She woke up in a darkened room. Someone had turned the lights off so that only the soft blue of the television remained. The movie remained, too, though most likely on its second or third replay cycle. At least it seemed that way to Macy. Her face felt wrinkled enough for several hours of deep, continuous sleep. It was a welcomed escape after a combination of terrible movie and a terrible last few days.

She felt warm, her back especially. There was also the faintest pressure there, something up against her. Someone. Tucker. When she lay still and quiet, she could feel his breathing. It was long and slow, the sound of sleep, his breath warm at her neck. She didn’t dare move.

Did Tucker do this? Did he get up to switch off the light, and then return to bed, to a sleeping Macy, to crawl up and spoon with her? Had she stirred awake ever so briefly, and allowed it to happen?

She had no idea.

She was sure, at least, that she didn’t want to peel away from him just yet. With the movie still playing, Macy continued the charade of sleep. An act—easily played out—so she could stay next to him. Before he woke up, and before the awkwardness began and the moment ended, Macy wanted to feel him. It was like a test run, a free trial where she could still have plausible deniability.

She held still, her mind focusing and leaving her body so that her only stimulus was the warm sensation of his body, heavy and muscular, and pressed up against hers. She held her breath against him. Just him, just his breathing, just the movement of his chest. The sound of him. The smell of him, of some type of rustic sandalwood cologne.

She was stiff as a board, faking it. This moment in a Johannesburg hotel might be her only chance. The future was full of complications, with Tucker or alone. The past certainly contained many of them, a path lined with rose bushes with the most brutally sharp thorns. That was their story: bittersweet.

Macy held her breath again and then carefully reached to the nightstand, fingers carefully wrapped around the plastic-less remote. She brought it to her face to find the power button, clicked it, and then tossed the remote aside in the now-complete darkness. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them to see the same darkness each time. Silence, except for Tucker’s breathing. And then something else, a low groan as if he’d been talking to himself. Macy felt his body move against hers, his head moving, too, Tucker stirring awake.

She held still as his arm flopped across her shoulder, a big meaty forearm clunking down onto her. His body moved, too, his hips rocking and trying to roll over. He got stuck against her, moaned something, and then sighed, giving up.

He relaxed once again. She liked his arm on her. A bonus. She could even maybe fall asleep with his arm there, if it were in the right spot. Just a few inches down off a pressure point. She reached up for it, her hand barely wrapping around his wrist, moving him just right to below her hip bone. Before she pulled her hand away, she let it slide down and slip into his. It was innocent. An accident. His palm was calloused, and cool with sleep. Macy squeezed gently, and when he squeezed back, she pulled way.

Tucker stirred awake again, pulling away from her and uttering something half-coherent. Macy held still as he sat up, the bed rocking with his movement. In the dark, she could hear his hand gliding through his hair. And then his voice: “Macy? What, um . . . ”

She stayed still, listening to him breathe, him regaining a calm and even breath. She could almost hear his brain reeling, trying to figure out how it all happened: him, and her, the darkness, the bed. For her, waking up in a strange, dark room was a pretty standard activity. But it was probably a little different for Tucker.

She felt the bed move again, this time sinking low as he shimmied off to the side, and with one final flick of the bed springs, it went still. Tucker’s weight was gone, off the bed and away from her. She listened to his uncoordinated footsteps in the dark, bare feet thudding softly on the faux wood before coming to a stop and standing still for a moment. A long moment passed with nothing but silence. She would have noticed if he’d left the room entirely, wouldn’t she?

And then Tucker took a deep breath and began wandering back around the bed to where he’d last laid his shoes.

Macy rolled over and said, “Tucker?”

The footsteps stopped.

“Tucker,” she said again, not a question this time, but a prompt. Despite her attempts to modulate her voice, it was husky with unfulfilled desire. Desire she should switch off. Only Macy didn’t want to. Right in that moment, she wanted him back. And a moment later, through the silence and the darkness, the bed dipped lower again at the edge. Tucker’s weight rocked the mattress as he crawled back on without saying a word. And then she felt his weight on her body, an army crawl from foot to head, of the bed, and of her, until his arms pressed down on either side of her shoulders, the warmth of his face inches from hers. Macy couldn’t see him, but she felt him, every nerve sizzling. A sixth sense, an awareness of his lips moving through darkness and landing first on her chin, a little clumsily. Shaky yet very hungry. Macy tilted her head down and their lips met, flush and wet. He sucked on her lip gently. God, he tasted good. A little tremble echoed through her body like a single ripple across a vast and empty lake. She felt it through her lungs and her neck and then out her mouth as a vibration, a moan. It seemed to spur him on, intensifying his kisses, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and tangling with hers.

