I shut and locked the door behind me and breathed a sigh of relief. No one had seen us. I glanced at my companion, who was looking around my room with an air of interest. I was slightly taken aback by this, then reminded myself that for him that was probably as normal as breathing. I dropped onto the bed, which creaked, and started to remove my boots, wriggling my feet as they came into contact with the air. Aah. Better. I started to lean back and stretch out onto the bed, then stopped as I realised Bobby was watching me and might take it as an invitation. Not that that would be exactly a bad thing, but, I needed a shower. Which was partly his fault.

"Nice to be away from everyone, huh?" I said. Not the world's greatest conversational opener, but I was out of smart remarks, largely because my brain was still processing the events of the past hour or so, whilst also trying to handle a huge hormonal overload.

"Uh? Yeah… yeah, it is." He tipped his head on one side and looked at me with a small smile playing around his lips. I felt myself blush, stupidly, and got onto my feet.

"I, uh, need to use…" I indicated the bathroom with my thumb. He nodded amiably as I trotted across to it, aware every step of the way of a pair of very nice brown eyes watching my rear view all the way. I slipped inside it, bolted the door and sighed with some relief, my body moving on autopilot, due to my mind being in turmoil. Half of me was crowing "Yes! I finally got laid! Damn, I'm hot!" The other half – the cautious Sienna – was screaming "You just invited a man you totally don't know back to your room! What the hell are you doing!"

As I washed my hands and hunted for a hairbrush, I tried to calm down a little and review the events of the past hour or so more rationally. Deep breath, Sienna. The fact was, I'd just had some incredibly good sex with a man I found incredibly attractive (good start). High on hormones, I'd invited him back to my room in the Army base we were both staying at following the conclusion of our surveillance operation. Which in itself was partly responsible for my current feelings of slight unreality. I'd expected I'd go along, do my usual translation thing between English, Russian and Ukrainian, watch as the men did the arresting, then go back to the Ukraine with a few extra brownie points to help build up my resume. Instead, I'd gotten involved in rescuing the survivors of a crashed plane, then ended up trying frantically to avoid being shot by a rogue CIA agent. Eventually, myself, Bobby and our temporary colleague, Andrew Davenport of the British secret services, had all ended up saving each other's lives, then arresting the CIA agent, Daniel Smith. Score one for us.

I mentally filed my thoughts about that aspect of the last two days under 'consider at a later date', because if you'd told me all this before the start of the operation, I'd have said "No way. Not me. Not the gal who went into the translation game with Interpol to get away from Daddy pressuring her to join the family firm". But as it turned out, I'd really enjoyed it. Okay, I'd been terrified during parts of it. But even then, on one level I'd been thinking, planning, determined to survive, to catch Smith, to expose him as the criminal. Perhaps, I mused, I was more like Goren than I'd thought. The implications of that for my career were something I needed to think about quite carefully. My boss, Tim Whitefield, had been hinting strongly that he'd like me to join a new division they were thinking of setting up in New York, dealing with organised crime there originating from Russia and Eastern Europe, as his right-hand woman. So far I'd not decided one way or the other, fearing that, bluntly, I wouldn't be up to the job. But now? Now, I needed to rethink.

And part of the reason I needed to rethink was outside the door right now, probably wondering why exactly I was taking so long. (The hell with it; I'd claim female privilege.) Being honest, my new thoughts about Whitefield's job offer were only partly due to the career opportunity it represented. The other part was the little voice whispering in my ear that if I accepted and went to New York, a certain very attractive NYPD Major Case detective might be a big part of my near future. Oh, I'd just said "big part". Gotta watch those Freudian slips.

I shivered with recollection. I'd spent what felt like nearly the entire surveillance operation trying frantically to ignore the fact that I'd developed an enormous crush on Goren almost from the minute I'd seen him. And why not? The man was gorgeous. Tall, dark, handsome, powerfully built, spoke German, intelligent, wonderful smile… I could go on like that for some time, and had done, inside my head, several times during the past 48 hours, except for the parts when I'd been picking fights with CIA agents, splashing around in cold seawater or getting shot at. I'd never seriously thought it would go anywhere, though. Hadn't thought for one minute he'd noticed me as anything other than a source of translation and occasional dumb remarks with red hair, somewhere around half a foot below his line of sight.

