I’d lost my breakfast, lunch, and good thing I didn’t eat dinner or I would have regurgitated that too.
The breakneck speed that Mr. Muscle drove his beast of a bike would be awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping…if I wasn’t on the back of it. He’d woven in and out of the freeway lanes with unflappable precision and impeccable timing. I’d closed my eyes most of the ride. I didn’t want to see what I was meeting before my end of days so I’d let him take charge of me.
He might have spoken a maximum of twenty words to me, but there was something I felt towards him…something like trust. Trust that he would not bring me harm. Trust that he would take care of me. Trust that he’d keep me alive.
My arms clasped on to his broad chest like a succubus, afraid to let go for even a second. When he leaned down to maneuver us, I felt his hard, bulging pec muscles. When he straightened to change positions, I snuggled closer to his back, seeking comfort in the naked display of raw maleness and undeniable strength. I even tried to squeeze a bicep and I hoped he thought I was feeling super scared.
Throughout the ride, because it was definitely not a drive, my thoughts kept trying to piece things together – if my dad sent him, then my dad was in trouble. If Mr. Superman here was assigned to protect me, then my dad was in a hellhole of trouble. I wondered if he’d contacted Mom too. He and Mom have been divorced for ten years, but they were on amicable terms. I was pretty sure he’d let her know if she was in any danger.
A car filled with young girls had honked at us and yelled, “Hot biker, yeah!” and I agreed with them. Mr. Universe was amazingly ripped, if this was how the top half of his body looked like, I could only imagine what glorious wonders were hidden below his jeans.
You definitely got your wish tonight, Athena. You reached way more than third base with this guy. Granted, he was oblivious that I was ogling him, but can anyone blame me? This was the first time I’d touched a naked work of art. He was hard…everywhere. The skin on his back wasn’t soft. When my cheek came in contact with his hardened, tough scars, I knew this man’s body had been through hell and back.
He’d lifted a hand and touched me, as if to let me know that he’d make everything okay. Sometimes words were useless, not needed, and in our present situation, even if he had tried to speak, I wouldn’t be able to hear with the loud sounds stemming from his bike’s engine and the still somewhat heavy traffic on the freeway.
Finally, after the craziest ride of my life, he’d slowed our speed as we entered through a metal gate. We passed a few tall trees and stopped in front of a one-level house. I’d never been to this part of the city. I hadn’t been in L.A. for long; other than touring the L.A. Live/Nokia Center, hanging out at Rodeo Drive, and doing the usual touristy activities at Universal and Disneyland, I hadn’t really been anywhere. Being in college took up most of my time with group work, assignments, and because I was still trying to blend into the college life.
I scanned the homey-looking place in front of me. We’d climbed up a hill so I knew we were on a hilltop or a canyon or something like that. It was a ranch-style home, surrounded by shrubs and foliage, the exterior of the house looked well-maintained, with a wrap-around rustic porch that extended from the front to the side of the house.
He turned off the engine and waited on me to finish my perusal. I took a deep breath and finally exhaled since I’d been holding my breath and my life for the past twenty, thirty minutes. Taking off my helmet, my legs planted on the small metal footrest, I thought of how this man had gone out on a limb for me. He didn’t have to tell me that someone was following us. I just felt it. Maybe it was instinct or just my knack of knowing when something’s not as it should be, but the way he swung in and out of traffic clued me in that he was evading someone.
He ensured I was safe.
Protected.
Valued.
I didn’t know his name, but the scars on his back and some I felt on his front, close to the middle of his chest…somehow they consoled me, eased me, comforted me – this man would take a bullet for the people he tucked close to his heart.
Before he could get up, I placed him in a stronghold, pulling his shoulders down, and to my surprise, he succumbed to my quiet request. My left fingertip traced the raised scars that I could see, examining them closely, the light from the front of this house giving me enough visibility. He didn’t move a muscle as I lightly drew on his back and when I felt the biggest scar, almost feeling like a big lump sticking out because of the rigid flesh around it, I couldn’t help myself.
I touched my lips to the scar and whispered, “Thank you.”
His back became ramrod straight, and rising slowly from his seat, my hands glided away from him.
I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to kiss his back, or any part of his body. I just couldn’t stop myself from going for it.
I’d learned this in life: If something was going to make you think twice – you go for it. Either you’re going to enjoy the outcome or you’re going to regret it. But whatever it was, just go for it. Because you don’t know if you’re ever going to have that chance to do it again.
He took his helmet off, opened his right palm up to help me get off of the bike, and as soon as he was ascertained that my balance was okay, he let go of my hand.
He didn’t say anything as he led me inside his house.
My hands gripped the edges of my borrowed shirt, well, technically a shirt that was forced on me. His steps were long and determined, obviously he had nothing to say about what I had just instigated.
