by Tara Mills
***
Ariela managed to squander two hours before the guilt got to her. She decided to bring back a peace offering.
Jean peeked in the first bag and looked up at her. “Rum?”
“And strawberries, and limes, and ice.”
“Oh my. I see daiquiris in your future.” Jean pretended to read an imaginary crystal ball.
“I was hoping in our future. Sorry I’ve been such a pill.”
Jean came around the desk and threw her arm across Ariela’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “I understand. Trust me. I understand.”
“I’m not coping with this very well and it makes no sense at all.” Ariela dropped her head onto Jean’s shoulder and sighed as her friend rubbed her back.
“The rest of our afternoon is free. Why don’t we drag the groceries upstairs and dig out the blender?”
Ariela lifted her head and nodded. “That sounds really good to me.”
“Me too.”
An hour later, they were half in the bag when Ron tapped on the door and walked in with two bags of fast food.
“Hey, babe,” Jean purred.
He grinned, then caught Ariela’s eye and looked away, clearly uncomfortable about walking in on her and Dylan the other night. Ariela found his deep blush hysterically funny. In all the years she’d known Ron, this was a first. Of course, had she been sober, there was no way she could have managed this face-off with such aplomb, but leave it to alcohol to relieve an awkward situation.
“Daiquiri, Ron?” she asked, offering her glass.
“I’d rather have a beer.” He set the bags on the coffee table and slipped into the kitchen.
Jean watched him go with a devious smile. “Will you excuse me a minute?”
“Sure.”
Jean went after him while Ariela leaned forward to snoop through the bags. She grabbed a sandwich and was searching for sauce when a loud slap made her look up. Jean’s hands were firmly planted on Ron’s ass. She gave him a good squeeze as they enjoyed a long kiss. Ariela smiled wistfully and turned away. Ron was obviously spending the night.
They watched a little television while they ate. Afterwards, Ariela excused herself and ran down to the office to check the computer. Unfortunately, there was no message from Dylan yet. It was obviously too soon.
It was doubly depressing to go back upstairs and find that the television was off and Jean’s bedroom door was closed. With nothing else to do, Ariela locked the door for the night and shut off the lights.
Sometime later, while she was reading quietly in bed, the pounding started. It took just a minute more before the entire house started shaking. The nightstand on her right began to creep across the hardwood floor, and the lamp sitting on top of it slowly rotated away from her, shining toward the closet.
“Damn it.” Ariela reached out and turned the lamp back around.
Jean’s waterbed had to go. Their poor old house couldn’t take the abuse. Honestly, just the weight of the damn thing was enough to worry Ariela, but when those two got the major wave action going, it was downright terrifying. Houses weren’t meant to be pounded sideways. Sometimes she pictured the entire structure collapsing on the lawn. Just folding up like a paper bag. How many studs had they cracked? How many nails had worked loose? Pretty tough to put those things out of your mind while watching your furniture parade around your room.
“Wrap it up, already!” she yelled, pitching her book at the wall.
When she heard them laughing softly together, Ariela wasn’t prepared for the wave of melancholy that swept through her. She loved them and envied them. Jean and Rob had each other and what did she have? A ridiculous crush on a guy she shouldn’t even be considering. She knew better and yet, she still missed Dylan. That realization, right there, frightened her more than the house collapsing in around her.
***
Her mood did not improve the next morning when she walked into the kitchen and found the refrigerator standing in the center of the room. Now she was even more adamant that the damn bed had to go. This wasn’t the first time the appliance had crept across the floor, propelled along by the violent fucking on the other side of the wall. It was high time she had a chat with Jean.
One thing was certain—it was ridiculous to feel embarrassed about being caught in the act after this. At least she’d never moved major appliances to the very ends of their cords.
Because Ariela took the time to start a pot of coffee first, Ron beat her to the bathroom. That left her only enough time for an abbreviated shower. She had to forgo washing her hair and pulled it into a simple ponytail instead.