But then we'd headed off to the bar together at the end of the surveillance op, and he'd offered to walk me back, and I was suddenly very, very aware that he was watching me, too. And then we'd ended up sheltering from the rain together in a small dark storehouse, and I'd finally plucked up my courage to, well, proposition him… and then those wonderful lips had found mine, and we'd made love there and then on top of a pile of packing crates. (I mentally skipped over the part where Davenport had caught us en flagrante. Oh, I hoped I didn't have to work with him again. Or that if I did, I could find a really cutting put-down. Still, at least he was gay and it hadn't been me he'd been trying to ogle naked.)

I could only conclude from this that Bobby had been feeling the same way about me, which was fantastic. Unless he was just taking advantage of a sure thing… no. Well, I could be wrong, but I didn't really think Goren was that kind of man. I remembered his kindness to the people we'd rescued – to me, during the surveillance operation – and was reassured. No, he might not be in the same state of emotional turmoil as me, but I had to think that he at least liked me, that it wasn't just all hormones.

Remembering the incredible feel of his love-making brought a rush of images, making me giddy… his gentle lips on mine, his hands exploring me, that wonderful body stretched out underneath me… I thought irritably that I should feel more excited about the prospect of the night ahead. But, truth be told, I was as nervous as hell. I almost never normally did this – bring back a guy I'd only just met to my room – and generally when I did, I wasn't sober, and they were the kind of guys you meet in a bar, then wake up the morning after going "Why? Why did I think this was a good idea?" Hence the fact I'd not been doing that recently.

Bobby, on the other hand, was in a different category, as someone I'd just been working with. It occurred to me belatedly that I might just have screwed up my reputation if Whitefield found out. I did not want to become known as the slut of Interpol. Oh, Jesus. Too many things to worry about, so I was just going to let that one go. (Well, no-one had seen us. Except Davenport, curse him.) Not only was Bobby my ex-colleague, though, he was also fourteen years older than me, at the very top of his profession (unlike me), frighteningly intelligent and possessed of a reputation for being, frankly, a bit strange. That, and I barely knew him. Well, I only knew what I'd just seen over the past two days.

Then again, I thought, what I'd seen was pretty much all good. Strange, yes, but there was method behind the strangeness. I'd had the distinct impression that he wasn't blind to the impact he made on others, but that he simply didn't care. I'd seen him be kind, be thoughtful, be funny… and, well, I'd seen him naked, and that was not a sight I would ever regret. A little shiver ran through me at the thought, followed by a purely physical reaction. On one level, I had no doubts at all; I wanted him again.

A knock on the door. "Uh, Sienna? Are you okay?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine, sorry, just… wondering where I left my sponge bag."

"It's here on the bedside table."

"Thanks. I'll be right out."

I took a deep breath. Time to face the music. I slipped out of the bathroom, nervously. Bobby was sitting on my bed, perusing the few books I'd brought with me with interest. (Books on a surveillance operation? I read the way other people watch TV, and so would anyone else if they spent as much time as I do in the air mentally wishing death on other people's screaming children.) I quickly reviewed what I'd bought, and thanked God I'd left Bridget Jones's Diary at home. One sci-fi thriller, one historical romance, one audiobook of "War & Peace" in Russian. I was trying to get in touch with the Russian side of my heritage. So far it was staying stubbornly buried.

"So, what do my books say about me?" I asked, deciding on attack as the best form of defence.

He turned towards me, and I actually felt myself shudder slightly as he did what was fast becoming the familiar tip-head-on-one-side-and-examine-Sienna-closely-with-gorgeous-brown-eyes thing. Oh, my. I had a sudden and not altogether comfortable feeling that my thoughts earlier, just after we'd made love the first time, don't go falling for him, now, had been less the thoughts of my rational brain taking over and filing that away as a pleasant experience, than my rational brain fighting a desperate rearguard action. And losing? Could be.

"Hmm…. You have a strong idealistic streak, you're a romantic, you're so good at your job you don't need to practice translating, and you're either trying to get in touch with your Russian side or you have really bad insomnia."

