mgowriter's notes: Trying out something new... '_'
Edit: There is now a sequel! "The Treasures That Remain."
A Night to Remember
Her footsteps were soft against the carpeted floor as they traveled up the stairs. He followed quietly behind, feeling silly for the cloak and dagger routine in his own house but holding his breath nonetheless. She'd always had that kind of effect on him.
The candles on the dining table downstairs had run their course, leaving the rest of the house in a soft, orange glow from the streetlights outside. It was raining out; he hadn't noticed that until they finished the entire bottle of wine. The drumming of the raindrops against the metal gutters outside filtered seamlessly through their conversation. He glanced across the table and saw her studying him with a look that he couldn't read. Her eyes were brown, with tiny specks of gold reflected from the last jumping flames of the candlelight.
She asked him where his bedroom was. There was no pretense; there never had been with her. Still, he hesitated.
"Upstairs," he finally said. A dozen thoughts raced through his mind, but he could only focus on one — the first time they made love, after the most harrowing escape of their lives. They were strangers then, twenty years ago. She had the same look in her eyes.
His bedroom was at the top of the stairs, the first room on the right. She pushed open the French doors to reveal a room that had been transcribed from a picture in a magazine. The house had been his for close to two decades, but due to the jobs that required constant travel, he'd spent little time actually living in it. A large bed with a light, beige-white frame stood at the center, with oversized end tables on each side. A simple dresser and closet completed the ensemble. She swept her eyes across the rest of the space and noticed a glass window that faced west. It extended almost the entire width of the wall. He had always preferred sunsets to sunrises.
Although the decorations were sparse, she could detect the familiar scent of tobacco, mixed with the light fragrance of his aftershave. Lavender. Somehow, she had convinced him that it was her favorite scent on him. Real men could smell a little like lavender and still be tough. She couldn't believe he was still using the same aftershave.
She sat at the end of the king-sized bed and traced her fingers along the soft, Egyptian sheets.
"I imagined a water bed and mirrors on the ceiling."
He allowed himself to relax a little at her words. "What kind of a person do you think I am?"
"I've heard rumors, over the years," she said. "They can't all be untrue."
He left the last statement unanswered. "You've been keeping tabs on me?"
She stood and closed the short distance between then. "I have my sources."
They were standing just a few inches apart, close enough to see the smallest details. His heartbeat, with a mind of its own, pounded along with the shadows that danced across the room. It matched the rhythm of the now pouring rain.
A memory of a different life surfaced in his mind. He would wake up in bed, look over at her side, and want to freeze the ticking seconds of the overhead clock to study her beauty. To keep himself from waking her up, he would trace the angles of her body with his eyes, one by one, until she opened her own and smiled at him. Standing before him now, she was more beautiful than he remembered.
She didn't recall who leaned in first, but the taste of his lips a second later made her forget everything else. Their bodies aligned together perfectly, as if it had been just a day since they last touched. He was still undeniably handsome; age hadn't changed that or his charm. She could feel the familiar muscular build underneath his shirt, and allowed herself to imagine him with it off.
He was the first to pull away, ignoring the physical ache of separating from her.
"Eve, I don't know if…" His mind scrambled for words. "If this is a good idea," he finished. "You're here…on business."
Her fingers slid up to the first button of his shirt, undoing it with little effort.
"Business is over," she whispered, working her way down.
"You live…four thousand miles away," he said, reminding them both of the unforgettable fact. She left, and he stayed.
She stopped at the last button to stare into his eyes. They were conflicted, knowing what should be done but wanting badly to do the opposite.
She cursed herself then, for coming here, for making up the excuse of delivering intel and showing up at his doorstep. She could've made a phone call, or handed it over to someone else. It wasn't fair of her to do this, but she couldn't stay away. She couldn't be this close, in the same city, and not see him.
"I've missed you, Victor Sullivan," she finally said. "I've thought of you every day for the past 20 years. Tell me you haven't missed me, and I'll leave."
He shook his head. "You know me better than that."
His words were simple, but contained years of emotion. He lingered over the sight of her, knowing there would be no turning back. Of all the nights that he had shared with the many women in his life, he knew the memory of tonight, long after it had ended, would be one that he would never forget.