God Athena, you’re so stupid.
Why would you dare kiss a guy, without his consent, the first time you met him?
Met him? I didn’t even know his name.
I kept my head down as I sat on the black leather sofa that matched with the living room decor. As soon as he indicated with the extension of his left hand that he wanted me to stay in this room, I sat idly on the farthest chair, just below a huge abstract painting.
Contrary to the outside façade of the house, the inside was pretty much a reflection of the guy who brought me here.
Stingy with words.
Minimalist with the decorations.
Black leather couches, off-white walls, few metallic lamps.
The marble floor felt cold against my feet since I’d taken off the wedges I’d been dying to remove the whole night and left them by the entrance.
Lost in silence, I waited for him. He’d nodded when I’d asked if we could talk. Me being here was basically him saying “yes” to the talking part.
As time dragged on, my eyes started to drift close.
The soft tinkling sound of glass against glass woke me up.
“Soda.” His voice clear, his full lips kept moving, but my brain was short circuiting. If this guy’s back was a work of art, his face was a solid masterpiece. His broad jaw was smattered with stubble, his nose firm, a sculptor would have had a hard time perfecting his facial features because he exuded masculinity and rawness with his steely firm gaze. The lamp hit his eyes and I was rewarded with a glimpse of the iciest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
Two years ago, my dad and I went on a Scandinavian cruise. While I loved everything about the trip, the one thing that stuck to memory was how clear, how blue, how glacial the Norwegian fjords were. The man standing in front of me, now dressed in a light blue shirt and jeans, offering me a soda in his commanding voice, his eyes ---- his eyes brought me back to that place. The color so unexpected, unique, one-of-a-kind.
He was tanned all over, making his light blue eyes even more contrasting, striking, captivating.
“Athena.” His stern rough voice breeched my thoughts, “Drink the soda. You need the sugar.”
Wow.
His spoken word count was now reaching a record limit.
I reached for the glass and brought it to my lips, the cold liquid massaging my dry throat.
Making himself comfortable on the wide reclining chair straight across from where I was sitting, a tight smile graced his face.
In a rough hard voice that could command an army of men to obey, he declared, “My name is Webb Worthington. You can call me Webb.”
My body was wired to take the harshest form of punishment, from the freezing water temperatures to the hottest climate on Earth. I could survive hard combat, high pressure mental situations, near-impossible recons.
All these made me the man I was today.
Indifferent.
Cold.
Unaffected.
At least I thought I was.
It’s been years since a woman’s kiss has touched me in a way that would draw any other reaction from me aside from necessity. I wasn’t celibate. Far from it. I had two ladies on speed dial - Estella in Los Angeles and Phoebe in Berlin.
They gave it as good as they got.
No expectations.
Just plain, good ole’ sex.
Then came her – this wisp of a girl who looked so innocent, fragile, breakable.
She’d kissed me in the most unexpected place at a time when I thought I’d frightened the shit out of her.
Right now, sitting primly in front of me, she was avoiding my eyes. As soon as we’d entered my house, I’d gone to the weight room, did 100 push-ups, and changed into a shirt. I’d calmed myself down enough to grab the soda can from the fridge, pour the drink, and finally face her.
She could not know how much she affected me.
I forbid myself to even go there.
Maybe tonight Estella would get a call from me after all. She could relieve the aching tension rubbing against my jeans.
Drinking the carbonated liquid in the glass, Athena lifted her eyes to mine. How she could ever call herself plain was inconceivable. I’d read her post on a blog she’d joined a week ago for a group called Surviving College at SC, and she’d described herself as a plain, simple girl.
Simple, yes.
Plain, never.
“I’m sorry,” she started, her lower lip quivering. “I, ah, didn’t meant to, ah, kiss you like that.” Her hazel eyes glazing over in mist, her cheeks tinting red, “I’m sorry.”
I gave her a slight tilt of my head, “Nothing happened.”
Her eyes widened in shock, “I think it was adrenaline or just excitement…I don’t even know you. I’m not in the habit of kissing men I’ve only just met.”
I know. You look as pure as fresh snow, as virginal, as unsullied as the cornflowers that grew in my mother’s gardens at the first show of spring.
“Nothing happened,” I repeated, this time with a hard edge to my voice. “Finish your soda. You need the sugar in your system before you crash.”
She’d barely eaten today. She had a small salad for lunch and didn’t have anything for dinner. She ate candy constantly – if her body did not replace the sugar right now, she’d definitely be crashing after the adrenalin-inducing ride, shocking her system.
With the last few gulps, she finished the soda. I had no food or other drinks in the house. I hadn’t been here in a while. I’d been in Washington for the past month, tying up loose ends, when I’d gotten the call from Dr. Bridges.
