Longing and Lies (9 page)

“What the hell was that back there?” she blasted him the instant the car doors were closed. “What was
what
back there?” He stuck the key into the ignition and the eight-cylinder engine purred to life.

“You know exactly
what
! All the huggy, kissy, what are you having, baby. That's what.”

She could hear how she sounded—like a nagging wife, the girlfriend that's called a ‘B' to her face and doesn't care—but she couldn't help herself. Elliot brought out the worst in her.

Elliot eased the SUV into traffic. His jaw tightened. This whole operation was wearing thin, really quick and they'd just gotten started. They'd been at odds since day
one and now that they'd slept together it only made a bad situation horrific. “I guess I was still caught up in the charade.” He cut a look in her direction. “Show's over. Happy?”

Ashley could almost see the steam rising off the top of Elliot's head. He had every right to be angry. What had he done that was so awful? Touch her? Call her baby? The fault wasn't with him, but how his kindness made her feel when she knew it wasn't and could never be real.

The walls went back up.

When they returned to the apartment Elliot tossed his jacket on the couch, no longer giving a damn whether it pissed her off or not. He took the bag of food and brought it to the kitchen. Setting it on the counter he removed one of the foam containers then grabbed a beer from the fridge. He took everything into the living room and set up camp on the couch. He pointed the remote at the forty-two-inch screen and surfed for something to drown out the past half hour. He settled on an ESPN special “The Championship Knicks.”

Ashley didn't say a word. Quietly she retrieved her meal from the bag on the counter and took it to her room. The more distance they put between them at the moment the better, she thought as she closed her room door.

She stared at the food that she'd been salivating over and couldn't take one bite. Instead she sprawled out on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

When she emerged more than an hour later with the
intention of putting away the uneaten food, she realized that the apartment was totally quiet. The living room was empty. She listened for any sounds. Silence. She eased down the hallway toward Elliot's bedroom. His door was open. That room was empty, too.

She dared to step inside. The room was surprisingly neat. The bed was made. All of his clothes were put away. A robe dressed the bottom of the bed and his laptop sat opened on the desk by the window. She walked to his closet and opened the door, ran her hands along his shirts and sweaters. The air held the intoxicating scent of him and for a moment she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she slowly opened her eyes, closed the closet before taking a final look around and walked out.

 

Elliot contemplated what he was about to do during the entire drive. He didn't see any alternative. He parked the SUV and cut the engine. Before he could convince himself to change his mind, he got out of the vehicle and walked down the quiet tree-lined street. He stood in front of the house for a moment then walked to the door and rang the bell.

Moments later, a surprised Claudia answered the door.

“Elliot!” She pulled the door open. “Is everything all right?”

As always Claudia was impeccably dressed. Her oyster-colored long-sleeved silk sweater over tan slacks,
with a thin gold chain at her unlined neck could easily take her from morning to night without missing a beat. Recently wed to Bernard Hassell, Claudia still had the glow of a happy bride.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Everything's fine. I'm sorry. I should have called.”

She waved off his apology. “Come in. Come in. I was just surprised to see you. I assume you came to see Bernard?”

“Is he here?”

“Yes, banished to the yard where he's smoking those awful cigars.” She wrinkled her nose. “Go on out back.”

Elliot grinned. “Thanks.” He walked through the sprawling ground floor of the three-story brownstone. The gleaming wood floors reflected the perfectly placed antique furniture and the off-white walls showcased the expensive art that went from Basquiat to Synthia Saint James. He passed through the dining room to the kitchen and walked out the back door.

Bernard was reclining on a blue-and-white-striped lounge chair, sipping on what looked like brandy and puffing happily on his cigar. He looked up when he heard the door squeak and his eyes widened for a moment before a slow smile moved across his mouth.

“Well, well. What brings you to the mountain,” he joked, emitting a soft chuckle.

“I need to talk.”

Bernard's smile slowly faded. His brows drew close.
The sober expression on Elliot's face was a clear signal that this was no ordinary social call. “Sure. Have a seat.” He extended his hand in the direction of the second lounger.