I settled down beside him, pressing in close and feeling a large arm snake around my waist and pull me against him. Mmm. Could get used to this. "Idealistic streak?"

"Most science fiction is strongly concerned with…" he waved a hand (also becoming familiar) "ethical issues. Right and wrong, freed from the constraints of setting the story in our own time, our own social values, to focus on whatever particularly concerns the author; genetic engineering, issues of mind… the implications of reproductive technology."

"You read it yourself?"

"I read everything."

I could believe that. "You've tried reading War and Peace too, huh?"

"Yeah. It's better if you leave out the 'Peace' chapters."

I giggled, although I'd heard that before. But then, few things are so endearing as a man telling a very lame joke in an attempt to impress a woman. The hand on the end of the arm round my waist settled on my hip and began stroking, very slowly. I jumped slightly at the unexpected contact, and immediately cursed myself. Truth was, it had been a long time since anyone had been close to me, and I was still getting used to it. He removed his arm, and I felt a sudden surge of panic. No, don't leave; I don't think I want you to leave.

"Sienna… if you don't want me to be here, I can leave." I forced myself to look up into his eyes. Perhaps he hadn't been expecting that, because I caught a very brief glimpse of something puzzling.

"It's not that… it's just… well, this is, really unexpected, and I'm not used to…"

"Do you want me to go?"

"No! No, please stay," I almost kissed him there and then, then realised that it would come across as desperate, and that probably was the one thing that would make him leave. Who wants to be used? He smiled at me, then leaned across and kissed the end of my nose, stood up, and headed into the bathroom himself.

I stared after him, trying to decide what I wanted. Or more accurately, trying to decide if what I wanted was such a good idea. Partly, I was just scared. There was such a big age gap between us. I'd never been to bed with a man so much older, although Bobby didn't give off the vibe of being from another generation that many older men do. It was hard not to be a bit overawed. What if he thought me inexperienced? I wasn't, but that doesn't necessarily translate into being any good in bed.

I returned again to that funny expression I'd seen on his face a couple of minutes ago. What had that been? I puzzled over it for a minute, and then suddenly it hit me. I was looking at this from the wrong angle, worrying about my feelings. What about his? What if he was worried I'd reject him?

On one level, that seemed silly. Why would he care? He could attract other women, easily… but what if he didn't want to? The more I thought about it, the more it made sense, because I would have sworn that what I'd seen on his face was familiar. It was the expression of No, please don't push me away. I'd only seen it for a second or so before his guard went back up and he'd switched to being professional, in control of the situation. Well, I thought, of course he had. What man, even in this day and age, wants to come across as vulnerable? Admit to wanting to be needed, even if only for one night? But it didn't have to be one night, I thought. If I accepted his offer and visited him in New York, it could be more.

I suddenly felt vaguely guilty. I didn't think of myself as sexist, but there I was, assuming that just because he was male and older than me, I didn't need to worry about his feelings. I wondered if he himself was aware that I'd seen that expression on his face. Possibly not; maybe he didn't realise himself that that was what he was thinking. Suddenly, I felt a lot calmer. Still a little nervous, but the thought that I might not be the only one feeling that way helped enormously.

The bathroom door opened. I looked up, expecting him to step out, but instead he beckoned me over. "Come over here, and bring your spongebag."

Curious, I trotted over. I'd shed my jacket and was aware of his renewed interest in me, eyes looking me over, but his voice was just friendly. "Here, try this."

I reached the bathroom and smiled. He'd got the shower working. I tested it with my hand. Perfect temperature, too. I looked around and my smile got wider, taking in the neat row of bottles inside the shower (I'd just thrown them on the floor, intending to tidy up when I got back), the folded towels nearby, the comb and brush laid out neatly near the tiny mirror bolted to the wall. Awww… the male instinct to try and impress a woman can find some funny ways to express itself. Funny, and endearing.

"Is it okay?"

"Just right. Hey, where are you going?"

"I thought I'd leave you in peace to have your shower."

I caught his arm and turned him round to face me. Our eyes met and I couldn't help smiling.

"Actually, I was thinking… maybe you'd like to join me?"

