Chapter 21

Danielle

“You’re a man of contradictions, Janus,” I tease him.

He tilts his head sideways and raises an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“There,” and I gently touch the tip of his nose with my finger. “That accent of yours, for example. It’s so posh, yet rough, from the streets of London. I like it.”

“Is this going to be a lengthy lecture on the cultural differences between the British and Americans?”

I mimic his head tilt. “On the job, in the street, you look and seem to feel right at home, especially when things get rough.”

“When the going gets tough…the tough get going?” he offers questioningly. “Dani, where are you going with this?”

I smile mischievously. “I just don’t get the one thing about you.”

“What?”

“How can you be this rogue master at seemingly everything and yet not be able to handle a bit of rough play...when it comes to sports?”

He huffs and throws up his arms. “So, this is what this is about? Bloody football?”

“Soccer!” I blurt out. “Football is the sport where there is actual contact. Soccer is where they have to fix their hair after every pass and throw themselves through the air like ballet dancers trying to get a free kick out of the referee.”

Janus smirks, then puts on a face that looks seriously annoyed. He clasps his hands over his chest.

“You hurt me, Danielle,” he proclaims with mock exasperation. “After making sweet love to me, you bring up this abomination of Americanized rugby I don’t even dare call a sport? You’re breaking my heart!”

I slide out of bed, dragging a sheet with me. I stand in front of Janus while I wrap myself tightly in it.

“Oh, come on! Everyone knows your heart belongs to Arsenal.”

“Arsenal, we’re on your side,” he starts to sing and keeps on humming the club’s anthem to himself.

“You British appear so refined, but it doesn’t take much to make you content—a bit of sex, a bit of soccer talk.”

He stops his humming. “You call that a bit of sex?”

Still holding the sheet close in front of me, I sit back down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Actually, I call it amazing.”

“So, it was just a lead-up to trashing my beloved sport?”

“Damn, you saw right through my ploy,” I tease. “But honestly, the memory of three years ago in South Sudan lasted me a long time. Last night—”

“Last night topped even that, right? I agree. You were on fire, Dani. Nothing short of glorious.”

I lean in to kiss him on the lips. “Let’s not wait another three years for a repeat performance, then.”

“Let’s not,” he replies, kissing me back hard.

“For now, I’m off to take a shower,” I announce, standing up.

With the sheet around me, I walk over to the bathroom with swaying hips. In the door, I turn around. Sure enough, he’s been watching me from the bed, arms folded behind his head.

I stick my tongue out at him playfully and flash my tits at the same time, then close the door behind me.

Oh, god, the sex with Janus was indeed glorious. But playing and teasing with him provides a nearly equally important and much needed relief to the strain and stress of the job.

I turn on the hot water, let the sheet fall to the ground, and step into the shower. I let the hot water massage my body.

Combined with the afterglow I’m still experiencing, it’s pure tingling bliss. I relax and empty my mind, thinking of nothing for a while.

How have we ended up here?

When I let myself out of his hotel room three years ago, I thought I knew two things for certain: that I’d never see him again, and that I’d never have that kind of sex again—at least not with him.

I was wrong on both accounts, and I’m actually glad about that.

In my memory, I go back to the night at the restaurant. I have to admit, I was impressed when he led me up the staircase opening up on to the rooftop terrace. With the lights twinkling in the night and candles setting the mood, the breathtaking view of the Parthenon was a stunning backdrop for the intimate dinner with Janus.

If we managed to mix and balance our work and personal lives for one evening, maybe we could achieve that permanently.

I allow myself to dwell on that thought for a while.

We’re very different, but in a good way. He’s street-smart and carries himself differently than most men with whom I’m used to working. When he employs his master disguises and skillful document forging, he does so with an understatement that goes beyond British culture.

He’s not bragging about his cunning, and he doesn’t need constant affirmation of how great he is, unlike some testosterone-driven characters I’ve encountered in journalism over the years.

In some ways, Janus and I are similar. We both travel a lot and are good with languages. I’d say our people skills complement each other nicely.

Because Janus is always on the move, as well, he’s the type of man who understands my on-the-go lifestyle. I go where the job takes me, and my work is definitely important to me.

If I’m honest, I can get very involved in my stories. And yet, everything I’ve covered, everything I’ve done—I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I feel Janus could understand that, too.

When we talked last night, I’m glad Janus opened up to me like he did and that I could open up to him in turn. It’s reassuring to know about his background, how he grew up, and that he actually cares about orphans. I don’t know how I’d feel about him if he was just a mercenary—someone who cares just about his bottom line, who uses people recklessly, and who justifies all means with the ends—his benefit.

That’s not Janus. He’s invested in busting these human traffickers because he cares about the men, women, and children directly affected. And he believes in the importance of my work as well, in the necessity for investigative journalism.

I can be competitive, because I have to. I usually feel I need to work twice as hard as male journalists just to get the same level of appreciation. With Janus, that pressure and stress are simply not there, which is why I can tease and joke with him about his favorite soccer club.

A thought begins to form in my mind.

Maybe this could work.

As I’m gently scrubbing my body with a cleansing foam and lathering and rinsing my hair, I can’t help but also remember last night, after the restaurant.

I pride myself in being good with words, but it’s nearly impossible to describe how good his hands felt all over my body, how he filled me up completely, and how he was both gentle and full of forceful lust that drove me crazy and to new, unexpected heights of pleasure.

After South Sudan, I hadn’t allowed for the possibility that I could have both—success in my line of work and this: sharing this kind of passion with Janus.

So, yes, when I think that maybe this could work, I mean it in a sense that goes beyond the job and the work we’re doing together. I feel like we’re compatible in more than one way.

Even when we first met, I didn’t have a problem with his side activities. Although he was hired just for my protection, he saved the lives of others and acted like it wasn’t a big deal.

Not everything he does is exactly lawful to the letter, but I feel that, just like me, he doesn’t lose sight of the greater good. He’s above making a profit from human misery and the suffering in this world.

We’re both invested and involved in our work, and we’re hardly willing to let anything else come above it. Janus would never demand that I stand down and put him above my career, knowing I also respect what he does. In that sense, we’re equals.

I stop the stream of water and step out of the shower, steam rising all around me. I sling a towel around my head and another around my body. Then I slide my hand over the fogged-up mirror.

I take a deep long look in the mirror and into my own dark eyes. How do I feel about Janus?

I finally voice the thought that has been forming in my mind all along over the past few days.

We make a good team.