She inhaled, in and out, not yet opening her eyes; she didn't want to, it felt too good: the warm softness of the sheets around her, under her cheek, the scent of him around her.

Then, her eyes opened, some annoying disappointment stinging her when she saw she was alone. He fucked her in and left, she thought, and cringed at how stupid it sounded in her head — what a stupid thing to think — they had sex and he went back to his room, it was perfectly logical.

She turned on the TV and put the volume a notch down, just to have a background noise. She hated silence in small, enclosed spaces; an echo of the early years of her life in the orphanage.

She grabbed the phone.

Past six — goddamn, how long did she sleep? No new messages from work, but it was draining enough to see the last two she'd ignored. She didn't feel like doing this over the phone. It could wait till tomorrow. Tomorrow, she'd make a trip back home and bring them up to date in person.

And maybe it was high time to stop being a reckless idiot, and back off before it was too late. Stop fooling herself that all she saw in him was a dick she loved to ride; that she didn't touch herself imagining his mouth at her ear whispering he was in love with her, that it didn't make her squirt over her fingers within seconds, every time. And she'd fantasized about her share of men in various ways, but this had to be the single most disturbing thing that had ever made her come.

She could do it — give up the case, get relocated or whatever else was coming her way as a result of this mess — whatever it would be, it would still be easier to take than the torture of enduring his presence and what it did to her.

Well, unless she could somehow manage to get her shit together and get down to doing what she was here for — what she'd spent the last half a year working for — lead him on, keep gaining his trust, gradually gathering intel on people and locations that would advance her case and make all the time and work she invested in it worthwhile. MB was gone, but, as much as she still hadn't quite gotten over the frustration of losing her main target, it didn't end there. There were others, the whole network she could gain access to if she played her cards right, if she went on to let him seduce her, make him believe he swayed her, lured her in with money and power.

If she could bring herself to do that, she could stay.

And never let him know that it was neither money nor power that made her stay.

#

She glanced around the almost empty restaurant; strange, at this hour. Then again, October was probably one of the laziest months of the year in this part of the globe.

And here they were again, the shady couple, seated at the other end of the bar on a hocker each, sipping on their drinks. The guy was wearing a wedding ring, she noticed only now; of course, what a cliche.

She took a sip of her wine and, hearing steps nearing her back, froze in pleasant anticipation; she didn't tell him she was coming downstairs for a drink, but she knew he'd track her down here eventually; he never stayed away for too long.

She sighed in disappointment when the voice that reached her turned out to belong to a stranger.

"Can I buy you a drink," asked a not bad looking, tall, blonde-haired guy in a shirt and tie, seating himself on a stool next to her.

"I buy my own drinks, thanks."

"What if I insist?"

"You don't wanna find out, trust me."

"Feisty. I like it."

Then, the voice she was waiting resounded somewhere close by, sending a warm tingle all over her. "What part of "I'm not interested" didn't you get?"

The stranger frowned in response, rising from his seat. Funnily enough, he suddenly seemed much shorter and not half as good-looking as before. "I'm sorry, and you are?"

"Oh, you will be sorry in a second, that I can promise you," he said, his voice dropping low.

She grabbed his forearm, halting him. "He was just leaving," she said, pulling him towards her to stop things from escalating; cradling his cheek to distract him. Still tense, he finally met her gaze, his lashes fluttering, eyes a bit hazy, the impossibly full lips pressing together softly as his mouth closed; God, she wanted to kiss him so badly.

Forcing her gaze away, she looked towards the stranger, who, his eyebrows ostensibly raised, finally listened to his survival instinct and made himself scarce. For another little moment, she gave in to the pleasure of envisioning grabbing the man's neck with one hand and breaking his nose with the other, before the beloved scent reached her from up close, strong arms surrounding her as he moved to stand behind her. "I can take care of myself," she blurted, just to say something, to cover up how giddy the whole scene made her, how fluttery her stomach was right now.

"I know that better than anyone, trust me." She could hear him smile. "But I couldn't help it. It's instinct, for a man to protect his woman," he said huskily, his palm covering her stomach.

"I'm not your woman."

"After tonight, you will be," he whispered, his breath hot in her ear as his hand went a notch lower, below the navel, and pressed there — and it was like he pushed some magic button — breathless, her face burning, she felt her pelvis muscles contract in a series of spasms so strong she could feel moisture pooling, then flowing down her thighs; then, her stomach fluttering at the thought of telling him, seeing the look in his face once she told him, showed him what he did.

