Chapter 7: Code Orange

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"Disapproval is a luxury I can't afford."

His cryptic words repeated endlessly in her mind as she tossed and turned beneath her sheets, trying to sleep.

He'd shown not a lick of interest in her since he began working for her. Rachel didn't understand how it was possible for a man of perfectly fuckable age not to be affected by her feminine persuasions. He didn't wear a wedding ring so what was stopping him from consummating the care of his client?

How many innuendos did she have to slip into conversation when she was around him? How many pretty bathing suits did she have to prance about the house in, hoping she'd catch his wandering eye? Lord knows she'd had the undivided attention of every flunky he had enlisted to barricade the property.

Her feelings for him were so twisted. She hated everything he represented. She hated that he was taking away her freedom, claiming it was for her own good. She thought she even hated him. And that made her desire to get in his pants even stronger. He wasn't protecting her. He was torturing her.

It happened when she was alone in bed.

She thought of the way he said her name.

Stop.

She thought of the way he grasped the banister when he ascended the stairs.

Stop.

She thought of the way he looked at her, with those twilight colored eyes. Like he could see straight through her.

Stop.

She was hopelessly intrigued and agitated and turned on by the underlying air of authority and nonchalant self-assuredness in everything her bodyguard said and did.

Stop.

All of her thoughts read like a fucking telegram when she thought of him.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Her arousal beckoned her still, despite her refusing to tend to it. Physically, her body was demanding him.

Maybe if she got up and did jumping jacks or ate some cereal or banged her head against the window it would all go away. But hell, she was too tired to do any of that shit. So she did the only logical thing. She touched herself to chase the feelings away.

She kept her eyes shut tightly even in the darkness, surrendering to the sensations, breathing heavily. This was the only time she allowed herself to entertain the fantasy of succumbing to his every command. In real life, she would fight him tooth and nail until he stormed away from her. In her dreams, she would let him devour her. At the pinnacle of her climax, the word "stop" was long forgotten, and she let herself think of him from all delicious directions. Her heart was bathed by warm, wet guilt as she came wildly against her own hand, mouthing his name in perfect silence. She imagined him hard and ready inside of her; imagined that her tightening, pulsing rhythm was bringing him pleasure instead of being wasted by her solitude. She felt her cheeks getting hotter as she drew out the intense aftershocks of her orgasm, wrapped in the arms of her invisible lover.

Fuck, she despised that man.

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Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, breathing fast in a slight panic as she attempted to flatten her windswept hair. Thank God she'd checked the box immediately after getting back to her room or she'd have wasted valuable time to get ready. After all, a girl just couldn't head over to a guy's room on such short notice. She needed to prepare properly.

She showered quickly but thoroughly, thinking it would make the perfect excuse. Naturally I went to shower before bed, and then after I got out, I opened the pastry box and found his key. All she had to do was switch up the order of events and it made perfect sense. She did stop to at least finish her pastry. It seemed she might need the sugar to keep her up all night after all.

Rachel cursed at herself as she rushed to dry off with the overly fluffy hotel towels. She was not accustomed to worrying over these things. But it was different with Farmer. It had always been different with him. He was really the only man she'd ever cared about impressing – maybe because she had been so easily impressed by him. He wasn't an award winning rock star with hundreds of thousands of fans. He wasn't an athlete with world records to his name. His talent was so much more subtle. He lived humbly, rejecting the lavish lifestyle that so many of her peers had succumbed to. There was something undeniably appealing about not falling subject to the material world, she thought. After so many years steeped in it, Rachel found herself craving quite the opposite.

She hastily applied some lip gloss, then removed it and rolled her eyes at her behavior. Who applies lip gloss before bed?

She was overthinking it. Be natural, she reminded herself. He wouldn't have agreed to spend so much time together with her, much less slip her his hotel key if he wasn't still attracted to her.

Rachel spent a few more minutes staring at her makeup-free face in the mirror. Her mind swirled with the dozens of times she remembered paparazzi plastering this very same face in their tabloids with their cruel headlines. "Marron caught Barren." … "Rachel Marron: Running dark circles around her peers."

What a time to challenge her self-esteem. Fumbling around with her compact, Rachel powdered strategically along her forehead, nose, and jawline. It wasn't a lot. He wouldn't notice. What did Farmer know about cosmetics, anyway? She snorted to herself and ditched the lip gloss for a less obvious layer of cherry chapstick.

