Topic: Swallowed

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:03 EST
Paris had a few things going for it. One was the nightlife, the other was the women. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate American women. There was nothing like a California girl - blonde, tanned, and wearing nothing but a bikini - but French women had their own charms, and it didn't start or end with the accent. That wasn't why he was there, though. The trip had been strictly for business purposes, but now that business had been concluded, it was time for a little pleasure. The hotel bar had proved a good place to start.

There wasn't a lot of action going on, but it was a good place to enjoy a few drinks and enjoy the view. He was as unassuming as he could be, looking more like a tourist or a businessman than what he really was. He was dressed mostly in black, except for the jeans - black leather jacket, black sweater, black shoes. Handsome enough to draw the right attention, but not flashy enough to draw too much of it. The first drink had gone down smooth and quick, but he was patiently nursing the second.

It was certainly a good place to observe the various people who made use of the bar, from the business men and women, to the young couples, to the groups who were ut for a little nightlife. As he sat there, nursing his second drink of the evening, a young woman made her way over to the bar, clutching a phrasebook in her hands. Her hair was vibrant red, and her general appearance tended toward what some would call "kooky". She waited nervously for the tender to notice her, and made a creditable attempt at ordering a drink, much to the tender's amusement.

"Oh, um ....excusee mwoir, un purdeet veer duh vin blank, silver plate?"

He couldn't help but notice her, especially with all that red hair, but what drew his attention further was the horribly botched French. Ah, well ....not everyone was multilingual, after all, and while he was hoping to catch the eye of a Parisian beauty, he couldn't help but smile a little at her accent, wondering if he should rescue her or enjoy the rest of the show.

The answer the bartender gave her was evidently far too fast to follow for her, but it was clearly a comment on how appalling it was that a woman should be alone of an evening. The tender smiled at the blank expression he got in response, pouring out a chilled glass of house white for the tourist in front of him.

"Vingt quatre euros, mademoiselle, s'il vous plait."

The redheaded woman blinked for a moment. "Um ....vang cats," she repeated, riffling through the pages of her book. She set her purse on the bar and, giving up on the translation, opened it to offer him the contents.

The tender, noting the naivete with a slightly predatory look, removed a fifty Euro note, and gave her back a ten Euro note with a handful of very small change.

The bearded man seated at the bar sipping his whiskey reached out to snatch the ten Euros from the tender's hand, muttering something quietly in perfectly rendered French that warned the man to give the lady the correct change. Naive tourist or not, she didn't deserve to be ripped off by a predatory bartender.

The woman jumped at the sudden movement from the man sitting at the bar, her eyes wide as she looked at him. The French passed so quickly from one to the other that she didn't have a hope of following it, but the way the bartender scowled and added a twenty to the ten suggested what had happened. Blushing at her gullibility, she nodded her thanks to the bartender, gathering her change and purse back into her bag, and ventured a smile toward her hero. "Um ....mercy, mon-sewer."

And the stranger even allowed the bartender to keep a small tip, too, so he shouldn't have anything to complain about. He didn't want to laugh at her, but he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the terrible accent. "You're welcome," he replied in perfect English, with a northeastern American accent.

"Oh, you're American!" she exclaimed, relief and delight coloring her expression as she giggled. "Oh, thank God. I thought I was gonna have to pretend I could understand you. That is ..." She blushed, biting her lip as she looked down at her drink. "Thank you. I-I think I'm a pretty easy mark for getting ripped off here."

"Most people here understand English, even if they don't want to speak it," he informed her. "First trip to Paris?" he asked, mildly curious. Though she wasn't French, she was easy on the eyes. Maybe the evening wouldn't turn out to be a complete waste, after all.

"That obvious, huh?" She laughed, taking a sip of her wine. "May I join you? Oh ....I'm Sarah, by the way." She offered him her hand, her bright smile managing to convey relief and pleasure at having met someone from home, relatively speaking, as well as hope that he wasn't going to say no.

"Feel free," he replied, trying not to look too desperate or eager for company, of which he was neither. He switched his glass from his right to his left hand before taking her hand in his. "Pleasure. I'm Jason," he said with a friendly smile.

"Thank you." Wriggling onto the stool beside him, she smiled once again. "It's nice to meet you, Jason. Do people really understand me here" I've been waving that damned phrasebook around all day like a complete idiot."

"Most do. I'm sure they appreciate the effort, but French isn't the easiest language to master," he told her, though she probably knew that already. He didn't want to insult her, but her pronunciation was deplorable. "Where are you from?" he asked, before holding up a hand. "Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess." He paused for about half a second before adding, "Boston?"

"I probably should have taken a class before I came," she admitted, blinking in surprise as he pinpointed her accent. "Uh, yeah. That's pretty cool, how'd you guess" My turn to guess ....you're a language professor." Her smile had turned teasing as she spoke, clearly only too happy to latch onto someone who spoke the same language she did.

He chuckled. Her guess was not even close to what he really was, but today, he was playing pretend. "Business consultant," he replied, with an almost apologetic look on his face that she'd guessed wrong. "Boring, I know, but it pays the bills."

"What sort of business do you consult on?" she asked, though it really was a hold-all question. After all, what else could she ask about' "Computers or something?"

"Security," he replied, without hesitation. "It's all pretty boring really. What about you? Business or pleasure and if it's the latter, why's a pretty girl like you traveling alone?" he asked, taking a sip of his whiskey while he awaited her reply.

"Wow," she said, more than a hint of flirtation in the way she looked him over. "I guess you're more muscled than padded under there, huh?" Giggling to herself, she sipped her wine, her smile fading at his question. "Pleasure, I guess," she shrugged. "It was supposed to be a romantic weekend, but I caught him up to his balls in my sister, so I cashed in his ticket and came by myself."

