UNEXPECTED PROSPECT -- continued -- page 2

No redness, no sign of swelling, just this burning fire causing an odd pulsation. Checking for any sign of irritation Sydney runs her fingers lightly over her lips, watching the motion in their bathroom mirror. One kiss, the culprit behind her now twenty-minute stay behind the closed door.

Truly she’s a bit embarrassed, her actions after dancing with Sark were quite revealing. Three times he asked her if she was okay on the way back to their quarters, the same amount of times she answered yes of course, but still couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. And now with her thoughts consumed by him, it was maddening. Why did she give a shit what he thought, she was sent here to complete an assignment no more, no less - but there was more, deep down there was so much more brewing than she was ready to acknowledge.

After placing her moisturizer back in her bag, she conjures up the courage to face him. With her knee length black bathrobe covering up the same colored brief and tank set, Sydney emerges to find the bedroom empty. Relieved but curious, she twists her hair up in a quick bun and walks toward the dimly lit front room. At first sight, she finds herself embarrassed, almost enough to turn around.

“I apologize, I thought you had retired,” he speaks with no fluctuation in his voice. “I just finished checking the room access system and The Espinoza’s were in thirty minutes ago,” he adds.

Too late to turn back now, she stays. Even in the low light, she sees the definition of muscle in his bare back, slightly twitching with each stroke of his laptop keyboard. Slowly she approaches at an angle allowing her to view his profile.

“Sounds like everything is working fine,” Sydney speaks her first words.

Sark grunts in agreement his fingers still speeding around the keyboard, after a few moments he asks, “Did you need to talk about it?”

“Talk about what,” she asks even though she has an idea of what he’s referencing.

He stops typing, but keeps his eyes on the screen, “What happened downstairs. You’ve been acting strange since dinner. Is it bothering you that much?”

Growing uncomfortable with the direction this is going in, Sydney answers with a simple, “No,” hoping it ends the conversation.

Sydney watches as he looks at her with just a hint of anger flashing in his eyes, “The idea of kissing me I assume is horrific, you have no choice but to get used to it. There’s no way we’ll become friendly with them if we don’t act like we have the same sort of relations.”

“I said, it’s not a problem for me,” Sydney displays her frustration, “I’m fine with it. Just… maybe you could give me some sort of warning next time.”

Sark shows his amusement by letting go a small chuckle, “Would you prefer a secret password or use of sign language Sydney.” Before she can reply, Sark continues, “You don’t need to say it, I know a good ‘fuck off’ or ‘fuck you’ is in order.”

He shuts his laptop then stands causing Sydney to instinctively take a step back as he moves past her, dressed in only his trousers, which were slightly sagging due to his unfastened belt. When she hears the bathroom door close, she exhales, releasing her frustration.

He’s not Mr. Binoche, his display was a reminder of that fact. Someone like Sark probably couldn’t fathom feelings of such deep love and devotion for a woman. Exhausted from the long day, Sydney curls up on the couch, closing her eyes until Sark finishes in the bedroom.

Surrounded by blackness, the drawn curtains help prevent even the light of moon from entering Sydney feels the soft velvet blanket against her back. Earlier when she first entered the room, she knew it would feel heavenly and it did. The entire bed was of utmost comfort.

Fully aware of his presence, she smiles at the feel of his hand sliding up her leg, teasing as he halts just inside her upper thigh. She can faintly smell the musk of his cologne, after such a long day it’s surprising to see it lasted so long. He momentarily fumbles with the tie on her robe, but slides his hand under her tank and over her exposed stomach once it’s freed.

“You are so lovely,” he speaks his voice a bit throaty. “I could stay here forever.”

Closer his face comes she can feel the tickle of his breath against her neck and waits for his lips. Instead she feels his hand slide up to her covered breast, softly cupping it, “You’ve captured my soul,” he breathes as he gently massages her. She feels his other hand move to her stomach, jabbing the hard metal of his gun near her rib cage and cocking it, “And I can’t let you keep it.”

Sydney gasps, immediately sitting upright. “Fuck,” is all that escapes as she looks around the lavish bedroom she now remembers checking into. Her hand immediately drops to her stomach, finding her robe is indeed untied. Probably from restless sleep, she reasons. Giving herself a chance to calm down, she walks to the window and pulls back the curtain exposing the morning light.

