nachos and Coke away. Bemused, he
watched Agent Tom Carradine shift his weight from one foot to another and case the place with his peripheral vision. "Friends? Well, uh . . ."You come over. You drop off a check. You take what I
made. You leave. A few months later, you come over again. Rinse. Repeat. "Sure. Okay."
"Well, we're just—I mean, my supervisor and I—we were talking and—is everything all right?"
"No."
"Oh." Tom blinked, then tried again. "I could maybe arrange for you to talk to someone if there's, you know, a problem."
"No."
"Okay." Tom switched tactics. Ben would have been amused if he wasn't so fucking depressed. "Listen, word's out, you know, small world and all, and we heard you did some great work a few weeks back. And my supervisor could talk to the DCI and maybe get you into the next class at Langley."
How nice. Everything he ever wanted. Before he had a clue what he wanted. "No." He added, because
it seemed like the polite thing to do, "But thanks."
"Well, how about if we get you into DI? With your skills and background, no problem."
Directorate of Intelligence. Analyst. Solving puzzles all day. Yawn. "No thanks."
"Okay, well, you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"What do you want, Tom?"
Agent Carradine shrugged. "Just to see how you're doing."
"Oh. You don't need anything?"
"Just for you to get back on track. Everybody's noticed. You've been . . . off . . . for almost a month."
"Yeah, well. Thanks for checking in." Ben was almost— but not quite—touched. He performed a necessary function, after all, and people were bound to notice when he didn't do it anymore. He didn't like to admit, not even to himself, but the heart had gone right out of him around the time Janet had gone out of his house, never to return. Janet probably wasn't her real name, either, he supposed. "I'll see you."
"Sure. You've got my card, right?"
"About a dozen of them."
"Well, give me a shout if you want to talk."
"Sure."
"Take 'er easy."
"Ummm."
Tom left. Ben stored the extra nachos on top of the fridge. He thought about having a Coke, then changed his mind. Instead, he wandered through his empty house. Something was a little off, but it was probably fallout from Tom's visit. It didn't mean—
He could see a light beneath his bathroom door.
Normally he would have dived into his lab and grabbed the gadgetdu jour and kicked the door open and had a helluva good time. Now he just pushed the door open with tented fingers.
Tara was sitting on the end of the tub, which was full, wearing his bathrobe. "Finally," she said by way
of greeting. "I didn't think that spook would ever leave."
He gaped at her.
"Sorry I'm late," she added. "I got held up at work. Okay, not really."
"How did you get—never mind." She had his key cards, after all, but he'd find out later how she'd avoided tripping any of the perimeter alarms. "W-what are you doing here?"
She crossed her legs and swung her left foot while she watched him. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Uh—no."
"I thought you were some kind of genius," she teased.
"Uh..."
"I had some things to take care of. Some accounts to close, some money to move, and I had to make
the Tara Marx ident disappear. And I had something of yours to give back."
It almost sounded like she... but that was ridiculous. "Did you forget something on your way out?" he asked politely.
She winced. "Okay, I totally had that coming. Look, I freaked out for a little bit, okay?"
"What'd you use my cards for?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"I never lie." She paused. "Okay, that was a lie. But I was all se
t to use them, to do one last job, and I just... I thought about your stupid fat tie and your dopey multicolored eyes and your messy hair, and I realized it was a bad thing, leaving, and I wanted to make it right."
He worked hard not to show anything on his face, and was pretty sure he succeeded. "Really. And it
took you a month to 'make it right.' "
"Be fair. I woke up that morning perfectly content with my old life, and by the end of the day I wanted something totally different. Well, I couldn't just drop everything and go into it overnight. I had people
to explain things to. I had some work to finish, and some things to—to give back. I didn't want you involved in any of that. And I knew if I told you—well, you know."
"Did you give back all your telephones?" he asked, still polite. "Is that why you didn't call even
one time?"
"I'll go," she said stiffly, standing.
"Dressed like that?"
"I'm sorry. I'm not used to people caring either way when I leave. I should have—never mind. I guess
it's too late. For what it's worth, I guess I went about this all wrong."
She tried to move past him, and he took her (carefully!) by the arms. "I'm just surprised, is all. I was
sort of getting used to you being gone," he lied. "And frankly, not knowing where the rat is, is freaking
me out."
She smiled a little. "Katya, for God's sake. And she's in your other bathroom, taking a nap in the tub."
"The empty tub, one hopes."
"Look, Ben, enough about the rat."
"Katya," he corrected her.
"Right, right. Can I stay, or what?"
"You want to stay?" he asked carefully.
"No, I ran out of rent money."
"Really?"
"No." She smiled. "Not really."
"If you stay, that means you're going to stay."
"Like, what, a golden retriever?"
"I mean it, Janet. If you stay, it means I don't wake up alone and you're here for good and we're
Dr. and Mrs. Dyson."
"And I make banana bread while you design gadgets for the FBI?"
"If you've got a thing for banana bread, fine, go crazy." She had popped open the first button of his
shirt and was nibbling on the hollow of his throat, which made it difficult to remember what he was
trying to say. "I just thought. . . um ... we could be ... ah ... a team. Because I, um, love you."
