Chapter 1:

Boy meets Girl

"The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire."

― Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark

Sri Lanka, ඉරණම (The Destiny Resort)

The water was green. It was pearlescent with its nearly flawless foamy waves that touched the toes and tantalized the senses. Green was such a plain word, such a useless word. Strange how there hadn't yet been a word to describe the beauty of the ocean. Not one that did it justice.

It was mostly empty this time in the morning. He wiggled his toes in that warm sea foam water and sipped his drink. He was on vacation; he was entitled to a drink at 7 am. He wasn't a drunk. He may well be by the end of the day if he kept it up and for the first time in years, he was okay with that too.

The expensive scotch tasted like what the water felt like; heaven. It had been a long time since he'd been this relaxed. He wanted to stay here forever. Part of him knew that was stupid and spoke long about the boy who still waited inside him for his turn to return. That boy had died in Raccoon City…no…not died. That boy had gone to sleep in Raccoon City. He was just waiting to wake up again.

He scanned the line of sand and water. The resort he'd chosen was lovely. It consisted of a club house and a smattering of private beach "shanties" along the shore of a private portion of beach. Sri Lanka wasn't nearly as traveled as some touristy spots. The rocky republic climate kept most of the family types away. And the language barrier could be vast here. English wasn't a second language here, it may well be a fifteenth. Those who didn't speak Sinhala, the native tongue, might find themselves struggling to enjoy their visit.

Luckily he was fluent in most languages. He struggled a bit with the Swahili sects of southern Africa. But he was coming along there as well.

A few beach goers were out hunting shells and taking in the beauty of the morning. It looked like rain about four kliks out over the ocean. He figured there would be a down pour by days end at the rate of the wind and movement. And he hated that even here, in this moment, he couldn't shake his training. He was aware that he could run flat out without much trouble at this altitude and humidity. He was aware that his hut was thirty five yards from the nearest main road and that that road was forty two minutes on foot from the closest access point. He was aware that it was a very, very hard swim to the nearest port for commuting if he had to flee into the water. He was aware the bar tender had some martial arts training and kept a shot gun beneath the bar for trouble. He was aware the couple down the beach were slightly drunk from the night before and that the man could handle himself in a fight. He was aware that it would take emergency services twelve minutes to arrive on scene in case they were needed.

And he just wanted to enjoy the fucking water for five seconds.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed it back through his hair. The perfect cut of it settled back over his features with all the grace of good genes and a great stylist. He was blonde and thirty five, his body was disciplined into perfection and strength, from the cut of his abs to the swell of muscle in his biceps. The eyes beneath the hair were blue with a gray undertone, light, pale and pretty with a shock of thick dark lashes above a perfect patrician nose gifted from generations of great breeding. He was handsome, movie star so, and from multiple generations of good family money.

And he was a killer.

Natural really. He'd tested higher on all the evaluations then any spy in the last decade. He'd be a cop for one day and a killer for the last thirteen years. He'd seen and done and lived things that haunted his sleep, that ruled his dreams, that raped across his conscience in a nearly painful way. And this was his first break from it in years.

It didn't seem likely. It would take some kind of miracle to get his mind off the shit he'd seen.

She came out of the water like a goddess in some kind of brilliant man's idea of a bathing suit. It was a couple of white squares covering all the right –and wrong- places and slim braided bracelet around her wrists with tiny white conch shells. She was toned, tanned, taut and beautiful. Her dark hair streamed around her as she moved and water gilded her like a siren sent from the sea to steal his soul.

He watched her move to the beach bar and order a drink. And he wasn't the only one having one at 7 am.

He made a gesture to the waiter as he was moving toward her to serve it where she'd taken up lounging now on a towel about twenty yards away. The waiter stopped and smiled.

"My tab," He told him, "And anything else she wants."

The waiter smiled conspiratorially and moved off to serve the drink. Something fruity with a lime on the glass. The woman lifted a brow, smiled, spoke to the waiter with curiosity and then looked over toward him.

Their eyes met, held, she lifted her drink in a salute and he gestured back.

He rose and moved toward her. She patted the edge of her towel and down he went, sitting beside her in the shimmering white sand.

She'd slipped on a pair of Gucci sunglasses in red. They were cute, square, and highlighted her perfect jaw. But the eyes had been blue.

She studied him, shifting in the sand.

Handsome. Very handsome. And very, very interesting.

She hadn't considered a romance while she was here. It was brief, her stay, and very selfish. She didn't have the time and shouldn't waste what she did have here. But she couldn't resist. A few days away had been impossible to refuse.

