The kiss had nothing to do with the mocked one he gave me in Venice for the benefit of onlookers. Although the latter lip assault had left me reeling, it wasn’t comparable. The mutual passion he was unleashing in me turned me into a wanton creature I didn’t recognize. I clung to him with all the despair I had kept bottled up since starting this ordeal. I wanted to suck in his strength and I couldn’t dismiss his not-so-subtle statement of territorial response. A low groan erupted from deep in his throat.
My feet left the floor as he slid one hand under my knees, lifting me up. He laid me gently on the bed and hovered over me at an angle, the silent question etched on his face.
I wanted him like I’ve never wanted a man before. It could be so easy to succumb to my desire to be with him. There was no doubt in my mind we were compatible.
He had seemed preoccupied by conflicting thoughts as he toyed with my hair, idly coiling and uncoiling strands around his index finger. Would it be so wrong to share mindless pleasure without bothering with consequences? We were literally headed for disaster anyway so by tomorrow, when we arrived in Istanbul, it would be the end of the line for us, since we had failed to stop the deadly fate awaiting at Sirkeci station, unless a miracle happened. It was only human to want to forget for a moment we were still little more than strangers.
I’d been in a few long term relationships and understood that I could be considered a bit old fashion by today's standards about sex in new relations.
He continued to play iron curler with my strait shapeless hair, but he was picking on strands resting in disorder array on my chest. He was working with what he must have figured innocent progress toward the strands covering my breast over my T-shirt.
How could I have fallen in love so fast? How can I offer myself without knowing if the feeling was reciprocated? Although I did not believe he was intentionally nonchalant about having a fling while on a mission, I wouldn’t settle to be the proverbial notch on his bedpost.
But then again, it’s so easy to get lost in the moment when you know you won’t have to deal with the awkwardness sure to follow.
“Mara, I… I don’t want to do something we could both regret but…” The hesitation in his voice was so endearing. His usual calm and assertive voice had been replaced by a new and foreign one. The features of his face had also transformed. His dilated pupils and uplifted brows spoke of his silent earnest as his mouth remained open, mid-sentence.
My hand lifted to his face, tracing the creases of his forehead, smoothing them away. In an instant, tension left his features.
I smiled, bringing my hand down to reach the planes of the athletic contours of his chest. I couldn’t remember when he took off his shirt. The soft hair running on his pec muscles was just enough for my liking. Enough to convey a virile chest without having the look of a caveman. I followed the swell of the taut muscles. I was tempted to continue my journey down south, but my indecision kept them on safer territory.
Stretched on his side, his legs extended beyond the foot of the bed. Leaning his head on the palm of one hand, he resumed his little finger tactic game with my hair. He was inching even closer to graze a nipple, which already pointed in anticipation of his touch. A boyish slow grin appeared, more characteristic of him. The not so innocent little game was fair play because it was a perfect match for my exploring fingers on his chest. Except that I was not ready to abdicate.
I never thought a non-decision could feel so right and comfortable when you share it with someone who’s on the same flight plan as you are.
“Having fun?” He lifted an eyebrow. I was still idly raking through the soft mat of chest hair. A light ripple of pleasure passed over his skin as my finger brushed again over his left nipple.
I offered a shy smile but stayed mute. He leaned closer, adjusted himself to lie over me and as a hypnotizer, speared his emerald eyes into my wide-opened eyes to read my thought. Only a few inches separated us, but the minimal distance was loaded with heavy implications.
“For a woman you don’t talk much, but your body’s sending me a message loud and clear.”
His lower body, nested between my legs, sent lashes of hard wire excitement to every inch of mine. Like some sexual parenthesis, that part was no longer connected to my thinking brain as it gnawed at my rational thoughts. This could only be lust, not love, at least on his part. Tomorrow, if we didn’t die in the aftermath of the explosion waiting for us at arrival, I would be nothing but the woman he had encountered on this mission. He’d forget me the minute he started another assignment, if not before. On the flip side, I wanted to know him more, wanted to explore him more, wanted to count more. There would be plenty or no time for regret tomorrow if we survived.
“Drake,” I said, lifting my hand to caress his jaw while my other hand reached for his shoulder, giving it a small pressure downward.
He lowered himself, capturing my lips. I loved to feel his weight on me, although I thought he kept a firm hand on the bed, at first, as if afraid to crush me. His mouth was firm and demanding while his tongue explored my mouth with gusto. I reveled in the search of the hint of cinnamon, still there as I savored him, unashamed. He abandoned my lips to explore my neck. A shiver of pleasure shook me when I reached for his strong shoulders, more developed than I had guessed when he was fully clothed. The tickling of his fingers traveling under my T-shirt was done with the utmost delicacy. If he continued to treat me like a porcelain doll, I wouldn’t be able to hold back the fit of schoolgirl giggles threatening to escape because I was ticklish.
“Wait,” I said, pushing against his chest. He was still nuzzling my neck and froze before lifting himself up again. We were both panting, and I found it difficult to catch my breath and articulate with a parched throat.
He misunderstood my intention because a concerned expression clouded his face.