She went over to her bedside table and took her cell phone off its charging cord. In her haste she almost didn't see the missed call from Fletcher two hours ago. Her heart sank as she dropped everything, flung herself onto the bed, and dialed her son.

"Hey, Mom." His voice made her miss him even more.

"Hey, baby, I saw you called. What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see how things were going."

"Oh, it's going well, honey. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call you sooner."

"It's okay. I've been busy studying for finals anyway."

"I'm so proud of you, baby. But don't work too hard, okay? You deserve to have some fun, too."

"Yeah . . . that's kinda why I called." She noted the change in his voice as he admitted, "I've got a date, mom."

"Tonight?" Rachel glanced at the clock in surprise. "It's already midnight, Fletcher."

"Time zones, Ma?" he reminded her.

Rachel slapped her forehead. "Well, still! Nine o'clock—"

"Our date is tomorrow." He laughed.

"Oh," Rachel attempted not to reveal the smile in her voice. "Wow, baby. Who is she?"

"I met her in my finance class. Her name is Becca. She's really cute."

"Is she a good girl?"

"Yes, Ma."

"She's not foolin' around with other guys?"

"No, Ma."

"Alright, alright. I just want the best for my baby."

"I'm taking her to McCormick's tomorrow, and then we're gonna see a movie."

Rachel could hear the excitement in his voice and it made her tear up a bit. "Well, I'll be thinking of you tomorrow, honey. I hope it goes well."

"Me too. I'm a little nervous."

"It's okay to be nervous. I still get nervous when I go on stage."

"You do?"

"Yeah." She shifted on the bed. "But I know you got nothin' to be nervous about, Fletcher. You're gonna be a gentleman to her. Show her how a real man treats a woman. She'll be smitten with you, I promise."

"Thanks, Ma." She could hear his grin. "So what are you up to, tonight? I'm a little surprised you called me back so late."

Rachel wasn't prepared for the question to be put back on her. She sighed, wondering if she should be honest with Fletcher about her run-in with Farmer. Surely he'd want more details, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go there quite yet.

"Oh, I just got back from a little date myself," Rachel admitted.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it better not be Brock Chutney," Fletcher warned.

"It's not Brock Chutney!" Rachel cringed at the mention of him. "How'd you even know he was here, Fletcher?"

"He's always at those corny old Christmas shows."

"Oh, so I'm the washed up diva who only sings at 'corny old Christmas shows' now?"

"Yup."

"Alright, that's enough." Before she thought the better of it, Rachel blurted, "For your information, I just met up with Frank Farmer."

A pause followed during which she could distinctly hear her son catch his breath. "Frank's there?" His voice once again belonged to a starstruck little boy.

Rachel teared up again. "Yeah, baby. He's here."

"I can't believe it. How is he?"

"He's great, honey. He asked about you."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he said he wasn't at all surprised you got all those scholarships." She could imagine Fletcher beaming at the mention of his childhood hero, and it made her ache to be near him. She missed him just as much when she traveled now as she did back when he was a kid.

"Mom?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can you tell him to call me one day?"

Rachel was utterly caught off guard by her son's request. At first she started nodding, before realizing he couldn't see her over the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell him. I'm sure he'll be happy to catch up."

"Thanks. I'll let you go, Mom. I know you're probably getting ready for bed."

"Goodnight, baby. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Mom."

The call was disconnected and Rachel almost considered staying in her own bed that night. The feelings she felt after her brief call with Fletcher were so complicated and conflicting, yet at the same time, warm and fuzzy. It wasn't the type of way she wanted to feel before potentially sleeping with Frank Farmer again after a decade apart.

Her son clearly looked up to this man as the father-figure he never had. It wasn't something she and Fletcher had ever talked about out loud, but they both knew it without saying it. She wondered what Fletcher wanted to talk to Frank about. He had asked for a phone call with Frank without hesitation, as if he'd already thought of things to share after all these years. Rachel tried not to read too much into it, but it nagged at her all the same.

She knew Fletcher was observant, just like Farmer. She was certain both of them knew more about her than they let on, and it frustrated her as much as it comforted her. She wasn't exactly the most responsible person, but she did try. She knew the various relationships she'd had throughout her career were not wise choices. She knew it set a bad example for Fletcher. She knew her goal was never to find a husband. She didn't want to become like all those other starlets on their fourth marriage, having kids with all different dads. It seemed for someone in her position there was no other option. What celebrity in today's world led a normal life with a normal family and a normal spouse? Celebrities all dated and married and remarried each other. It was expected of her.