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:04 EST
He might have answered her question, which obviously appealed to his very healthy male ego, but he sobered momentarily when her smile faded. Thankfully, he wasn't sipping his whiskey when she so very bluntly explained why she was alone, or he might have choked. Then again, he'd heard it all before. It was an old story. Jilted lover goes on vacation hoping to find romance elsewhere. Well, who was he to argue with that' There was nothing wrong with mixing a little pleasure with his business so long as it didn't lead anywhere. "Sounds like a dick. You're better off without him."

"Wandering around a foreign city with no idea how to speak the language and no one to talk to is better, huh?" she asked, the teasing spark back in her smile. Evidently the break up had either not been such a shock, or it had happened a while ago. Either way, she didn't seem too devastated by it.

"You're talking to me," he reminded her with a grin, and lifted his glass in salute. "To new friendships," he said, knowing it was more than likely a lie. He didn't have any friends; he had colleagues. Having friends was too dangerous, but she didn't need to know that.

"I am, aren't I?" Her beaming smile returned as she raised her glass to gently touch it to his. "To new friendships." Taking a sip, she eyed him once again. "So ....muscles or padding, you never owned up to which. Or should I be angling to get a personal pass to check for myself?"

He sipped his whiskey, the glass getting dangerously low, though he had yet to refill it. "Padding would be cheating," he replied, setting his glass down, his gaze dropping below her neckline for just a moment before returning to her face. He leaned close, lowering his voice, blue eyes bright with amusement. "I could ask you the the same thing, but it would be rude."

She laughed, her cheeks lighting up with another blush at the thrill of having him look her over and tease her right back again. "Touche," she countered sweetly. "I guess taking off my panties and putting them in your pocket right here and now would be a bit forward, huh?" She winked, a slow exaggerated thing that just made her laugh a little louder.

"You already have my attention," he replied. Putting her panties in his pocket would be more than a little forward, he thought, but it was hardly necessary. "You don't waste any time, do you?" he asked before draining his glass and waving over the bartender. He didn't bother to order a refill, though, instead choosing to order a bottle of expensive French wine.

"I'm on holiday," she shrugged. "Might as well leave the mouse at home for a couple of days and try being a lion for a little." She blinked, surprised by what he ordered. "Wait ....that didn't sound like another whiskey."

"Because it's not," he replied. He didn't even bother pulling out any Euros to pay for it, as the bartender already knew he should add it to the man's bill. "Care to join me somewhere more private?" he asked, once the bartender procured the bottle of wine and set it on the table, along with two glasses.

"Uh ....sure." For all her flirting, she obviously hadn't expected him to take her up on it so quickly, her smile bright with just a touch of shyness about it. She obviously had decided to leave the restrained part of her personality at home for the weekend. "So, um, how long are you in Paris, Jason?"

"Sadly, just a couple more days and then it's back to L.A. You?" he asked, as he slid off the stool, moving to his full height of six feet. He took up the bottle and two glasses, before gesturing her toward the elevator. "My room or yours?" he asked, assuming she was staying there, or else why would she have bothered to visit the bar"

Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she slid off the stool to walk beside him. Her heels definitely gave her a boost, but she wasn't a small woman. Neither was she tall - one of those average heights that needed a little help to be noticeable. "I'm flying back tomorrow night," she told him. "Have to be at least in work on Monday, and hope the kids take pity on me."

He arched a brow, not having asked yet what she did for a living. He wasn't even sure he cared really, though it was nice to have someone to talk to who could speak English and had half a brain in her head. "Teacher?" he guessed, as she didn't seem the nanny type.

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "Kindergarten. So ....loud, but fun." She chuckled sweetly. "And, uh ....my room' I know some guys like to get out fast, I wouldn't want to leave you without an escape route."

"I've been accused of a lot of things, but never of that," he said, blue eyes twinkling with mischief at the double entendre. He might have been pretty quick with the invite, but that didn't mean he was in a hurry otherwise. He hadn't been completely honest with her, but he had at least one night to kill. Why not have some harmless fun in the meantime"

"Oh! I didn't mean ....I ....You're such a tease!" she laughed, laughing as they entered the elevator. She pressed the button for the seventh floor automatically, glancing at his full hands. "You want a hand carrying any of that?"

"Unless you want me to use my hands doing something else," he told her, letting her make what she wanted of that. She was the one who had the key to the room; it was up to her where things went from here.

"In the elevator?" She actually looked shocked for a moment, before giggling to herself, glancing up as the door pinged open on the right floor. "C'mon, Casanova. Enjoy the view if you think you can handle not touching for a little bit longer." With another of those slow, teasing winks, she headed out of the elevator, making sure to sway her rear end for his amusement.

He laughed at her antics, relaxing a little more than he probably should have in her company. She didn't seem to mind his flirting, and had even invited him to her room. He didn't see any harm in that, and he was certainly enjoying the distraction. "Casanova, huh' I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

"I guess it all depends which Casanova I'm talking about," she teased him cheerfully, stopping by 705 to pull out her key and unlock the door. "Peter O'Toole, not so hot. David Tennant or Heath Ledger ....mmm. Dreamy." Grinning, she pushed open the door, inviting him in with one crooked finger. It was a pretty basic room, certainly at the lower end of the price range, but the bed was huge.

"Ah, so we're talking about the movie version then, not the historical figure," he said, implying that he wasn't quite the simpleton he might appear to be, all brawn and no brains. He smiled as he followed her into the room, quickly scanning the room to make sure this wasn't an elaborate trap of some kind. She seemed genuine enough, but then, so did he, and he'd been trained to be suspicious. "Nice bed," he remarked as he set the bottle and glasses on a small table that stood near the windows, where a nice view of Paris made up for the bland room.

