Miranda strode through the door like a woman on a mission. It briefly occurred to Nikita to ask her what was on her mind, but the older woman was clearly otherwise preoccupied. So, aside from a puzzled look as Miranda passed by, Nikita never gave her a second thought.
Luc tugged urgently on his mother’s T-shirt. “Mommm…is Gran’ma coming to dinner?”
Nikita looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so, honey. She’s got something else cooking.”
***
Yes, she did.
Her libido was spinning wildly out of control, thanks to Maddy and Neil. Oh, they could think they were fooling everyone, but she knew better. She could read between the lines. Hell, she could still hear them!
All that thudding up against the door. Neil’s breathless voice over the intercom. Maddy’s impassioned groan, cut short by someone’s (undoubtedly Neil’s) hand over her mouth.
Oh, my God.
Miranda found it hard to imagine Madeline behaving so impulsively or so passionately, but the proof lay in Miranda’s own reaction to what she inadvertently overheard. Her chest heaving, her face flushed, Miranda was unbearably aroused.
Pushing open the bedroom door, she discovered Walter in a state of partial undress. Thinking he was alone, Walter failed to tie his white terrycloth robe, opting instead to rub his thinning gray hair with a nubby cotton towel. His face hidden in the towel, Walter didn’t hear her come in. Or her fervid exclamation at the sight of his lean, still well-muscled body in all its glory.
Her breath coming hard and fast, she pulled the towel off Walter’s head, leaving him standing there, more or less perplexed. But not embarrassed. If there was one thing Walter was not, it was shy.
“Honey! You’re home early! What’s up?”
“*You’d* better be!” she cried, unsnapping the buttons on her white uniform top.
“Whoa, babe! To *what* do I owe *this* honor?”
“It’s your lucky day, my love!”
With that, she proceeded to step out of her shoes. Sensible shoes. Miranda would have nothing else. Soft, comfortable, good on your feet shoes. Walter wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He simply walked over to the picture window that overlooked the back lawn, glanced outside and closed the curtains. All with an unbelievable air of calm that was deceptive.
Because his body had definitely noticed Miranda’s. He could feel the heat coming off her in waves.
He liked it.
He moved the handmade rocker, turning it so that now it faced his wife instead of the back lawn. Sitting carefully, he lifted his terrycloth robe as though he wore a tuxedo with tails. Spreading his legs, he smoothed the edges of the terrycloth over his thighs, not making any real effort to hide what Miranda was looking for. With a slight grin, he intoned huskily, “Perform for me.”
Miranda started to remove her skirt, but Walter held up his hand. “Leave it on. Just—you know…”
She nodded without saying a word. But she had no intention of letting her husband run things. This was her show from beginning to finish.
She leaned forward, just out of his range, but he managed to snag her front-clasp bra with one fingertip. A second later, her breasts spilled forth into his waiting hands. She was excruciatingly sensitive right now, and it was as if he knew just how to touch her. But she needed no encouragement. Her nipples already hard and standing at attention, she sighed as he caressed her very gently.
Abruptly turning her back on him, she skimmed her fingers down the sides of her uniform top, which was now hanging wide open. For some reason, Walter found her state of disarray erotic. He had no need to touch himself. He was instantly hard.
Bending over slowly, she began running her hands up her legs, lightly brushing the white see-through nylon stockings with her fingers. Hiking her skirt up, she revealed that she was wearing garters. Unhooking her garters one at a time, she looked back over her shoulder to see Walter mesmerized by her every movement. Her hazel eyes dropping to his lap, she could easily see the effect that her striptease was having on him.
Rolling her stockings down, inch by inch by inch, Miranda closed her eyes halfway, concentrating on the task at hand. Kicking off her stockings, she turned back to face her husband. Her skirt pushed up over her hips, only her sheer lace panties remained below the waist.
With a slight tug, she removed the final obstacle to passion. Walter beckoned with one finger. “C’mere, Honey.”
Balancing herself skillfully, she eased herself into Walter’s lap. She leaned forward, and he kissed her, insinuating his tongue into her mouth. When he broke away, it was with great reluctance and considerable curiosity. “What brought all this on, sweetheart?”
So she whispered in his ear. Told of enigmatic noises in the internist’s office. Inexplicable breathing. Sensual moans and groans.