But when did Rachel ever like doing what was expected of her? Why should she fall into the same traps? Would it be so terrible if she decided instead of serial dating and refusing to marry anyone, she would do the exact opposite? What if she dated just one man, and married that same man?

God, what was in that coffee? Here she was, lying in bed, with Frank Farmer's hotel key wedged between her trembling fingers, fantasizing about marriage of all things. Yet the thought of marriage to him was. . . well, it was downright beautiful. She had never allowed herself to really think about it before. But when she thought of the word husband, he was the only man who came to her mind. It seemed to suit him so perfectly. He had protected her once before; would it be so much to ask him to do it for another fifty years without being paid for it? The very idea of spending the rest of her life touching him, tormenting him, laughing with him, reminiscing with him, making love only to him - it made her want to explode with happiness. She could have smacked herself in the face for such thoughts.

She had to just get out of here and go fuck him already, she thought to herself, while remaining stubbornly stock-still in her bed.

Sighing, Rachel glanced at the room number on the small white sleeve that held his key card. 1275. His room was only one floor below hers. She wasn't expecting that. For some silly reason it made her feel safer, knowing he was that close. It wasn't like he'd hear an intruder from a whole floor below. But at times she did think of Farmer like some superhero out of a comic book. She gave herself a pass because the man literally risked his own life to save hers. It was acceptable to fangirl a little over a man like that.

Fuck, she'd missed having him around. Having him as her bodyguard was one of the most exciting times in her life that she could remember. There was something so ephemeral about it that made it all the more appealing to her. It was those first few weeks with him that she remembered the most vividly. The stupid arguments she'd bring up just to be petty, just to get under his skin. She would drive herself crazy trying to get a rise out of him. But he was always steadfast, calm and collected. She would never admit it to anyone else but she'd absolutely delighted in the fact that he used to trample on all her plans and freedoms, keeping her locked down for her own protection. No one else ever had the guts to do that. No one else ever told her "no." No one else was ever fully authentic with her the way Frank was. No one else cared for her enough to do those hard things.

But Frank had cared.

And he still cared. Or else she wouldn't have his room key.

She glanced at the clock again, which now read 12:17 A.M; almost an hour after he'd first walked her back to her room. It was just enough time to not be obnoxious if she decided to act on his silent invitation. It was now or never.

With that final thought, Rachel tossed aside the pillows and got out of bed.

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Rachel hated riding in an elevator by herself, so she opted to take the stairs instead. Her footsteps echoed eerily in the cement stairwell, and she startled herself with the loud clanking sound of the heavy metal door closing behind her as she arrived on the twelfth floor. She felt a bit like a naughty teenager sneaking out after curfew, roaming the halls of the hotel in her pajamas, robe, and slippers without socks.

By the time she reached Frank's room, her heart was thudding in her throat. She wondered if she should knock first – it still felt like an invasion. He wouldn't have given you his hotel key if he wasn't expecting you, she reminded herself. She let herself inside, following his instructions to go slowly with the key card this time. The door clicked open and she winced, hoping it hadn't caused him to wake.

The room was dark enough that she had to wait for her eyes to adjust before walking toward the bed. From what she could gather, he looked to be in deep sleep. She tilted her head and observed his bare-chested frame adoringly for a few moments before slipping into bed beside him.

Just as she settled down next to him under the sheets, his eyes opened.

She gave him her most charming smile. "I'm a regular ninja, aren't I?"

He answered in a groggy voice, "I could hear you breathing outside the door, Rachel."

She couldn't pout for long. It was so nice to just lie next to him. She would have been content to just stay like that all night, even if it meant they didn't do anything. Tentatively, she reached up and stroked his temple, then the shell of his ear, lingering on his earlobe.

His eyes fluttered closed, an expression of weakness overtaking his face, and she was bombarded with a memory of the last time they were in bed together.

He had a thing about his ears.

She moved closer to him, intending to kiss his ear, when he swiftly intercepted her mouth with his. The depth of his kiss surprised her, especially after how shy he'd seemed outside the coffee shop not a few hours before. He was an entirely different man in a dark bedroom from what he was in public, she thought with a thrill.

