"You've been distracted all night." He comments, walking me up the porch steps to my door.
"Have I been? I'm sorry. Dinner was great, loved the live music too." I fish through my clutch purse for my keys, but I'm not in a particular rush to find them. Feels like the night's gone by much quicker than I expected, and given the new info on my mind, I spent much of it re-evaluating Rumlow's character.
Final conclusion? I don't know. I'm not any less physically attracted to him, that's for sure.
"Are you still mad?" He leans against the railing, watching me.
I glance up at him briefly. His expression is unreadable, his lips drawn in a sober line.
"A little. I mean… I'm annoyed, that's all. I feel like I was just part of a game you were playing with Dr. Jones." I lower my voice, my gaze returning to my purse. My fingers close around the keys, but I don't make a move to unlock the door.
He runs a hand through the hair at the back of his head, keeping it there while he contemplates his next words.
"There was more to it than the bet. I don't want you to think I didn't care about your problems. I wanted to keep an eye out for you. I still think you can handle Michael on your own, so I didn't want to step on your toes. But helping you with him gave me the excuse to get close to you, and that in itself had nothing to do with the bet."
I place my clutch on the concrete siding behind me, contemplating his words in silence for a minute.
"You're smart, sexy, and assertive, Elise. I can see why Michael is jealous when I'm around you." He reaches forward and pulls the clip out of my bun, shaking my hair loose. The feeling of his fingers ruffling my hair sends a shiver up my spine. It falls to its regular length around my shoulders, and I tuck the forward strands behind my ear out of habit.
Jealous. That's great and all, but I still don't think he's jealous. I don't think I can tell Rumlow anything about what Michael said, though.
He raises an eyebrow at me, questioning my silence. I hold his gaze for a few seconds, noting the way the porch lamp's soft yellow light illuminates his face. Those cheekbones. That jawline. His slightly gelled-back hair, which I've been wanting to run my hands through all night. And he's been so patient with me tonight, so invested in making sure I enjoyed myself through dinner and the jazz performance… How can I be mad?
"I can forgive you if you let me do one thing." I smile.
He braces himself, remembering his promise from earlier. I'd forgotten about it, actually, and I can't help but grin at the thought that he actually expects me to punch him. His brow furrows in confusion, and I seize my chance.
I lean in, pressing my lips to his mouth in a soft kiss. His surprise is evident in the way his body freezes for a brief moment, then I feel the smile on his lips as he embraces me, one hand resting on the small of my back, the other on my hip. I can feel his firm grasp through the fabric of my dress and the sensation is arousing.
He tastes of chocolate and caramel, and his 5'o clock shadow tickles my skin as he deepens the kiss. I hadn't intended to take it this far, especially not on my front porch, but it's hard to pull away. Never have a few minutes felt so endless. His cologne, still as bold and enticing as earlier in the night, now promises seduction and unbridled passion. When he finally breaks off, he retains his hold on me, his lips trailing gentle kisses along my cheek and down the side of my neck to my exposed collar bone.
"Brock, we're outside." It's with some regret that I pull away from him, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. He takes it in stride, judging by the amused expression on his face.
"You surprised me." He chuckles, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, "I said you could punch me."
And put another scar on that face? That would be a shame.
"I can still punch you if you want to be punched that badly." I laugh lightly, unlocking my front door. "Do you want to come in for a drink? Pop or something?"
"I shouldn't," He bites his lip, "I have an early start tomorrow—"
"Calm down, Casanova. It's not what you think. Just a drink." I roll my eyes with a smile, pushing the door open.
"Alright, alright." He checks his watch before following me into the foyer.
I notice the way he covertly evaluates the inside of my house like it's a location he's scouting for a mission, and it's a little weird, but I'll chalk it up to the fact that he's probably just used to doing that on the job.
Once in the kitchen, I grab some cans of Pepsi from the fridge and sit down across from him at the breakfast bar. We talk for a while about music and movies, then switch to discussing Shield, the different staff we know and their odd tendencies. Of course, this leads our conversation to shift to a topic I don't really want to talk about tonight.
"So, tell me about Michael. How are things going? Did he threaten you after he found out about our date?"
"Michael… he's just edgy because of work stress." I shift my gaze to the table. "He hasn't threatened me again. I think he just snapped that one time. He wasn't happy that I spent so much time with you or the subject."
"The guy comes across as pretty impulsive. Possessive, even. Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, getting into things that don't concern him." I feel Rumlow's gaze on me, and his words seem to be prompting me to agree with him.
"Sure? But he's not that bad at heart." I shrug.
"Really?" He eyes me intently, "Though, I think he was right about the asset—the subject, that is. He's an assassin. He's killed researchers before on his erratic whims. You should be careful."
"I think I treat him pretty nicely. He hasn't had a problem with me so far." I glance down at the can in my hands, wondering what brought about his sudden interest in my interactions with the subject.
"He's not really the kind of guy you want to get close to. Who knows what might happen?"
I don't like the foreboding tone he used just now.
"I understand your concern, but your job is to train with him. My job is just to monitor him. We're not working in the same environment. I don't see any reason for him to get agitated around me." I smile, trying to downplay his concerns, but his lips curve into a frown.
"He becomes agitated every so often, and then he's wiped. So I'm telling you to be careful, Elise."
"What do you mean, wiped?" I try my chances with the question, but I expect the same response as Kenji's. Don't ask.
"They wipe his memory sometimes. It improves his performance as an assassin." Rumlow explains.
Well, this is news to me.
"That's all you need to know." His eyes flicker up to meet mine suddenly, and despite the faint smile plastered on his lips, I know he's trying to subtly tell me that I shouldn't ask anyone about this.
"Got it." I reply, forcing a smile. He evaluates my expression for a minute, and it seems he's satisfied with my answer.
"Gotta run now." He glances at his watch, grabbing his jacket from the stool beside him as he stands to leave.
"Thanks for taking me out, Brock. I enjoyed it, really." I walk him to the front hall, and as I unlock the door for him, he plants a kiss on my cheek.
"Well then, we should do this again. Maybe afterwards, we can practice a different type of sparring." He winks, and I shake my head slowly at his shameless suggestion, feeling the smile creep onto my face.
"I'd like that."