When she came out of the bathroom, Jean was standing in the kitchen wearing her short, terry robe and studying the refrigerator with amused detachment.
“Come on, together,” Ariela said. “You push low. I’ll push high.”
After they maneuvered the appliance back against the wall, Ariela broached the subject. Not surprising, her roommate balked.
“Beds are expensive,” Jean countered.
Ariela threw her arm up at their refrigerator. “And the whole house coming down around us wouldn’t be?”
Jean laughed. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little paranoid?”
“Not when you’re moving furniture and major appliances.”
Jean’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What furniture?”
“My nightstand for starters. I had to give up on reading because the lamp wouldn’t stay still.”
“Seriously?”
“Uh, yeah.” Ariela nodded.
“Huh.” Jean gradually smiled. “Ron’s kind of an animal.”
“I’m happy for you,” said Ariela flatly, not budging on this. “Maybe you could head over to Burbank’s a little early today and work something out with Lyle, since you’re going there to look at sofas for the Dreyer job anyway.”
Jean’s smile dissolved. “What’s gotten into you lately? You’re either pissy or mopey. I can’t stand it.”
Ariela stared at the empty doorway after Jean stomped out, feeling more miserable than ever. She knew exactly what had gotten into her—Dylan.
***
There was an e-mail waiting for Ariela on Tuesday morning when she got down to the office. Her hand was shaking and her heart was racing when she opened it.
Knock it off, Ariela! You're putting too much importance on something so innocent.
TO: arielap@
SUBJECT: Checking in
MESSAGE: Well, I’m in Amman at the moment. I’m waiting to hook up with Jim, my friend and photographer. He won’t be here for a few hours yet, so I have a little time to catch a few winks. I nearly missed my connecting flight from London. There wasn’t much time to run from one gate to the next. Luckily I’m carrying everything. I have to. We’ll be in Baghdad tomorrow. It’s already one hundred and five degrees, and it's not even eleven in the morning. I need to power up while I can, so I’d better sign off and look for an outlet. I can't get you out of my mind. Why didn’t I bring your picture with me? We’ll have to do something about that. Dylan
The buttons above his message caught her eye. Only one interested her. Reply? Hell yes, she wanted to reply.
TO: dylanbond@
SUBJECT: Hey there
MESSAGE: Just read your e-mail. Hope everything's still going okay. You want a picture of me? I suppose we can work something out, but I'll expect one of you in return. I haven't been the best company since you left. I actually used alcohol to cope last night, but I don’t think that’s a practical long-term solution. I'm open to better suggestions. Feel free to make a few. The best that I can come up with is seeing you home, safe and sound. Please be careful. Ariela
That didn’t sound presumptuous or emotional, did it? She read it again, worrying over all the ways her words could be interpreted, or misinterpreted, then hit send. It was out there now, on its way to his computer. Of course, doubts hit as soon as she’d committed to the message.
She was giving the poor guy mi
xed signals. One minute she says he’s un-datable. The next, she’s boinking him on her living room floor. Now she’d just confessed, in writing, that it took alcohol to help her cope after he left? If he was confused, and he had to be, she was even more confused. She’d already decided to ease away from Dylan after her nightmare, but just seeing he’d sent an e-mail made her euphoric. She hadn’t felt this good since Saturday night. That reminder made her blood pressure spike.
As incredible as it seemed for a woman typically reserved about sex, she still couldn’t condemn herself for sleeping with him so soon. They’d connected in so many ways. No one had ever made her feel so comfortable, yet exhilarated, in her life. She’d never experienced an attraction quite like this before. Dylan was beyond appealing, inside and out. Ariela had sensed he’d be a considerate and attentive lover. He didn’t disappoint. Recalling how his eyes had transitioned from gorgeous to downright devastating when aroused was enough to break her out in a sweat. Even half a world away, he managed to get to her.