“Good morning, Sydney,” giving her a good startle, Sark walks out of the bathroom wearing a pair of tan khaki pants with a water blue button down shirt. After she’s already facing him, she remembers the untied robe and fumbles to recover her body. She notices the corner of his mouth turned up a bit, humored by her behavior. “Marcus made a call to a local jeweler this morning and plans to stop by with Consuela around noon.”  He walks to the door, “I figure it would be best to be there before.”

“Of course,” Sydney replies showing her confusion on how she ended up in the bedroom and not on the couch like she remembered. She glances at the bed and notices only her side had been touched, so she did sleep alone.

“You fell asleep, I carried you in here,” Sark answers her unasked question, walking to the door. “And yes I slept on the couch,” Sark leaves Sydney who becomes pissed at his gift of reading her so well.

********************

Working for SD-6 has taken her to many a country, some different as night and day with their expensive details or dinginess of slums. Even after racking up hoards of frequent flyer miles she can’t use, it’s rare to have time for site seeing.

As she’s walking through the French style buildings of the Recoleta neighborhood, she soaks up the culture of one of the most traditional areas in Buenos Aires. Passing by rows of boutiques and the occasional pub, she periodically pauses out front of the smaller shops, browsing for trinkets. Out of habit, she checks her reflection in the window.

One of the most difficult tasks she’s faced thus far has to be Claudette’s style. Designer urban chic isn’t really her, but Sydney pulls it off fine. The expensive scarf with multi shades of blue, geometric shapes, wrapped around her head matches her tight blue halter-top wonderfully. Both perfectly compliment her white, wide legged pants and nude stiletto boots. What she could get used to is the jewelry, sure it’s a bit gaudy, but the seventeen-karat sapphire and diamond bracelet is amazing to look at.

Her thoughts on fashion are interrupted by the sense of someone staring. Thirty feet to her left, Sark leans against the shop building, up the block casually watching her. Her thoughts run back to earlier that day, as they were eating breakfast and the way his eyes were almost glowing with many shades of blue. It’s not common to find someone with chameleon eyes, changing with mood or dress. When she looks in his direction, he places a soft smile on his face lifting his head slightly, a motion of calling her over. She obliges making her way over and sliding her arm in his.

Sark leans in, “No sign of them yet, but we better go.” Sydney smiles while running her nails over his biceps feeling a slight twitch under her fingers.

“Consuela,” the old man behind the counter gives his greeting as he walks to the front door, “You look absolutely radiant.” Sydney looks toward the front just as she steps in. The old man was right, her black, naturally waved hair lay brushing just past her shoulders. Dressed to fit the mid eighty-degree weather, her body is hugged by a knee length, soft pink strapless dress. “Marcus,” the man extends his hand, “I was surprised to hear you would be by.”

Mrs. Espinoza leaves the two men to talk, heading straight to the necklace cases. Hoping to start a conversation, Sydney leaves Sark to look at the men’s watches and strolls over in that direction. While peering at the array of diamonds encased in glass, she takes notice of a simple, yet brilliant necklace -three stones dangling from a white gold chain, sparkling with all colors of the spectrum due to the strategically placed lights.

“They are lovely aren’t they,” Sydney hears Consuela speak to her. “You’re admiring the three stone?”

In response, Sydney smiles in agreement, “It’s nice, but not really my style,” she lies. “My style tends to gravitate more to the extravagant side. At least that’s what my husband tells me.”

Her comment draws a laugh from Consuela, “I see, your husband is like that too. At least it seems like he has this marriage thing down.” Sydney shoots her a questioning look, prompting Consuela to elaborate. “We’re staying at the Park Tower Hotel also. His loving display last night was one of the most romantic I’ve heard.”

Sydney shows a small amount of embarrassment, “Love is a completely different story when you’ve found that one person.”

“Tell me about it,” Consuela answers. Extending her hand, “I’m Consuela Espinoza.”

Sydney takes hers in a cordial gesture, “Claudette Binoche. So are you two on your honeymoon also?”

“No, actually we live in Buenos Aires, but we’re having some work done on our house,” Consuela replies.

Unaware Sark had been eavesdropping even before their conversation began, Sydney is surprised when he slides his hand over her hip standing close behind, “Claudette love, did you find anything to your liking?”

“Well, I was looking at this diamond choker,” Sydney points to the twenty carat necklace, “but I already know you’ll tell me it’s a bit much, even for my formal wear.” Sydney reaches her hand up to stroke his face.

Sark glances in the glass case, “As much as I love your neck bare, it’s much better accented with something a bit less.”

Both Sydney and Consuela laugh. “See what I mean,” Sydney tells Consuela. “Honey, this is Consuela Espinoza. She and her husband are staying at our hotel.”