She wondered if they'd even exchange names.

"Thank you for the drink," She spoke the language flawlessy but something in her accent told him that she was…

"American," And he was surprised how delightful that was. So he spoke to her in English. "You're American."

"You too." She was surprised and curious. "I thought I was the only one who knew about this diamond in the rough."

"Looks like there's two of us." He liked looking at her and it had been a long time since he'd liked looking at a woman. "Business or pleasure?"

She smiled. "Pleasure. Hopefully lots of it."

"Hopefully for both of us." He considered, weighed the risk, and lied. "I'm Ross."

She considered, weighed the risk, and lied. "I'm Rachel."

He laughed and so did she. "Maybe I should have said I was Chandler."

She laughed again, so easy. And realized she liked him. He was funny. And she liked funny. Funny and handsome, clearly with good taste –the Oakley sunglasses he wore were expensive – so she shifted a little more toward him.

He was dressed for swimming in a pair of blue trunks with a white button down shirt left open over his flawless chest. The shirt was Boss and fantastic quality linen. The trunks were Nautica and clearly meant for swimming with a purpose instead of recreational. He was honed, healthy, and very fit. It was clearly he took care of himself.

"Do you wear sweater vests all the time?"

He laughed, charmed by her. "What if I said yes?"

"I don't think my heart could take it. I much prefer picturing you as James Bond…" She studied him closer. "Or Indiana Jones."

"I do have a fondness for whips."

"What about hunting for ancient shit?"

"I'm the oldest thing on this beach, doll."

She laughed again. She figured they were about the same age actually. Old enough to know better but young enough to do it anyway.

"I could be your Laura Croft."

He smirked. "Oh definitely. Although I haven't heard the british accent to be sure."

She affected a perfect English accent. "I'm a bit of a bloody chameleon."

Impressed he arched a brow. And affected his own. "Maybe ours is a Sherlock and Watson relationship."

"You mean quasisexual homoerotic?"

And he laughed again. "I don't think there's anything quasi about it. I'm still hoping for the sexual."

She liked the lines at the corner of his eyes when he smiled. She leaned over and slid his sunglasses down his nose to see the rest. And shouldn't have been impressed but she was. Husky eyes. Sharp, bright, the gray blue of a winter a sky before a storm. He was nearly painfully handsome.

Once upon a time he'd have been a complete waste of her time. Handsome, charming, intelligent, athletic men often were terrible in bed. They felt their good looks excused them from being good at it. But she was betting he was going to live up to his packaging.

"You sure you're not Joey under it all?"

He smiled at her…or leered and turned on a pretty decent Italian by way of Brooklyn accent. "How you doin?"

"Nope." She laughed. "Definitely Chandler."

"Maybe I should be insulted by that."

She rose.

"Actually I always wondered what would happen with Rachel and Chandler without that idiot Ross in the way."

He studied her from the ground.

"Want to find out?"

And he rose, bringing his drink with him.

She lead him down the shore to her shanty. It was elegant in a laid back beach bum kind of way. It had shabby chic qualities one expected in a resort without all the modern trappings one might want from something high end. The furniture was whicker, the plumbing adequate, the ceiling fan that made up the only cooling agent –save for the sea air- was etched bronze leaves.

She placed her drink on the eat at ar that made up the only dining in the tiny kitchen and turned toward him.

He caught her under the arm pits and lifted her, setting her on the bar. Her hands pushed the shirt from his shoulders with a whisper of expensive cloth. Their mouths met, wet and hungry, needy and nearly desperate. It was a good kiss, passionate and pure in the sheer lust of it.

He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her into his mouth, showing her that he knew exactly what he was doing here. Any bumbling idiot could fuck a girl but kissing…that took skill. Sitting on the bar she was slightly above him, she wrapped her ankles behind his ass and tugged him closer into her.

Her wet skin slid against the warmth of him and made her hum into his questing mouth. She knifed her fingers into his hair, loving the silkiness of it against the skin. He could taste the sea on her, a heady, powerful saltiness that spurred the blood with madness.

His hands tugged the ties of that tiny swimsuit and he freed her from it, tossing it away. His hands filled themselves with her breasts, full and soft and inviting. She was busty and lusty and wonderful and he felt himself start to drown in the taste of her and his need to have her.

For the first time in a long time, he forgot to do anything but want.

He skimmed his hands up her back and back down, hooking them under her ass to lift her. She clung to him as he carried her effortlessly to the bed and dropped her on it. She laughed with pleasure at the artlessness of it and welcomed him atop her with open arms.