As if suddenly reanimated, her hands came to life and wrapped around him, clutching at his strong back and pulling him tightly against her body while his face pressed deeper into hers, his breathing scorching her.

It was dark and dreamlike, and as unreal as her fantasies back in St. Louis, where the imagery and the feelings would come to her at night when she’d lie sleepless in her bed. But that was the only similarity. Back in St. Louis, she would be alone and aching, her hand finding its way between her legs. She ached now, too, only here it was someone else’s hand doing the work while her own two hands were busy along his back.

He’d gone inside her shorts, his thick hand palming her up and down over her panties. And then fingers, curling, tickling. As if it were her own hand, he knew exactly what to do, and he was doing it so well she was forced to bite onto his lip. Partly as a reaction to how good it felt, and partly to punish him ever so slightly. How could he be so bad? Tucker was a different kind of bad in St Louis, when he was a proper gentleman, rejecting her. And now this in Johannesburg, the opposite: still a gentleman, but stroking her most sensitive spot, making her hot and wet.

It was even the opposite of who she’d come to know in the last twenty-four hours. At first, in Angola, he’d been so reserved and respectful, letting her mostly take charge. Now Tucker was making her squirm under his touch. There was heat along her neck, too, his mouth slipping down there, licking to her collar bone and sucking there.

“Tucker . . .” She gasped for air. And then she was swallowed up again by him, his mouth grazing back to her face, to her mouth, silencing her until she could hear only the throbbing blood in her ears. She throbbed, too. For him. For more than his hand. He’d moved his hand to explore more of her body, leaving her a shaky, twitchy mess. Leaving her so hungry. Macy bit him again while her hands moved around his back, and his hips, to the small space between their bodies. It was a space just large enough for the loosening of a belt and button. She unfastened his jeans, hard and sloppy with uncoordinated hands. Tucker didn’t stop her. He even helped, pulling his jeans down from the back so they’d slide off his ass, so that Macy could have even more room. This time it was room to dive in, inside his boxers, her hand feeling through the darkness and the heat, finding her way down the v-shaped bulk of muscles under his abs, and then lower, over the base of his cock, where her fingers instantly wrapped and squeezed. She clung to him, the smooth, hot skin of his cock sliding ever so gently up and down as Tucker released an almost painful-sounding sigh. He was holding something back, something big inside him, pent up. Now she wanted it inside her, pent up, bucking hard into her and filling her.

He’d been carrying it all along. That she knew from the sneaked glances at his stiff crotch when they entered the jet, or tonight when she exited the bathroom wearing her sexiest. And now she knew just what it was he’d been carrying, the exact shape and firmness of it, how ready he’d been then and now. She firmed her grip, feeling the rest of his body going limp on top of her while one part of him did the exact opposite. Hardening, still, and then finally slipping out of her hands completely. Tucker was moving off her, his mouth off of her neck, his weight off her breasts, still more weight on either side of her, the bed rocking as he moved. She couldn’t see where to, but could feel him inching lower down her body. And then suddenly, from the darkness, came two large hands at both of her hips, and then the feeling of silk clothing being dragged down around her waist, slipping off her ass, and then sliding down her thighs past her knees. Tucker’s hands guided her shorts and panties smoothly off her legs and around her ankle. One ankle out, the other still inside the leg hole. Macy didn’t have to wait for his hands to spread her legs. She was already moving automatically, her knees moving first, and then her thighs, spreading wide around him—for him—as he shifted positions again.

It was his breath on her inner thigh that she felt first, then his mouth, his tongue lapping up along the inside, higher and tickling and driving her crazy. His hair brushed against her skin like a feather duster as she closed her thighs tightly around him. Macy held his face just where she needed it, using her leg muscles and then her hands to press against his head, his mouth, firmly against her. His tongue slipped into her, working upward in long, rhythmic curls that sent her body into a series of small, delightful convulsions.