Regret was impossible when she’d do the same thing all over again, without hesitation. She just wanted the chance. It was unfair that they’d been interrupted. Next time would be different. Next time, it would be her bed put to the test, her walls that failed to completely muffle the sounds they made during lovemaking.
***
The hot glare of the desert sunshine was killer, and the talc-like sand was already working its way into his crevices when Dylan stepped off the Rhino bus, the armored transport used to shuttle people between the Baghdad airport and the International Green Zone.
“Bond, you bastard.” An officer wearing the standard tan, camouflage uniform walked over sporting a big grin. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.”
Dylan grinned back. “Couldn’t stay away, Paul.” They shook hands like old friends.
Jim joined them, offering his hand next. “How’s it hanging, Paul?”
“Loose, but loaded, and ready to fire, my friend.”
Jim laughed. The one thing these two had in common was a taste for double entendre.
Dylan broke in. “Are you off duty, Barnes?”
“Just. You want to head over to the Country Club?”
“We need to stop at the CPIC first. Why don’t we meet you there after we check in and get our press badges?”
“Sounds good. I’ll snag us a table.”
***
Dylan and Jim joined the end of a small line outside the Baghdad Country Club and waited while soldiers, both men and women, checked their weapons at the door before heading in. When they were finally waved through, they found Paul sitting alone in a corner. Someone had taken the fourth chair, and it looked like he’d had to fight to keep the remaining two for them. The place was hopping.
“Beer?” a server called over heads as they headed over to their table.
“Two.” Dylan held up two fingers just in case she couldn’t hear him over the noise.
Paul nodded to them. “Sorry, the patio filled up early.”
“This is fine.” Dylan pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Seriously, I thought I’d seen the last of you.” Paul leaned in, shaking his head at Dylan.
“We’re just ahead of a campaign stop.”
“Ah.” Paul kicked back and groaned. “Another high-profile visit.”
Jim shrugged. “Tricks of the trade. They’d probably be kissing Iraqi babies if they could get close enough.”
“Hey, I saw Amir the other day,” Paul told Dylan.
“Did you? How’s he doing?”
“He hooked up with a couple of Dutch freelancers. He’s still going.”
The server brought their drinks, and a second for Barnes.
“I hope they’re treating him right. He’s fantastic.”
“The guy knows what he’s doing, no question.” Paul studied Dylan thoughtfully. “That’s what got to you, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sending stringers out in your place. It must have killed you not to be out there with them.”
Dylan blew out a deep breath. “Yeah. I felt like a goddamned baby in a highchair, waiting to be fed information. But it beats the hell out of losing a good friend.”
Jim turned on him, perturbed. “Why do you do that to yourself? You aren’t responsible for Khalid’s death. He could have been shot anywhere, at any time.”
Dylan toyed idly with his bottle. “He was working for me.”
Now Jim glared. “You had no choice. It got too damn dangerous, and you know it. If you’d gone out, you would have put more people at risk. Not just the ones working with you either, but civilians caught in the middle had you been spotted by the wrong people.”
Paul nodded, in total agreement with the photographer. “Jim’s right. You can go without shaving, tan yourself nice and dark, but nothing’s going to fool these guys once they get a load of your baby blues. Face it, Bond, this isn’t Bosnia. You can’t go native here like you did there.”
“That’s why I put in for a transfer.”
Paul was sympathetic. “What are you doing now?”
Dylan gave him a slow smile. “I’m working on holding some pretty big feet to the fire.”
Paul’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Really? Care to share?”
“Can’t. Not yet. But I’ll send you the article once it’s written.”
“I’ll watch for it.” Paul took a swig of beer and chuckled. “You always took your fourth-estate responsibilities seriously. That’s why I trust you.”
“Me too,” Jim added, and they saluted Dylan with their brews.
***
After waking much too early on Wednesday morning only to toss and turn when she couldn’t fall back to sleep, Ariela gave up and snuck downstairs to check her computer. Looking at the clock she tried to figure out Dylan’s local time. Nine A.M.?