All the while she rubbed herself between the legs, making herself ready for their union. But it was unnecessary. She was unbelievably hot…and incredibly wet.
“And that turned you on?” he asked, his blue eyes darkening.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, licking her lips. Staring intently into those heated eyes, she felt as though she would catch fire from his glance.
He smiled, not unlike a wolf contemplating a sheep. “You *are* a delicious little morsel, Honey. Maybe I’ll just have to taste you.”
“Please,” she cried helplessly, opening herself to him.
He lifted her up, both hands on her hips. He had to admit, the sight of her like this, so debauched, so far gone, barely half-dressed, aroused him like nothing else. Momentarily using his other hand to position himself at her entrance, he began to lower her slowly.
She sank down on his lap again, his erection throbbing deep inside her, and she caught her breath at the feel of him, thick and hard. His hands moved to her neck, pulling her hair up and away. Rocking forward, he kissed the side of her neck. Rocking backward, he pulled out just enough to tantalize both of them. When he rocked forward again, he slammed into her, deeper and harder. His hands slid down her body to her breasts.
He licked her nipples almost delicately, a fierce contrast to the impassioned thrusting taking place just below. They swayed together, their bodies moving as one entity, back and forth, to and fro, every movement slow and calculated to last as long as humanly possible.
“Y’know,” he rasped, the vibrations of his smoke-and-whiskey voice washing over and through her. “There’s something to be said for being…older.”
She couldn’t help but smile. No one half their age could last this long. There was an art to lovemaking this good. He sucked on his finger until it was well and truly wet, and then…
The crest of desire took them over the edge. Walter pumped furiously even as his hands clenched together over her lower back, his seed spilling inside her until it overflowed, pooling on his groin. Her spasms and gentle aftershocks continued to milk him, long after the actual moment of orgasm had passed, and he held her, enjoying the cascading series of sensations even as they faded away.
He bit at her mouth, his hand now winding itself through her medium-length blonde hair to anchor her in place. When he released her finally, she looked well and truly…kissed.
“Oh, Honey, what you do to me.”
“Oh, no, Walter. It’s what I’m *going* to do to you.”
“You’re not done yet?”
She shook her head, trailing a wet fingertip over his chest. “We got all sticky. Now you’ll just have to take another shower.”
“Honey, we’ll never get clean at this rate.”
A mysterious glint entered her eyes.
“Did Jago say anything to you, Cassidy?”
At the sound of her former nickname, Derry almost smiled.
Davenport interlaced his fingers with his wife’s and swung her hand back and forth between them. When her husband came home from the academy, Derry seemed to be preoccupied about something, but as usual, she wasn’t talking. He sighed. Sometimes he thought that she might never be as forthcoming about her emotions as he would like. But there was always hope.
“Come on, darlin’. You can tell me,” he prompted, giving her hand a squeeze. The moment he noticed her mood, Davenport suggested a walk might put her spirits right, but though she readily agreed, she was hardly enthusiastic.
Suddenly she stopped, biting her lip. She worried her lower lip until Davenport wanted to scream, but he knew that it was merely a matter of waiting.
“He had a fight with Luc,” she said softly.
“I know. But did he tell you what it was about?”
“Nothing.” She raised pain-filled silver-grey eyes to his. “What has a five-year old got to be upset about? And why wouldn’t he tell me, Jake? Maybe I’m—“
“Maybe you’re what, darlin’?”
“Maybe I’m not a very good mother,” she blurted out, her face flaming. She couldn’t bear it if Davenport turned away from her now.
“Oh, Cassidy.” He stroked her cheek, noting the fine tremors starting just beneath the surface of the skin. “It’s got nothing to do with you. You’re a wonderful mother.”
“You’re just saying that cause you’re prejudiced,” she retorted, her Irish accent growing thicker.
“I’m saying that cause it’s *true*, darlin’.” He kissed her tenderly, wishing there were some way to convince her that he was right.
“Then why--?”
“Sweetie, he’s a boy. He doesn’t need a good reason. Boys don’t tell their mothers everything, y’know.”
“They don’t? Oh, Jake, are you sure?”
“Hey, I was one, remember?” He grinned and held up three fingers in a salute that looked vaguely familiar. “Scout’s honor.”
Derry pondered. “He’s such a quiet child. Maybe too quiet, Jake.”