Sark extends his hand to shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Consuela smiles at Sark, “Have you two done any site seeing yet?”

With her knowledge of Buenos Aires gained from the Internet, Sydney responds, “Not yet. We’re hoping to make it to the Fine Arts Museum, my husband is a Goya fan, and of course the Recoleta Cemetery sometime later today.”

“Both are wonderful places,” she beams, “the weekends here are rich with festivities, if you’re staying over. The whole area is filled with artists, musicians and other crafts.” Claudette looks toward her husband who is ending his conversation with the jeweler. “Well, I’m off to finish official Christmas business. We’ll probably see you at the hotel later.”

Sydney smiles at her, “I’m sure we will.” Sydney watches as she walks off in the direction of her husband. Taking Sark’s hand, she leads them toward the exit.

When they make it out the door, Sark compliments her. “You were perfect in there. Excellent play at keeping us right on schedule.”

Flattered by the genuine natured comment, Sydney feels heat rise to her cheeks. How can someone who has proven himself to be so cold and cruel come up with the perfect lines, last night still being the perfect example, causing her to feel a sort of closeness - some middle ground behavior would be more tolerable, at least then she wouldn’t have to dwell so much.

Suddenly, Sydney realizes their hands are still intertwined a good three blocks down the way. Unintentionally she lets go abruptly, lowering her hand to find her sunglasses. She notices Sark glance in her direction, but knowing too well he’ll consider her move a cop out, another excuse to hide and then of course spat one of his “know it all” comments, she pretends to ignore him as she slides on her shades.

***********************

“Reservation is for seven-thirty,” Sark yells from just outside the bathroom door. Sydney checks her watch noting she has fifteen minutes, ample time to finish. Making one last adjustment on her hairpiece, she admires the perfect waves that gently caress her face with movement. Her look is complete after applying her deep red lipgloss and just a touch of Coco Chanel perfume. Stepping back, she moves far enough to check the stretch of her body in the full-length mirror.

On a normal day, her external beauty is subdued, hidden behind her black suits and other agent attire. Even if she’s going out with her friends, it’s normally semi casual. The transformation she sees before her almost makes her giddy with pride. She knew it would accentuate the natural curves of her body when she spied it in the boutique window downstairs. Red, one of her best colors with medium sized white flowers scattered throughout, one inch straps that sit perfectly on the edge of her shoulder then diving down into a deep V, the end point just below her cleavage. Probably her favorite feature of the dress was the knee high slit, breaking the streamline skirt that circled around her ankles. Finished, she slips on her strappy red sandals and prepares to exit.

When she opens the door, she finds Sark sitting on the bed, taking no notice of her presence, only tying his shoes. Even his dress a strategy, he’s wearing a dark taupe casual suit with a normal white button up shirt, the perfect companion to her red. His look very similar to last night except, as he stands to face her, his tie is no longer there - just a hint of skin revealed, due to the top two unfastened buttons.

Here it comes again, that feeling of being choked or losing all her air supply. On cue, the quickened heartbeat, waves of energy that run up and down her body and the lump gathering in her throat make themselves known. All that’s missing is the redness that covers her face. It doesn’t come, thank God, instead she watches it flash across Sark’s face. In their most telling moment to date, they stand in silence, seeming like minutes, but in reality only about thirty seconds.

Finally he speaks, with a low tone, and no hint of cracking in his voice, “I assume you’re ready,” he doesn’t take his eyes off her as he speaks.

His stare piercing, she breaks their contact by shifting her eyes to the door, “It’s seven thirty, we better go.”

“American,” he whispers to his friend in Spanish as they ride down the elevator. Sydney stares ahead at the two neatly dressed strangers, both stout Latin men who reek of cheap cologne. It’s humorous when people assume just because a person is American, they only understand or speak English.

“She sort of looks Russian,” the second man adds in his native tongue.

Sydney watches the floors descend, hoping the reach the main floor soon. “If she’s lucky, she’ll have some Latin in her later,” the first man jokes, causing both of them to laugh obnoxiously. All she can do is resist the urge to laugh, after all that line was the most overused in the world of perversion. Thankfully, they finally reach the lobby. Just as the door opens the first man adds, “I wonder if that guy realizes how hot his woman is.”

Sydney hears Sark chuckle, his first sign of speech since the two men joined them on their way down, coming up with a quick reply in Spanish before the men exit. “Believe me he’s fully aware of how attractive she is, that’s partially why he married her.”