She grasped his shoulders and tumbled around with him for a bit until they were both out of breath and she had somehow ended up on top of him.

"I never imagined I'd be like this with you again, Farmer," she admitted dreamily, her fingers wandering down his throat and onto his collarbone.

His eyes were heavy as he took her waist in both his hands. She shifted purposefully so that her top fell slightly off her shoulder, and she caught his rapid glance at her cleavage before he locked eyes with her again.

"You don't have to be so polite, you know," she teased. "You can stare at me all you want."

"I'd rather touch you," he said in an achingly soft voice.

She swooned and buried her face in his neck. Her breasts pressed against his warm chest as she began rocking impatiently against him, causing her top to ride up enough that her bare skin met with his. His fingers paused, holding firmly to her hips in an attempt to settle her down.

"What do you want to do about . . . preventing?" His voice was tense.

For Christ's sake, he was too hard already to be asking her such a question.

"Shit, Farmer, same as last time. Just use a condom."

Frank flashed her a concerned look.

"I'm still on the pill, too. Have been for twenty years."

He still did not look convinced.

She realized then what may have him worried, and she calmly explained, "Yes, I've had a lot of partners since you. Yes, we used condoms every time. Promise." She placed a sweet kiss on his nose, then paused and backed away slightly, taking in his oddly paralyzed expression. "You don't have a condom, do you?"

"They don't tend to sell them in hotel gift shops, Rachel," he replied with a sigh.

She felt a sinking feeling in her gut.

"You were the one who gave me your room key, Farmer," she accused. He looked guilty for a second, but it didn't satisfy her. If she was being honest with herself, she was more offended that he hadn't thought far enough ahead about sleeping with her. The fact that he wasn't prepared made her wonder how serious he was about asking her to spend the night with him in the first place.

"Last time you had one," she heard him mutter to himself, and it was like fresh firewood to her temper.

"Last time I also wore lingerie. I was expecting to go to bed with you," she snapped. "So don't pin this on me."

"Maybe you should call the hotel staff and they'll bring you one," he suggested humorlessly. "You are a celebrity, after all."

She made a face at him, then gave an exasperated sigh as she heaved herself off of his body. "Well, sadly I'm not quite enough of a whore to keep stock in my purse at all times."

He looked genuinely angry with her as he sat up, shaking his head. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say that kind of shit about yourself."

"I was just jok-"

"I know. But I don't think it's healthy."

His pale eyes were somehow both piercing and oddly innocent in the faint moonlight from the window.

"Lord almighty, Farmer. It can't be enough I had you as my bodyguard, now you gotta be my therapist?"

He hunched over the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, and swept his hands over his face and into his hair. She softened a bit at the sight and scooted closer to him. Her hands settled on his shoulders as she attempted soothing him. "Frank, it's okay. It'll be fine. I take my pill on time every day, I swear."

He shook his head again. "If something happened, I'd never forgive myself."

"Are you kidding me right now?" she whispered, chin resting on the top of his head.

His silence was all the answer she needed.

"You're gonna give yourself blue balls over this? Really?"

"Rachel, just–"

"You are the world's worst tease, Farmer! I can't believe you."

She flung herself off the bed and stormed into the bathroom like a rattled wife after an argument. Not seconds after she'd shut the door, she let out a startled yelp at the sight that greeted her. Every inch of the bathroom counter was covered with an assortment of impressive black pistols. There had to be at least twenty of them shining threateningly under the fluorescent light, some in their cases, others laid out on the white marble.

She swung the door open to find him standing up beside the bed in his pajama pants, both bedside lamps now on. "Afraid someone's gonna murder you while you're taking a piss?"

"I always keep my guns in the bathroom," he explained in a hilariously casual tone.

"Barely enough room for your shaving cream," Rachel muttered before shutting the door again. There wasn't anything she had planned to do in the bathroom. She just wanted him to understand how upset she was with him. Rachel stared at herself in the mirror for the second time tonight, but this time she was met with a humbling realization that her communication was not that great.

In fact, it downright sucked.

She sighed and washed her hands for no reason other than to make it seem like she was busy. A few minutes later, Frank knocked on the door.

"Are you done pretending to be mad at me?"