She wanted to tell him about it, about how well he’d begun. How it was just where she needed it. But her words came out too breathily, her mind, too stripped and mushy. Macy could only hold on to the back of his head as he licked her, bringing that warm feeling back, just like solo nights in St. Louis: hot and humid nights without air conditioning, Macy lying on top of the sheets, sweating as she touched herself while thinking of him. That warmth coming back, from images of Tucker in the shower room, from fantasies she’d kill to see realized, like tonight. A dream. A dream in the darkness. A hard body, and hard cock, and a firm, talented tongue making her come closer and closer to the edge. The feeling growing inside her getting hotter and tighter, her belly glowing with it now as his tongue lashed against her clit.

There were sounds, now, her own. Groans escaping unbridled and raw, not words but grunts as he worked his mouth around her. Tucker seemed to know, feeling through her body, how close she was. She bit her lip as the waves of electricity rocked through her, her teeth pressing down on her bottom lip so hard she nearly drew blood. It would’ve been worth it, a little pain mixed with pleasure.

She held on tight to Tucker as she shook with every wave of her orgasm, her body shaking until the waves and her breathing slowed and she collapsed back onto the mattress, her body drained and useless. She couldn’t even hold her head up to look down the length of her body, to see what had become of her pleasure provider—her old crush. At least one thing had become of him since St. Louis: the fact that he was now single. And apparently he’d grown up a little bit and become a man who knew exactly what needs were to be satisfied no matter the repercussions.

Lying panting and sweaty, her mind went immediately to the repercussions. Would there be any after this? Would there be any awkwardness?

But how could there be? What he’d given her was so beautiful and amazing and right . . .

“Tucker,” she said, still catching her breath. “Oh, my God.”

His breath puffed against her leg, his silent chuckle. And then his hand, sliding back up her thigh. She squeezed them together, stopping his progress. She wanted more, God did she ever, but her body was still oversensitive, the afterglow still too strong.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand instead and folding it into hers. And then she laughed with him. Just an hour ago, a simple holding of hands would have been like jumping off the deep end. Now after how he’d worked her body, it felt like nothing—almost. It felt old and trusty now, like that hand had been part of her life forever. His hand, and him, a familiar and loving presence. She felt that, too, back in her cop days. Only it was a different kind of love. Friendly. A helping hand, picking her up off the ground, grabbing something for her that was out of reach. How far they’d come now, that hand helping her in ways she’d only dreamed about.

Tucker left his hand wrapped in hers while he pushed himself off and up the bed, up her body and lying face to face next to her. The room was still completely dark, but she could hear him, and feel the bed where he’d moved, smell his cologne and the natural and alluring scent of his body just inches away.

“Thanks,” she said.

Tucker laughed and said, “What?”

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Is that what you call it?”

She drew her hand from his, and let it fall down the length of his chest, over the front of his toned, rippled abs. “I don’t care what it’s called,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

Her hand was back to his pants, to where she’d unfastened them, to where there was still a healthy bulge waiting for her. If anything, his work with her had only made it larger. The anticipation, maybe. Maybe she wasn’t alone in waiting such a long time for this.

Tucker rolled onto his back, giving her more room to play, letting her hand explore. He took a long hitched breath as she slipped into his boxers again. She was sad to have left the first time, now there was unfinished business to take care of. After all these years, there was Tucker to take care of, just as he’d taken care of her. He firmed up in her hand, an impressively healthy blood flow. Usually, for a tactical genius like Tucker, the flow would be flowing in the other direction. This time, Macy was happy to divert the attention somewhere else. The guy had had a rough few years, too. He could use the distraction.

He helped her slide his pants off, and then lay back quietly as Macy hunched over him, hovering in the dark, her mouth hungry for it, coming in and finding the tip of him already a little wet, his balls filling her hand, stretched full and needing release. Tucker arched his hips in the air, mumbling something as she worked him in and out of her mouth, her lips each time sucking hard at his head like the tip of some delicious frozen treat. He’d tasted just as good, and she wanted to see what other flavors he had to offer.

His hands moved to the back of her head, not pushing her down, but holding her firmly in place. Large hands, strong and squeezing, and then again as he leaned back, breathing and telling her yessss, a body going limp, one leg twitching out. Her hands massaged his balls, priming the pump.

She took a deep breath and then took him in, most of it, her nose almost touching his torso, his cock throbbing and hard against the back of her throat. Almost close to enough to choke. She wanted that, to take him as deeply as she could, to give him the kind of pleasure he’d given her. She sucked him deep, until Tucker started making a strange little high-pitched sound as if he were in the greatest of pain. Like he’d been shot somewhere.

