by Lola StVil
All I can think of to say is, “Goodnight.”
When I saw her coming out of the shower in her robe, I almost lost my fucking mind. Her robe was too big, causing it to drape over to the side, exposing her bare right shoulder. That’s it. That’s all it took. I wanted to trail kisses down that shoulder and work my way to the dip of her collarbone, and beyond…
It got so bad I could feel myself getting hard—seriously hard—with nothing to lead me on but a shoulder. Jesus, what would her bare breasts do to me? I’d probably need medical attention. When I realized what was happening and how much I wanted her, I turned away. I did that too quickly, because I think she took it to mean I was uninterested. That could not be further from the truth.
When we were eating, I found myself telling Wonder things I have yet to tell my family. She’s so easy to talk to and confide in. I felt so at ease I started to talk about Rose. I don’t talk about my baby sister to anyone. In fact, my family has gotten on me about it, and I shut them down. It’s a miracle I even brought it up tonight.
That’s why it’s good that in the morning we will both go our separate ways. I hate being this open, this exposed. I don’t talk about how I feel or any of that shit. Things are exactly as they are. Some stuff can be changed, but other things—like the death of Rose—can’t be changed. So, what’s the use of talking about it?
So why did you bring it up?
I don’t fucking know.
Oh really, you don’t know, asshole?
Well, maybe it happened because being at this hotel brought back memories. Whatever. The point is, I will not let that happen again. No talking and opening up. No thinking about the woman in the other room or her tempting shoulder. I’m a CIA agent. I don’t bend to anyone’s will, including my own.
Do you hear that, cock? Behave. She’s off-limits. You have more than enough ‘non-committal’ pussy to choose from. You don’t need someone who is going to get to your heart—especially when she finds out you don’t really have one.
I turn towards the door that divides us, and for the first time tonight, I’m glad it does. Our connection is strong; too strong. The door is the thing keeping us from doing something reckless.
When I checked on her earlier, I came dangerously close to stroking her hair. She looked like a damn angel lying there in her thick white robe. Her personality is big and in your face, but she’s small and fragile. I looked down at her and was taken aback by my sudden urge to look after her. And now, as I lie here in this bed, my protective instinct goes on overdrive, especially when I hear her scream…
I jump out of bed and damn near rip the door off its hinges. I race over to her. She’s fighting someone in her dreams. Whatever she’s dreaming about must be horrible because she’s kicking and punching the air. I try to wake her up, but she’s too deep in the dream. I hold her hands loosely, fearing she might hurt herself.
“Shelby, it’s okay. It’s okay,” I plead with her.
“DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!” She claws and punches me furiously. It’s as if she is still lost inside her night terror.
“Shelby, wake up! Wake up!”
When her eyes finally pop open, I’m stunned by the sheer terror behind them. She looks around, not sure where she is at the moment.
“Shelby, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Gage. I’m right here. You’re okay.”
She finally realizes where she is, and she bursts into tears. I place her head on my chest. I whisper to her as she shakes in my arms.
“It’s alright. It’s alright.”
She openly sobs against me. My fucking heart is breaking, hearing her in such pain. I want to know what’s wrong, what was her nightmare about? What is she so afraid of? But even before I ask the questions, I know I won’t get an answer. She barely told me her last name—Rush. Shelby Rush. That’s really all I know about her.
When she pulls away from me, I hand her a box of tissues, and she thanks me. She collects herself and goes into the bathroom. I have no idea how to find out what’s going on without sounding like an intrusive dick. But I need to know what’s up and how I can help.
When she comes out of the bathroom, her face has been freshly washed, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I can tell she’s closing up because she folds her arms across her chest. That’s the universal signal for “stay away.” It’s as if she is telling the world—in this case, me—to stay out of her life. I hope I’m wrong.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she says.
“Wonder, I don’t care about that. What was your nightmare about? What scared you so much?”
“It’s silly. I have nightmares sometimes; I think I watched a stupid scary movie or something a few days ago. It must have stuck with me.”
“That didn’t seem like a movie-induced experience. It felt real to you. You were terrified,” I gently reply as I walk over to her.
“Yeah, well scary clowns will do that to a girl.”
I gently take her by the arm and make her look me in the eye. “Babe, tell me.”
The word “babe” came out of my mouth without permission. It just happened. But what’s even more insane is just how right it felt to call her that—babe. There was a moment of silence where I could have taken it back, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to, and besides, there will be time to assess what’s happening between us later. Right now I need to know what the fuck is scaring her and how I can put an end to it. Nothing is going to hurt her, so long as I’m here.
“It’s nothing, Gage. Just too much TV watching. I’m gonna get dressed. I’m sure my head is fine now. You can go back to bed,” she says as she gathers her clothes and heads for the bathroom. I get in front of her and block her path.
“Wonder, I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other.”
“Well, then I plead the fifth.”
“Shelby…”
She bites her lower lip and looks down at the floor as if seeking guidance from the ground. I place my hand under her chin and gently lift her head up so that we’re eye to eye. My heart squeezes. She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
“Please, tell me what happened in your dream.”