“What? You think he’s going to grow up to be a mad bomber or something?” At Derry’s look of consternation, Davenport quickly realized his error. Given the circumstances of their lives, that wasn’t such a leap.
But he knew how easy it was to overreact and create more of a problem than there really was. “Okay, okay, that’s not what I meant, Derry.” He wrapped his arms around the only woman he had ever loved with all his heart and what was left of his soul after Section got through with it.
“He’s very lucky to have you as his mother, darlin’. But don’t think that cause he’s not telling you all his secrets that he even *has* any.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Sometimes things really are what they seem?”
“Yeah.”
***
They kept walking, drifting slowly towards the kennels. “Wow.” Davenport whistled. “Smoke’s really cleaned this place up.”
Derry folded her arms over her chest and nodded. “Aye, there’s no smell like there was before. And it’s the weirdest thing, Jake, but the barking doesn’t wake me up anymore. How do you s’pose he does *that*? We tried everything.”
Davenport shook his head. “Smoke’s got a real way with animals, if you ask me. He should think about making a career of it.”
“Become a vet, you mean?”
“Yeah. Don’t you think he would be good at it?”
“Aye. But what would James think of that?”
“You mean, would he support him? Darlin’, no one’s been able to fit so much as a crowbar between those two since they got back together.”
“James wants nothing more than to make Smoke happy.”
“Yeah. It’s sorta nice to see that kind of thing, y’know?”
“Aye, I know. I know something else, too. I haven’t done my part to make *you* happy today.” She traced a finger over his lips, and he kissed it.
“Make it up me, darlin’. Anytime.”
***
No dogs in sight. No kids to be found. Nothing but sheer tranquility and the silence that came with it.
Davenport liked those times when his wife took a more aggressive role in their lovemaking. So he was not unpleasantly surprised when she moved closer and bit his lip.
“Ow.”
“That didn’t hurt, Jake,” she said with laughter in her voice.
“No, it didn’t,” he agreed, pulling her closer to whisper, “Hurt me somewhere else, baby. I can take it.”
Moving as one into the enclosed kennel area, they found an empty medium-sized stall with fresh blankets on the overhanging shelves. They kissed repeatedly, their lips never leaving each other’s, as Davenport felt above his head for the blankets. Pulling the blankets down with his free arm, Davenport then proceeded to create a makeshift bed.
Derry pushed her husband down onto the blankets, unbuttoning his shirt on the way. When his chest was bare, she glanced at him, smiling at the eager look in his dark eyes. Still dressed, she began to lave his nipples, one at a time. She felt his hand pressing into her lower back and she shivered with anticipation.
After unfastening his belt, she pulled his pants open, exposing his naked flesh to the unseasonably warm spring air. “No shorts? Were you hoping to get lucky then, boyo?”
Davenport grinned and arched up to grasp her face between two large hands. Holding her fast, he licked her mouth, his tongue demonstrating just what it expected from her.
Breaking away with a wet sound, he whispered, eyes gleaming, “Take something off. I want to touch you so bad, darlin’.”
She pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing that he was not the only one who had foregone underwear. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her breasts. No matter how many times they made love, he never got over the fact that she chose him. She *loved* him.
“Kiss me, Jake. All over,” she commanded in an equally fervent whisper.
“Oh, yeah.”
She leaned over him, pushing her breasts into his face, and he fastened his mouth to a nipple. He wasn’t gentle. He claimed her as possessively as a warrior chieftain taking the spoils of war.
His hands slid up and down her naked back, and she relaxed against him even as she felt him tense. “Please, not yet,” he pleaded, seemingly to himself.
She heard his entreaty and looked down at him affectionately. “Are you close then, Jake?”
“Oh, God, you know I am,” he choked out.
Pulling away from him so suddenly that her nipple came out of his mouth with an audible pop, she heard the low sound of loss he made deep in his throat. “No…”
“Yesss…” she hissed between even white teeth. Slipping down his body with the practiced ease of experience, she captured his hardened length with one hand, pressing it to her open mouth. He cried out once, and the resulting pulses splashed her face and lips.
His hands carded her thick chestnut hair, and she lay her cheek down on his still-heaving groin. “I love you, Jake.”
“Not half as much as I love you, Cassidy,” he said sleepily, the words intense and indistinct at the same time.
“We’re going to the chateau? Yayyyyy!”
