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“How long do you think you
’ll be in Afghan?” he said, still running his finger over the diamond.

“Assuming my papers arrive,” I said, giving him a look which he wisely ignored, “maybe a month, six weeks. Certainly no more. I
’ll have a couple of days in Kabul, maybe in Kandahar, too – meeting some of your top brass. Then I’m hoping I’ll be able to hitch a ride out to Leatherneck. I’ll just have to see how it goes. Maybe I’ll see you out there?”

He frowned. “I want you home, safe, Caro.”

“Likewise, Sebastian.”

We stared at each other, aware we
’d reached an impasse.

He shook his head and changed the subject.

“Do you want to take a swim?” he said, suddenly. “I’ll be God knows how many miles from the nearest pool out there, and hundreds of fucking miles from the ocean.”

“Sure,” I said, relieved
at the new topic. “And I get to see you in those ridiculously loud board shorts again.”

“And you
’ll wear the bikini?”

“Only if you promise not to punch anyone who looks at me.”

“Can’t promise that, baby,” he said, with a smirk.

The time passed too quickly, and it seemed just moments later that we were sitting in the back of a taxi taking us to the airport at Naples, a short drive away.

It felt strange to be
traveling in a car again and, much as Sebastian’s driving had scared the living daylights out of me, I missed the mean machine – it had been so darned sexy feeling his hard body through the leather jacket, my thighs clamped around him. I wondered if he’d get his other bike shipped over from Ches’s garage. I hoped so. I wanted him to feel that his home was in Long Beach, not a bunch of boxes in San Diego.

I decided to broach the subject.

“Sebastian, when do you think you’ll tell Ches about us?”

He turned to look at me, a slight frown on his face.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Well, I just thought I could get all your belongings sent over from the west coast, but it
’s going to make it tricky to organize if Ches doesn’t know about me.”

He blinked at me in surprise.

“And there are some beautiful places in upstate New York that we could ride out to on your other bike… if you want.”

A happy smile spread over his face. “You
’d do that?”

I was confused by his question. “Of course. Why wouldn
’t I? You’ll need your things when you come home.”

I couldn
’t understand Sebastian’s surprise; he was shaking his head and smiling at me.

“
Okay. I’ll email him tonight,” he said with a grin. “He’ll be pretty fucking surprised.”

I laughed darkly. “Yes, that
probably about sums it up – to say the least.”

He pulled my face towards his, and kissed me hung
rily, ignoring the fact that our driver had a grandstand view in the mirror.

The airport was
a small, modern, glass and steel structure with a single runway.

We got separated by security, and I watched anxiously from a distance as Sebastian was questioned and patted down. It wasn
’t until he was able to persuade them to look at his US Marine ID card, that they finally let him go.

He smiled as he walked over to me. “Guess I
’ve got a criminal face or something.”

“I could have told
you that,” I laughed. “I’m just glad they didn’t get one of the female security guards or you’d never have got away.”

He rolled his eyes.

The flight was short, less than two hours and we were back in Geneva, carless, bikeless and sunless.

The city was much cooler than the
southern Mediterranean, but I felt colder inside, too. Our time together could now be counted in hours.

We took a taxi to Sebastian
’s attic-like room; I hovered by the door as he threw back the shutters, letting the thin, gray, northern light of dusk into the room.

He saw
the stricken expression on my face.

“We can check into a hotel, Caro.”

“No, this is fine. It’s not the room…”

“Don
’t say it, Caro,” he said, softly. “Please, baby. I can’t bear it when you look at me like that.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. I made an effort to pull
myself together, for his sake. “So, single bed, huh? That’s going to be cozy. We’ll have to improvise.”

He smiled at me gratefully.

“I just gotta pack up my shit, baby, then we’ll go find somewhere to eat, okay?”

“Sure, go ahead. I
’ll write up my notes and check my messages.”

Predictably, I had long emails from both Jenna and Alice begging me to tell them if it was true that
: a) I’d met a man; b) I’d actually had sex with him; and c) could it possibly be the hottie in the photograph. Nicole’s email was much shorter and so explicit in her demand for information, that I angled my laptop’s screen away from Sebastian, should he happen to glance over.