Bobby's face broke into a wide smile, causing the reaction in me that I was increasingly finding familiar; a sort of warm glow mixed with slightly tingly feelings all over. I thought that it looked like I really had been right earlier, and that made me determined to go through with this. After all, I thought, the worst that can happen is that you might have some really great sex. I was smiling myself now, and if he hadn't started peeling off his clothes then we would probably have stayed looking at each other like that for some time. Once he started doing that, though, it was hard not to be fascinated.

I leaned against the shower, watching in delight as that big, beautiful body was revealed to me again. He really was a gorgeous man, I thought. Seen clearly in proper lighting, I could see the little signs of wear and tear on that powerful frame – a scar here, a mole there, a few grey hairs, seemingly-permanent stubble, a little weight around his belly, just like any man over a certain age – but if anything I just found them endearing. I realised with amusement that I was in that wonderfully silly state where you think everything about your partner just makes them a more perfect example of the opposite half of the species. He turned to me, completely naked, with that peculiarly male expression of pride in being naked, on display, as it were. Well, why not, I thought. Not like he had anything to worry about there.

"Are you planning to shower like that?" he asked with some amusement.

"Nope," I replied, and began shedding my own clothes with great speed, kicking them across the floor. Aah, that felt good. I wriggled in delight at being naked, free of the wretched army fatigues I'd been forced to wear for the past two days. I felt much sexier without them. I stepped into the shower and shut my eyes in bliss. I could feel him joining me, big thighs pressing against mine, his warm belly against my back as he moved round behind me. I leaned back against him, as relaxed as a kitten. Suddenly, I was aware of his hands in my hair, and I smelled shampoo. I giggled at the image in my mind's eye, big, tough, city cop washing my hair. He had such skilful hands. I wryly realised I should probably not think too hard about what he used them for when he was working. Oh well, they invented latex gloves for a reason. He stepped out of the way slightly to allow the shower to rinse off the soap. I turned round and smiled.

"I'd do the same for you, but…" I mimed jumping up and down, trying to reach. He grinned, and gracefully folded his legs, sitting down in front of me. I knelt down behind him, being grateful for the fact that the shampoo I'd bought for travelling didn't smell particularly feminine, just soapy. As I returned the favour, I could see in the shower glass that his eyes were shut too, a slightly silly expression on his face. I pressed closer to him. Nice, broad, smooth back, warm and slippery in the water.

"You're a very tactile person," he remarked.

"Mmm?"

"You just love being touched, don't you? Stroked all over." He reached behind, using my reflection in the glass as a guide, and stroked down my side, over my hip and down the outside of my leg. I shivered against his back and reached for the shower gel, beginning to wash him, which was made more difficult by the fact that his hands were doing their best to explore me again, running up and down my arms, reaching behind, not quite touching my breasts, but near them, just teasing.

I looked down, and shivered at the sight of him aroused, not fully, but like me, just getting there, body beginning to ready itself. Despite the water and soap, I could just faintly smell musk, warm, aroused male. I finished washing him and wriggled to the side to allow the water to wash off the soap and shampoo. I leaned against him, relishing the feel of him caressing me, so gentle, so skilful.

"Mmm. Yes, I do. I love that." He leaned over and kissed me, very lightly.

"Very female… women have very sensitive skin, nearly ten times more than men." He ran a hand up my side, stopping just before he touched my breast, and I let out a soft moan. He chuckled. "One big erogenous zone. So much fun to play with."

"Whereas men just have one big erogenous zone," I countered, and kissed him. Damn, he was good. This time there wasn't the same urgency as we'd felt earlier, but it was longer and deeper, him inviting my tongue into his mouth, encouraging me to explore him, learn his responses. Very gently, but irresistibly, he lifted me to my feet. I shut my eyes, being grateful for his free arm around my back, because it felt like my knees might give way any minute. Suddenly, he broke away from the kiss and reached behind me for the shower gel. I must have looked quizzical, because he smiled. "I didn't finish washing you. Besides, there's no need to rush this. We have all night."

"I hope that's going to be long enough."

"I hope you're talking about the night."

