I make no apologies this time, for once I'm not sorry :P if I did, I'd be lying.

The sound of a door opening brought Harold out of his nightmare plagued sleep. He pushed his eyes open and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sharp light emitting from a solitary light bulb. He panicked then calmed as his disorientated memories assembled themselves again. The room was small, damp and dingy, it made him shiver, but he leaned back against the wall. He tried to stretch his taught arms but found them bound behind his back. The cold and dusty floor made him cringe, he tried to move but found his movements restricted, he looked down and saw his ankles tied with a singular black cable tie. The more he moved his legs the more they dug painfully into his skin. He rested his head against the wall behind him and listened. A small caught his nose and he sniffed: Root. Root was cooking breakfast.

The door opened and in walked a young, slim lady with chocolate brown wavy hair and bright brown eyes. She stood in a pastel orange knitted jumper that hugged her small breasts and curves, faded denim short shorts that exposed her slim legs and bare feet that patted on the floor. Harold frowned at her, clothes like that were hard to find. But this also piped his interest, who was this mysterious woman? She stood just inside the door holding a plate in one hand and a knife and fork in the other. She took a step towards Harold, he didn't even flinch. It was only when she knelt down and rested on her toes Harold brought his gaze up to hers. They eyed each other silently. Root spoke first.

'Morning Harold.' She smirked, her voice had a light majestic quality to it. She was clever but not arrogant. 'I thought you might like some breakfast.'

Harold glanced down at the plate: it was piled high with fried bread, bacon and beans. His mouth watered at the sight of it. He glanced back at Root, she eyed him sceptically. His eyes wondered over her stunning figure, his gazed stopped over her legs, just where the frayed edges of her shorts covered the top of her thigh. He snapped his gaze up to her deep brown eyes again. Harold frowned, he couldn't work her out – a mix of fascination, fright and defeat.

'Fried bread, bacons and beans sound ok?' She moved the plate up a little.

Harold wriggled his arms but Root wasn't about to untie him. She saw he had no fight in him but she didn't want to chance it. He was rich and powerful, he was a genius. But there was something more to him, something lay hidden underneath the expensive suits, elaborate lifestyle and rich vocabulary. Root moved herself into a sitting position on the floor, crossed legged, subtly presenting herself to Harold. His eyes snapped up to hers again, he was panting out of fear, tension and slight arousal. Root was teasing him and they both knew it. Root cut up the bread and bacon on the plate into small bite size pieces, she layered the fried bread with bacon then baked beans. She brought the fork up to Harold's lips. He parted his lips slightly and fork by fork Root fed him till only one bit was left on the plate. She picked it up, Harold parted his lips again expecting it but closed his lips when Root fed it to herself; she closed her lips around the fork and moans, her eyelids fluttering shut in appreciated. A low growl voiced itself in Harold's throat.

'Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want you to behave, but I'm sure you will, won't you Harry?' she smirked playfully as she set the plate aside. Harold tensed at Harry. It wasn't his name and it heightened his senses when she said it, he saw the spark of danger dancing in her dark eyes.

The food was delicious, but he felt ashamed. He was the richest and most powerful man in the State and here he sat, unable to move and being spoon fed like a young child. Root knelt forward again, resting on her toes, she took a napkin out of her pocket and dapped his mouth clean. He started to breath heavily again, he didn't like her this close to him. Root saw the way he looked at her, like he was trying to figure her out, a calculation that he wouldn't solve. She was close enough for him to smell and she smelt wonderful: rose, jasmine, amber, vanilla, peach, sandalwood and an underlying hint of musk. Root balanced herself by laying a hand on Harold's thigh, his breath hitched his throat. Her hand was just inches from his crotch. She felt his sharp intake of breath; she knew the effect she was having on him and she was revelling in it, like a Goddess in melted chocolate. She leaned down and kissed him, her fingertips traced his jawline – his usually clean shaven face now rough with greying stubble. Harold was frozen beneath her, not even breathing. She hovered above him, jumper hugging her luscious curves and shorts exposing her legs. The hand on his thigh rubbed gently and insistently. Harold felt himself react to the physical stimulation and he hated himself for it, it made him see so wanton, so dirty. He didn't want to kiss her back, he shut his eyes tight and tried to imagine something else, anything else. John popped into his mind's eye and his lips partly slightly. His heart was pounding in his chest, it was so loud in the silent room. He felt her tongue against his. He mentally kicked himself. Root pulled back leaving him panting, she reached for the knife on the plate and leaned in close again to Harold. Their faces were millimetres apart. Harold's eyes frantically scanned her eyes – his mind was a wash of emotions. He felt the cable tie around his wrists to limp. He moved his stiff arms around and laid them to rest in his lap. Root picked them up and rubbed them, easing the redness and throbbing pain. She left his ankles tied, making his arousal more visible. He was ashamed and embarrassed, but a small part of him didn't want it to stop. Root stood up quickly, the majestic trance broken.

'I'm not John Harold. Don't kid yourself.'

She picked up the empty plate and cutlery off the floor.

'Why are you doing this?' Harold asked, his throat hoarse.

Root paused at the door. After a moment's hesitation, she looked at him. 'Because I know what means the most to you.'

She left the room and locked the door again. Harold bowed his head and panted, he was angry at himself. He got himself into this mess. He pulled at the cable tie around his ankles but to no avail. He leaned back against the wall and looked up at the light bulb. He closed his eyes and gave in, he pulled at his belt buckle and zipper and freed himself from the confines of his pants.

'Forgive me John.' He whispered.

John woke with a start. He looked around frantically as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the bunker. He scanned the room, basic military furnishing all standard except the beautiful figure of one Zoe Morgan, sat up on the small camp bed cradling a cup of tea in her hands, she looked at John.

'Do you always sleep like that?'

John looked around and found himself sat in the corner between the two walls. His knees were up under his chin. He stretched his legs and twisted slightly stretching his back. He pushed himself up off the floor and sat on the other camp bed opposite Zoe, his brow still frowned.

'Umm, yeah. I don't like beds. How are you feeling?'

Zoe smiled. 'A little painful but I'm sure I'll survive. Can I get you a drink?'

'Umm no thanks.'

'You ok John?' Zoe leaned in, grimacing slightly as her wound protested at the movement.

John looked at a metal grate on the floor. 'Harold.' He said quietly. 'I heard him, he said forgive me.'

'Do you know where he is?'

John's sharp grey eyes snapped up to meet Zoe's. 'I don't care.'

'Yes you do.' Zoe took his large hands in hers, she looked at them as she spoke, never blinking. 'I watched you sleep. I must have tried to turn over in my sleep and agitated the wound, I couldn't sleep any longer. I looked over at the bed but it was empty, then I heard you whispering Harold's name. It was urgent. You need him John and he needs you. We're here because someone is after me, and Harold may have the answer. Don't let your selfishness cost him his life.'

John clenched his hands into fists, then moved his hand up to Zoe's cheek. His fingers grazed her cheek bone.

'I'll do this, but only because it's you.'

John leaned in and kissed her, Zoe didn't move her lips. John pulled back and stood up. He slipped on his shoes and made his way to the bunker door. Zoe watched him.

'Whether you like it or not, part of you fell for Harold, you now have two choices, accept it or let it consume you, I know what I'd do.'

John stopped and turned his head over his shoulder. 'Zoe, did I ever thank you? For everything you did for me?' He sounded so vulnerable.

Zoe smiled widely. 'Yes. Yes you did.'

John turned his head back towards the door and pulled down the large lever like handles releasing the dead bolts.

Haha! Mind fudge!