He bracketed her hands above her head, dropping his mouth to her neck, to the top of her collarbone. He feathered kisses over the crests of her breasts, running his tongue in lazy circles over the pretty pink nipples until they peaked with pleasure. He circled his way down to her belly button and nipped playfully at her through the swimming suit bottoms.

She gasped with pleasure and shifted her hips toward him. Her hands stayed in place above her head as he peeled them off her, slowly, sculpting her legs with his hands as did. She shimmered under him, vibrating with need. And he pressed his mouth to her, delighting in the taste of woman, in the hunger that thrummed and threatened to choke him. He had to have her. Needed her. Greed for her in a way that had no name…somewhat like the color of the ocean.

She should have known he'd be good with his tongue. Of course he would be. Didn't he kiss like he'd been born to do it? She felt the snap inside of her before he'd barely begun and let the orgasm rob her of her sanity. She cried out, clutching the sheets beneath her hands as her hips jerked up toward him as if her body was begging him to take more.

He was masterful, taunting. He worked her like he'd been paid to do it. He kneaded and she needed. He tasted and she hungered. He took and she gave until she thought she'd die from it. She felt her body bow, begging.

He found himself wanting her to say his name. His real name. And he felt a little panic at the idea. To hide it, he destroyed her. He slid his fingers into the wealth of her, loving the feel of her, hot and wet. She rode him, gasping, desperate.

Her greedy fingers pulled his trunks from him as he rose back up her body. They kissed and the taste of her was heady between them. She rolled him beneath her and mirrored what he'd done, her tongue and teeth marked him, stole his breath. He sat up with her on his lap, pulling her tightly to him to take her mouth in a kiss that rolled tongues, robbed brains.

Her hands memorized him, molding his flesh to her fingers like a sculptor with the perfect clay. She slid hers over his stomach and found him hard, hungry, and perfect. It was almost ridiculous for a man to be sculpted so beautifully from head to toe. She flicked a thumb over the moist tip of him, teasing.

He surged against her hand and she cupped his face, arching above him to watch his expression. Eyes closed, lips parted, he wasn't just handsome…he was perfection. An angels face. The face one would hunger to paint and leave forever in oils on a canvas. It was the face of temptation and redemption and obsession.

She felt like she'd never wanted another man more in her life.

She shifted, lifted. And he caught and held her.

"Do you have anything?"

She tried to make sense of the question in the haze of euphoria surrounding them.

"What? Like…diseases? No I'm clean."

He laughed a little desperately as her hands cupped and rolled him, teased him. He thought he'd die right there. "I meant protection. Do you have anything?"

They kissed again, long, torturous. He rolled her now beneath him and rubbed himself against her body. It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. He felt the pressure building in his groin until it would probably explode and kill them both. He had to be inside her.

Desperately, she roused enough to grab his face. "Stop being such a gentleman."

He laughed, thickly. He was that. Had always been that. And almost hated himself for it.

They kissed again, thick and slow. He lifted himself off of her with more than a little regret.

She lay on the bed, waiting. And it took a long moment to realize he wasn't coming back.

"Is it me?"

He glanced at her. Beautiful, naked, pinked from his caress and wanted to throw himself on her, spread her open and fill her with himself until he couldn't move.

"It's you. Yes. Entirely you."

Horrified, she started to cover herself up. And he caught her hand, tugged her to her knees. She fell against him and couldn't draw a breath as he kissed her.

"Stay here. Wait. I will be back in…seconds. Less."

"Where are you going?"

"Protection."

She laughed, delighted by him. "Seriously?"

"My Mama raised me to protect the ladies."

She slid her hands over his hips and down his ass. He shivered.

"The closest place to get anything is town. Looooong way from town. Too long."

He drew her in and kissed her again. And again. And again.

Somehow he was atop her again. They rolled and she arched. His hand cupped her, he slid two fingers into her and she made a sound that nearly forced him to go right there.

He bracketed her hands again and used his fingers to do what his body wanted, he fucked her. Almost torturously, he fingered her, deep, fast. She felt her vision blur.

She let the orgasm burst through her this time like a tornado. She arched, gasping, thrashing a bit with it as her muscles spasmed, seized, and dumped her into oblivion in a wet and facile ride. When he started to draw away again she grasped him and rolled.

He tried to put a hand between them to stop her but she pushed his arms over his head and held him down. Surprised, he tested her. She was stronger than she looked. He had to push with a good deal of strength to move his arms.

"Stop me." She taunted it, kissing his mouth, gently biting now. He strained his neck to kiss her back but she shook her head. "Can you? Stop me?"