The resulting shriek pierced Nikita’s eardrums. Nevertheless, she shrugged happily and continued to pack. Luc’s enthusiasm was contagious. They had been away from the chateau for too long. It was time to go back.
She hefted another empty suitcase up onto the bed. Luc peered up at his mother. “Can I help?”
“Sweetie, you *are* helping me. By staying right over there. Out of Mommy’s way.”
Luc looked crestfallen, but only for a moment. His grey-green eyes aglow, he asked, “Is Kiarra coming wit’ us?”
“Yep.” Nikita smiled as that simple word earned her another ear-splitting roar from her youngest son.
“Does she know? Can I go tell her? Huh, Mom? Huh? Please???”
“I really don’t want you walking all the way down the road by yourself, Luc. And Daddy’s busy. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here,” she said kindly, knowing it was bound to provoke a reaction. Luc had trouble seeing why he couldn’t have what he wanted—now. She and Michael were working on it, but she imagined that it was a phase, not unlike the phases each of the older children went through, and that this too would be cured by the passage of time.
She was saved from the resounding shout that was inevitable by the arrival of Adam. Nikita breathed a sigh of relief, wondering if she was doing the right thing by imposing on him this way, but the scowl on Luc’s face made the decision for her. “Adam! Hi!”
Luc blinked and cut short the wail of distress on his lips. “Hey, Adam!” he chirped, beaming at the sixteen-year old.
“Hey, munchkin!” Adam couldn’t resist ruffling the young boy’s hair. If there was one thing he discovered, it was how much he enjoyed being part of a family again, in particular, this family.
“You always call me that!” Luc laughed. “Someday I won’t be so little!”
Adam nodded. “Nope. Someday you might be bigger than me!”
That made Luc giggle helplessly. From Luc’s perspective, Adam looked almost as tall as his father.
Adam had to confess that being the focus of Luc’s hero worship was more than flattering. It did astonishing things to his self-esteem, though probably not for the same reasons that Luc idolized him.
“Sometimes…” Luc put his hand into Adam’s much larger grasp. “…you remind me of Daddy.”
Being compared to Michael, in such a positive way, filled Adam’s head and heart to overflowing. It was yet another confirmation of the bond between father and son…and now brother and brother.
Adam looked over Luc’s head at his step-mother. Her light blue eyes the color and texture of watered-down silk, Nikita seemed to be holding back tears. Suddenly feeling his own eyes well up, Adam quickly looked away.
“Hey,” he said, addressing his half-brother. “It’s not nice to make us big guys cry. Bad for the image, y’know.”
Luc chuckled, and Adam smiled, taking a chance in glancing back at Nikita. “You okay?” he asked quietly, sounding like his father.
“Just fine,” she replied, knowing it was true now. Things were going to work out. A person just had to have a little faith.
***
Faith flung a pebble as far as the eye could see. A grim smile taking over her beautiful young face, she hopped up onto the low stone wall that separated the Samuelle property from the Hunter property. “Music lessons! Ha!” she shouted at no one in particular.
Inside the house, Connor played dutifully for his mother. After he had his lessons, it wasn’t enough that she made him practice for hours. No, she had to listen to him for at least an hour, ostensibly to make sure that he was practicing his lessons *correctly*.
Shit, he thought to himself, if he didn’t love music so much, there wouldn’t be enough money in the world to get him to do this. Thank God, they were going to the chateau with the rest of the family. He needed a respite. He needed a little stroking. He needed…Faith.
His fingers missed a key, and he fumbled briefly to find his place. “Concentrate.”
Connor held back a sigh. His mother needed to get lost. Again. She was nice for days after his Dad won that argument with her. Connor wasn’t sure exactly what they argued about, but he knew his father wore a triumphant grin afterward, and his mother didn’t seem to mind at all.
In fact, they seemed closer lately. As if they were suddenly back on the same wavelength.
Huh! Grown-ups! Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em.
***
He slammed the cover down over the keyboard. “I’m done! Can I go see Faith now, Mom?”
“Connor, you’re going to see her for the next three months. Don’t you ever wish you could make some…I don’t know…new friends?”
Connor looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Faith is so…” Madeline seemed at a loss for words, something that amused Connor no end, though he would never be foolish enough to admit such a thing.
“She’s *my* friend, Mom, and *I* like her enough for both of us, okay?”