He smiled, that infuriating and wonderful smug smile I was beginning to get used to. I let out a giggle, which turned into a sigh of bliss halfway through as those big hands stroked all over me, slick with soap. He was right about me being tactile. I loved being touched like this, and I loved even more that he seemed to genuinely enjoy doing it. Finally, he reached around and turned the shower off. The bathroom was more like a steam room now, we'd been in it for so long, but what the hell, the Army owed us a lot more than a shower. He stepped out carefully, avoiding the slippery patches on the floor, then held out a hand for me. I took it, grateful for his help, then let out a small gasp as he picked me up off the floor in one motion, one arm around my shoulders, one under my knees.

I am not a particularly skinny gal, but he did that as easily as if I weighed no more than a feather. I wrapped both arms around his neck as he kicked the bathroom door open and carried me through, gently putting me down onto the bed. Bonus points for not knocking my head against the doorframe or dropping me onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, I thought, then abruptly lost my train of thought as that wonderful big body, still wet and slippery, joined me on the bed. I pressed against him, our arms going round each other, mouths meeting.

I couldn't get enough of him against me, and I suddenly decided that if he wanted to, we were going to do it with him on top this time. I wanted to feel him against me whilst he was inside me. Then again, I was in no rush for that. Like he said, we had all night, and I was enjoying cuddling up like this, exchanging kisses and caresses and delicious feather-light touches, all my nerves tingling. Let him tell me when he wants it to go further, I thought, trailing my hand across his back and finding that he had a sensitive spot just above his hip which loved to be stroked and kissed. He pulled me down against him and kissed me again. There was so much of him, I thought in delight, stretching out to my full length and revelling in the fact that he was still taller and bigger than me.

"Is this what you were thinking about all through that meeting?" he murmured into my ear. I blushed, then realised it must have been pretty obvious; even Davenport had spotted that I couldn't keep my eyes off Bobby. (Then again, given the choice between a dull meeting and mentally making love to gorgeous Bobby Goren, I would defy any red-blooded woman to choose the first option.)

"Pretty much so, yeah."

"I hope I measure up to your expectations."

"Bobby, you exceed them."

"You too, beautiful Sienna."

I blushed again. I wasn't particularly vain, and I was realistic enough to know that whilst I might be described as pretty, beautiful was pushing it. But then, he looked incredible to me. I began to explore him more thoroughly, planting kisses anywhere I found that he liked being touched, deliberately leaving the best for last.

Author's Note: And this, folks, is where I have to stop posting, since I doubt fanfiction .net will allow the rest of this little tale on here. If you're of adult age and would like to read it, contact me – my email's in my user profile. If not, here's the ending…

…Bobby rejoined me and snuggled under the covers, looking both very sleepy and very satisfied. I leaned over and kissed him, shivering deliciously as he gently stroked my face, big hands cupping my head. I sighed, pulled myself away and went off to wash and clean my teeth. As I returned from the bathroom, I looked over wistfully at him, big body stretched out, nice and relaxed under a fluffy white sheet. I loved to cuddle, afterwards, but I was aware that a lot of guys see it as clingy. To be fair, I could understand wanting your own space afterwards. But he was so big, and warm, and I loved his build, solid and muscular and comforting, not skinny or bony, and oh, the hell with it, if he didn't want to cuddle, he could just tell me.

I got in, wriggled across and snuggled up, tucking my head against his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist. To my delight, he grunted happily and pulled me closer. We spent a minute or so trying to work out whose legs should go where, then he chuckled and suddenly rolled me firmly but gently onto my side, spooning up behind me with his arm around my waist and his other arm cradling my head. I purred with happiness. He was deliciously, wonderfully warm and I felt utterly safe and cared for with him wrapped round me like this, his scent reassuring and comforting me.

"Better?" he murmured sleepily into my ear.

"Perfect," I replied, wriggling down so that my head was resting on the pillow, not his arm (he'd not thank me for giving him pins and needles in an hour or so) and tucking his other arm further over. His breathing had already gone deep and slow and even. Typical male, I thought affectionately. Just rolls right over afterwards and goes to zzzzzzzzz…

Author's Note: Now go read 'Primitive, Male'.