Near Death Experience – Chapter 5
A/N: This chapter is called Eyes Wide Shut and it is primarily from Zoe's POV.
He was different, Zoe thought.
John Reese was always intense, but today he was edgy, even a little surly – some of it she was sure, was attributable to wearing a poorly designed polyester blend uniform and lugging people's belongings around, but there was something else.
He was looking at her. Appraisingly, speculatively.
Zoe Morgan had a fairly straight forward approach towards the men she was interested in. Nothing too overt – most of the men she dealt with had their lives scheduled to the minute by their staff, so in matters of the heart, they liked to believe that they were in charge.
A touch of the hand, a phone number, maybe a drink - Zoe let them take the next step, while all the time letting them believe that they were taking the first one.
Her rule was one gesture, one time – if a man didn't respond to her touch, her private number or that invitation for a drink, she didn't offer again. New York had tons of savvy, powerful men – there was no percentage to be gained in setting her sights on someone who wasn't smart enough or bold enough to make the next move.
The fixer had broken that rule, more than once with John Reese.
She supposed that it was somewhat poetic – the man was a corrupting influence. He'd actually had her helping him and his mysterious friend for free with no fee, favor or connections made in exchange for her services, several times since they'd met over a year ago.
She'd make a gesture and John would smirk, raise an eyebrow, or shrug, but he never made the next move. She didn't think there was anyone else; while the man oozed sex, he didn't seem well fucked. Perhaps he had taken a vow of celibacy or maybe she needed a special code word or a secret decoder ring to unlock the chastity belt under those dark suits.
Zoe knew that he was aware of her as a woman, and when she 'ran' into John and that newspaper reporter at the restaurant, there was a funky vibe between the three of them.
Now that would have been interesting.
Even when they were sitting in that suburban hell for hours on end, the only devilish thing their idle hands could find to do was play endless rounds of poker.
The precious few times that John did sleep, it was with the dog.
But this evening, she thought as she walked into the bar, he was giving her that look again. His friend disappeared and John sidled over to her, waving the key card to the Presidential Suite.
For a moment Zoe thought, someone's a little too sure of himself, but that casual arrogance was one of the things that made him so attractive. She dealt with too many men who had a meltdown if they got a cryptic tweet from some nobody in East Doesn't Matter and unfortunately that uncertainty often extended – or didn't, when it came to their manhood – to the bedroom.
John Reese was good at what he did, knew he was good, had no reason to hide it – she had no doubt that he was just as good in bed.
She'd wanted him for a long time. And now he wanted her.
As they walked to the elevator, a staffer from one of her clients today ran up to her, frantic, requesting her assistance.
John shrugged, "I'm not going anywhere."
It was somewhat intoxicating, thinking that he was waiting for her.
What Zoe thought would take ten minutes took forty and when he opened the door to the suite, she could see that something had changed. John looked surprised, even disappointed to see her, as if he was hoping she'd changed her mind. The arrogance was gone and while there was still a strong sexual pulse, it was tinged with something else.
Regret.
In a flash, Zoe knew.
The detective. The little detective.
She should have known – when they were in the suburbs and the detective would call, he'd stand up and walk away, head lowered, voice soft, as though the talk was intimate, as though the two of them were the only people in the world.
And when he spoke to the detective face to face, John ignored her, didn't even introduce her, as if Zoe had ceased to exist. At the time, she had chalked it up to the case and his usual intensity, but she realized now that her own ego didn't want to accept what was right in front of her eyes.
Trying to pull rank by introducing herself as John's wife just proved how inconsequential she really was.
"Problem solved?" he asked as he ushered her in. He had taken his jacket off and his sleeves were rolled up. He hadn't showered and she liked the way he smelled – there was a slight sweaty smokiness from his being a bag jockey all day, topped off with the aroma from the tumbler of Scotch that he held in his hand – it was utterly him, utterly male. She wanted to lick his skin and taste it, imagining the saltiness on her tongue.
"Eventually." She took the glass he offered her, watching as he refilled his. The lights were blazing in the main living area and Zoe circled the room slowly, turning most of them off. "One of the challenges of doing what I do, what makes it fascinating actually, is figuring out what the client really wants. They'll tell me it's one thing, but it's usually something else they truly desire. They'll bluster, lie, make up some grand story, try to use their charm, try to manipulate me into giving them what they really want, without my knowing how badly they want it."
"Why do you think that is?" he asked.
"Sometimes it's because they're cheap, other times they try to pass off a personal need as a business one, but mostly they're afraid I'll have some advantage over them." She savored the liquid on her tongue. "It doesn't matter. In the end I get them what they really want, despite themselves."
"Well, I know you're good at what you do, Zoe."
"I am – and my fees are commensurate with that."
"And what did the client want tonight?"
She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. The light in here was soft and low. She ran her fingers along the side of John's face, caressing one of those incredible cheekbones.
"Tonight, he wants to forget something."
Zoe loved how he didn't rush her, how he let her undress him while he sipped his drink, enjoying the sight of him totally naked, while she was still perfectly attired and coiffed. She walked around him, wanting to see him from all angles – his strong shoulders, lean hips, muscular thighs, the bum that she knew from a brief pat was surprisingly perky. She noted the faint array of hair on his chest, how it narrowed as it traveled down his stomach, directing you to his heavy, thick cock, hanging there, waiting to be called into action.
She ran her hands over his strong frame, marveling at how beautiful he was, despite, or perhaps because of, the scars. There were so many of them.
When she touched the one on his stomach, he pulled her hand away sharply, the grip almost painful and then he relaxed his fingers, drawing her to the bed. She took off her clothes and they lay down together.