She slid herself over him, wet, taunting. He should, he knew, a good guy didn't bare back a girl he just met on the beach. It's how you ended up with a squalling baby or an itchy dick. It was stupid. It was impulsive. And he was neither.

And he had never wanted to be both more in his life.

She shifted and he thrust himself into her. Surprised, she released his hands and grabbed his shoulders to lean up. She was glorious and he slid completely over him, sheathing him inside her. They groaned together now, complete.

His hands grabbed her hips and ground her against him. She arched, gasping, and rode him. It was smooth, fluid, it was fast and faster now. Desperate, she used her strong thighs to take him and hold him and milk him.

He shifted and rolled her beneath him. Their hands joined above her head, he leaned away enough to watch himself plow into her. She watched the line of his chest and felt the thrill of his body shoving into her again, again. He met her eyes, held them, and rode her now.

He rode her like he'd push through her and come out the other side. She couldn't look away. Her eyes stayed locked on his, almost trapped. The pleasure arched between them, sparking into nearly painful waves. She locked her fingers with his and held on.

The storm burst over them in a wave of desperate and endless greed. She cried out and locked her legs around his waist, feeling the plunge and plunge and plunge of him with an almost murderous glee. Don't stop, she thought, Don't. I'll die.

He kissed her, once, wet and slow. And she felt herself fall into those eye, fall, and couldn't remember anything but gray and blue and greed. She shuddered, ripped apart by the orgasm this time as if a hand had spread its fingers inside her and burst her open. He ground himself against her as she came, forcing her to take him as he deep as she could. She felt him reach the end of her and try to go farther. Just as it was almost too much, almost too painful, he pulled out of her.

With a gasp, she felt his absence like a punch to the gut.

He was shuddering on the bed beside her now, staring up at the ceiling.

"You didn't go?" She said, softly.

"Too much of a fucking gentlemen."

She rolled over until she was over him now and impaled herself on him. He jerked, surprised, she forced his hands back down and rode, slow, slow, hungry.

"I'm not." She said softly. And their eyes caught again. "I'm no lady at all."

She forced his body into a nearly manic pace now. She felt the sweat, heard the gasping, felt herself up, down, up, down. She took everything he had until their skin was so thick with sweat it was a wonder they didn't simply slide apart from it.

He struggled a little as he approached his own release. She saw it in the tension in his body, in the panic of his eyes. And she loved it. Loved that torture. It made her hot in ways she couldn't begin to describe. She got the feeling he was a man who was always in control. Always. Utter, ridged, complete control of himself, of his situation, of his reponse.

She held him down, fucking him. "Stop me."

The pleasure on his face was mixed with an almost pain. He pushed himself up into her, again, again.

She licked his lips now and sunk into that mouth in a bone numbing kiss.

Their eyes held.

She went very still, very quickly atop him.

"Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Living dangerously here."

"Only way to do it."

They kissed again. She leaned back to look down at him.

"Such power. Why do I want so badly to take it from you?"

Amused, aroused, with thunder in his blood, he met those eyes of hers. "Think you can?"

"Oh I know I can."

"Prove it."

It was the most dangerous thing he'd ever done. He'd done shit that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He had no regrets. But if he didn't do this, do her, do it now he'd regret it forever.

She proved it. She rose up to arch above him, her hands released his to grab his thighs as she leaned back and rode, rode, rode. Her taut, toned body didn't quit. She was a machine, a goddess, yes, a goddess. She was a siren after all calling to him to come to her, to come in her, to come for her.

He slid a hand up her toned stomach, between her flushed and beautiful breasts. His hand slid around the base of her throat and squeezed. Surprised, her eyes flew open. His other arm wrapped around her hips and held her there as he shoved himself inside her.

There was no rhythm now, just flesh, fast and furious. The meaty melding of skin and sweat and souls. He flipped her onto her back and held her down with that hand around her throat. Not choking, just holding her there. He hammered himself into her nearly punishing her, punishing them both for it. For all of it.

Her legs came up and wrapped around his flanks, she held him there, against her. The taste of her mouth, the smell of her – he allowed it to finally, finally, blissfully surround him until he was lost. He was lost in her, in this moment, and he buried himself in her and let go.

The rain came and brought the wind with it. They lay together listening to the wash and rush of it on the thatched roof of the shanty. It was a good storm – strong but not threatening. She circled her finger over his nipple listening to the rhythmic thump of drops above them.

