Chapter Two – Austere Acquaintances
"I hope you do."
She examines him for a second. Good structure, beautiful green eyes, great highlights, and most of all, pride. She idolizes a man that knows what his job was, how it was important, and what good it could do.
That was all that mattered in the relationship, the sense of who the other person was. She doesn't understand while in this office she thinks of personal thoughts, especially in the building full of prudes. But there was no place she could go today. She was forever stuck in the world of prudes, millions or prudes, millions of thousands of prudes. Ok, she was going on a little. Can't blame her though, she hasn't slept in forty-seven hours.
"Morning Sydney, I hope you didn't miss me that much." He says, she tries to smile but she is amazed of his greetings.
"How do you know my name?" She asks.
"Your father told me a quite bit about you, as much as he could." He tells her.
"Do you know when was he last?" She so desperately wanted to see her father.
"I suppose he doesn't keep up tabs with you." He says.
"Last conversation I had with him was in Istanbul over a year ago, and only for five minutes." She tells him.
"I talked to him, three weeks ago. After they finally pulled Mission XJK835 out from the archives. He had figured that the CIA wasn't done with processing your last mission with them. Anyway, he told me to tell you that he's fine and will be seeing you soon." He smiles as he opens the file, her full file from the CIA. "You father told me of your aspirations to the CIA, you would be a great operation's officer." He complements.
"I'm an assassin." She says.
"Yes, your father told me of your…specialties." He says roughly. He looked uncomfortable in the executive chair that he was sitting in. He licked his lips and turned the page of her files.
His moves were almost stressed in her presence, knowing that one of his liabilities was as evil as any enemy of the United States was. That tore him up inside, that the same people they were fighting, they were using the same evil that they were fighting. Fire and Fire didn't work; he always learned that water eliminates fire. She was too beautiful to be born with that occupation, but she was acting like it was.
"He doesn't accept it, though. But he doesn't understand that assassination was the first thing that he taught me." She tells him, sitting back further in the chair.
"He wants to put you as a operation officer."
"I don't spy, I kill." She tells him with authority. He stiffens and pears at her, who the hell does she think she is? He giving her a great deal, people would kill for that position, and he would have to see her everyday, which wasn't a bad thing.
"I'm aware of that, Miss Bristow, but I'm not in the position to put you in that place." He looked at her, with all the grace she had stored in her movements she still looked rouged and stressed. She was beautiful though, with intense brown eyes that matched the color of hazelnut, and reflected his green with a certain attractive tint.
She was a processed agent, dealing with missions more years than he worked at the CIA. He didn't know if her movements were swallowing him, but it was also a front that was produced by the best teachers. "Surely you understand."
"Very much. But I'm reconsidering the CIA." She tells him.
"Why, what would you have in store?" He asked, misunderstanding.
"I got a great offer from the NSA, I would be working as an Assassin in Paris, France with enough money to build my career further than twelve years." She tells him, his look like he was lost in roads in the hills of the plains.
Since there were no hills in the plains, it seemed like the perfect antidote. "A assassin as a average career, possibly life, then a term of twelve years. Usually assassins are terminated during the last twelve years of their career or sooner. So agencies are looking for younger, more reliable agents to deal with those hits." She tells him one final time.
"Nice try." He complemented. This woman had pulled every trick in the book; I mean she really doesn't work at the CIA, does she? He begins to become sort of amused by her.
"You have something against me?" She figured, examining him. He shifts his weight in his chair looking at her with a question in mind.
"I don't know what you mean?" He asks.
She stands up; he stands up also, always living by the polite etiquette that his mother taught him. She circles the desk, laying her fingertips along the surface. She comes behind the desk, inches away from Vaughn; she gives her one of many faces that tantalize men's senses.
She takes her fingers from the desk, raising the up to his arm, drawing circles up his muscled arms with a seductive stare. "I mean, it would hurt my feelings if the only person that knows my name doesn't enjoy my company." Her hands roam his chest, feeling his sculpted chest.
The warmth radiates of them both as she teases him by moving to his lips to kiss him, she moves her head back and forth, and every time moving her lips before he could touch her. "I would be so sad if you didn't like me." She brings her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks with her manicured fingers, lightly pressing her lips with his.
First the kiss was unexpected but desired with each force of their subconscious. Her lips were warm and lush, tasting like her cherry lip-gloss that lingers with every word articulated. His lips were placed on hers with almost little force, and the parting and resurrecting of the warmth brought him drinking in her scent.
She intensified the kiss with parting his lips and drawing her tongue into his warm mouth. He tasted the lip-gloss and the true taste of her mouth and once again battled. He brought his lips lower to grasp her mouth, she drew back unaware that he would return the kiss. His tongue entered her mouth and could not stop caressing her tongue.
With all frustration, they continue with no end to be seen. She could feel his hands, the warm large hands reaching for her waist. Her fingers moved to the back of his back, dragging her fingernails over his back softly but with passion that was suddenly pouring out of every fiber of her skin.
Her body began burning for his touch. She could feel her lacy underwear become damp as his tongue searched her mouth deeper than she could stand. She was suffering for his caress, his hands circling down her back in lazy circles.
"Kate…" he whispered. Her eyes light up in surprise, what was she suppose to do now he was dreaming about another girl.
She never felt as alive as she was at this moment. She just wanted him to keep going, keep touching her. Her knees became almost weak as she whimpered from the passion that he was exuding for her. Her mind was screaming for him, screaming for his hands on her back to descend.
Lower, lower, lower!He picks her up and places her on the desk, his hands still on her firm backside. As her body got shoved into the desk, and the desk did what it would do to any girl in a CIA office. It brings her back to her senses. She moans slightly and broke the kiss; he stared into the brilliant dark eyes, drawing him in again.
"Do I get the job then?" She says, almost out of breathe. She smiles, searching his eyes knowing that a future no will be stamped. He gets off of her; she gets off the desk and looks devilishly at him.
He stares back, trying to oppress his smile but it comes out anyway. She will do anything! This is the most that one person can do for a job! She searches his eyes, laughing at the same humor that she found in it too. "That's a yes then?"
"That's a hell no." He tells her. She crosses her arms, and her smile disappears.
"You're rude, annoying, and god-damn infuriating." She says going back to her chair and screaming at him.
"How?" He laughs; he thinks that he is being perfectly polite. She is the one that suddenly telling him death threats, jumping him in a time of passion, and then contradicting him. She is fucking crazy!
"You already know my answers, it's probably in that file if the assholes actually update those things. You already talked to my father, talked to his associates. That is infuriating and annoying. And it is rude that I tell you that I am not a spy, I do not hang from ropes, put little digital thingies on people, and most of all I will not be a lap dog." She tells him.
She suddenly intrigues him, it is not just because she wants to kill, it is because she doesn't want to be used. He feels that everyday for working for the CIA.
"What about an field agent?" He smiles.
"You are talking my language now." She sits back down.
Anyone out there!