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I, Spy? Page 18


  I said nothing.

  “Oh Jesus,” Maria sighed, putting down the Ben & Jerry’s. “What happened?”

  I mumbled it very quietly.

  “What?”

  “We sort of had sex.”

  She stared. “Sort of?”

  “Well, sort of properly. Orgasm and everything.”

  She was shaking her head. “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.”

  “Before or after the building fell down?”

  “After.”

  “Bloody hell.” We stared at the end credits of Buffy. “Well, no wonder he’s angry.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s feeling guilty. He totally took advantage of you, Sophie, don’t you see? God, I thought he had a bit more self control than that.”

  I felt compelled to defend him a little. After all, he taped Buffy for me. “Well, I didn’t exactly protest too much.”

  “Well, no, you wouldn’t. I mean, it’s Luke. Who’d protest?”

  I had to ask. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Did you and Luke… You know. Were you ever…”

  “Ever more than just professional?” Maria’s eyes went distant, and her perfect mouth curved into a smile. “I’ll never tell,” she said serenely.

  Bloody hell.

  I eventually crawled off to bed, painkillers and exhaustion overwhelming me, while Maria curled up on the sofa under my sleeping bag. But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what she’d said. If a building falls down on someone you fancy, you get them off to the A&E pretty sharpish. You check for concussion straight away. You don’t stop for a quick shag.

  God, now I felt like one of those Victorian heroines in the sort of melodramatic novels I have always despised, like they used to make us read at school. Marianne Dashwood. Tess of the d’Urbervilles. “Taken advantage of.” Jesus.

  I was a modern woman. I could take care of myself. I could go out and have sex with whoever I want. In theory, anyway. People did not take advantage of me.

  Right, when I saw Luke I was going to kick him in the head. Hard. With stilettos.

  When I wasn’t so crippled, obviously.

  I guess I must have eventually fallen asleep, my pillow wet (what was wrong with my hormones? Was my Pill malfunctioning?), because you have to be asleep to be woken up. And I was woken. Very rudely.

  There was a smash, a crash, then Maria’s voice—“Jesus fucking Christ!”

  I stumbled out of bed, groggy and frightened, to see her stamping on my sleeping bag. It was smoking.

  She looked up. “Do people often throw Molotov cocktails through your window?”

  I’m afraid at that point I fainted.

  When I woke up again, I was in a dark car going at lightning speed. “Maria?”

  She was driving. “Nice to see you.”

  I wiped a bit of drool from my mouth. Very sexy. “What’s—where are we going?”

  “Luke’s. He wasn’t kidding about it not being safe for you.”

  Rats. Now I’d have to face him. And I really didn’t want to face him.

  And his revolver was still under my bed at home.

  At least, I hoped it was.

  She pulled up, and I realised I was cocooned in my duvet, a bag on my lap. “What’s this?”

  “Overnight stuff. Deodorant and toothpaste and stuff. I might have forgotten a few things. Come on.”

  She was brisk and swift, not like the companionable girl who’d been comparing Buffy beaux with me earlier. Before the firebomb.

  Shit, someone firebombed my flat. My little flat! What had it done to anybody?

  “What about Ted?” I wailed, and Maria looked at me.

  “Ted?”

  “My car.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your car is fine. Come on, get out.”

  Luke appeared at the top of the steps to his door, blond hair tousled, wearing a faded T-shirt and boxers, looking like sex personified. Like really angry sex personified.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or frightened out of my wits. But I was too tired to be turned on and I seemed to have left most of my wits behind in that collapsed building site. I opted for weary haughtiness, and feel I failed somewhat.

  He didn’t say anything to me as he took my bag and slammed back inside with it, leaving me to shuffle up the stairs with my duvet, Maria following. She dumped a cardboard box on the table and lifted a hand in farewell.

  “You two are as crazy as each other,” she said. “I’m going back to check your place out, Sophie. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

  And with that she was gone, the door was closed, her car sped away, and it was just me and Luke looking at each other.

  “You bloody deserved it,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you threw that thing through my window?”

  He threw me a sarcastic look. “No, but maybe next time I will. Jesus, Sophie—” he stalked over to the door and started punching in a code on the control box, “—what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking, I’m hurt and I want to go home and lick my wounds.”

  He paused and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Oh, fuck off,” I snarled tiredly, clutching my duvet about me. “You’d have done the same thing. Why didn’t you set the alarm when I was here before?”

  He sighed. “The same reason I dropped off a box of DVDs at your house. I knew you’d go back.”

  I stared at him. He knew? Then why was he so mad? “Those are your DVDs?”

  “Yes. You seem to have a mild obsession.” He started poking around in my bag. “Do you have your stun gun and things?”

  “I don’t know. Maria packed it.”

  “What were you doing?”

  Drooling unconsciously. “I passed out,” I mumbled.

  “Jesus. Sophie,” Luke came over and lifted my chin. “Look. If you want out of SO17 then tell me. It’ll be easier sooner rather than—”

  “Out?” I stared at him. “Luke, before all this the most exciting thing that used to happen to me was getting two numbers on the lottery.”

  “You need three to win a tenner.”