Her eyes narrowed in disbelief as she threw the door open again. He was smirking now. Her plan had backfired. She stood with her arms outstretched on the door frame, blocking the way in. "Oh, I am not pretending, Farmer. You've got me all fired up now."

"Can I come in?"

"Can't a lady have her space?"

He looked down at her bare feet, then back at her face, mildly amused. "I actually do have to use the bathroom."

She looked to the side as if considering it, mumbled "oh," and reluctantly stepped outside the door to let him through. She peeked back at him over her shoulder and saw him slip one of the guns into his plaid pocket. "Just in case the murderer comes in," he quipped sarcastically before she slammed the door.

At least they could joke about it, she thought. Surely they were both repressing some of the trauma at this point. Very few people were sturdy enough to go on with their lives fairly normally when they'd been shot at and managed to survive. She thought back to what he'd said to her before: "I don't think it's healthy." Hell, there were a lot of things she was holding onto in her life that weren't healthy. For starters, just trying to stay afloat in Hollywood wasn't healthy for her. She knew it, too. She was too proud to quit. Too proud to let people think she was scared of being victimized again. Maybe she should have quit while she was ahead.

She turned quickly when Frank stepped out of the bathroom, looking slightly startled that she was still so close to the door.

"What? Trying to catch me leaving the toilet seat up? I was married for six years, Rachel. My ex-wife beat you to it."

Rachel rolled her eyes and slumped against the cold hotel door.

"Alright. I'm sorry for acting up," she admitted. He looked at her dubiously. "I am. I'm sorry." She put her hands up in surrender and pushed herself off the door to step closer to him. It was then when she noticed it. Now that the lights were on, there was no hiding the faded pink scar on his left arm. His gunshot wound.

"Do you think . . ." He had begun to speak, but trailed off when he noticed the object of her interest. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, and the moment passed between them, heavy and unspoken. She swallowed hard and placed her slender fingers on his scar. A sick feeling overtook her as she felt the rigid skin where it had healed. Any petty exchanges they'd had before suddenly seemed so juvenile and pointless. The challenge to be a stable and mature woman became a tempting reprise. If she couldn't manage it for anyone else, she could damn well manage it for him.

The intimacy between them suddenly skyrocketed. It felt like a thousand magnets pulling her in toward him, and then she was struggling to breathe. Just like before. Just like this curse she couldn't break. Without a word, he reached around her to briefly open his room door. She watched as he discreetly slipped the 'do not disturb' sign onto the handle, then locked it shut.

Rachel breathed shakily, staring up at him with hooded eyes. "You know something… After all these years, you're still the only man who ever picked me up and carried me like that," she admitted, fondly caressing his cheek. His expression barely changed, but he looked immensely pleased. She leaned into him and whispered, "It's so hot."

She felt his hand wrap tightly along the small of her back, and without a word he lifted her off the ground. It was a fantasy at long last fulfilled to have him holding her again. And now without the threat of being harmed, she could fully revel in the feeling of his body supporting hers.

He hit the light switch with his elbow on his way to the bed, and gently placed her down on the mattress.

"You ever done it with the lights on?" Rachel asked, already knowing his answer.

Even in the darkness she could tell he was blushing. "Does doing it during the day count?" he asked softly as he lowered himself beside her in bed.

"Were the curtains drawn?" she challenged as she moved to hover above him.

He didn't reply.

She giggled affectionately and touched his chin. "You're kinda shy, Farmer."

This time she managed to kiss him where she knew he wanted it. His breath hitched in an uncharacteristic gasp as her lips grasped at his earlobe.

"You like that, don't you?" she whispered seductively.

His eyelids closed, and shuddering slightly, he burrowed his head to the side against the pillow in an almost bashful way.

Lord, he was so cute.

She tormented him a little further by tickling his other ear with the tip of her tongue. This time he outright groaned. Clearly his recent bout of celibacy had doubled his sensitivity.

"What is it about these ears of yours, Frank?" she whispered, gently tracing his right ear with her pinky finger.

His response was nearly unintelligible, but she thought he murmured, "I don't know."

They collapsed into a string of frenzied kisses, grappling at each other's shoulders even as Rachel managed to remain in place on top of him.

At long last, she came up for air and told him breathlessly, "I'd do anything you want. You know that, right? I owe you my life, after all." She unceremoniously flung her top off and over her head. He didn't look at her breasts at all; instead his eyes were locked on her face. There was a heaviness to his gaze that she couldn't place. He was so frustrating. So beautifully, impossibly frustrating.