A jolt of excitement shot through her chest when she saw another message waiting. She needed to take a moment to mentally shore up the sandbags around her heart before opening it. To her surprise, she found herself smiling as soon as she started reading. Dylan’s tone was comfortable, playful, and sexy. This she could handle. Keep emotion out of it and just have fun. She could play along.
TO: arielap@
SUBJECT: Thinking of you
MESSAGE: Since you asked, masturbation is helping me handle the distance between us. When I close my eyes I can see you, feel and smell you, all over again. You should consider it, as a healthier alternative to alcohol. Maybe we should think about getting you a little toy for those lonely nights, if you don’t already have one. It should take the edge off a little until I can take care of your needs personally. Damn, now I wish I was alone instead of hanging around in a big rec room with a bunch of off-duty soldiers. The two senators should be arriving within the hour. I love how you taste. Dylan
She stared at the computer screen, reread the message, and let out a quiet chirp of glee. Time for a reply.
TO: dylanbond@
SUBJECT: I suppose I asked for it
MESSAGE: How am I supposed to concentrate on hardwood floors now? Just so I’m not the only one at a disadvantage, you should know that your kisses are so good, you could cause long-term brain damage. What do you think of that? Ha! I do have a power tool in my drawer but, well, I’m not going to say why, it’s on temporary leave. If you don’t get back soon, conscription is definitely in its future. Weather’s lovely here. Ariela
She was stunned and elated when her in-box blinked back with a new message from him right away. He’s on right now, half a world away? Far out!
TO: arielap@
SUBJECT: My kisses huh?
MESSAGE: It’s nice to know I can rattle your bones from here. I’m not entirely indifferent to your kisses, either. Why the hell didn’t I take a picture of you with my phone? Dumb. You could send me a picture. Something sexy would be nice. Attach it to your next message. The politicians were here and gone in a matter of hours. I should be able to hop a r
ide out of here first thing tomorrow, if all goes well. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, I need to write my column, so I have to sign off. Watching for that naked picture—Dylan
She was upstairs and back in five minutes, scanning a favorite photo onto her computer for him.
TO: dylanbond@
SUBJECT: Pic
MESSAGE: This is what I have, so it’s gonna have to suffice. Sorry, but I wouldn’t even feel comfortable asking Jean to take a picture of me naked. How, by the way, did a request for a sexy picture become a naked picture? I like your chest, almost as much as I like your firm, gorgeous ass. Sorry, my mind is wandering here. I’m so glad you’ll be back soon. Come over when you can. Ariela
To her delight, he was still there and got right back to her.
TO: arielap@
SUBJECT: That was quick
MESSAGE: Nice picture. This will do. Don’t expect to see me until late Friday. I'm just on my way out to meet with an Iraqi interpreter. He comes highly recommended and he'll be a good contact to have for any residual work I might get in the future. The job is impossible without the right local help. Until I see your pretty smile in person, I’ll make do with your image. Missing you more each day—Dylan
Ariela stared at the last line of his message. He missed her? Did he just admit this could be more than sex for him too? Now what was she supposed to do? Nothing. There was nothing she could do until she saw him again. Only then would she know if they were heading toward a relationship. If he was hinting at more with that closing line, it could only mean one thing—he was through taking dangerous assignments. She couldn’t have stopped the rush of optimism when it engulfed her, even if she’d wanted to.
Chapter 8
When it became obvious on Friday morning that Ariela would be utterly useless all day, Jean decided to handle their afternoon meeting with a potential client herself and leave her partner to manage the office on her own. It was no use. Ariela lacked focus. She started out working with the new software, familiarizing herself with its features, but even that, something she loved, failed to hold her attention. She ended up playing solitaire instead.
Time slowed. Ariela was conscious of every tick of the second hand as it circled the clock. After two hours had passed without a single phone call, it was time to give up. She shut down her computer and went to turn off the big printer. Dylan walked in just as she straightened up.