“You have second thoughts? Want me to stop?” he said, tensed.
There was no impatience or annoyance in his voice, only simple concern.
“No… but, I—”
“What’s wrong?” he prompted.
“I’m ticklish, and you’re so gentle with me.”
“Is that so?” He grinned, full of mischief.
Me and my big mouth. In a second, he pounced on me and tested me without mercy.
“Drake… please… stop!” I was playing contortionist, trying to escape his iron grip encircling my wrist above my head him while he applied feather light teasing fingers on my ribs.
“Looks like the authorities should have started with this method of interrogation on you. Might be even better than a lie detector,” he said while continuing his devilish torture.
“Please, Drake. Stop. I swear I’ll bite if you don’t.” My voice cracked with laughter mixed with panic. My base protective instincts were ready to kick into action to get rid of my assailant, and I didn’t think I could control them when I felt cornered.
“Ok, Ok. Time out. Well, you’re quite the little tigress.” He relented, freeing my hands and leaning away.
“There should be a law against tickling harassment,” I said with simulated annoyance.
“Sorry, Princess, but all those sexy freckles needed attention, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. Why did he keep calling me Princess?
“Hey, this is domestic violence.” He laughed, dodging my pillow. “Maybe I should be less delicate and show you who’s in charge in this bed.” He pushed me down on the mattress, covering me with his tall frame.
“Well, maybe I haven’t found your weak spot yet, but mark my word, when I do, I will be just as wicked as you are.”
“Hmm, sounds interesting. Should we look for it together? I’d hate to leave you at a disadvantage here,” he said with mock seriousness.
I trailed an index finger from his chest and gave it a slow deliberate itinerary southbound until I’d reached my destination; the waistband of his pants. As I put my hand on his buckle, he closed his eyes and exh
aled.
Hesitation stopped me from going further. Was I so desperate or masochistic to be ready to set myself up for future emotional disappointments? What were we playing at here?
I was not sure if I was ready to expose myself on such an intimate level for a man who offered no kind of commitment, emotional or otherwise. I nice roll in the sack and then tomorrow everything will be forgotten or reduced to a mere “in the heat of the moment” thing.
I’ve never been a one-night stand kind of woman and had no intention on starting. But Drake was special. I wanted to keep him for myself tonight, even if just for egotistic reason, as a precious personal souvenir. If I never saw him after tomorrow, at least I could remember tonight. Yes, I would miss him terribly when he moved on to another mission, but it was still better than regretting for the rest of my life to have missed the opportunity, our only one, to be together.
I wished I knew how he felt about me. Yeah, I know, all I have to do is ask but… did it sound clingy? Would he take this the wrong way and take off? I wasn’t asking for a declaration of love or a marriage proposal but at least a little sign. Something to give me reassurance.
His hand lifted my chin up to meet his gaze.
“Could I be your teddy bear tonight?” A tender smile complemented his half-closed eyes.
“I don’t have a teddy bear,” I replied, somewhat insulted that he found me childish because I hesitated about having sex with him.
“Now you do. Scoot,” he said, giving a light swat on my behind.
He swiftly removed his pants, while keeping his underwear, and slid under the sheets with me. As promised, he pulled me close to him in an intimate spoon. I admired his self control. Everywhere that my body came into contact with his sent an electrifying hot current through me. And now I was supposed to sleep? As the initial excitement of his bare skin against mine wore off, I relaxed into a comfortable lethargic state. My senses, a minute ago torn with an acute awareness of his presence, now wanted to surrender to the warm reassurance of his embrace. I admired his ability to reign in the passion I had tasted on his lips a few moments ago. He was a man used to exerting a harsh control on himself.
Chapter 18
August 31st, Romania, Bucharest, Hotel Athene Palace, Early Morning
He had gone when my alarm clock buzzed at 7:00 AM. I found a note on the desk: “Meet me in the breakfast room at 8:00.” After a quick shower, I changed and headed to meet him.
The bright sunny dining room offered a buffet style assortment of everything from juice, Turkish style strong coffee, romanian peasant omelette, cereals, polenta and mezeluri; an assortment of locally cured cold cuts. On a side table, adorned with a basket of fruits, was a note card written Cozonac beside a sponge cake. I opted instead for a small semi-ripe banana. The passengers from the train were eating from their dainty plates as if they were in a rush. Drake did the same with the difference that there was not a speck of porcelain visible under his truckload of food.
I was glad that the intimacy we had shared last night had not produced the awkwardness I was expecting. For now, I was more than happy to leave it as a memory we both shared. That’s all there was to it, right?
After a few more sips of coffee, I was more awake and ready to face whatever this day would bring. “What’s the latest news?” I asked, not wanting to wait for him to offer. His long face showed he must have slept only a few hours, and it sure was not because of me.
“Interpol headquarters has intercepted another message from Rachid.”
To my surprise, he gave his phone a few taps and handed it over. On the screen was a facsimile opened on a secured Interpol site.