"See, I'm not sure I believe Casanova was real," she said, apparently oblivious to the way he cased the room around them. Her bag ended up on the floor by the door; her cardigan found a home on the back of the only chair. "I mean, maybe there were a few guys who did it, and they all ended up being called Casanova. I mean, seriously ....do we really believe one man managed to deflower an entire convent?"

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:05 EST
"Well, I doubt he did it all in one night," he replied as he poured them both a drink. Thankfully, the bartender had already uncorked the bottle or that might have been a problem. "Heath Ledger, huh' Now, that was a damned waste of good talent."

"So how did he not get caught' Would nuns really have helped him break everyone's vows just for the sake of one roll in the hay?" she asked in amusement, moving to join him at the table. "Yeah, he was really something. I had the biggest crush on him when I was a teenager. Shame he was Australian - I would have stalked."

"It was probably just a couple of nuns and the story got embellished over time," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders before handing her a glass. He didn't really care to debate the legend of Casanova all night, when it was so much more fun to play at the part himself. "Should I dye my hair blond?" he teased, though they both seemed to know this was likely to be nothing more than a one-night stand.

She studied him critically over the rim of the glass, her blue eyes teasing above her smile. "No, I think you're pretty just as you are," she said eventually. "Why mess with perfection and all that, although ..." One hesitant hand rose to brush her fingers against his beard. "I've never been up close and personal with one of these before."

"Glad I can bring something new to the table," he replied with a smirk. Maybe she was playing him; maybe he was playing her, but did it matter" They were both consenting adults who seemed to crave a night's distraction. Neither seemed to be expecting a commitment. No harm, no foul. He dipped his head so that his lips were close enough to taste her breath, but not quite close enough to kiss her just yet. "You still have time to say no," he warned her quietly.

She bit her lip, breathing in his breath as he leaned down to her, blue eyes flickering between his lips and his eyes. "Not going to happen," she whispered back to him. There was a gentle clink as she set her glass down on the table, and abruptly she was in his arms, her own thrown around his neck as she took the kiss that was offered and then some.

Thankfully, he was already in the process of setting his own glass down before she surged into his arms. The wine sloshed a little in the glass, but neither seemed to notice or care as their lips met, and lust, if not passion, flared to life like a flame.

Lust would have to do, for a single night. No commitment asked for and certainly none given. The vibrant redhead was eager in his arms, and more than capable of giving as good as she got. Perhaps it gave rise to thoughts of just what her sister had that she didn't, if her man had chosen to betray her like that, but there wasn't much time for thinking, on the whole. Between surprisingly playful intimacy and consuming that bottle of wine, the evening was definitely an enjoyable one.

Perhaps it was against his better judgment, but it wasn't the first or probably the last time he would allow himself to enjoy a few hours of intimacy in a beautiful woman's arms once the real reason for his trip to Paris was finished. The item he'd come for, that he'd risked his life to obtain, was safely stashed in a safe in his hotel room, two stories above this one. He'd been careful, but for a few short hours, he'd let his guard down just a little to enjoy the rare company of a woman who wasn't looking for anything but a single night's companionship - or so he believed. He let his guard down so much that by 3 am, he was sound asleep in her bed, tangled in her embrace in a state of post-coital bliss.

The room was absolutely silent, but for the sound of two people breathing evenly. But one of those people was not asleep. The self-proclaimed Sarah gently raised her head, shifting against her sleeping companion to test just how asleep he actually was. One hand reached into the bedside table, pulling out a harmless looking spritzer that might have held perfume. Given the way she sprayed a fine mist over his face while covering her own nose and mouth, however, it was a safe bet that she was not making him smell better. After a moment's contemplation of his sleeping face, she seemed satisfied, sliding softly from the bed to where their clothes had been left in a scattered pile. From his jacket she withdrew the keycard for his room, and padded across to the door, sliding it underneath until she felt other fingers take charge of it. Then, keeping an eye on the sleeping man in the bed, she padded back to his clothing.

She searched through pockets, felt along seams, checked his shoes for compartments; she knew exactly what she was doing. Then she picked up both his clothes and her own, and folded them neatly over the chair, slipping into the bathroom to use the facilities and fetch herself a glass of water. The gentle sedative would be wearing off soon, and she'd need a reason to be out of bed. On her way out of the bathroom, she noticed the keycard sliding back under the door, biting down a smirk. Back it went into the jacket pocket, and she resumed her sprawl in the bed beside her companion, finally allowing herself to fall asleep.

He didn't so much as bat an eyelash as she slipped from bed, the sedative doing its job to keep him from waking and catching her in the act of betrayal. He hadn't exactly told her the truth about his reasons for being in Paris. He hadn't even told her his real name, but he had trusted her to be who she said she was and not someone playing the same game that he was. The only problem was that it wasn't a game at all - at least, not to him or the people he worked for. Luckily for her, he never woke when she resumed her place beside him, none the wiser that she had just betrayed his misplaced trust.

The night passed by them, undisturbed but for the usual sounds of movement back and forth along the corridor outside. But as morning began to dawn, natural rhythms made themselves known. Despite a distinct lack of sleep, the redhead stirred at close to seven am, yawning as she stretched in the bed, blinking open those pale blue eyes to smile sleepily at her companion.

He was usually up at dawn - at least, when he was working - but he had enjoyed himself a little too much the previous night and between the wine, the sex, and the sedative had slept a little more soundly than usual. He came to a few minutes after she did, just in time to find her smiling sleepily at him and presuming it was because she'd enjoyed herself as much as he had. "Morning," he said, with a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Morning," she murmured in answer, her smile brightening to a grin. His question brought a sleepy frown to her face. "Uh ..." Rolling away, she groped for the clock on the bedside table, lifting it up to take a look. "7:24," she relayed in a vaguely put out tone, dropping onto her back once again. "Lying in just doesn't happen to me." She tilted her head to look at him coyly. "Sleep well, handsome?"