Maybe it was the infusion of sugar in her body that she’d finally found the courage to ask, “Are you my bodyguard?”
Was I?
“I’m your protector,” I replied truthfully. I wasn’t there just to guard her body, I was to protect her life, just as I’d vowed to her father.
She placed her right arm on the edge of the couch, placing the glass on the coffee table in front of us, her hands slightly shaking. “Why do I need protection? Is my dad okay? How about my mom?”
“Your father’s current research has gained some attention.” The best way to ensure her cooperation was for me to be completely honest about the situation. “This attention is from some organizations who may not have our country’s best interests. Your father just wants you safe.”
“Why? Is he being threatened?”
Good point. “Maybe.”
Her shoulders started to heave, her head shook left and right, and brokenly she questioned, “Are there bad guys threatening him with me?”
“I don’t know,” I replied matter-of-factly. “He just asked me to make sure you’re okay.”
Looking straight into my eyes, her shoulders lifted before she said, “I know what he does, Mr. Worthington.”
“Call me Webb,” I interrupted. For some reason, her calling me Mr. Worthington made me feel twenty years older.
Ignoring me, she continued, “I know how important my father is. I’m not blind… When we go on trips, I’m pretty sure there are a few members of the CIA who travel with us. I’m aware that with one word, he could cause the entire foundation of the CDC to sink or swim. He’s one man, Mr. Worthington, with a brain whose brilliance is equivalent to ten geniuses. He could launch a rocket to space if he wanted to. But he’s my father, Mr. Worthington – before he became the 21ST century’s Einstein – he’s my father first and foremost.”
Removing herself from the back of the couch, she lifted the edges of my shirt and pulled it off her body. I averted my gaze from the red silk bra sticking out of her outfit, and my gaze traveled back to her damp lips.
“Why is my father scared, Mr. Worthington?”
“Webb.”
“Does he have a reason to be?”
“Yes,” I stated, swallowing thickly. She’d uncrossed her legs and since her skirt was so short, it offered me a scenic view of her matching red panties.
Plain? Hell no.
No plain woman wore sexy pieces of underwear.
“He must trust you…” Her eyes darkened, turning her iris closer to brown, lesser of the green. I’d zoomed in once on her face when she was dancing in her living room just out of curiosity and noticed that when she was dancing, her eyes looked vivid green, but it also changed to brown when she calmed down.
“As long as he needs me to, I will protect you.” Letting my words sink in to my distracted mind, affirming myself of the task at hand – the color of her underwear, the wetness of her lips, the fullness of her breasts, the creamy white thighs exposed by her dress – I should never let my mind wander to these.
If there was a lingering doubt that I’d be calling Estella tonight, the fact that my mind was being ruled by the head under my boxers was the definitive yes.
“Is he safe?” She crossed her legs again, her hands fidgeting with the top of the couch.
“I think so.” I haven’t had the chance to talk to him again after our call was interrupted. There was a high probability that he was already under surveillance, maybe more so now that he himself had recognized the threat, that even Athena needed protection.
“I’ll do whatever you ask of me, but please just keep him safe. For me.” For the weeks I’d watched her, I had become familiar with her expressions – the unabashed joy her face made when she smiled, the air of freedom when her mouth quirked in laughter. But I’d never seen this – the masked expression she was giving me, the resolute, almost powerless way she was telling me, as if she had no choice.
“Athena…” Standing up, I walked closer to her side, “Your father will be safe.” If I had to call in all my connections to guarantee his safety, I would.
Giving me a sidelong glance, she nodded her head. Then slowly she raised her legs, resting her chin on her knees, and tucking her arms over her legs, a freefall of tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Three hours ago, she’d thought she was living a normal college life, attending her first frat party.
Two hours ago, her dream guy was forced to go to sleep by a stranger.
Just over an hour ago, she was forced to ride on the back of a bike of a man whose name she didn’t even know.
I’d been hardened by the evils of war, disheartened by the duplicity of people I had trusted with every fiber of my being.
I aimed to kill.
Pity was not in my vocabulary.
But for some disguised, inexplicable reason, my feet found its way to the other side of the couch and my arms extended open…reaching for her, enveloping her trembling body, holding her close until all I could hear were the even, tempered sounds of her breathing.
I was twenty years old when I’d entered the Navy.
The same age as she is now.
Filled with dreams, buoyed with hopes, teeming with aspirations.
Where was that man now?
Only nine years had passed, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
With all the pain and suffering she’d been through, she still glowed as luminous as the hottest, brightest star.
I won’t let the night take you away, Athena.
You would experience life to its fullest.
You’d stay in the sun.
Your spirit would not be broken.
Not like the rest of us.
Not like me.