Their faces almost white combining fear and embarrassment the two men hurriedly exit the elevator and practically tear through the lobby. With a strong appearance of gratitude, a silent thank you, Sydney smiles at Sark while placing her hand around his upper arm.

As they’re led to their reserved table, Sydney watches the handful of couples dancing to the same band present the previous night. She remembers the high comfort she felt in Sark’s arms, leaning her body against his muscular chest. It has, after all been over a year and a half since she’s been in a romantic situation with any man, false or not. Everyone needs to feel the touch of another at least periodically, if not the coldness begins to muster and eventually ices over. Life like that she never wants to experience, she’s seen the effects of it in her father.

“Claudette,” she feels the softness of a hand touch her arm. Upon looking down, she sees Consuela Espinoza sitting next to her husband. Immediately she stops, tugging on Sark’s arm as he keeps walking. She continues, “Honey, this is the couple we saw at the jeweler, Claudette and…” she looks at Sark, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your first name.”

“Julian,” he replies, meeting eyes with Marcus in a warm manner.

“Great,” Consuels exclaims. “You must join us tonight, I insist,” given the perfect opportunity, the Binoche’s sit next to each other opposite the Espinoza’s.

Truth be told, in her normal life as Sydney she hasn’t had such a good time in quite a while. The charming couple they had the pleasure of dining with were as warm as they were vivacious. Also to her surprise was the ability Sark had to meld into a situation, how he could mix lies and truth making them sound near fantasy.

The words still lingered in her mind “I met Claudette while on a business trip in the states, at a restaurant similar to this in fact. My hum drum day was washed away as the piano man started his tune and this lovely creature crooned on the stage.” Sydney remembers watching how expressive he became telling the story, it was difficult to tell the truth from the lie. “I know it sounds like bull shit, but I felt she was singing just for me. My co-workers called me on it until, with immaculate timing I might add, she walked straight to me pausing long enough to run her hand along my cheek. I tell you mate, I was completely gone after that.”

Now she sits, his arm wrapped around her casually, yet every now and again his thumb softly runs over her shoulder, the softest caress. Sydney finishes the last of her Merlot, her sixth glass, sending her close to a drunken state.

Sark must take notice for he leans into her and kisses her lightly on the side of her head, “You okay love,” he asks mildly concerned.

Close but not yet to slurred speech, Sydney responds with just, “Mm hmm, just a bit tired.”

Recognizing the warning signs, Sark excuses them from the table, “Looks like it’s time for us to retire. We’ve had a wonderful time tonight.”

He stands, as does Marcus who extends his hand, “If you two don’t have other plans, we’d love for you to join us on the boat tomorrow.”

Assisting Sydney to stand, Sark replies to him, “Nothing pressing - a day on the water would be wonderful.

“Great, we’re checking out in the morning, but I will leave directions with the front desk,” Marcus takes his seat again.

Sydney finds no problem in standing or speaking, “Sounds good, thank you again for the nice time.” She allows Sark to assist her by placing his arm around her waist.

By the time they reach the room, Sydney’s intoxication has escalated. Giggling uncontrollably she waits for Sark to retrieve the room card from his pocket. In between her giggles, Sydney speaks, “I can’t believe that guy wanted to put some Latin in me.” Unable to keep quiet, Sark begins to laugh also, so she continues, “You were great, answering their derogatory comments in Spanish. The look on their faces,” still laughing she follows him as he walks inside.

“They looked a bit ghostly,” Sark admits.

Sydney crashes on the couch, kicking off her heels, “Between you and me, tonight was one of the best nights I’ve spent out in some time.” Sark shows insecurity about her candid statement. “Pretty sad considering it’s all a fucked up façade.”

She watches as Sark removes his jacket, placing it over the other side of the couch. Trying to dissect his feelings much like he does to her so regularly, she watches his expression searching for anything familiar to latch to.

“It’s late,” Sark starts his face washed of any hint of emotion, “we should get some sleep.”

Her drunken hopes shot down by his straight face she momentarily pauses before standing to leave the room. Just as she reaches the door, Sark speaks stopping her, “Sydney, I know starting this op was difficult for you given our business history. I wanted to say that I appreciate the fact you’ve chosen to temporarily look past that and treat me with the good nature you have the past two days.”

Since she’s not facing him, she allows a smile to break at another sign of Sark’s humanity. Without speaking, she enters the room and closes the door, heading to prepare for sleep.

   <== Previous | Continued ==>