"Slept like the dead," he told her, which was strange for him, but he put it down to a little too much wine and sex. "How does room service sound to you?" he asked, not quite ready to say goodbye just yet. He wasn't sure when her flight was taking off, but hopefully, she had time for breakfast and maybe a little something extra to remember him by.

"Mmm, that sounds kinda nice, actually," she agreed, surprised by the offer but hardly about to turn it down. She rolled into his side once again, tracing fingertips over his chest teasingly. "I guess you mean the kind of room service that needs a phone to get started, though, huh?"

"If you want more of that, I have to refuel," he teased, touching a kiss to her lips and lingering there a moment. He didn't much care if she tasted of sleep and stale wine. The morning after could be just as much fun as the night before, if he played his cards right.

She giggled as he kissed her, her hand smoothing gently over his chest to curl her fingers through his beard with teasing familiarity. "My shower is pretty big," she suggested playfully.

"Mmhmm," he murmured against her lips. "And here, I thought size doesn't matter." She hadn't complained either way. In fact, he couldn't recall a single woman who ever had. "It's too bad you're leaving, but we'll always have Paris," he said, quoting Casablanca.

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:06 EST
She laughed, bumping the tip of her nose to his. "Oh, so now you start seducing me, huh?" she teased him cheerfully. "Wouldn't that have worked better last night' Although ....I don't see how last night could have been any better."

"I think it was a case of mutual seduction," he replied, or at the very least, mutual attraction. Fatal attraction, maybe, once he found out the truth, but for now, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him ....yet. "So, which do you want first - shower or breakfast?" he asked, his arms going around her to pull her close, in no hurry to do either, it seemed.

And she only had a limited amount of time to get out of reach once he returned to his room, of course. After all, he'd know the second he found out his package was missing just who was responsible for that. But then, she could have left while he was sleeping and been long gone by now. She smiled, her skin flushing with by now familiar heat as he pulled her against him. "Breakfast, I think," she decided for them. "Can't have you fainting in the shower, can we?"

He chuckled, her body soft and warm and just a little too tempting against his. It really was too bad he couldn't see her again, but just thinking about it, he knew it was a bad idea for both of them. It was just too risky. "Breakfast, it is. Would you like to do the honors while I use the bathroom' Make sure they bring up some coffee. My head's a little fuzzy this morning." Which was odd for him. Must have been the wine.

"Just fuzzy' You must drink more than me regularly, then," she laughed, wriggling close to nuzzle another kiss to his lips. "Anything you definitely don't want for breakfast?" Despite herself, it was something of a struggle to ease away from him, enjoying the closeness and regretting that it was going to be smashed to smithereens before midday.

"I have my moments," he replied with a smirk, neither confirming or denying her remark. A man his size and in peak physical condition didn't get drunk too easily, but he couldn't deny his head was feeling a little fuzzy this morning. Then again, the wine had been top shelf. He wondered how he was going to explain that away when his superiors got the bill for his expenses. "I'm not too picky," he replied, tossing the covers away and swinging his legs off the bed, once he'd made sure to return her kiss. "Surprise me." He doubted she'd order anything too weird. They were both American, after all.

"I might just do that," she teased. If only he knew how true that was. She watched him all the way to the bathroom, greedily enjoying the view he presented before crawling across the bed to get to the phone. Ordering with her appalling French was going to be an entertaining experience, but maybe she was going to test his theory that they all understood English instead.

Maybe he was trusting her too much in letting her order breakfast. They might end up with God only knows what, but he had to answer the call to Mother Nature before he could even consider doing anything else. If she paid close attention, she'd hear him going through his "morning ablutions", as it were. The sound of the toilet flushing, water running in the sink. As much as he wanted to trust her, he couldn't help but poke around the bathroom, at the pile of toiletries no woman could seem to be without.

She listened for a moment, but she was as good at her job as he was at his. There was nothing for him to find and be suspicious of, though he might have the usual manly reaction to finding the just in case packet of tampons. Still, she couldn't risk him overhearing her ordering perfectly, and so her mangling of the French language came out to play once again, terribly pronounced words spoken in an American accent somehow managing to convey that they would like something cooked, rather than continental. Quite what they were going to end up with was anyone's guess.

He was almost as disappointed as he was relieved that he didn't find anything either suspicious or strange in her collection of toiletries. Just the usual girly stuff that every woman seemed unable to live without. Why they needed so much stuff when all he really needed was a bar of soap, a stick of deodorant, and a toothbrush and toothpaste was beyond him, but he had learned a long time ago not to ask. When he finally stepped back out into the bedroom, he went to retrieve his shorts only to find the pile of clothes that had been scattered on the floor the night before had been neatly folded and placed on a chair sometime during the night.

She was just finishing the order when he emerged, that awful phrasebook open amid the crumpled sheets in front of her as she navigated the conversation. Her eyes flickered toward him as he came back into sight, her smile bright once more as she ended the call. "Okay. Mercy, mon-sewer, mercy. Oh rev-war."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her mangled French, assuming she'd gotten up before him to use the bathroom and folded their clothes before rejoining him in bed. Maybe he shouldn't have assumed, but her mangled French had distracted him from suspecting anything was up. "Baby, I'm sorry, but your French is terrible," he said, pronouncing the word the French way. "I hope whatever they bring us is actually edible."

"What?" Her wide-eyed gaze was deliberately disingenuous as she put the phone back in the cradle, laughing at his comment. "I guess one night with a language meister just isn't enough to make me fluent, is it' The guy on the phone didn't understand my English either, if that helps."

"I did say surprise me," he replied, as he checked his pants pockets, more out of habit than necessity. If she'd wanted to rob him, she would have done it by now and not been there for him to catch her when he awoke. He found his shorts and pulled them on, more for the waiter's sake than hers.