It was time to finish him off, to reward him.

Macy lifted her head up and let her lips slide over him, his heavy and wet cock sliding off her bottom lip and down her chin, burning everywhere it touched with his heat. She took him into her hand, holding him rough and hard and then jerking fast, using the natural lubrication of both of their juices together on his cock, using her hand to slip up and down as fast as she could pump it. Under her control, he writhed and squirmed like a fish over rocks, his hips rocking back and forth. She stroked him harder and with a slight curl of the wrist, a curving, rhythmic squeeze up and down until his breathing sped up, his groans stretching into one long continuous howl. It was a guttural sound that she could feel in her chest.

He was so close.

But then came another sound, outside of him and her and the sexy little world they’d created. A sound far away, as far as the door—which felt like miles away. A knocking sound, very faint, but there. She could barely hear it over the sounds of Tucker’s oncoming climax. He was obviously deaf to it. But she heard. And she stopped to listen again to the sound of another series of knocks at the door.

“Shh,” she whispered to Tucker.

“What? Huh?” He sounded drunk and confused, half-awake from a dream—perhaps the best dream he’d ever had. It had sure felt like a dream to her before. Unfortunately, the waking world had something else in store for him, Mr. DARC Ops: someone standing less than twenty feet away, on the other side of the door.

“Someone’s knocking,” Macy said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

His cock was still in her hand, twitching as he tried to process the information. Macy tried letting go but his hand rushed to hers, holding it against him. “No, please,” he said, begging for the dream to continue. “I don’t care.”

The knock came again, louder this time. And then a voice: “Hey, guys.” A man’s voice. “Wake up call.” Another knock and then, “Room service.”

There was no way she could keep going if that was one of his colleagues on the other side of the door. She drew her hand away and whispered, “Who the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just the wind.”

“In the hallway?”

“Yeah,” he said, feeling for her hand gain.

She pulled away and started to straighten herself up, starting with her panties, collecting them between both ankles and pulling them up. “The wind can talk and sound like your boss?”

“He’s not my boss,” Tucker said, grumbling a few curse words as he reached away and clicked the light switch. Macy took a look at him in the soft light, his face reddened and flustered. His erection still long and hard before he slipped his boxers back on, tucking it away with a wince. He looked away from her gaze, suddenly looking sheepish and shy. A big difference from when the light was out. And then Macy felt it, too, a sudden awkward embarrassment.

The knock came again and Tucker started collecting his things with a sad little groan. He leaned his head back toward the hallway and said, “Just a second!”

Macy hurried to find something other than the nightgown to wear, fixing up her clothes. “How did he . . . How did he know we were—”

“We’re DARC Ops,” Tucker said with a wry grin. “Nothing slips past us.”

“Great.”

“Tell me about it.”

They were both out of bed now, Macy fussing with the blankets to flatten them out while Tucker walked a little stiffly toward the door. His hand went to his crotch for a moment, adjusting himself.

Another knock.

“I’m coming!” Tucker said, not bothering to look around at Macy’s growing smirk. He was most definitely not coming, at least in the way he wanted. And with how happy he’d been to ignore the knock, whatever had started between them seemed to have taken importance over enriched uranium or “intelligence” or US national security. It was kinda funny, actually. Tucker the typical man, thinking with the wrong head. The wrong intelligence.

When the door opened to the hallway, Macy was sure to step out of view. It was somewhat embarrassing. And she was sure that DARC Ops had at least some “intelligence” regarding what had just happened behind her and Tucker. Who would ever believe that they were just watching an innocent, shitty rom-com?

Then again, she could hardly believe it, herself, what had actually happened and how it happened so fast. A quick spiral out of control. An amazing diversion. They both needed it. Though Tucker was probably needing it more than she was now.

The door shut and Tucker came walking back into the room. He stopped at the foot of the bed and shook his head.

“How bad is it?” Macy said with a wince. “Are we in trouble?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But not for that.”

“They don’t know?”

“We’ll deal with it later,” Tucker said. “But for now, we’ve gotta pack up and go.”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re making a move on the uranium,” he said, getting his things together. “Tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

“We,” Tucker said.

“We’re both going?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Where?”

“To America.”