  “I know. But I’ve never got three. God, one is cause for celebration. I never win anything,” I said moodily.

  “You don’t want to get out?”

  “No! Why would you think that?”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. You’ve been through a lot. People have flaked out before on less than this.”

  “Yes, well, not me.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?”

  I was bloody terrified. Of everything. “Not really,” I said, and Luke smiled for the first time that night.

  “Liar.”

  Neither of us could sleep, so we sat up watching all the Buffy featurettes and episode commentaries. Luke was quite the aficionado—he knew more about it than me. It was bizarrely endearing.

  “So what were you doing all day that was more important than keeping an eye on me?” I asked as the sky started to get light.

  “Checking out Wright and any possible partners. He was right when he said it was no one well known. He’s got no history of working with anyone. He doesn’t even need to link himself with a bank, since he has his own.”

  “It wasn’t that Jane… no,” I yawned, “that Helen woman?”

  “You made up the Helen woman,” Luke reminded me. We were sitting side by side on the chesterfield. I was still wrapped in my duvet and Luke had taken a corner of it. I could feel his leg through the fabric of my pyjamas. It was making concentration quite hard. “I checked out Jane Hammond. She’s been running a shipping company in Seattle for years. Wright hasn’t even been to the west coast since they broke up. I’m pretty sure it’s not her.”

  “Then who is it?”

  “Did you consider your friend Harvey?”

  I stared at the screen. Buffy was crying about something. “Harvey? He works for a cell phone
company.”

  Luke sighed. “I know you’re on medication and in shock so I’m going to ignore that. I was checking Wright’s records—hotels, plane tickets, that sort of thing—and everywhere he went, Harvey went also.”

  I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say. On screen, the Scoobies all hugged each other tearfully. “Harvey?” I repeated eventually, because it was the only thing that got to my vocal chords. “He couldn’t be the partner.”

  “He did turn up at Wright’s hotel room.”

  “Maybe he’s Wright’s boyfriend,” I said peevishly. “Did you think of that?”

  “You kissed a gay man? Was he better than me?”

  I felt myself colour. “I’m not going to answer that,” I said, “on the grounds that you’ll probably hit me.”

  Luke made a face. “Look, about what happened last night—”

  “I’ve forgotten it already.”

  He looked surprised. “Liar.”

  He didn’t cuddle you, I reminded myself. He didn’t come round to check up on you. He doesn’t really care about you.

  Oh, but he did give you those DVDs.

  “If you’d had any kind of respect for me, you wouldn’t have done that,” I said.

  “‘Done that’? I’m not a Victorian villain, Soph—” Luke began, starting to smile, twirling an imaginary moustache. Damn him for thinking of the same thing I did!

  “You bloody acted like one. You took advantage of me, Luke Sharpe, when I was physically and emotionally vulnerable. And you didn’t call me—”

  “I did!”

  “To have a go at me. You couldn’t even be bothered to come round in person. You sent Maria instead. God, I deserve a little bit more respect than that.”

  Now, in the light of the last few days, I wasn’t entirely sure if that last bit was true or not, but I was damned if I was going to give him anything.

  “Maria is a highly trained government agent. Didn’t she protect you?”

  “Yes, but I—but…” To my absolute horror, I felt my eyes prick with tears. Oh, great timing, eyes. Fabulous.

  “But what, Sophie?” Luke asked, his voice soft now, his eyes gentle, and I couldn’t look at him.

  But… But I needed you, Luke. I needed you to take me in your arms and promise me you’d protect me. I needed you to tell me that last night had been wonderful and you hoped it’d be the start of a great relationship. I needed you to tell me there was something between us that wasn’t sex or sarcasm. I was scared, and you were somewhere else.

  “But you weren’t there,” I said as strongly as I could.

  “I was there,” Luke said. “I stayed with you all night. I was worried about you, Soph.”

  “You left before I woke up,” I said, trying not to be impressed by that.

  “I had work to do, you know that. I couldn’t stay home and baby-sit you.”

  Baby-sit me? First I was incapable of taking care of myself, now I needed to be baby-sat?

  I hardened my resolve, and then my jaw, to match. “You yelled at me and then stayed away. That’s so damn cowardly.”

  I saw his face change, saw the anger creep in, and knew I’d hit a nerve. RAF officers weren’t cowardly. SAS operatives were not cowardly. And SO17 agents were definitely not cowardly.

  With the possible exception of me.

  “Cowardly?” Luke said, his voice carefully controlled. “Because I didn’t come round to tuck you in and pat you on the head? Because I had more important things to do, like try and figure out who had shot at you? There are more important things in this job than mollycoddling, Sophie, and if you don’t get that—”

  “No, I get that,” I snapped. “I get all of it. I know personal relationships have to take a back seat—”

  “Back seat? They’re out on the damn road—”

  “Exactly. And you knew that, but you still—”

  “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have!”

  “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t!”

  We glared at each other, and I’d have felt a lot better about the argument if I hadn’t still been wrapped up in my duvet with the little cartoon cats on it.

  “Well, it won’t happen again,” Luke muttered, looking away. “I do have some sense of self-preservation. Unlike some people.”