Elliot sat on its edge. He folded his hands on his thighs and leaned forward. “I need you to get me off of this assignment.”

“I see.” He adjusted the collar of his thick zip up sweater to ward off a sudden gust of chilly wind that had started to pick up as the sun began its descent. “You want to tell me why?”

Elliot lowered his head and blew out a breath through puffed cheeks. He looked across at Bernard who regarded him with the patience born of a man who'd grown accustomed to long stories.

“I'm not the one for this job.”

Bernard made a noise in his throat. “Of course you are or you wouldn't have been selected. You'll have to do a much better job of convincing me.”

Elliot stood, jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and began to pace in front of the George Foreman grill. “You know I don't work well with a partner. Haven't for years.”

Bernard didn't respond.

Elliot tried again. “We don't get along. It's a bad mix.”

“It's getting a little chilly. Let's go inside.” Bernard slowly pulled himself up, his marquee—good looks defying his nearly sixty-years of age. He stamped
out his cigar in the ashtray, took what was left of his drink, pushed open the door and led Elliot to his study. Bernard walked toward the window that looked out onto the dimming street. The lights had come on, giving the historic Sugar Hill neighborhood an old-world charm.

Bernard turned and leaned against the sill. He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “I'm still waiting to hear what you could possibly tell me to make me pull you from this case.” He folded his arms across his chest. “This isn't high school where you get to pick and choose who you sit next to in class.” His voice grew harsh. “Kids are disappearing. Families are being torn apart and you're talking to me about not getting along? You wanna tell me what the hell is really going on? 'Cause what you're telling me ain't cutting it.”

“I slept with her,” he shouted. “I crossed the damned line.” He walked back and forth, ran his hand across his face. His jaw clenched.

“Have a seat,” Bernard ordered after watching Elliot weave a trail across the imported Aztec area rug.

Elliot's tortured dark gaze snapped in Bernard's direction. Reluctantly he dropped down into a side chair, leaned on his elbows and pressed his forehead into his palms.

“If you're intention is to shock me, you haven't. Although I must admit I'm a little disappointed that you would be so reckless.” He moved away from the window and sat down opposite Elliot. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really. Just that it happened. Compromises everything.”

“What does Ashley have to say?”

“We haven't spoken…not about that.”

“Well, you're going to speak to me. Starting now.”

“I know it was a mistake. All right. Maybe it was to keep us from killing each other.” A flash of Ashley moaning beneath him filled his head and clouded his vision. The way she whispered his name, filled his ears. The way she felt, made him numb to everything else. The way she made him feel, had brought him to Bernard's door.

“Jean doesn't make mistakes,” Bernard stated matter-of-factly.

Elliot's head jerked up. “What?”

“She doesn't make mistakes.”

“I heard you the first time. I wanna know what you're talking about.”

“Simple. When Jean sets up an operation she examines every eventuality. She's like a master chess player, always three steps ahead, anticipating the next move.”

“So I'm being played like some kind of puppet?” he said, his voice rising in disbelief and outrage.

“I wouldn't go that far. You and Ashley were selected specifically for this job, because of your skills and because of who you both are.” He gave Elliot a long, hard look, hoping to convey his message. “She's never been wrong. That's why she's so good at what she does.
Just do your job, E.” He paused. “Look, I know losing Lynn the way you did…I know it was hard. She was more than just your partner. But it wasn't your fault. No one could have known about the bomb. Not even you.”

The horror of that day would live with him forever. They'd been stationed in Iraq, on a mission to uncover subversives. This was to be their last job. They'd decided to live a “regular” life. They were happy and eager to get the job done so they could return to the States. They'd gone into town the next morning, to the market. The streets were teeming with people, eager for fresh fruits and vegetables. Lynn had left his side to negotiate with the fish monger and then the explosion. The screams. The smoke. The flames. The sirens.

His throat tightened. He'd vowed never again to allow himself to become that attached to anyone, to feel like that about anyone. Since that day, years earlier, he'd worked totally alone. Until now.

