All Tied Up

When eventually they stilled, their heads buried in each other’s shoulders, surreal silence surrounded them. They inched apart enough to stare at one another, searching each other’s faces. What had happened between them? That was the unspoken question in the air. Whatever it was had Constantine’s insides quivering in an indescribable way.

Nicole reached up and softly traced his brow, tenderness sweeping across her face, and then she rested her head back on his shoulder. His heart squeezed; his chest was tight. He could barely breathe. This connection, this bond, had to be a façade, the result of the adrenaline rush of being on the run. Didn’t it? But deep down, he knew it was more. He couldn’t fall for Nicole. He was nothing but trouble. Hell. He didn’t want to be worried about someone. He didn’t want someone else to fear for. That part of his life was behind him.

“What are you doing to me, woman?” he whispered, repeating the question she had asked of him earlier.

Nicole didn’t respond, but she tightened her arms around him. Seconds passed and they relaxed into each other, their breathing the only sound in the room. Holding her in those moments came with a sense of peace and serenity, an experience unique, never to be reproduced. There might be other special times, other amazing moments. Or perhaps there would be none. That possibility clenched his gut. He didn’t move, nor did she. Perhaps they were both afraid of ending something that might never be repeated.

Constantine contemplated sleeping with her in his arms, recognizing his desire to keep her close. He had even started to ease them both to the mattress when a sudden pounding on the door brought him back to reality. He tensed, preparing to defend Nicole. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders, and she leaned back to search his face, anxiety shining in the depths of her eyes.

“Housekeeping,” someone called through the door, the female voice carrying a heavy Hispanic accent.

Nicole expelled a breath, her body going limp with relief. Constantine felt nothing of the sort. They’d only checked in a few hours before. Housekeeping should know this. Besides, pretending to be “housekeeping” would be an easy trick to get the door open. With regret, he motioned for Nicole to climb off him; her expression quickly filled with worry again as she scrambled for her clothes.

Constantine snatched his shorts from the floor about the time the knocking started again. “Housekeeping!” A key was being jiggled in the lock. Thankfully, he’d flipped the inner latch so it would catch before the door fully opened.

“Ahora no,” Constantine shouted out, telling the woman in Spanish “not now,” dropping his shorts in exchange for the Glock on the nightstand.

He bolted across the room, arriving at the door as it came open, hitting the barrier of the steel latch. Constantine peered through the opening, the housekeeper looking at him through the crack. He repeated his prior words and went on to demand why she was even present when they’d only checked in hours ago.

The woman responded to his demands with an onslaught of Spanish, which concluded with an apology. Constantine relaxed marginally and sent the woman away. He slammed the door shut and slid the lock into place. Then he turned to stare at Nicole. Still on the mattress, she was on her knees, her shirt in place but nothing else, nipples peeking beneath the thin material, and clearly showing the dark triangle between her legs. His gaze devoured the sight, his body stirring.

Nicole hugged herself. “Are we okay?” she demanded. “Should we leave? What did she say?”

“We’re fine,” he answered, starting toward the bed. “I was being safe. Better safe than sorry.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, as he set the gun back on the table. Her eyes scanned his body, widening ever-so-slightly as she noticed the growing girth of his erection.

His knees hit the mattress. “As sure as I can be under the circumstances.”

“On a scale of one to ten—”

Constantine cut her off with a disbelieving laugh and reached for her. She frowned, her hands pressing on his chest a bit defensively. “What’s so funny?”

“You trying to find control someplace that it can’t be found.” He tugged at her shirt and pulled it over her head, finding no resistance on her part. His palms framed her breasts and then slid to her cheeks. “I said, we’re fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, and he shook his head at her stubbornness. Grabbing the blankets, he motioned for her to join him underneath. They crawled under, lying down, heads on their pillows, facing each other.

“I know it’s hard to be calm, but try.”

She nibbled her bottom lip a minute, and he could see by her expression that her mind was racing. Another worry-laden question followed. “Shouldn’t we flip on the news and find out about the hurricane?”