Madeline looked at her son as if he had suddenly sprouted horns from his head. “Connor? Did you just answer me back?”
His dark blue eyes slid away from hers. This was new to him. This standing up for himself thing. He’d never tried it before because—well, because he was chicken. He didn’t see any reason to risk life and limb simply because his mother provided him with all the opinions he would *ever* need.
But this…. This was the first time he felt something with this kind of intensity. This wasn’t a feeling that was going to go away either.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” Madeline said, her voice distinctly chilly.
Connor looked up, a bright smile pasted on his face. “Yes, sir?”
Whack!
Connor was stunned. He’d never seen his mother hit *anything* before. But she totally destroyed the spacecraft sitting atop the piano. Damn, that was a collector’s edition model of the original Millennium Falcon from Star Wars. Chris put it together himself and gave it to Connor for Christmas a few years back. Now she would never fly again, Connor thought.
“Connor?”
He expected her to say, “Go to your room.” He wouldn’t even be surprised if she said, “And stay there for the rest of the week.”
But instead she said, “Go find Faith.”
Connor didn’t hesitate. He left without delay. But once he was outside, and it was safe to slow down, he pondered, Now how did she mean that? Did she mean “Go find Faith”? Or “Go find faith”?
A single letter made such a vital difference.
Of course, if she’d asked *him*, he could have told her that they were the same thing.
In the end, Nikita and Michael decided to forego the pleasure of their own small caravan on pilgrimage. Nikita booked a flight for the two of them, feeling vaguely guilty, but it wasn’t until she was safely in her husband’s arms, several thousand feet above the ground, that she began to realize that she and Michael had switched roles.
For once, her guilt exceeded his. It was not a comfortable feeling.
“You think the kids will be okay?” she fretted.
Michael wrapped his arms around her, settling her head against his chest. He could hear her sigh of relief. “They’ll be fine.”
“But maybe they won’t understand—“ she whispered, obviously unable to let the matter rest.
“The older ones will. The younger ones don’t have to.”
Twisting around to face him, she was the picture of dismay. She looked so youthful, he was convinced that she hadn’t aged a day since they left Section One.
“But Michael, taking time for ourselves like this is so—“
“Self-indulgent? Doucette, it’s a two hour flight, not forever. Don’t you think we deserve two hours?” He looked intently into her sapphire blue eyes, his right hand unconsciously rubbing the wedding ring he had placed on her finger years ago.
His grey eyes warmed themselves on her face. All that affection, all that love, for him. He, who had once felt so undeserving, now admitted that he needed that. He wore her love like a cloak, throwing it over his shoulders to keep him safe from the outside elements.
He kissed her. With all the fervor of the passionate man he had been. With all the tenderness of the caring man he now was. With all the promise of the days they had yet to share.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, closing his eyes. “You’re my life.”
She buried her guilt and her concern, seeing only the man who had sacrificed everything to be with her. She snuggled closer, weaving her fingers into the long hair that curled at the back of his neck. There. Now they were inseparable.
When the flight attendant came by, she smiled and kept on going up the aisle. They must be newlyweds, she mused, noting how tightly they held each other, even in sleep.
***
Declan stood by the door of the Jeep and counted. “We’re taking Sasha, Skye, Chris and Emmy with us.”
Sey frowned. “Do we have enough room?”
“For the eleventh time since we woke up at the crack of dawn, yes.”
“Someone didn’t get up on the right side of the bed, did they?” Sey commented dryly.
“Someone volunteered us to play Michael and Nikita this morning. Gee, I wonder who that was,” Declan countered. But the lilt in his voice told Sey that he was teasing.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Sey whispered, brushing his lips lightly against Declan’s.
“You’d damn well better, boyo. I’m a dangerous man when crossed.” Declan smiled, knowing that he held the most important thing in his life in his arms right now. Nothing would ever change that.
***
They were nearly ready to leave. Neil zipped up Madeline’s jacket for her, and she gazed into his eyes as if they were alone. “Maybe we should stay home,” she suggested provocatively.
“We haven’t gone in a long time, Maddy. Besides, the kids love the chateau.”
She gave in to the inevitable. “So who are we taking?”
“We’ve got room for Connor, Faith, and Kady.”
“Does Faith have to—“
“Ssh, Maddy, Conn will hear you.”
Madeline sighed. “He already knows what I think.”