“Why? What does it matter? In fact, why do I matter to you at all?”
“I don’t know why, but you do. And I think I matter to you too.”
“Things are… It’s complicated,” she pleads.
“Yeah, I get that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t have a simple conversation.”
“Gage, you were wonderful, thank you for everything—really. I will pay for the hotel room, don’t worry about it.”
“That’s not really where my concern was, Shelby,” I reply, trying to keep my frustration at bay.
“We don’t know each other. It feels like we do, but we don’t,” she says mostly to herself.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t talk about what just happened,” I point out.
“Gage, let’s keep this simple. This was a crazy night and now it’s morning… Let’s leave it right here.”
“Is this really where you want to leave it?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate or pause at all. “Yes.”
“Okay. You get dressed, I’ll take you home.”
“But I can—”
“I’m not putting you in a cab. I need to see that you got home with my own eyes. Then once I know you’re safe, I won’t bother you again,” I assure her.
“You’re not bothering me, I just—”
“Don’t worry about it. Get dressed. I’ll take you home.”
***
It’s just after 6 a.m. when Gage pulls up to the hotel in a black Tesla. He changed his clothes before coming back to get me. The night before, he had on more casual attire. And while he looked great in jeans and a long sleeve hooded shirt, it’s nothing compared to how he looks right now.
He has on dark gray pants and a crisp white dress shirt from Tom Ford. The sleeves of the shirt are rolled up, revealing his formidable forearms. He wear
s black oxford shoes that I’m pretty sure are imported from Italy. His one accessory is a watch from Patek Philippe & Co. Its understated elegance and brilliant design makes a Rolex look like a trinket. All in all, Gage Hunter is wearing tens of thousands of dollars right now.
I love his style and his confident stride as he walks over to me. Yet despite his taste and his swagger, what impresses me the most is the way he interacts with the staff. Gage signaled to the valet, letting him know that it wasn’t necessary to open my door.
The valet nodded and backed away. Gage shook his hand, tipped him, and referred to him by the name on his badge.
I know it sounds like a small thing but normally men with money are assholes. They feel superior and belittle the staff whenever possible. It’s refreshing to have a man be kind and sincere to the staff.
Gage motions to open the door for me, and I catch a subtle hint of his cologne. I can’t place it. It could be Givenchy, Armani, or Dior. It is a heavy mix of autumn spice, cognac, and a hint of musk; combine it with his distinctly natural masculine scent, and you have the perfect elixir. I take in his scent and close my eyes, if only for a few moments.
He opens the car door. And just before I enter, our eyes meet. The current caused by our connection makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Once in the car, I buckle up, and he takes off. It’s a smooth ride; I knew it would be. It’s a high-end car that makes it feel like there is no road underneath us.
However, it’s not the car that has me buzzing from the inside; it’s Gage. The way he’s driving has an unexpected effect on me. I begin to daydream. And in my mind’s eye, he is handling my body like he’s handling the car.
He holds me like he holds the wheel: firmly and skillfully. He glides his large hands over my body like he’s steering the wheel down a curvy road. The car bends to the dip in the road; I think of him dipping his hand between my legs. He handles the drop masterfully.
He’s commanding and in control, the way I need him to be when he plots a course inside me. I lean my head back in the seat and picture what it would feel like to be the wheel and be at his mercy. What it would feel like to have his hands all over me… I sigh, not realizing it was loud enough for him to hear until it’s too late.
“You okay?” he asks.
I clear my throat and squeeze my legs together to try and tame the surge of lust and longing building between my thighs.
“Yup, I’m good.” My voice sounds raspy like I just had a shot of whiskey. I feel goose bumps run down my arms as my nipples harden against my bra. They want him too. Everything in me wants him.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“No,” I reply.
He turns towards me and notes my hard nipples underneath my shirt. I can’t be sure, but I could have sworn that was a little smile on his face. I pull my jacket closed and focus my attention out the window. I just need to get home. Then I can forget about all of this. That’s the smart thing to do. And I’m going to be smart.
“Wonder, we’re here,” he says. I look around, and sure enough, he has taken me to the address I gave him. I was eager to have the ride end, but now that we are here, in front of my apartment building, sharp pangs of disappointment invade my body.
“Oh, yeah,” I reply, not moving at all. He doesn’t push me or ask me why I remain seated. In fact, neither of us makes a move.
“Gage, thank you so much for—”
“You don’t need to thank me again.”
“Right, okay.”
There’s no logical reason for me to still be in his car but I am. And he has every right to say, “Okay, have a nice life. Now get out of my car.” But he doesn’t. We both know the sane thing to do is to say good-bye. That’s what strangers do after they share a few odd hours together. They comment on how crazy the experience was and say, “Okay, take care.” So why the hell aren’t we doing that?
“I like you all dressed up,” I admit before I have time to think it through.
“Thanks. Work.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
“Can I plead the fifth?”
“Ah, yeah. I guess so.”
“What about you?” he asks.
“That’s kind of complicated too.”
“Fine.”