Elliot jerked out of his seat. He stared hard at Bernard. “I don't like being manipulated. You can tell Jean I said so. When this thing is over…lose my number.” He turned and stormed out, barely saying goodbye to Claudia.

Through the window Bernard watched Elliot drive off and wondered if this would be the first time that Jean was wrong.

W
hen Elliot returned to the apartment, the achingly soulful sound of Billie Holiday's “God Bless the Child,” greeted him. The tightness in his chest began to loosen as the music glided through his veins. He went through the foyer. The lights in the living room were muted, but he could make out Ashley curled up on the couch, a glass of wine at her feet.

He walked all the way in. She didn't move and when he looked closer he realized that she was asleep. He slowly sat down on the footstool and watched the even rise and fall of her chest, the way her long lashes fluttered ever so slightly when she breathed. She looked perfectly angelic, a halo of wild, cottony hair framing her heart-shaped face. As if drawn by some unseen force,
he reached out and gently pushed aside a curl that hung by her eye.

She stirred. Her eyes flickered then opened fully. When they focused on him, she scrambled to sit up.

“Sorry.” He held up his hands. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

Ashley ran her hand across her face. “I need to get up anyway.” She made a move to stand.

“No.” He pressed her thigh with his hand, holding her momentarily in place. “Don't leave.”

Her heart banged in her chest. The thigh he just touched felt hot.

“I'm…look, I'm sorry for earlier. I was trying to piss you off.”

“Oh really. I hadn't noticed.”

Elliot gave a short laugh.

They looked at each other and their tense expressions slowly began to soften.

“I have my ways,” Elliot began. “It's not personal.”

The comment, though made as an appeasement, stung Ashley. She'd been holding on to the false hope that maybe, buried beneath the thick skin, that Elliot had felt something when they'd made love. But they hadn't made love, she corrected herself. They'd had sex. Plain and simple. And she needed to stop being such a “girl” about it and move on.

Ashley straightened up and forced a smile. “No worries. I finally realized that you were simply being your obnoxious self,” she said, nonchalant.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Touché.” He got up, stood over her. “Think I'll take a shower. Long day. Then I'm going to go check the surveillance, see if we picked up anything.” He walked out.

Ashley remained where she sat, fighting the urge to throw something. This man had her totally off her game. She needed to get on track and focus. She got up, took her glass from the floor and walked off to the kitchen.

She stood over the sink and washed out her glass. If she was going to focus on the case and possibly uncover information about her sister's abduction, there was no better time than the present. She put the glass in the drain, flipped off the light and began to retrace her steps.

Elliot was coming from his room. The scent of his freshly scrubbed body preceded him.

They met in the center of the apartment, the couch and tables separating them. The hallway light cast them both in shadow.

“Still up?” He tightened the towel around his waist, crossed the open space and walked toward the kitchen. “I have a taste for something,” he said opening the fridge and looking deep inside, “just can't figure out what it is.” He stood, turned his head and looked at her from above the open door.

Ashley's heart was inexplicably pounding in her chest. He closed the door and she would've sworn that his towel was missing, even though she knew it was just her imagination working overtime.

He stared at her for a long minute. His stomach tightened.
God, you're beautiful.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the security of the semi-darkened room.

Damn! Had he actually spoken his thoughts out loud? Yeah, he was losing it, and quick. He rocked is jaw back and forth trying to think of a wisecrack comeback. He couldn't. He ran his hand across the top of his close-cropped head. Now what?

“Do you mean that?”

Elliot focused on her, thought about his conversation with Carmen and earlier with Bernard. There must be something incredibly special about Ashley Temple that had dragged him out of his self-imposed prison and stripped him of the prickly armor he'd worn for the past six years to keep any and everyone at bay.

“Like I told you earlier, I'm a man of my word.”

Ashley's gaze faltered for a moment. “I believe that,” she admitted. “And I swear I'm really not the wicked, short-tempered bitch that has taken over my mind. Ask my friends, I'm really likeable,” she cried, playfully.