She shifted to lie beside him and shimmied out of her pajama bottoms underneath the covers. She fluttered her eyelashes at him as she strategically placed his hand on her panties. The hesitation in his face did not match the almost aggressive action of his fingers as he yanked them down her legs. She had barely kicked them off her ankles before her hands were tugging his pants down, then his boxers. She was sure he could hear her heart galloping in her chest once he was fully naked beside her.

"How do you want me?" she asked, her voice wanton with desire. Her fingers trailed tremulously across his torso as she raised one slender leg over his hip.

He swallowed hard and wrapped his strong hands around her waist. Without a word, he pushed her down into the bed, and tucked one of his legs between hers to pin her beneath him. She moaned happily and rubbed herself against his thigh. "I'm so wet for you," she whispered, trying to get him to say something back. She quickened her pace, holding tightly to his waist. "Oh, I want you. . . I want you inside me."

He still said nothing, but his breathing was shallow and rough as he watched her. His fingers started their teasing journey in circles around her belly button, then, painfully slowly, he moved down her abdomen. One by one, he pressed each of his fingers into her clit. First his thumb, then his index finger, then the middle finger, then the ring finger. . .

She wasn't going to last very long. He was a fool if he thought he could carry on with this torture like the last time. They were already well over halfway to daybreak, and he was acting as if he had hours to bring her to climax.

Rachel attempted to intrude on his fingers, but he gently moved her hand away, and tucked it beneath her back. She threw her head back and groaned, half upset and half turned on to the point of losing it just from that one solitary action. He pushed her thigh further to the side and settled closer to her, nestling his fingers against her delicate folds, taking his damn time, being so fucking thorough she wanted to scream.

She couldn't bear to open her eyes; something inside of her was deeply convicted about what was happening, yet she couldn't understand why. It made sense that it would feel wrong the first time, but he wasn't her employee anymore. She didn't need his protection anymore. This shouldn't feel wrong now.

She sensed that he was convicted, and that was enough to convict her. Was he really that scared about her contraception failing? Or was it the implication of what a strong contraception plan provided? A way out. A way not to tie himself to her. Because in the slim chance she'd end up pregnant, he was too good a man to run away. He wasn't even going to fuck her, she assumed. He knew what he was doing. He wouldn't allow her to come until the sun came first. Then it would be too late.

Her thoughts, as usual, ran off the deep end. Before she could keep them from taking over her actions, Rachel snatched both of Frank's wrists in hers and pushed his body off of her. His attempts to be slow and methodical were foiled as she assumed the position of power over him. She pushed his shoulders forcefully down into the mattress and knocked her hips against his until she could feel his hardness at her entrance. She swelled with satisfaction as she lowered herself, shaking, onto his length. He gasped and dug his fingers into her bottom, bucking his hips helplessly up against her.

She began riding him fast, chasing her orgasm, fueled by an unruly mix of emotions. She was in such a lost state of mind she barely heard his desperate, breathless warning, "Rachel, I can't pull out if you're on top of me."

"I don't want you to pull out," she nearly growled, fingernails digging into his shoulders to keep him from trying to push her off. "Just let me feel you… please…"

Just then there was an incessant series of knocks on the door to his room.

Frank cursed under his breath as Rachel froze in place, inches from what she was sure would be an earth-shattering climax. She could have screamed.

The person knocked again, harder this time. Frank sat up with Rachel still in his lap, pressed his finger to her lips then slipped out of her with exasperating calmness. Rachel whimpered her distress, falling back onto the bed while he swiftly stood up and stepped back into his discarded pajamas.

She couldn't believe he was going to answer the door in the middle of the night.

"Oh, Mr. Farmer." Rachel was shocked to hear a female voice greet him. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but Belinger's just called his team to the conference room in fifteen. Code orange drill."

Frank cleared his throat. "Do you have a copy of the blueprints?" He was awfully composed for having just been interrupted during sex, Rachel thought with a frown.

"Oh! Yes, here." She could hear the shuffling of papers.

Frank sighed, "I was supposed to have this yesterday."

"I'm so sorry, sir." The woman sounded embarrassed.

"I won't shoot the messenger. I'll be down in ten."

The door slammed shut.

Frank stopped in his tracks when he saw Rachel's face. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she whisper-shouted at him.