Zoe watched as John closed his eyes, his long lashes casting shadows against his skin. He took a deep breath, and then ran his large hands over her body, slowly, from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. She could feel that thick heavy cock stiffen against her thigh. He opened his eyes and then he made love to her, the way she knew he could, intensely, deeply, passionately, bringing her to the pinnacle many times over before he finally allowed his own release, his voice a strangled cry in the darkness.
XXX
Reese closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly ran his hands down Zoe's body. Her hair became black velvet like the night sky, her lips the kind that you wanted to take between your teeth to savor their plumpness, her skin – so glorious, a rich beautiful brown, her curves the kind that a man could spend a lifetime getting lost in.
He ran his hand along the scars on her waist.
And when he opened his eyes, he saw the woman he really wanted.
He took Zoe over and over again, her sighs and moans and whispers cutting like thin knives against his heart.
XXX
The Presidential Suite had a butler 24/7 to attend to your every need. Mark Olivier had the AM shift. Good at his field for over forty years, he observed the man and woman – they weren't a couple, but it wasn't quite a one night stand either. He wasn't sure what they were – friends, business associates, probably some of both – a little action between the sheets last night and covert glances adding some spice to today's boring meeting, perhaps.
His eyes flickered towards the liquor cart – they'd put away a good amount of scotch – he made a mental note to bring more from the pantry. The woman looked well fucked, while the man – Oliver saw release, but not satisfaction.
Interesting.
The man was already dressed, while the woman lounged in one of the robes provided by the hotel. She asked him to steam her dress and nodded approvingly when he offered to polish her shoes. She handed him a scarf from her purse to steam as well.
Smart girl. Oliver bet she had different earrings and a pair of panties in her purse and when she left the hotel this morning, nobody would know that she'd never made it home. No walk of shame for her, as his granddaughter would say.
Oliver looked at the man again. There wasn't the telltale lighter ring of skin around the finger where a wedding band would be. He didn't seem married anyway, ring or no ring, but there was definitely somebody else there, someone that he felt he betrayed, a third person in the suite, even though there were really only two people there.
They just wanted coffee. Oliiver took her clothing and left the suite.
XXX
As a fixer, Zoe's clients usually called her when they were in crisis, so while she might spend hours resolving their issue, she needed to look totally pulled together round the clock. A scarf, earrings and panties from her purse and she was ready for the new day. The butler had steamed her clothing perfectly and she adjusted her scarf one last time as she walked back out onto the terrace. John was still sitting at the table where they had shared their morning coffee. Heat lamps took off the morning chill and the day was bright and sunny.
"More coffee?" John asked, as she sat beside him.
"No thanks." Zoe examined her heels – the butler had polished them and they gleamed beautifully. "You know, John, I once told you that I didn't think there was a woman alive who could fix you, but damn," she shook her head, a soft smile on her face, "there is one woman who can certainly fuck you up, fuck you up to the extreme. The little detective - I kind of like it."
To his credit, he didn't deny it. His trademark smirk was thin. "So, is this a bonding moment between you two?"
"She's definitely got my attention. I knew there was something different about her, even with the bangs and the sensible shoes. Guess she decided not to be the good girl anymore…"
Zoe looked at him closely. In the harsh morning light she noticed the circles under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he put his coffee cup down. She wanted to say it was because she'd kept him up all night, but she knew it wasn't.
"John…" she touched his cheek. He jerked his face away from her, then gently took her hand and lowered it down to the table.
The man could take her curiosity, her cynicism, even her amusement, but not her concern and certainly not her pity. For a moment Zoe felt sorry for him, but she knew after tonight, that whatever had happened, John Reese had played a key part in it - no, had probably started it, then had been shocked and devastated at the results.
Men were so stupid sometimes.
Zoe took out her handheld, keyed in a number. She knew he'd pay whatever she charged. It was better for both of them, better to think that he was a client, that she had given him what he wanted, if not what he needed.
Only one woman could do that.
Plus, what she was doing was also extremely practical. Zoe liked working with John and his mysterious friend – they had opened her up to a whole other side of this great city, adding to her strongest currency as a fixer - knowledge. By doing this, they'd be able to work together in the future.
Reese nodded at the screen. "You'll have it this morning."
"There's no rush," she stood, leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I know you're good for it."
"Zoe…"
"Don't say it." She smiled. "We both know you're not, John."
XXX
As the elevator descended to the lobby, Zoe mused that perhaps someday, she would take the little detective aside for a talk and find out what really went down between her and John Reese. If that ever happened, Zoe smiled – she'd pay her for that information.
Her first client was in an hour – a possible candidate for city council, he had an issue in his past that needed to be resolved – or sent out of town for a few months.
As she left the hotel, her body remembered the way John touched her. John Reese was good, incredible actually – and that was with someone he didn't care about.
Imagine what he would be like with someone he loved.
The bright sunlight suddenly hurt her eyes. Zoe put on her sunglasses.
The doorman asked her if she needed a cab.
She squared her shoulders, shook her head and walked away.
XXX
Reese was tired.
Tired of trying to get her out of his thoughts, tired of finding things that reminded him of her, tired of following her, tired of standing outside her apartment, tired of seeing her with other me-
Tired.
So he approached another woman instead. Almost immediately he knew it was a mistake, but she was here, she was willing and he was tired of having his hand and some spit around his cock. He'd slept with the other woman, but he'd made love to her instead.
And now, Reese wanted her more than ever.
The decanter of Scotch, freshly replenished, beckoned to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then walked over to the bar.
A/N: Next, we'll learn a little more about what led to the change in Reese and Carter's relationship and in the following chapter, someone gets a taste of their own medicine and John has a brief conversation with an old adversary.