Warning! This chapter contains implied, adult, heterosexual sex. Nothing graphic, but if this sort of thing offends, skip this chapter!!
"Hello?" the lightly accented voice on the other end of the line spoke.
The caller stood in the phone booth, casting a glance up the facade of the building he had followed John Lee and Meg Coburn to.
"Confirming that target has landed. I've had him under surveillance. It wasn't until today that I was able to verify the intelligence received that he was staying with Meg Coburn. They left her building earlier today. Confirmed he was wounded, his right arm is in a sling. Right now he's inside the Remington Building. There is no record of ownership under his name, but that means nothing."
"Good. You will continue to keep surveillance. I want to know his every move in Los Angeles."
"Roger. I'm staked out in front of the building. I will report again tomorrow at the designated time."
"Excellent." The line went dead.
The caller looked around, stepped out of the phone booth and disappeared into the shadows.
**
Meg retrieved medical supplies and pills from her bag. Nervous about leaving John's papers out on the coffee table where they'd been left--security building or no-- she slipped them into her oversized catchall and carried it with her along to John's room.
The door was closed, and suddenly self conscious, she rapped on it before swinging it open, expecting to see John either on the bed or in it.
She was disappointed. The bedroom proper was empty, John's suit and sling thrown into a chair across from the bed. She could hear a shower running from the adjacent master bathroom. She put her bag and medicinals on the chair next to his clothing and went to investigate.
Damn the man! Cleanliness might be next to godliness but if he got his dressings wet, he was going to be in big trouble. Never mind the risk of getting dizzy in the shower...slipping, falling....
What was it they said about bathrooms being the most dangerous rooms in a house?
Meg followed the steam trail into the bathroom, brought up short once again by the elegance of the room. She tried to suppress her awe and concentrate on the shower.
It too was an elegant affair, a walk-in with a curving wall of frosted glass etched with oriental motif. She stepped closer, coming to stand just outside the opening,
"John! I wish you had waited, I could have help---"
An arm snaked out of the wall of steam, latching itself around her waist with surprising strength, cutting off her admonition in mid sentence. Before she had quite oriented herself, she was being soaked by a shower head and John's mouth was on her own, his wet body pressing against hers as he urged her up against the shower wall.
"Help me now," he murmured, his lips leaving hers and trailing kisses down her neck, his left hand expertly divesting her of dress and undergarments.
She found herself, before the sensation of his hands--yes, hands!!-- and lips on her body quite bore the thought away, being mildly annoyed that her clothing was now laying on the floor of the shower becoming thoroughly soaked. She'd have to remember to pick them up and set them up somewhere to dry. She hadn't brought a spare change of clothing, they would have to do for the next day. But she'd worry about that later.
Later.
Much later.
Meg slipped from John's arms, roused from the pleasant slumber that had enveloped them both after their lovemaking.
What had begun in the shower had concluded in the bed, the sheets still damp from their wet bodies. If their first night together had been marked by the boundaries set by John's illness, this night smashed through them.
Her senses were still singing from the ardent passion they'd shared, her nerves tingling with the aftereffects of their shared pleasure. Any concern she'd had about John's physical condition had been dashed away into insignificance in the fire that had consumed them.
She had shattered like glass and only slowly came back together again. Never again to be quite the same.
She felt different, fundamentally altered, as though she had been a butterfly in a cocoon before and the love that they made had opened her chrysalis and set her free.
Meg stood a moment looking at John, sleeping peacefully.
He was so beautiful....it almost hurt to look at him.
She wrapped her arms around her nakedness, walking softly across the room, picking up the gleaming white t-shirt from his discarded clothing and pulling it over her head.
She paused mid action, holding the cloth of the garment to her face, drinking in the scent of him, then shrugged into it, feeling almost as though the shirt were his arms enveloping her.
She moved to the window of the bedroom, looking through the levered blinds at the lights of the city beyond.
She did not know how long she stood there, lost in the wonderment of this evening and the knowledge that her soul was no longer her own.