"I might end up being the one surprised," she chuckled, arching her back to stretch her arms out, startlingly shameless about showing herself off. But then, she had said last night that she was leaving the mouse at home and being a lion for her little vacation, hadn't she" How was he to know that this was as close as he was likely to get to the woman behind "Sarah?"

And he wasn't too shy about admiring the view or the fact that his body was betraying him by reacting to that view. It was a hard fact to keep secret when one was nothing but a pair of form-fitting shorts. "When's your flight?" he asked, which was practically the same thing as asking, "How much time do we have?"

"3 o'clock," she told him ruefully. "But I gotta check out by noon, or the hotel will charge me for another night, and I really can't afford that." Her hand rose, tracing his cheek gently. "Would you fit in my luggage, or is it illegal to transport business consultants over national borders in a bag?"

"It might be a little cramped," he admitted, sliding his arms around her to pull her close. He didn't want to get too carried away just yet, with breakfast on the way, but at least they had a few hours to kill before she left yet. "Better to get to the airport early anyway. Security can be a bitch." He ought to know; he was supposedly a "consultant".

"I bet you fly business, too," she mused, looping her arms about his neck as he drew her close. "Spare a thought for me back in economy overnight tonight, huh' I'm gonna need all the good wishes you can give me if I'm going to get through without committing murder with a plastic fork."

"I'd bump you up to business with me, but I'm not going through Boston. If you could manage a couple more days here," he told her, though he wasn't going to hold his breath. He wasn't expecting to ever see her again, not in his line of business, and he found himself strangely regretting that.

She shook her head regretfully. "I gotta be back at work on Monday," she said apologetically. "Can't afford to take time off, even for a pretty bit of scruff who does sinful things with his tongue when I'm not looking."

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:07 EST
He couldn't help but chuckle a little at her comment, though he regretted he hadn't met her sooner during his stay here. "I wonder why we didn't run into each other until last night," he mused aloud, not thinking too much of it. After all, there were hundreds of people staying at the hotel, and unless they crossed paths, it was unlikely they'd have run into each other.

"Well, I only arrived on Friday night, and I kinda spent all day yesterday walking my feet off and embarrassing myself at every tourist spot I could find," she admitted cheerfully. "I had a list ....look." Abandoning him for a moment, she leaned over the far side of the bed, without a care for the fact that he now had a full moon for a view, rummaging in her bag. She came back up with a notebook, rifling it open to show off a list of famous Paris landmarks and activities, most of which had been crossed out. "I must be the only person in the world to do the Louvre in a half hour."

He once again couldn't help but admire the view, reaching out to lightly trace the curve of her rear with a fingertip, distracting himself from what she was showing him in the notebook. "Mmhmm," he murmured, as that fingertip moved to trace the curve of her hip, her waist, her breast. "Personally, I'm enjoying the view right here in this bed." The Mona Lisa had nothing on her.

She shivered under his touch, unable to hide the very physical reaction to being caressed by a man who had done his best the night before to learn every inch of her perfectly. A man she would quite happily take home for a few weeks, if she could. "You're going to make me miss the knock on the door if you keep doing that," she warned him, nose to nose as she nuzzled closer.

"I'll worry about the door," he promised, taking the notebook from her hand and reaching around her to set it on the nightstand before letting his mouth finish what his fingers had already started.

Just as well they were in Paris, known as being the lovers' capital of Europe. No doubt the staff were used to hearing that sort of thing as they walked the halls about their business, because she certainly didn't make any effort to keep her appreciation to a minimum. Indeed, it seemed as though the porter waited patiently for the climax before knocking politely on the door to announce that their breakfast had arrived.

Whether either of both of them were telling the truth, what was going on in bed between them was something that just couldn't be faked. He smiled with pride to know he'd elicited such a response from her, kissing his way back up to her lips before rolling away to get the door. He didn't bother grabbing a shirt or pants. This was Paris, after all, and the porter was lucky he was dressed at all. He took a brief peek through the peephole before unlocking the door to let the man in.

The porter was discretion itself, treating him as though he were fully dressed and hadn't just left a young lady panting in the bed to answer the door. The tray on the trolley contained two covered plates, a peek under which revealed a rather creditable attempt at a cooked breakfast for each of them, together with a hot pot of coffee and various other bits and pieces. The redhead in the bed ....well, she was waiting for parts of her to stop tingling before she attempted to speak again.

He mumbled something under his breath in French to the porter, and shoved a few Euros at him that he'd pulled out of his wallet for a tip. Apparently, the meal was going on his ever-growing hotel tab, but at least it wasn't as expensive as the single bottle of wine he'd splurged on the night before. Once they were once again alone, he closed and locked the door and wheeled the trolley over to the bed and offered her a silly bow. "Your breakfast, mademoiselle."

She giggled, pushing herself to sit up with at least an attempt at modesty finally making itself known in the way she raised the sheet to her chest. "You're gonna spoil me for any other man, the rate you're going," she warned him. "I'm so gonna have to pay you back for that."

"You can take it out in trade," he replied, a smirk on his bearded face. "So, coffee, tea, or me?" he teased. As worn out as that line was, it seemed somehow appropriate, though it would be a shame to let breakfast get cold when he could wait until they were finished.

"Mmm, as tempting as you are, you're gonna lose if you go up against coffee," she informed him with impish good humor, wriggling to make room as she reached to pull the trolley closer to the bed. "Oh my god ....did they actually do bacon?"

"How do you take it?" he asked, as he poured them each a cup, leaving his as was - strong and black. He arched a brow at her reaction to what the French thought passed for bacon. "That's not bacon," he said, though he knew Europeans had an entirely different view of what bacon should be. And coffee. And a lot of other things. Wasn't she from Boston"

"It smells like bacon," she countered, hoping like hell her minor flicker of dismay didn't show on her face. Bloody Americans and their godawful culinary choices ...."Don't laugh, but ....black, three sugars. My mom says I'm a Philistine."