He’s unhappy with my reply although he doesn’t voice his unhappiness. It’s easy to read his eyes. I feel bad that I can’t open up to him, at least about something as small as what I do for a living.
“The fact is, I don’t do anything—not anymore. I’m starting over,” I reply, hoping he will let it go at that. I bite my lower lip and try to hold back the flood of tears I feel making its way to the surface.
“Look, I don’t know who or what happened in your past. All I know is that I liked talking to you. And I don’t want to stop. Tell me you feel the same way.”
“I should go,” I reply as I swallow hard and unlock the car door. He reaches out for my hand. I feel his touch; it warms me all over.
“Shelby, why can’t we see each other?”
“I’m married.”
It’s been over an hour since I dropped Shelby off at her place and her words are still ringing in my head. And every time I hear them, they cut a little deeper. Why didn’t I pick up on it? How could I let myself get blindsided like that? I can detect spies who have trained all their lives to be undetectable. I can tell when someone is lying from across the room. So why couldn’t I tell she was married? While I’m pissed at her, the truth is the blame lies with me. Seriously, what the fuck caused me to miss such an important detail?
I find myself picking out moments where I could have asked her if she was married, but I didn’t. Why the hell didn’t I? Why doesn’t she wear a ring? Are they on the rocks or what? She tells me she wants us to be honest and then she goes and hides this from me? Why the hell didn’t she come out and say it? And who is this guy? Why would he ever let her get away?
“Gage!” someone calls out. I look up from the coffee maker in the break room. The guy calling me is Bot. We call him Bot because of his love of robots. He builds them and competes in national robotics competitions.
He’s a heavyset guy with scruffy hair and a baby face. He’s a genius when it comes to tech, and he can hack just about anything. The CIA knew it was only a matter of time before other agencies scooped him up, so they offered him a ton of money. He agreed, but not for the cash. He said yes to the CIA because, in his mind, it made him the American version of James Bond.
“It looks like it will take the Jaws of Life to get your hand from around that mug. Talk to me, buddy. What did the mug do?” Bot says.
I look down at the mug I’m holding, and he’s right. My grip on the cup is way too aggressive. My hands are white with rage, and I look like I’m on the verge of hurling the mug across the room. I didn’t realize that I even had the cup in my hand. I started thinking about her, and I guess my grip got tight.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
I like Bot. He’s a good kid. My only issue with him is the way he looks up to me. I really want him to stop doing that shit, but that’s out of my control. He asked me about my weight training routine once, and I told him about it. The next week he was weight training, trying to pick up weights three times his size. If I come in with a certain sports drink, he comes drinking the same thing the next day.
As I said, he’s a good kid. And everyone here knows not to fuck with him because they’d have to deal with me. That doesn’t mean he’s not annoying; he is—very much so. But he has a good heart. And no one is on his level when it comes to hacking and technology.
“I came in here and saw you in another world. Something wrong, big guy?”
“No, everything’s fine,” I reply.
“That’s not what I’m getting. Talk to me,” he says as he pulls up a chair and motions for me to sit beside him.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Look, I know. It’s hard for guys like us to find someone we can trust.”
“Guys like us?” I question.
“Yeah—strong, sexy, silent types,” he says, in a very serious tone.
“Oh, right.”
He places his arm around my neck and tries to bring me closer to him. He looks out in the distance as if we are looking out at the world.
“People like us, we’re the brave silent types. But we have feelings too. Let them out, Gage. Let them out.”
I move away and suppress a smile so I don’t hurt his feelings. I thank him for the offer to share and assure him that I’m okay.
“Alright, fine. But if you need a hug—don’t you dare be shy, man. I’m here. Us heroes—we gotta be there for each other, you know?”
“Yeah, man. I know,” I reply as I escape down the hall.
The rest of the day goes by in a haze. I manage to put her out of my mind. Or at least put her aside long enough to do my job. The fact is, Wonder is a road that’s closed. So there’s no point in wondering how far that road goes or where it leads. She’s taken. I don’t know the situation, but one thing is clear, she wants nothing to do with me, and as pulled in as I am by her, there’s no way I’m messing with a woman who belongs to someone else. That’s just not me. I don’t share.
I focus on helping my team find out who the traitor is and how we can stop them. Normally, I hate being in the office and prefer to be out in the field, but today, I want to be buried in bullshit paperwork and data mining. I need something to take my mind off the fact that she’s out there right now with him.
Is he holding her right now? Is he tasting her? Are they in bed together?
Shit. Is that where they are right now, in bed? Together?
“Hey man, we got a lead. You wanna check it out?” Lawson asks. Lawson grew up with Kurt Sanders. The two of them were best friends, and losing Kurt in the field did a number on Lawson. They were each other’s family. Now Lawson is out for blood. I get that. If anyone, anyone at all, ever came after my family, there isn’t anything the agency could do to stop me from spilling blood.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I reply. We head out of the office and into my car. We take off, and Lawson fills me in on the way. There’s been some chatter about the failed operation, and while they don’t know who caused it, they do have an IP address of the computer that was involved. We’re headed to the address Bot was able to obtain for us.