43. CARSON

“When I realized you were the quarry, I thought I was dreaming,” I say.

Cassie sighs and strokes a finger down my chest.

“I know the feeling,” she says. “When I realized that was a key in your hand and not a weapon, I literally thought the world had turned upside down.”

“It kind of did turn upside down,” I chuckle. “For me, anyway.”

She grimaces.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“Sorry? You were like Scarlett Johansson in The Avengers! Except you’re a real redhead.”

The awkwardness in her smile makes my heart melt. I pull her closer and nuzzle her hair. It’s a forest fire I could lose myself in for good.

“Think about this for a second,” I whisper. “Two geeky kids, so lame that the only people who would hang out with them were each other. Building scale models of nuclear reactors and talking about Renaissance artists.”

“I think I remember them.”

“Now go back in time and tell them that, in a dozen years, one’s going to be a billionaire playboy and the other will be a secret agent.”

Cassie is quiet for a moment.

“That’s crazy,” she says.

“Right?!” I hoot.

She rolls to her side so she can face me.

“I’d rather tell them not to lose hope, because they’re going to be together again someday.”

My heart stops. This girl is so damn perfect.

“Always have to one-up me, don’t you?” I say.

She smiles. I pull her close and lay a long, slow kiss on her mouth. Our tongues explore each other, less urgent now, more familiar.

After our lips part, we look into each other’s faces for awhile, like we’re taking inventory. Okay, those lips are mine, those eyes, check, that freckle, that other freckle. Yup, all mine.

Cassie turns her head to look up at the ceiling.

“Holy shit, this is a beautiful room!”

I don’t remember ever going from post-orgasmic afterglow to full-on horse laughing in such a short period of time, but that’s Cassie for you.

When we finally manage to rein in our hysterics, she looks at me and shakes her head.

“That killed the mood a bit,” she says sheepishly. “But I mean, wow! This is incredible. This whole night has been incredible.”

She looks at me. “You’re incredible.”

I take her face in my hands and kiss her slowly and deeply again. Now that the initial frenzy is over, we can just be for a little while.

Until Round Two, of course.

Cassie is right about the room. It’s done in a tasteful ivory palette, with hand-carved paneling across the walls and deep tray ceilings with moldings that probably cost in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars a foot.

The high ceilings and vertical mirrors give the illusion of a grand space, and the pastel toile curtains are held aside with antique silver tiebacks. The furniture is of the same Prohibition-era vintage as the bar, with curved drawers, damask fabric, claw feet and sublime cherry wood inlay.

“The Regent is probably the most exclusive hotel on the Eastern Seaboard,” I say. “You’ll never find it on Expedia. I had to hear about it from wealthy acquaintances. There are no prices listed anywhere, just like Piccolo. I think they might actually have the same owner.

“It’s the ultimate no-tell hotel. I’m sure the Chase’s organizers want to maintain the illusion that it’s a discreet, classy affair.”

“The Chase,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” I say.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“You first.”

She props herself on one elbow, giving me an excellent view of her bare breasts. I give each of them an appreciative kiss.

“I’ll give you just thirty minutes to stop that,” she says.

“I’m good. Let’s talk.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Not for too long,” she says.

I point to the tent between my legs under the sheet.

“Definitely not for too long,” I say.

She grins.

“Well,” she sighs. “You’re right. I’m a secret agent. Was a secret agent.”

“I’m guessing that’s not the job description they stuck in the HR file.”

“There is no technical job description for what I did. I’m not an analyst or special agent; I was strictly off the books.”

So much makes sense now about Cassie’s behavior lately. Then again, this opens up a whole new line of questions for her. I decide to just let her talk. She needs to talk.

We’ve got all the time in the world now.

“You’ve probably guessed by now that this had something to do with prom night,” she says.

“Sort of,” I say. “Your dad – was he in the agency when we were kids?”

She looks me square in the eye.

“You need to understand this is privileged information.”

Wow. Like I said, a whole different Cassie.

“Of course,” I say.

“Dad was seconded into the agency after 9/11. He’d been in Army Intelligence until then, but his specialized knowledge of Afghanistan put him in high demand after the attacks.

“The day we disappeared – do you remember what had been in the news that week?”

A psychologist once told me the human brain is like a computer; mine just has a lot more RAM than most, so I can access things inside it quickly and easily. So I tend to remember things really well.

“There was a Senate hearing into some black ops dealings to do with the war,” I say.

She nods.

“My dad was identified by one of the witnesses as being involved. Within a day, there was chatter on NSA intercepts about threats against his life.”

“Holy shit…”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “He came bursting through the door in the middle of the afternoon and the next thing I knew, we were on an Army transport to Honduras.”

“And I was standing on your porch, wondering where the hell you were.”

She takes my head in her hands and pulls me close, touching her nose to mine.

“I am so sorry,” she husks. “For years I wanted to get in touch with you, but – ”

“Shhh.” I kiss her eyelids. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

A moment later her hand is under the sheet and around my appreciative cock.

“We’re both here now,” she whispers. “So what should we do about it?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”