"Philistine?" he echoed, not quite sure what she meant by that reference. It wasn't a phrase he'd ever stumbled on before. That was twice in the last five minutes that something she'd said had confused him or not seemed quite right. "To each, his or her own, I guess," he said with a shrug as he dropped three cubes of sugar into her cup and stirred.

"Sorry, family joke," she explained the injudicial use of the phrase away, inching forward to inspect their breakfast. The chef had done his best, though a cooked breakfast in France was not the norm. They had toasted croissants stuffed with soft bacon, eggs Benedict, and a small selection of fruit between them. "Not bad," she mused, gratefully taking the cup from him. "What's that on the eggs" Looks like puppy spit."

He chuckled at her question, as he settled himself beside her on the bed, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Please don't tell me you've never had Eggs Benedict," he said, not bothering to hide his amusement at that fact. "That is hollandaise sauce. It's about a million calories of gluttonous goodness, and worth every delectable bite." Was gluttonous even a word"

"Hollandaise?" she repeated in amusement. "What, are days saucy in Holland or something?" She prodded the eggs suspiciously with her fork. "Still looks like something spat on my eggs." Abandoning the fork, she picked up her croissant and began to eat, heedless of the crumbs.

He chuckled again. She wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, but what she lacked in brains, she more than made up for in beauty. "Do you trust me?" he asked, reaching over to take up a forkful of Eggs Benedict and offer it to her.

"Hmm?" Swallowing her mouthful, she eyed the forkful doubtfully. "I trust you to make it up to me if this tastes like ass on a stick," was her dubious response, washing the bacon taste from her mouth before screwing her eyes up tight like a child and opening her mouth. Her expression promised that she wasn't going to enjoy this.

He chuckled again as he fed her the forkful of egg mixture, waiting for the reaction once she realized it was an orgasm for her mouth. He wasn't too worried about owing her anything. Even if by some odd chance she didn't like it, he'd have been more than willing to make it up to her.

It took a moment for her decide just how she should react, keeping her face screwed up as she chewed thoughtfully. Wonder, that was it. And wonder it was, a beautiful rendition of it shown on her face as she swallowed and opened her eyes to stare at him in awe. "Wow," she said, her lips curving in a smile. "And that's breakfast here?"

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:07 EST
He laughed again. It was nothing short of amazing that it had ended up on the tray, if she hadn't ordered it. "It's actually an American dish. I'm surprised you've never had it. You must have heard of it," he told her. The croissant was more typical of a French breakfast than the eggs, but the hotel tried hard to cater to its guests.

"Well, I've heard of it, but I'm not what you'd call elegant," she admitted cheerfully. "And deeply suspicious of anything that doesn't do exactly what it says it does on the packet. My mom's cooking saw to that - she's English, so my childhood was full of things she called toad in the hole and spotted dick." She shuddered theatrically, taking up her own fork to have some more eggs.

He laughed as he took up a forkful of Eggs Benedict for himself, moaning appreciatively. "That's amazing," he said - of the breakfast, not her childhood. "I've heard English cooking is kind of bland."

She made a face. "Bland would have been heaven," she informed him. "My mother was of the opinion that lard is the best thing you can possibly add to anything. Including cakes. I was a very fat kid."

"Really' I wouldn't have guessed that about you." The part about her mother being English might have explained a few things though. "So, have you always lived in Boston?" he asked further. Not that they were past the initial sex, it seemed they had progressed into getting to know you territory, though it seemed almost pointless, since they'd likely never see each other again.

"Mostly, yeah," she nodded, seemingly quite content to chat while they ate. "Do you know Boston' I grew up in Roslindale, but I, uh, I went to university in England. Well, sort of England - it was Cardiff, actually." She giggled, shaking her head. "Ended up back in Boston again, though. Nowhere ever feels quite like home." She eyed him for a moment. "You know, you never said where you're from. I'm talking all about myself here, you should join in a little."

"I know Boston," he confirmed, but didn't admit to much more than that, letting her carry the conversation. There wasn't much he could tell her about himself that wasn't a lie. "So, are you a Red Sox fan, then?" he asked further, as he just about inhaled the rest of the Eggs Benedict and washed it all down with his coffee. He shrugged his shoulders at her question. "Military brat. We moved around a lot." If this was a game of Truth or Dare, he'd just told the Truth.

"Oh god, I know nothing about sport," she laughed, shaking her head. "The worst dates I have ever been on have been to baseball and football games. Seriously, how am I supposed to pretend to care about what a load of sweaty athletes are doing for hours in front of me when all I really want to do is get a coffee" It's like being imprisoned with all the cliques I ever hated in one place and having to play along or get lynched." And there was a little truth on her side, too.

"Maybe you just haven't found the right sport yet," he reasoned, taking another sip of his coffee as he lazily relaxed, a pile of pillows at his back. "Baseball and football are pretty boring, unless you're a fan and understand what?s going on. What about hockey?" After all, the Bruins had always been popular in Boston. There were more sports than just baseball.

"Oh, I used to play hockey," she offered with a certain amount of excitement. "There's something kinda empowering about running around with a big piece of wood. I got kicked off the team eventually. I broke one the beautifuls' noses."

He chuckled again. There seemed to be some kind of weird disconnect between them, but it wasn't all that unusual for a girl to have played field hockey at some point in her past. "By accident or on purpose?" he inquired. He'd been talking about ice hockey, but he didn't bother to correct her.

"I plead the Fifth," was her mischievous response as she finished her coffee, setting the cup down to lie back beside him. "Tell you what, she should have been thankful we were on grass. I'd have been deadly on skates."