"You don't think you can run away from me, do you?" He seized her arm and pulled her back into his embrace.

"I need to change." Glancing around the dimly lit space to make sure no eyes were on them, she discreetly guided his hand under her dress, both their breaths hitching in their throats when he reached what she meant for him to find. "It's not comfortable walking around like this…" she said against his cheek.

"By the gods, you're unbelievable…" he uttered breathlessly, his palm slippery between her thighs. "I'm gonna lick it all off you… right here, I don't care," he shakily breathed into her ear, his fingers finding their way under the soaked fabric, thrusting inside, making her knees buckle, air gone from her lungs.

"The restroom…" she managed to whisper against his mouth, her fingernails buried in the nape of his neck; he didn't need to be told twice.

Judging by the facial expression of the middle-aged woman washing hands in the sink next to hers, they'd done a rather shit job at trying to stay low-key.

And, in the state she was in right now, she couldn't give less of a damn. She was too preoccupied trying to calm her breath and get her leg muscles to stop twitching. Having splashed some cold water over her face, she grabbed the edges of the wash basin, the white porcelain pleasantly cool against her skin, and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath in, held it in for several seconds, and let the air out slowly.

And neither this one, nor the ones that followed, no calming breaths helped; they just canceled all the outer noise out and only made her feel it clearer, sharper, cruising in her veins, pulsing in her ears; the wild rush, sweet poison she hadn't felt in ages; like she was twenty again. Apart from the fact that she wasn't using anymore. She hardly even touched her wine.

He waited for her outside the restroom, his eyes calm but sparking; like a predator closing in on its prey. Without exchanging a word, he took her under her elbow and they headed out for a smoke, as if it was something they'd agreed on beforehand, something they always did after they fucked in public bathrooms. It didn't surprise her anymore. It was so natural, this vibe between them, like they were connected, somehow, in some way that her logical brain refused to accept.

"I burn inside you… you can feel me there, like a fever…" his words echoed in her head, covering her arms in gooseflesh as he now locked his dark eyes on hers. This warmth, heat of him; she could feel it from the distance; overwhelming, enslaving even without him touching her. So damn disturbing, for something to be out of her control like this; and terrifying, how it set her ablaze.

She drew another hit of her cigarette, a cold gust of wind reminding her it was October, and she was standing outside with her shoulders bare.

Of course, he saw it. She loved it, how nothing escaped his attention; how alike they were. And, well, the fact he could use his magic to do things like producing a coat on her back when she was freezing, she didn't mind that, either. Those little caring gestures he made, it disarmed her every time.

And it didn't matter. It was just one night. Tomorrow, she would be gone, it would all be gone, she'd put it behind her and move on, forget all about it.

Put it out, like a cigarette.

She walked over to the tall, chromium ashtray standing next to the door, and, sighing, she squished the smoldering cigarette butt against the shiny metal bowl. The door opened, someone walking out, several notes of the elevator jazz pouring out from the inside; strange, how familiar it suddenly felt, all of it; cozy, almost.

She turned around.

He didn't see her, his profile lit by the street lamp behind him, a soft halo around his hair. He looked so human, normal; brows slightly furrowed, pensive; lost in some thought that troubled him. What was he thinking about? What could someone like him worry about? He was immortal and could have everything.

She let out a loud breath. He turned her way, their eyes meeting; his distant, indecipherable.

"You good?" He approached, tightened the coat around her like she was a kid, and pulled her to his chest.

"Yeah," she managed to utter through the sudden lump in her throat, a memory flooding her out of the blue; outside her place, when he told her about Amy; the rain, her hands cold and shaking, him taking the door keys from her and doing exactly what he did now. And now, she did exactly what she did then; like a trigger snapped and it just poured out.

"I can see that," he said with light sarcasm, wrapping his arms tighter around her, his hand on her head; and, like back then, not asking anything; and she was glad, because she had no answer. Not the one that she could voice out loud.

Sniffling, she thought back to her reflections from just hours ago, the thought of deceiving him suddenly sickening, unbearable. She had to give up the case. And leave.

And not wait till tomorrow.

Tomorrow, it was going to hurt ten times more.