"Great minds think alike," she murmured, popping open more buttons. "I don't love you at all, but
you've got a nice house and I'm tired of being a nomad. Okay, not really. Ahhhh, there are the shoulders
I remember. Dr. Dyson, has anyone ever told you, you have a fabulous body?"
"Tom never mentioned it," he said. He untied the belt of her—his—robe and spread it open. "Umm. Speaking of fabulous ..." He leaned forward and kissed her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him for a minute, then whispered, "I'm sorry."
"It's all right."
"No, I was an asshole."
"Umm."
"I'll fix it," she vowed, "if it takes twenty years."
"That's a deal, Janet." He pushed the robe off her shoulders and stepped into her, forcing her to back up until she was sitting on the tub. He knelt, pushed her knees wider and kissed her inner thighs, then inhaled her sweet musk and spread her lower lips apart with his tongue. He licked and sucked and felt himself grow painfully hard as her moans did to him what her taste did, as she gripped the sides of the tub and thrust her hips against his face. He sucked her clit into his mouth and teased it with his tongue until she was almost sobbing his name.
"Get over here," she said when he backed off. "Right now."
He had suddenly grown an extra five fingers, because getting his belt loose and his pants down had become nearly impossible. He finally staggered toward her, kicking free of his pants and fumbling for
his boxers when her hand darted inside the fly vent and she seized him.
"Watch this," she said, standing and sounding as if she'd just run a marathon. "This is where being tall really comes in handy." Then she went up on her toes, and he slid inside her as if they had been designed for each other. "Oh, God. That's so nice. Don't stop."
"Right," he panted. "Because I was planning to do just that."
"Shut up and fuck me, Dr. Dyson."
"Call me Ben."
"Shut up and—oh! Oh, God, I'm going to—to—" She writhed against him, and thank goodness, because that about did it for him, he came so hard he saw black dots in front of his eyes. His knees bucked and she let out a little shriek as they fell backward into the tub.
Wriggling and squirming, they both surfaced. "Thank God you've got one of those big onts," she gasped.
"Why, thank you."
"Don't be an ass," she said, but she laughed as she tried to struggle free of his embrace. "God, there's water everywhere. We're gonna need fifty mops."
"Later."
"Well ...I am feeling a little dirty ..."
"Me, too," he sighed, and kissed her again and groped for the bar of soap.
Anything
You Can
Do ...
Karen Kelley
One
Alex's gaze slowly roamed the crowded room as he smiled politely at the faces of people who might or might not be related to him. People laughed and gossiped, catching up on whose kid had done what. A bored sigh escaped. If this wasn't his little sister's wedding reception, he'd think of some excuse to bow out gracefully. But it was, and he wouldn't hurt Lisa's feelings if his life depended . . .
His gaze skidded to an abrupt halt as the sea of people parted and a goddess appeared before his eyes.
The reception had just gotten interesting. No woman should look that damn good, or that damn tempting.
The dim overhead light cast a soft glow on her features, making her appear ethereal, as though she'd stepped down from the clouds to let mere mortals partake of her beauty.
Even across the length of the room, he zoomed in on her delicate features, the curls sensuously caressing her cheeks. He imagined his knuckles rubbing across the silky smoothness of her skin before his gaze trailed over the blue gown that clung to her luscious curves. When she moved, the slit in the side of her gown parted, revealing one long, slender leg.
"Are you ready to jump out the nearest window and run screaming down the road?" Lisa asked as she came up beside him.
The lascivious thoughts formulating in his brain ground to a screeching halt. When he faced his little
sister he had all his sinful musings reined in. "I do not scream."
"Congratulations!" Aunt Pearl called as she plowed her way toward them. "Such a beautiful wedding." She dabbed the moisture from her eyes with a lace-trimmed hankie. "I wanted to welcome the groom ..." She looked around.
"He's changing out of his tux and should be here soon."
"Well, you take good care of that man of yours." Her eyes widened. "Oh, there's Winifred." She shoved her glasses higher on her nose and whispered conspiratorially, "Do you think she's had something done
to her face?" With a hurried goodbye she rushed off toward the other woman.
"Will we be that bad when we're her age?" he asked.
"I don't know. Are you planning on having facelifts?" They grinned at each other; then she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her traveling suit. "Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes, the fact that you don't scream. If I remember correctly, you screamed pretty loud the afternoon I borrowed your tennis racket. Half the neighborhood heard you. Remember, Mrs. Johnson called the police. She thought a burglar had broken into our house."
"That was different. You used it to mash Mom's grapes. I think twelve-year-old boys are allowed an occasional scream."
"You said that was the reason you lost the tournament." She shook her head. "You hated losing then almost as much as you do now."
; "No, I don't." His eyebrows veed. "You shouldn't have used my lucky racket. What were you thinking about? You never admitted to anything."
A rosy blush stained her cheeks. "I was making wine. I'd watched an old movie on TV about a nun and decided I wanted to convert to Catholicism."
"And you needed alcohol to get religious?"