Spoken like a true American, though her response basically confirmed that she'd done it on purpose. No one ever plead the Fifth Amendment unless they were already guilty. He drained his coffee and set the cup aside, feeling invigorated now that he'd had his coffee and eaten something substantial. "Should I be worried?" he asked, rolling over to pick up practically where he'd left off before breakfast had arrived.

"Only if you're hiding a hockey stick down your pants," she assured him cheerfully, laughing as she made a creditable attempt to wriggle away as he rolled over her, which only ended up with her hanging half off the bed. "I thought it was my turn!"

"Not quite," he replied, making a grab for her so that she didn't fall on her ass. "Here or in the shower?" he asked, brooking no argument over her returning the favor. Even if she was a little bit ditzy, the sex more than made up for it. He wondered what would happen if he ever looked her up the next time he was in Boston.

Raising her head, she looked him right in the eye. "Both," was her pronouncement, giving him a prod. "On your back, buster, my turn to make you embarrass yourself in the eyes of everyone within three floors."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not that easily embarrassed," he told her, touching a kiss to her nose before rolling back onto his back. He didn't bother to lift a finger to help her, not even to pull off his shorts.

And the ditz he took her for was up for the challenge. She was proving to be just as talented with her hands and mouth as he was, albeit in slightly different ways. It was certainly a memorable way to spend the hours before she absolutely had to get dressed and packed, and even then, she was reluctant to leave, wandering the room in her underwear as much for his entertainment as to prolong the time before she'd have to go.

He was mostly dressed, except for his leather jacket, and was enjoying the view both inside the room and outside the window, while he sipped another cup of coffee and she prowled the room in her underwear. "You could give me your number, you know," he suggested off-handedly. Like most men he knew, he had a little black book with names and numbers of women all over the country and the world, but he'd rarely bothered to actually call any of them. Maybe he'd make an exception for her.

"You really pass through Boston often enough to make it more than something to remember me by?" she asked curiously. Despite her deception, she was genuinely curious to know whether or not he would actually commit to seeing "Sarah" again, because "Sarah" was only the mask she wore when talking to him. Everything else he'd seen and liked was actually her. As she spoke, she closed her bag, reluctantly bending to pull on her jeans as the clock ticked closer to midday.

"Let's just say, you've made enough of an impression for me to want a second date," he replied, not really answering her question in so many words. He almost wished he could tell her the truth, but telling her the truth meant blowing his cover, and he just couldn't risk it. Not here, not now.

"You'd be terrible for my reputation back home," she told him, but that wasn't stopping her. It was just a shame that the number she was writing down would be deactivated within a day. Still, the fact that he wanted it at all raised him in her estimation just that little bit higher. She bent to kiss him, tucking the little slip of paper into his jacket pocket. "My reputation could do with a little sullying."

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:08 EST
He only smiled and kissed her back, a hint of regret in his eyes, if only for a moment. "I really hate prolonged goodbyes, don't you?" he asked, knowing their time was just about at an end. He'd have offered to accompany her to the airport, but there was something more pressing he had to take care of. He wasn't too concerned about his own reputation; what concerned him was keeping his real identity under wraps.

"I hate goodbyes," she replied, her voice soft. There was very real regret in her eyes, too, though it was more because she knew that the second he got back to his room, she was going to have to hope like hell she was a fair distance away. She had no doubt he'd be more than capable of removing her from the equation in the grip of male pride. Pulling on her top, she slid her feet into her shoes, moving away to gather up her purse and holdall. "But I guess this is it."

"I have your number," he reminded her, patting the jacket pocket where she'd put her phone number. That didn't necessarily mean he'd give her a call, but he'd consider it. His arms went around her again, reluctant to say good-bye or just wanting to make sure she had a hard time forgetting him. "See you around, Sarah," he told her, giving her a toe-curling kiss to remember him by.

She moaned softly, surprised by the intensity of that kiss even as she answered it in kind, curling her arms about his neck in the hope that maybe if this was good enough, he might overlook the necessary deception should they ever cross paths in the future. Drawing back, she bit her lip, smiling shyly up at him. "I think you just gave me a lady boner," she offered up as parting words of wisdom. "Take care of yourself, Jason. Enjoy Paris for me, okay?"

He smiled, her reaction to his kiss stroking his male ego like nothing else could, taking pride in the fact that he'd at least leave her with pleasant memories, just in case they never met again. "It won't be nearly as enjoyable without you," he told her. He nearly surprised himself at the realization that what he'd just said wasn't a lie.

She smiled softly, stroking her thumb against his cheek. "Well, I guess I better get going," she said reluctantly, rising up onto her toes to brush a last kiss to his lips. "Thank you."

"Mercy bow-cups, Sarah," he said, not quite mocking her mangled French so much as teasing her about it. He managed a small, careful not to let her see the regret in his eyes. Parting is such sweet sorrow ....What the hell did Shakespeare know" There wasn't going to be any 'morrow. "Here's looking at you, kid," he told her, touching a finger to her nose before moving around her to make his way to the door.

She laughed softly, taking a last look around the rom before collecting her bags and key and heading out in his wake. It was an odd walk to the elevator and stairs; he was going up, she was going down. But it was goodbye, at least from "Sarah"; he was never likely to meet her again.

He almost wished she wasn't following him. It would have been easier to make a clean break, but he could do this. He'd done it countless times before, and he could do it again. He wasn't sure what it was about her that had gotten under his skin, but he didn't think he was going to forget her for a long time yet.

At least she didn't follow him into the elevator. With a last smile, she slipped into the stairwell, making her way down and out of sight. And as soon as she was out of sight, she picked up the pace. She had to be out of the hotel and out of sight before he realized what had actually happened. Her room had already been settled by her partner; all she needed to do was hand in her key and accelerate out through the door into the busy street beyond, foregoing the taxi-rank and heading straight for a safehouse not too far away.