The sheets were tangled in tantalizing ways along his body, wrapped around knee and calve. Her thigh was draped over his groin, carefully concealing the wonderous sight below. He really was beautifully made. It was almost comic how wonderful he was. Slim and fit like a runner or a swimmer or a greek god of speed and agility. She regretted that this time would eventually come to an end.

"Are you hungry?"

She rose to look down into his face. He was smiling at her as she studied him.

He scooped her bangs back to look into those eyes. Gorgeous. She was simply gorgeous. The face was classic beauty. With pouty lips and up turned blue eyes. Her brows arched lovely and perfect. She had a tiny scar at the corner of one eye. He touched it now, gently.

"I'm hungry," He replied and rolled over to kiss her.

There was a difference here in this kiss. It was delicate, questing. He was tasting her, yes, but he was tasting more than her mouth. He was learning her now, taking the breath from her with the intimacy of it. She slid her hands up his back to hold him to her. He cupped her face to deepen the kiss.

He leaned away to smile at her.

"Let me take you to dinner."

"In this rain?"

He laughed a little. "So let me cook you dinner."

"I might have an egg."

He rose and put on his trunks, much to her disappointment.

"Ok. So we go out, in the rain. Say yes."

"I would love to."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He slipped on his shirt and glanced out the door into the pouring rain. "I'm about two hundred yards down the beach here. Wait here. I'll go change and come pick you up. Half an hour?"

"Great."

He scooped her up, sheets and all into his arms. She clung to him as they kissed goodbye. And she felt…something…in her belly that delighted her.

He laid her gently back down. "Shame to get dressed, really. But you won't be dressed for long."

He disappeared out the door into the rain.

She lay there smiling for a long moment and then rose to dress. She hadn't brought much with her. Just the little summer dress in pale green and her strappy cork sandals she'd bought at a gift shop. She slid on both after a quick shower. She bound her hair at the back of her neck with a ribbon and skipped the make up. He'd seen the show, no reason to over due it.

She expected a honk to signal his arrival but he popped back into the shanty instead.

He was in a pair of light weight beach khakis topped by a collared shirt in baby blue. It was loose weight again, probably Armani, and left open a few buttons at the collar to be casual. He wore a casual pair of sandals that looked like they might cost a month of rent in New York.

He pulled her into his arms. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

They dined in Kandy near the Temple of Tooth. The Buddhist influence could be felt in every corner of the small village. Kandy was the last capital of the Sri Lankan kings, it was popular for Buddhists to come and pray in the temple. The heritage of generations remained in the peaks and towers and the culture of those who worked and lived there.

There was serenity to the Buddhist lifestyle, a simplicity. It could be found in the preservation of history and in the faces of children still playing together instead of playing on their phones. The monorail ran the length of the city, providing views of rolling green hills and wide open spaces. He never wanted to leave while he was here.

She was his type of woman in more ways than one. She loved curry and they shared the mutton and rice with equal interest and joy. The wattalappam was delicious, delighting the palate and ensnaring the senses. Delicate – it took a certain set of taste buds to appreciate the egg pudding.

It was still raining when he tugged her out to dance. The warm wash on the skin was magical. And she was charmed, more than charmed, she was sort of afraid she would start to crave him. The music was beautiful – played by musicians under a tent on oboes and flutes, drums called gata beras and singing – drifted through the air.

The romance of it wasn't lost on her or him. Instead they embraced it. It swelled up and seemed to form a bubble around them.

He kissed her in the rain, slow and steady.

She watched water drip off his eye lashes and opened her mouth to say something sweet. He swept her up and over his shoulder.

She had a handful of moments to figure out what he was going to do.

"NO!"

And he waded into the churning and cold ocean and dropped her.

She came up sputtering, laughing.

"You son of a bitch!"

He was on the shore, shedding his clothes. She did the same and they swam into the water now, naked and blissful.

Like playful otters they rolled together and kissed, hands slipping on slick and sweet flesh. He loved her in the water, the rush of salt and spray surrounded them. The rain peppered their skin cool and fragrant and the rumble of thunder spurred them forward.

They wore their damp clothes back to his shanty.

She didn't get far inside the door before he caught her. They clung as he lifted her against him and carried her across the room into the bathroom. He slid the dress from her with little effort and the rush of warm water filled the room.

He pressed her against the wall of the shower as the soft water rushed over their salty skin. She pushed her hands into his hair and kissed him.

He watched her in the brush of the water, scooping her hair off her face. Something low in her belly tightened.

"Where have you been all my life?" He asked now and the wonder in his voice made her heart ache.

And she wanted to tell him her name. For the first time in a long time, she wanted that. She wanted that honesty.

But instead she drew him to her and took his mouth again.