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His Whiskey
Chapter 5
Sometime later, Michael lay in bed admiring the wild mane of curls that spilled across his pillows. She had been nothing like Devon, soft, sweet, and willing. No, Ziva had felt entirely different beneath his hands. He licked his lips in recollection of her smooth, tightly coiled muscles and demanding mouth.
Michael blinked in the dim light of the room and sat up in bed to look for his glasses which lay next to Ziva's gun on the nightstand. He could hear the rain beating down on the window pane, a sound he has always considered peaceful. He glanced down at Ziva, not wanting to wake her up by reaching across her for his glasses. He eased over her gently, his fingers close to their goal. A split second later Ziva had her gun pointed straight to his head, her free hand on his neck, pinning him against the mattress. She had thought he was reaching for her gun.
"Easy, easy," Michael pleaded with her. "Just reaching for my glasses." The sparkle in Ziva's eyes was gone, replaced by a hardened glare. He was reminded once again that she was no ordinary woman. Normal women did not have those kind of instincts. He raised his hands weakly in an expression of innocence.
"You should not do that to me," she said roughly, her breath short. Michael reached up and carefully pushed the gun away from his face. Ziva looked reluctant to put the gun down but she finally laid it back on the bedside table. Michael's heart beat wildly.
"Look—I do not usually do this kind of thing," she said. He wondered what exactly she was trying to explain to him.
"And neither do I," he replied, thinking that he very rarely slept with women he barely knew and had certainly never had a gun turned on him by one of them. His nervousness made him blurt out a question before he thought about it.
"Is that the gun you shot Hoffman with?" he asked out of morbid curiosity.
"No, we struggled and then I—no, its not the gun," she answered in a rush. Ziva's golden shoulders peaked out from underneath his comforter and her breath was still short from being startled awake. He was struck with the sudden urge to know more about this mysterious woman.
"So, uh, what's it like to shoot someone?" he asked her.
"It is what it is. It is what you have to do...These are not things I dwell upon," she answered with a small shake of her head. Michael nodded, noticing the way that she tried to convince herself. She lay back down heavily, as though troubled by her thoughts.
"Were you scared?" he asked, concerned. This time her eyes did not meet his when she answered.
"No," she said shortly.
"I'm sorry, that's a dumb question. I guess you wouldn't be an NCIS agent if you had a problem with it," he told her, believing her lie.
"I am not an NCIS agent," she said. Michael's brow furrowed in confusion. "I am Israeli Mossad." Ziva's voice softened at the end of her statement, as though afraid of what his reaction would be. Michael swallowed hard, seriously reconsidering if it were wise to have this woman in his bed. As a Mossad agent she would be highly trained and possibly highly deadly as well.
"I'm guessing Hoffman's not the first guy you've uh.." Michael started. Ziva spun around to look at him angrily before he could finish.
"Why does everyone think all Mossad agents are assassins?" she asked testily. Michael looked into her eyes, trying to read her.
"Are you?" he asked finally. Ziva blinked and narrowed her eyes but didn't answer. Michael took this as confirmation. His logical side screamed at him to get far away, but his daring took over, willing him closer to her. This is what he had asked for after all, someone different. He crept closer to that delectable pair of lips.
"You know, I've never handled a gun before," he smiled, thinking that although this was true, Ziva's volatile nature certainly qualified her as a pistol.
"Well you're not gonna handle one now," she admonished him playfully. God he wanted her.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to handle something else..." Michael leaned in close, delighting in the pretty laugh that his comment drew from her. He drank from her lips once again, pulling her into his arms and laying her against the mattress. He was beginning to realize that he could become very easily addicted to this woman, but a voice in the back of his head also warned him that he would quickly be in over his head.