There w
as also an email from my editor saying that my credentials were on their way and I had a flight booked to Kabul 12 hours after Sebastian. I decided not to tell him, knowing it would give him something else to worry about – or possibly try to delay again, no matter what he said to the contrary. Although I did wonder if he’d perhaps put a word in for me after all, to expedite my papers.

It didn
’t take Sebastian long to pack, he owned so little. He wouldn’t need his civvy clothes or the majority of his books, which were boxed up to be sent back to the US; everything else went in his duffel bag.

“You can stay here if you like,” he offered, rather apologetically. “It
’s paid up till the end of the month. The owner is Madame Dubois. Just leave the key with her when you go: she’s cool.”

“Thank you, I
’ll do that.”

He smiled, glad to be able to do something for me.

“Any interesting emails?”

“All my girlfriends are drooling over
your photograph,” I said, skating over the news that my editor had been in touch. “They can’t quite believe you’re real: neither can I sometimes.”

He smirked and pulled me into a hug. “I could prove it to you
now if you like,” he said, pushing himself lightly into my body.

I didn
’t answer, but ran my hands across the front of his jeans and squeezed, not very gently. His eyebrows shot up, making me laugh.

“Sex instead of food, Caro?”

“Yes,” I said, kissing his neck, “I don’t know what’s come over me: you must be a bad influence.”

He responded with enthusiasm
, and I’d got as far as stripping off his T-shirt when his damn phone rang. I recognized the ringtone – it was one I wasn’t likely to forget – Sebastian’s CO. I’d have to have words with that man.

I raised my hands in defeat
, and Sebastian scowled as he answered.

“Hunter. Yes, sir. Just got back to Geneva.”

He listened intently for almost two minutes without speaking. I was squirming with curiosity, desperate to know what his CO was telling him, certain it was to do with where he was being sent.

He ended the call with a curt, “Yes, sir,” then he looked at me.
“Pick up 05.00.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him.

We stood together, unmoving, needing that closeness for as long as we could.

Eventually, Sebastian kissed my hair.

“Let’s go get some food,” he said, quietly.

I nodded without speaking.

We stepped out into the evening, and I shivered in the mountain air. Sebastian held my hand and we walked slowly, the mountains behind us silent sentinels of our unspoken misery.

He
took me to a small, intimate bistro, where the owner nodded at him familiarly, seemingly surprised to see him with company.

“I come here most days,” he said, shrugging slightly.

I’d noticed that his room didn’t have anywhere to cook. In fact, he didn’t have so much as a kettle. My love lived simply.

I tried to
make the mood light, wanting him to remember our last night together for something other than the crushing pain I felt.

“Hmm, s
eems to me you need some cooking lessons, Sebastian. When you come home – to Long Beach – we’ll have to have some fun with food.”

His eyes glinted with mischief.

“Yeah, that would be great! Remember that chocolate sauce you bought that time? That was amazing – and I don’t even like chocolate that much. Although it tasted damn fine on you.”

“Don
’t use language like that with me, Sebastian. Chocolate is not something I joke about.”

He grinned. “
Okay, I get it. How do you feel about peanut butter?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I
’ll buy some for you: crunchy or smooth?”

“Crunchy,” he replied, making the word sound incredibly dirty.

I smiled, happy to see him planning for our future, wishing it could be sooner, wishing things were different.

We didn
’t linger in the bistro. Even though it wasn’t busy, we didn’t want to spend our precious hours with anyone else.

Sebastian
’s room was barely warmer than outside, when we climbed that narrow staircase for the last time. I shivered.

“Cold, baby?”

“A little. Can we turn the heat on?”

He smiled at me. “No heating.”

I stared at him in amazement. “None? Not even a space heater?”

He shook his head, amused. “Don
’t worry, Caro – I’ll warm you up.”

Who needed
space heaters when hot Sebastian Hunter was an option?

I brushed my teeth in the chilly bathroom, and leapt into the narrow bed, still wearing my T-shirt and panties.

Sebastian was far hardier, strolling into the bedroom naked.

I feasted my eyes, trying to fix the image in my mind, and
had to restrain myself from whipping out my camera, for a more permanent memento. I reminded myself that I had many photographs to treasure from the last few days: pictures and memories, good memories.