It was linked inextricably with that of John Lee.
John started awake, the vestiges of a nightmare clinging to his consciousness.
Already the images were fading, his mind losing its grasp on them as consciousness fully returned.
A legacy of his past...mixed with new images. Fear for his life replaced by fear for that of another.
That the dreams had involved Meg, he knew. That they'd been violent and horrific, a given.
His nightmares always were, the price he paid for the life he'd led.
His right shoulder throbbed from overexertion and strain, but he dismissed the pain, counting it as small price for the gift of this night's lovemaking with Meg. He'd finally been able, through sheer force of will, to make his body express the full intent and extent of his desire and devotion.
Meg...
His left arm reached out, searching for the warmth of her body beside him.
She wasn't there.
No wonder he'd awakened to nightmares and feelings of utter loss. She had moved out of his arms and out of the bed, her action unknowingly triggering the dream....
His eyes searched the darkness, drawn to her by instinct, the bond between them attracting his soul to hers. Had the room been totally black, he knew he would have been able to find her, drawn like a moth to the flame of her being.
She stood at the window, her tall, willowy form outlined by the ambient glow of a September evening. She was wearing his undershirt, her arms clasped around herself as though chilled.
He rose silently, resurrecting the stealth that had made him so deadly in his old life, moving soundlessly to cover the distance between them. He ignored the protest his right shoulder made against the exertions of the evening, forcing both arms to obey his commands equally.
John slipped those arms around Meg, drawing her back against his body, riding out the frisson of nerves that physical contact with her always created, his desire reawakening.
His hands slipped under the t-shirt, his more limber left exploring while the right settled against her belly, relishing the warmth of the skin beneath his aching fingertips. The fire that burned the length of that arm a small price to pay.
She moaned softly, turning in his arms, her mouth seeking his out hungrily, her hands answering the movements of his own, exploring, teasing.
He urged her back to the bed, and the ardor flared again.
It was some time before, satiated, their bodies surrendered to sleep once more.
end of chapter 10
"Hello?" the lightly accented voice on the other end of the line spoke.
The caller stood in the phone booth, casting a glance up the facade of the building he had followed John Lee and Meg Coburn to.
"Confirming that target has landed. I've had him under surveillance. It wasn't until today that I was able to verify the intelligence received that he was staying with Meg Coburn. They left her building earlier today. Confirmed he was wounded, his right arm is in a sling. Right now he's inside the Remington Building. There is no record of ownership under his name, but that means nothing."
"Good. You will continue to keep surveillance. I want to know his every move in Los Angeles."
"Roger. I'm staked out in front of the building. I will report again tomorrow at the designated time."
"Excellent." The line went dead.
The caller looked around, stepped out of the phone booth and disappeared into the shadows.
**
Meg retrieved medical supplies and pills from her bag. Nervous about leaving John's papers out on the coffee table where they'd been left--security building or no-- she slipped them into her oversized catchall and carried it with her along to John's room.
The door was closed, and suddenly self conscious, she rapped on it before swinging it open, expecting to see John either on the bed or in it.
She was disappointed. The bedroom proper was empty, John's suit and sling thrown into a chair across from the bed. She could hear a shower running from the adjacent master bathroom. She put her bag and medicinals on the chair next to his clothing and went to investigate.
Damn the man! Cleanliness might be next to godliness but if he got his dressings wet, he was going to be in big trouble. Never mind the risk of getting dizzy in the shower...slipping, falling....
What was it they said about bathrooms being the most dangerous rooms in a house?
Meg followed the steam trail into the bathroom, brought up short once again by the elegance of the room. She tried to suppress her awe and concentrate on the shower.
It too was an elegant affair, a walk-in with a curving wall of frosted glass etched with oriental motif. She stepped closer, coming to stand just outside the opening,
"John! I wish you had waited, I could have help---"
An arm snaked out of the wall of steam, latching itself around her waist with surprising strength, cutting off her admonition in mid sentence. Before she had quite oriented herself, she was being soaked by a shower head and John's mouth was on her own, his wet body pressing against hers as he urged her up against the shower wall.