  I ignored that. “If you hadn’t locked me in, I wouldn’t be here,” I said. “Give me my bloody keys and let me go home.”

  “You’re going to walk home in your pyjamas?”

  “Yes,” I said, sticking my chin in the air, and then I thought about it, and it was a really stupid image. And then I made the mistake of glancing at Luke, and his mouth was twitching with amusement too, and I had to look away before I started laughing.

  Damn him. Damn him for making me angry, and damn him for making me laugh. And double damn him for sitting there looking so bloody desirable in the low light, strong and sure and everything I wanted, even if he wasn’t everything I needed.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “Bed.”

  I stared. God, I hope I wasn’t blushing. “Were you not listening back there?”

  “I don’t mean together. I mean to sleep. Separately. I don't know about you but I’m knackered. You are an exhausting woman, Sophie Green.”

  I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I awoke, for the second time in as many days, in Luke’s big soft white bed. Alone.

  Dammit.

  Everything was warm and cosy and I was really only half awake when I realised I really needed to pee. Don’t you hate that? All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. Sleep was good. I didn’t want to get up.

  But I did get up, sighing, and stumbled into the bathroom. My toothbrush leaned against Luke’s in the mug by the sink and I tried to tell myself it meant nothing. But my stomach still did a back flip at the sight of it.

  I went back into the bedroom and looked at the crumpled bed. He’d put clean sheets on and they smelled of fabric softener. It was ridiculous. I was getting heartfelt over fabric softener.

  Well, he’d taken the sofa, acting like a gentleman for possibly the first time since I met him. Not that I recall being particularly gracious about it. I think my exact words were, “You seduced me when I was concussed, Sharpe. Sleep on the sofa or sleep outside, but you ain’t coming anywhere near my bed.”

  “It’s my bed, Sophie,” he reminded me, looking slightly amused.

  “Well, I’m going to be in it. Alone,” I said, and stomped off in as dignified a way as I could manage, given that I was wearing his sports socks and was still huddled in my cat duvet.

  I fear this was not particularly dignified at all.

  Part of me had expected him to come crawling under the covers in the middle of the night, and been quite disappointed when he hadn’t. He was still asleep on the chesterfield, wrapped in my duvet. His hand was up by his face, his hair was tousled, and he looked adorable.

  Jesus, Sophie, get a grip! Do not fall for Luke. That would not be a smart thing to do.

  I sighed and padded over to the kitchen, looking for coffee. One of those filter things would be nice, but I’d settle for instant. I wasn’t fussy.

  Coffee made, I went and stood by the chesterfield, watching Luke sleep. There was no harm in looking. Didn’t everyone want to look at things that were beautiful? Like art and stuff. It was human nature.

  Yeah. Human nature to stare at someone who hadn’t bloody called.

  Bastard.

  Then the bastard spoke, and I scalded my hands with spilt coffee.

  “Sophie,” he said, “why are you standing there staring at me?”

  How did he know? How did he know? His eyes were still closed! Did he have see-through eyelids or something?

  No, he probably did. With bionic x-rays or something. Bet he could tell what colour my underwear was.

  I blushed, because I was, um, still wearing his underwear.

  “How long have you been awake?” I asked as coolly as I coul
d, fetching kitchen roll to wipe up the coffee, keeping my flushed face turned away from him.

  “Since you put the kettle on.” He yawned and stretched and opened his eyes. “Make us a coffee, will you?”

  I made a face. “What am I, your housekeeper?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it.” He pushed back the duvet and stood up. He was barechested and golden all over.

  Hello.

  Get a goddamn grip, Sophie. He’s doing this on purpose.

  And it’s bloody working.

  Bastard.

  Luke pulled on his T-shirt, which I suppose was probably for the best, and wandered into the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a log.” It was nearly midday. I couldn’t believe we’d stayed up so long.

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  I shrugged experimentally. “Not too bad.”

  “Can I see?”

  This would mean I’d have to take my pyjama top off. Not a good move, the way I was feeling. “Erm, you know what, I’m going to take a shower first,” I said. “Freshen up.”

  “How are you going to take a shower without getting the dressing wet?”

  I held up a finger in a “wait” gesture, and retrieved the cling film. Luke stared.

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head. “Worked yesterday.”

  He laughed. “You’re unbelievable. Okay. Shower’s yours. I’ll help you change the dressing when you come out.”

  I looked him over, leaning against the kitchen counter in his T-shirt and boxers, sipping his coffee, his hair tousled, looking sleepy, and took a deep breath.

  “Luke…”

  “Hmm?”

  Can we share the shower? Can we please have sex one more time? Just so I know it’s still good when I’m not concussed?

  “Can I borrow your shampoo?”

  He frowned, and nodded. “It’s by the shower.”

  Dammit. I was such a coward.

  I turned the shower water to cold, but it didn’t help much. All I could think of was Luke and his bare chest and his sleepy eyes. I was pathetic. I was like a horny teenager. Although, come to think of it, I wasn’t that horny when I was a teenager, so maybe I was making up for it now. Yeah. That’s what it was. Not my fault at all.