And then, he was almost disappointed to find her avoiding the elevator in favor of the stairs. "Sarah!" he called as the elevator doors slid closed, but it was too late. Oh, he could have gotten off and gone after her, but what was the point of that, only to say good-bye all over again. The hell was the matter with him' God, he was going soft in his old age. He leaned against the elevator with a sigh and waited to reach his floor before heading for his room.

In the time it took for her to get out of the hotel, he was strolling to his room, in no real hurry to get her out of his mind. It might have made him a little sloppy, a little too distracted to notice that things weren't exactly in the same place where he'd left them. He tossed his jacket on a chair and checked his phone for messages. He still had another day before the rendezvous. He knew he should probably check in with HQ, but he just wasn't feeling like it. HQ could wait a little bit longer. Bastards, all of them. He was getting sick of owing them, of feeling like a puppet with someone else pulling the strings. God, had she gotten to him that much' He wanted a drink, wishing they hadn't drained the entire bottle of wine last night. He moved over to the window, feeling strangely depressed, and thought he caught sight of a familiar figure rushing down the street, before disappearing into the crowd. If she was going to the airport, why wasn't she taking a cab'

And then ....it hit him.

"Son of a bitch!" he muttered to himself, his face flushing with anger and embarrassment. No, it couldn't be. She was just a kid from Boston on vacation, right' He pushed off the bed and went straight for the safe, punching in a code on the keypad to open it, his heart sinking to find it empty.

"Oh, Sarah," he said with a disappointed sigh, knowing now that that probably wasn't even her name. Who was she, then" Another spy' Russian, maybe? Or something else? Though he'd been with her all the time, it had to have been her. She must have been working with someone else - an accomplice, a partner, maybe even a lover. He moved to his feet, roaring in anger, and lashed out to send the contents of the night table crashing to the floor. He didn't care what it might cost to replace the broken lamp and telephone. They were lucky he hadn't smashed the TV in, too. What was he going to do now" Think!

That was when he remembered the slip of paper she'd shoved in his jacket, but what good would that do' It was probably as phony as her name. As fake as the feelings he'd thought they'd shared. She'd played him, and she'd played him good, and that, more than anything, made him even more angry. He pulled out the number, glancing at it, his face flushed with rage, before punching it into his cell phone. If it didn't belong to her, he'd find another way, but she wasn't getting out of Paris without him tracking her down, one way or another.

She had just stepped into the apartment that served as a temporary safehouse here in Paris, when her temporary cell phone started to ring. Pulling it out, she didn't need to recognize the number to know who it was who was calling. Swallowing, she plastered on a smile to brighten her voice, and answered in her perfect Boston accent. "Hi, Sarah Lane speaking."

"Sarah Lane, my ass," the voice on the other end replied, not even attempting to hide the anger and annoyance in his tone of voice. What was it they said about there being a fine line between love and hate" Of course, he wasn't in love with her, and he didn't want to hate her, but she had gotten the best of him, and that hadn't happened in a very long time. But was he more angry at her for stealing his prize, or at himself for being sloppy enough to let her" "What's your real name, and who do you work for?" he demanded.

Meg Miller

Date: 2016-10-24 21:09 EST
She rolled her eyes, sighing softly. "Honey, if this line was secure, I'd spill," she told him, keeping hold of that accent for now. Her own was far too much of a clue as to who she was. "Just be happy that the information you stole in the first place is now back in the owners' hands."

"You had plenty of time to spill before you bugged out on me. Are you even going to the airport, or was that a lie, too?" he asked, making no mention of the "information" just yet. First things first. It wasn't even so much that she'd played him as the fact that he'd thought she'd actually liked him.

"Oh, get off your high horse," she told him impatiently, moving further into the apartment. She was only half-listening to him, to be honest - this safehouse was a little too quiet. Her back up should have been here, waiting for her arrival, and yet ....he didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. "We both lied, and we both know there are some things you can't fake. Don't take it out on me."

"My high horse?" he echoed, anger coloring his voice. "Must I remind you that you're the one who stole something from me" Do you have any idea what you've done" Any idea what?s at stake here" I don't know who you are or who you're working for, but this isn't over, Miss Lane," he said, emphasizing the name they both knew was fake.

"Yeah, may I remind you that you stole it in the first place?" she pointed out, but her tone was distracted. "Shut up a minute." She turned, her eyes scanning the room, and abruptly there was a clatter as the phone was knocked out of her hand. The sound of her grunting in pain quickly followed, but given the masculine groan of agony that followed her own, she wasn't exactly an easy mark.

"And you stole it from me," he replied, tit for tat, practically growling in annoyance when she told him to shut up, but then he thought he heard sounds of a scuffle, and his blood froze in his veins. "Sarah?" he called, his anger quickly turning to concern - fear, even. "Sarah!" he called again, calling her by the only name that he knew.

By the sound of things, the blows being traded were not light. There was the sound of a body slamming against something wooden that scraped over a floor, and the scrabbling clatter of fingers reaching for the phone. "Get out ....Jason, get out now, they're -" And the phone went dead, presumably destroyed by the next attack.

"Sarah' Sarah, what the hell is ..." He trailed off as the phone went dead. "Shit!" It didn't take a lot of imagination to know what had happened, assuming the sound of a scuffle wasn't a ruse, and suddenly, it no longer mattered whether they were on the same side or not. One way or another, he had to find her, to make sure she was safe, even if she had got the best of him. But how" He didn't even know where to start looking. As it turned out, he didn't have to wonder very long.

Before he could make good on her advice, a couple of thugs were breaking down his door, but they weren't taking any chances. The thugs - whoever they were - had come prepared for someone who they knew had a license to kill and who wouldn't go down without a fight. A tranquilizer dart did the trick, hardly giving him a chance to fight back. Even so, he somehow managed to lay two of them flat on their backs before the drug took hold, and he crashed to the floor.

To be continued ...