Elliot chuckled. “You definitely need to carry around your references.” He waited a beat, enjoying the look of happiness in her eyes. “My friends call me E.”

A soft smile lifted her full lips. “Hello, E. My friends call me Ms. Temple,” she said with a mischievous light in her eyes.

“Oooh, do they?” he chuckled. He stretched out his hand.

Tentatively, Ashley moved toward him, walking around the table, past the chairs until she stood right in front of him. She looked into his eyes, then down at his hand. She placed her hand in his and his warm fingers closed securely around hers.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Temple.”

“Nice to meet you, E.”

The thermometer rose from room temperature to sizzle in zero point ten seconds.

Inadvertently her lips parted ever so slightly as she stared into his eyes, seeing the same longing, the same desire that she knew he saw in hers.

Elliot stepped closer, still holding her hand. “This is crazy.” Uncertainty mixed with possibility in his voice.

“I know,” she whispered, captured by the caress of his smile. “We're supposed to hate each other.”

He stroked her cheek with his fingertip, setting off ripples of delight that shimmied through her body. Her eyes fluttered as she let the sensation have its way with her.

“Hating people doesn't ever feel this good, I can assure you,” he uttered, a moment before his warm lips brushed hers.

Her soft moan of pleasure was like finding the key to eternal happiness. Elliot's soul opened to welcome that little piece of joy. This was what he'd been afraid of—this feeling—and then have it taken away. That he knew
he couldn't do ever again, but maybe for the moment he could pretend that this feeling was for always.

Elliot pulled her flush against him, his need for her pulsing against the towel that separated them. Her mouth was just as sweet and welcoming, taking him in like one who'd lost their way and had finally found the road home.

Ashley wrapped her arms around his neck, her mouth, her tongue eager to meld and dance with his. For now, nothing else mattered except the inexplicable need that she had for this man that drove her crazy. She didn't understand it, and probably never would. All she knew was what she felt: desire. She knew what she wanted, Elliot.

She gasped in surprise when Elliot suddenly scooped her up into his arms.

“Your room or mine?” he asked, his voice thick and heavy.

“Let's try your bed this time,” she answered him in a sultry whisper.

“Say no more.” He kissed the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids as he carried her down the hallway with ease. He pushed open his bedroom door with his foot and crossed the room to his bed in long-legged strides and eased them both down on his king-size bed.

“We'll hate each other in the morning,” she said softly, her eyes wide and playful.

“You're probably right,” he answered. “But let's
not talk about it,” he said before taking her lips to his own in a long, deep kiss. Finally he eased back. “Why worry about tomorrow when we have this whole night to concentrate on?” He kissed her again, softly, almost tentative this time as if it was the first.

The gentle exploration was more arousing than when their eager tongues were entwined. Ashley felt herself bloom like a flower awakened by the warmth of the morning sun. Her body grew full as her veins filled with desire and it flowed through her with growing urgency. Every tight muscle loosened. Her thighs eased apart as Elliot's strong and sure hands roamed her lines and curves.

He lifted up and pulled the towel away from his waist. Staring into Ashley's eyes he took her hand and placed it on his hardened shaft. They both moaned at the contact.

“That's how much I want you,” he groaned, squeezed his eyes shut when she tightened her hand around him.

The feel of him in her hand was an erotic rush that defied explanation. It gave her a sense of power to know that she could make him feel this way—about her. Slowly she stroked him, feeling the veins and muscles tense and ripple beneath her fingertips.

Elliot groaned deep in his throat, grabbed her hand, squeezed it once, then pulled her hand away from its hold. He eased her back onto the bed, unfastened her
pants and pulled them off her, tossing them to the floor. He took off her sweater and it joined her jeans.

He moved up on the bed and turned on the night light. “I want to see you,” he said, his gaze searing a trail along her exposed flesh. He removed her panties, inching them down her thighs and across her legs like some sexy cabaret routine. He let his fingers caress her, moving across her stomach until it quivered, her inner thighs until they trembled, and ever so lightly across the perfectly tapered curly triangle that shielded the epicenter of her need.