"Help me now," he murmured, his lips leaving hers and trailing kisses down her neck, his left hand expertly divesting her of dress and undergarments.
She found herself, before the sensation of his hands--yes, hands!!-- and lips on her body quite bore the thought away, being mildly annoyed that her clothing was now laying on the floor of the shower becoming thoroughly soaked. She'd have to remember to pick them up and set them up somewhere to dry. She hadn't brought a spare change of clothing, they would have to do for the next day. But she'd worry about that later.
Later.
Much later.
Meg slipped from John's arms, roused from the pleasant slumber that had enveloped them both after their lovemaking.
What had begun in the shower had concluded in the bed, the sheets still damp from their wet bodies. If their first night together had been marked by the boundaries set by John's illness, this night smashed through them.
Her senses were still singing from the ardent passion they'd shared, her nerves tingling with the aftereffects of their shared pleasure. Any concern she'd had about John's physical condition had been dashed away into insignificance in the fire that had consumed them.
She had shattered like glass and only slowly came back together again. Never again to be quite the same.
She felt different, fundamentally altered, as though she had been a butterfly in a cocoon before and the love that they made had opened her chrysalis and set her free.
Meg stood a moment looking at John, sleeping peacefully.
He was so beautiful....it almost hurt to look at him.
She wrapped her arms around her nakedness, walking softly across the room, picking up the gleaming white t-shirt from his discarded clothing and pulling it over her head.
She paused mid action, holding the cloth of the garment to her face, drinking in the scent of him, then shrugged into it, feeling almost as though the shirt were his arms enveloping her.
She moved to the window of the bedroom, looking through the levered blinds at the lights of the city beyond.
She did not know how long she stood there, lost in the wonderment of this evening and the knowledge that her soul was no longer her own.
It was linked inextricably with that of John Lee.
John started awake, the vestiges of a nightmare clinging to his consciousness.
Already the images were fading, his mind losing its grasp on them as consciousness fully returned.
A legacy of his past...mixed with new images. Fear for his life replaced by fear for that of another.
That the dreams had involved Meg, he knew. That they'd been violent and horrific, a given.
His nightmares always were, the price he paid for the life he'd led.
His right shoulder throbbed from overexertion and strain, but he dismissed the pain, counting it as small price for the gift of this night's lovemaking with Meg. He'd finally been able, through sheer force of will, to make his body express the full intent and extent of his desire and devotion.
Meg...
His left arm reached out, searching for the warmth of her body beside him.
She wasn't there.
No wonder he'd awakened to nightmares and feelings of utter loss. She had moved out of his arms and out of the bed, her action unknowingly triggering the dream....
His eyes searched the darkness, drawn to her by instinct, the bond between them attracting his soul to hers. Had the room been totally black, he knew he would have been able to find her, drawn like a moth to the flame of her being.
She stood at the window, her tall, willowy form outlined by the ambient glow of a September evening. She was wearing his undershirt, her arms clasped around herself as though chilled.
He rose silently, resurrecting the stealth that had made him so deadly in his old life, moving soundlessly to cover the distance between them. He ignored the protest his right shoulder made against the exertions of the evening, forcing both arms to obey his commands equally.
John slipped those arms around Meg, drawing her back against his body, riding out the frisson of nerves that physical contact with her always created, his desire reawakening.
His hands slipped under the t-shirt, his more limber left exploring while the right settled against her belly, relishing the warmth of the skin beneath his aching fingertips. The fire that burned the length of that arm a small price to pay.
She moaned softly, turning in his arms, her mouth seeking his out hungrily, her hands answering the movements of his own, exploring, teasing.
He urged her back to the bed, and the ardor flared again.
It was some time before, satiated, their bodies surrendered to sleep once more.
end of chapter 10