"You know how this works, Rachel. I'm on the clock so long as my principal is under the same roof."

"I swear to God, Frank, if you've gotten this elaborate with your little 'edging' techniques..."

She squinted as he flicked the lights on.

He laughed soullessly. "Yeah, you got me. I arranged for someone to start knocking on my door right when you were about to come."

She watched him in pure disbelief as he calmly gathered his clothes from the closet, barely perturbed by the turn of events.

"All I want is to be able to say I'm fucking Frank Farmer," she blurted in annoyance.

He smirked at her. "Why, because of the alliteration?"

Her jaw dropped. "You're. Making. Me. Insane. You know that?"

He put his hands up innocently. "What? I'm not kicking you out."

"Good, because I'm not about to do the walk of shame at my age."

"Relax, Rachel. You're not forty yet."

She rolled her eyes at him.

He draped a white dress shirt over his shoulder, perfectly nonchalant. "I have to get a shower," he said as he headed for the bathroom.

"Who was she?" Rachel shouted after him.

"Knox's secretary!" he shouted back before shutting the door.

Wondering if she'd just unintentionally announced her jealousy, Rachel rolled over on the bed and let out a rage-filled scream into his pillow. His familiar scent still clung to the cotton, weakening her resolve to stay mad at him for too long.

Regardless if he was just doing his job, it was still so unfair.

This, she learned, was the downside of being with a good man. He would have others besides her to serve. He put his needs second to those around him. He did it so unquestioningly; he was just programmed that way.

But even in the midst of such torture, she wanted him. She wanted it all: the sweet words, the longing glances, the kisses, the heated exchanges, the sarcasm, the frustration. All of it culminating in the wonderful whiplash of being in a relationship with him.

Looking around his room, she felt a surge of affection for him. He was so organized. Everything was in its proper place; even the guns in his bathroom were in order on the counter. And then there she was — boisterous, chaotic, unregimented Rachel. She crashed into his life and threw everything into disarray. Maybe they weren't meant to be a couple. For how many times they'd been interrupted now, she had to wonder if God was trying to tear them apart.

Rachel perked up when she finally heard the rushing water turn off, and soon after, Frank emerged from the bathroom, already half-dressed.

That scent again. It was so palpable now it sent her senses into overdrive. It was masculine yet soft, arresting yet subtle.

"Cold water this morning?" she teased, noticing the absence of steam from the bathroom.

He smiled knowingly at her as he secured his suspenders over his starched white shirt. There was something about him in this state, halfway between formal and informal, that gave her heart a terrible case of the flutters.

"I always take cold showers," he stated. "It keeps me alert."

"Even in the winter?" She was appalled.

He nodded while fastening his watch around his wrist.

"You're a glutton for punishment," she accused.

He just smiled that self-assured smile, having no right to look so handsome this early in the morning.

She watched him don the rest of his ensemble from the edge of the bed—socks, shoes, tie. It was a forbidden form of entertainment for Rachel who so rarely got to see him looking this vulnerable.

She sat up on the side of the bed, ready to give him a kiss goodbye. Instead he stepped away, turned the lights off, and then came back to her. She expected he would tuck her in and kiss her forehead, but she watched in fascination as he gently removed the sheets from her naked body and knelt at the side of the bed between her knees.

She hadn't any time to process what was happening until Frank already had her tummy pressed beneath one hand, guiding her to lie flat on the bed. He swept her legs onto his shoulders and kissed his way up her thigh until he reached the site of his unfinished business.

Rachel cried out softly as his tongue met flush with her femininity. She squirmed with aching desire, reaching down with her fingers tangled in his still damp hair, attempting to tuck him in closer. She worried he would try to postpone her pleasure again, but she had no choice this time but to trust him. He worked on her diligently during the short time he had her in his control, as if he were to be graded on his performance. It couldn't have been more than a minute, yet she felt completely delirious by the time he gave in to her unspoken demands and began beating the tip of his tongue roughly against her clit. She promptly lost all control, writhing in utter bliss against his mouth until she collapsed in a shuddering heap on his bed.

His hands briefly pressed down on her bare, trembling thighs as he stood up to his full height, a gleam of satisfaction in his final appraisal.

Without a word, he armed himself, tucked his cell phone and key card into his pocket, tossed his suit jacket over one shoulder, and left.