Ashley moaned and gripped the sheet into her clenched hands when Elliot's thumb pressed her swollen clit. He massaged it until it was rock hard and fully exposed from its protective sheath. She writhed against his ministrations, her hips rising and falling to capture the pleasure that he was putting on her.

And then she was hot, wet, suckled and she cried out in blinding delight as his mouth and tongue intensified what his fingers had done. Her head spun and white light flashed behind her closed lids. Wave after shock wave of pleasure jettisoned through her. She tried to scoot away when the pleasure became so intense that it was almost unbearable. But Elliot had no intention of letting her get away. He gripped her hips, raising them higher, leaving her completely open to him and his hunger, to quench his thirst for her.

Her head thrashed back and forth as his tongue flicked, laved and teased. Reason left her and all that
remained was the driving need for release, which Elliot seemed intent on giving her.

Elliot inserted one finger then another. Ashley groaned but he didn't stop. He spread his fingers inside of her and gently slid them in and out, bringing tears of pleasure to her eyes. Her strangled moans spurred him on, and when her body began to tense, her thighs spread wider and her body open fully to him, he knew that she was on the brink of coming and he wanted to experience it with her.

“Ohhhh,” she cried. “Ahhhh…E…yesss.”

“In the drawer,” he urged in a voice that was raw and gravelly. “Open it,” he ordered as he continued to finger her toward ecstasy.

Barely able to focus, Ashley reached out to the drawer of the nightstand and pulled it open. She felt around inside and found a condom package.

“Put it on me.” He pressed his thumb against her clit and her hips rose and bucked against his hand. “Do it.” He could already feel the moisture forming on the tip of his penis and he knew it was only sheer will that kept him from climaxing.

Ashley fumbled with the condom pack and finally got it open. Another wave of electricity shot through her. Her eyes rolled.

Elliot came up on his knees and moved between her parted thighs, keeping his fingers in place. He was rock hard and at full attention.

Ashley rolled the condom over the head and down as far as it would go, which was only halfway.

With his free hand, Elliot pulled her bra down beneath her breasts forcing them higher. Her nipples were hard and full, calling for his attention. He lowered his head and drew the dark grape into his eager mouth and he pushed deep and hard inside her in one swift move.

A whoosh of air expelled from her lungs as her insides instinctively gripped him, the muscles opening and closing around him.

“Ahhhh,” he groaned, moving in long, slow strokes willing himself to extend the incredible feeling that rocked them both. He draped her legs over his arms and pushed them back and as far as her body would allow and sunk into the depths of her essence, tapped the spot, once, twice, three times and then heaven and earth collided.

Ashley's entire body undulated in wave after wave of unspeakable explosions, as Elliot rode out his own fantasy, his longings, his wants and needs and finally they merged into one long jet stream of release that erupted within her.

For several joyous moments they bathed in the afterglow, entwined, joined. The rush of their breathing, the pounding of their hearts were the only sounds in the room. By degrees their breathing and racing hearts slowed to normal.

Elliot kissed her along the ridge of her collarbone,
making her squirm. “Hate me yet?” he asked, thrusting gently into her as he felt himself growing hard again.

“Not quite,” she said, feeling his swelling begin to fill her. She rolled her hips. “Maybe we…need to…finish working out…our aggressions,” she said, halting between her words with each of his thrusts.

Elliot suddenly turned onto his back and took her with him, his thoroughly engorged penis binding them together. “Why don't you show me how aggressive you can be,” he challenged. He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands and gently massaged them, teasing the sensitized nipples between the tips of his fingers.

Ashley arched her back and braced her hands behind her on his muscled thighs. She milked him in a mind-blowing climax with quick up and down thrusts of her hips and the deep squeeze of her inner muscles that had them both seeing stars.

Later they lay side by side, the cool sheet covering their damp bodies to the waist. Ashley's insides still quivered and periodically Elliot's shaft jumped. But they both knew that enough was enough for one night.

“Since this is your room, I don't expect that you'll be getting up and leaving in the middle of the night,” Ashley said, half in jest.