“You, pack of Infidels, with your luxury train and parties, you need to see that your capitalist ways cannot be tolerated when the children of Allah are suffering from your incessant attacks against our people. If you do not give us satisfaction within seven hours, there will be death by the Orient-Express along with our massive attack on Istanbul. Not a minute more. If you divert, evacuate or stop the train, you will cause the death of all people on board, we guarantee it. We are watching you. We will not negotiate with your governments.”
“Drake, the message includes word per word the phrase the backpacker told me in Paris, about death by the Orient-Express.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“But don’t you see? That backpacker knew about these upcoming explosions, so your source was likely right. They must have planted me with something… something similar like to what you used to track me in Venice. Don’t you think so?”
“It’s an excellent point, although if it was a simple GPS it wouldn’t trigger an explosion, but I will enquire with the Interpol technical support team. We may deal with some kind of nanotechnology in their case.”
We packed and checked out of the hotel and returned to the train with heavy hearts. Perhaps Rachid’s new message would provide Drake with a new angle of investigation. I didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy this vacation anymore and nodding with polite smiles to the people I crossed upon embarking. Some fellow travellers gave me queer looks or lifted their brows with puzzled faces.
“Mara, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning, and I will not have you skip another meal.” He glared at me when I tried to wave off the steward taking our reservation for lunch.
“Please book us for L’Oriental Chinese Restaurant at 11:45,” announced Steinfield with a firm tone. The steward darted a quick glance in my direction and then opted for a swift escape. They were serving lunch earlier today because of the scheduled stop in Chernevo for an excursion in a traditional culture exhibition center.
“I’m not hungry and I did eat a banana earlier. Besides, I don’t see the point of maintaining the appearance of normality. This is your thing, so I understand that it’s just another day’s work for you, but not for me.”
“Are you implying that I’m not aware of what’s at stake here?” he asked, his voice sharp and icy.
“It’s not what I meant. It’s just that I have a knot in my stomach right now and the thought of eating is rather revolting at this moment.”
“Listen,” he said, stepping closer and putting his hands on my shoulders, “I need you to be in shape.” He softened his tone.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to run the hell out of this train the second we arrive in Istanbul. I need to know you’ll get away in time before the explosions start.”
“You know there’s no guarantee that either of us will survive this.” I pause a moment and pleaded again like I had earlier, hoping to bend his determination to follow orders. “Please, can’t we alert the other passengers of the situation? They might want to contact their family. You know that many people on Flight 93 at least had a chance to call their loved ones before they hit the first tower in New York.”
He eyed me with a dark expression. I knew it was a callous blow to bring this up, with his family history with 9/11, but I couldn’t face the fact that those ninety passengers were heading to the slaughter like stupid cattle. They had the right to know. I’d been holding off using this argument as long as possible, but time was running out.
His eyes slanted and the tendons of this jaw hinted that he was trying his best to remain in control.
“All you would accomplish is cause distress, panic and a stampede. Do you have any idea what the survival rate of people jumping out of a train running at one hundred miles an hour is? There still might be a chance we’ll come up with a solution, and at the risk of repeating myself, I’ve got my orders and I expect you to follow them.”
Short of a miracle, I didn’t see how this situation could get resolved in the time we had left. To continue to play this charade had become unbearable, and I hated myself for my imposed silence.
His phone rang again. After a moment, he held his hand over it.
“I’ll join you there in a few minutes; this might take a while,” he said.
I stomped out of the
cabin and headed for the lavatory. Perhaps a few minutes of breathing space and a splash of water on my face would do me good. My stomach growled, alerting me it expected a meal.
As I sat in the Chinese themed restaurant, I pretended to center my attention on the sleek, shinning black lacquered panels decorating the room. The inlaid pieces of shells, in soft colors, represented a garden with birds and wildlife.
I ordered a chicken vermicelli broth and a side of Cantonese steamed Bok-Choy.
“You call this a meal?” asked Steinfield as he joined me fifteen minutes later. After ordering beef sauteed with black bean sauce, a variety of dumplings, General Tao chicken and jasmine aromatic rice, he topped it off with green tea ice cream.
Although I was amazed by the quantity of food the man could pack, he certainly did not show one once of excess fat on his trim and sculpted body. During his oriental feast, he kept insisting I taste every item.
“I don't think I can join you for the Barite cultural excursion because of my meeting with the train master when we arrive in Chernevo. I’ll oversee the planned inspection of the tracks. If I’m lucky, I’ll get my report on the latest in nanotechnology used in terrorist activities. Then I’ll be busy with conference calls to discuss the tactical lay out of evacuation if we get the Ok.”
“Can’t I accompany you? I wish I could do something useful for a change. I’d do anything you’d assign me.”
“Sorry, but can’t do. Follow your scheduled excursion. You booked this excursion from home, right?”
“Yes, so?” What difference did it make? His face held a pensive expression. Something puzzled him.
“Nothing; you must keep up with your plans. Besides, if I were you, I’d seize any opportunity to get off this train,” he whispered, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
How could he tease me at a time like this? Maybe he’d been in so many explosive situations, his self-preservation-cells had fried, rendering him desensitized at the perspective of massive destruction.
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