Neil kissed her ear, his tongue darting out to capture her earlobe. “You’re just saying that cause Faith reminds you of Nikita.”
“I *love* Nikita, Neil,” she protested, wrenching herself away from him.
He merely pulled her back into his embrace. “I know you do, Maddy. But you still find her the most exasperating woman you know.”
She smiled against her will. “You’re reading my mind again, Neil.”
***
Davenport closed the door to the brand-new Durango he had bought. Now that he had a certain level of job security, not to mention a future, he finally unbent enough to invest in something substantial for transportation. His children were too precious to him to have it any other way.
“Cassidy! How many have we got?”
Organized as usual, Derry consulted her checklist before answering. “Jago, Kiarra, and Luc.”
“What about James and Smoke? How are they getting there?”
“James has a car now, remember?”
“That old Volvo? It’s got more mileage on it than Walter!”
Walter crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the former Section operative coolly. “That’s it, take pot shots at the old guy.”
“Aw, Walter, you know I love you,” Davenport said with a chuckle.
“Does your wife know?” Walter quipped.
“You taking the bike?” Davenport asked, disregarding Walter’s jibe.
“Of course! Anywhere you can take that *thing*, I can certainly drive the Harley.”
“Are you staying this time? You and Miranda usually make a flying trip, then split for parts unknown.”
“Well, now that there’s a bit less risk involved in leaving the house unoccupied, I thought we might actually stick around for a while, yeah. Maybe get to know my kids.”
Miranda smiled as she adjusted her helmet. “He doesn’t just mean Nikita anymore, Dav. He’s looking forward to spending some time alone with Birkoff and Sasha.”
Davenport pondered for a moment. “Okay, we’re missing somebody!”
“Two somebodies, actually.”
***
“Are you sure this is all right? Your parents didn’t, like, forbid you to do this, right?”
“Relax, Nicky. Would I let something happen to you?”
The fourteen-year old shrugged. “I’m not worried ‘bout your driving a motorcycle, man. I’m worried ‘bout you getting on the wrong side of Michael Samuelle.”
Adam gave Jazz an insouciant grin. It made him look years younger than his sixteen, and it made him look far too dangerous, even for the likes of a streetwise teenager like Jazz.
“He said I could drive.”
“He said you could *learn* to drive, Adam. You’re pushing it, man.”
Adam shook his head, his dark eyes growing heated. Pulling Jazz into his arms, he wound his fingers through his hair and kissed him thoroughly, leaving the younger adolescent breathless.
“*This* is pushing it.”
“That’s the last time I let you take me anywhere, man! I swear!”
Adam wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief before resuming the arduous task he’d set himself. His father would be less than happy to know that his oldest son was pushing his year-old motorcycle down a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere. But Adam was convinced that it was preferable to leaving it on the side of the road, where it would undoubtedly be stolen.
“But Nicky!”
“Don’t call me that! I’m pissed at you!” Jazz’ vivid green eyes flashed like emerald fire. Stabbing the air with his index finger, he continued, “I can’t even believe you pulled the old “we ran out of gas” thing on me, man. That is, like, so lame.”
“But Jazz! We did! Would I be pushing this great hulking beast if I didn’t have to?”
“I dunno.” Jazz looked unconvinced. “Maybe you’re just trying to prove something.”
Adam gave an exasperated cry. “Yeah, and maybe I’m afraid of Dad using me for target practice if his motorcycle went missing!”
Jazz abruptly stopped walking and spun around so quickly, his booted feet threw dust into the air. “You should have thought of that before.”
“I did,” Adam admitted quietly. “But the advantages kinda outweighed the disadvantages, y’know?”
Jazz approached the older teenager cautiously, his anger at bay for the moment. “There were advantages?”
“Hell, yeah. I mean, it was a given that Dad was going to find out that I took the damn motorcycle, but I thought—“
Looking away from the younger adolescent, Adam whispered, “I knew it would be like that. So nice. Having your arms around me—“
Adam stopped breathing when Jazz reached out a finger to trace his mouth. “There’s nobody here to stop us, Adam. We could just—“
Adam closed his eyes, concentrating on willing his suddenly interested libido under control. A low groan escaped him at the same moment that Jazz kissed him. “Please?” he whispered huskily.
A little voice inside him, unrecognizable at first, kept repeating, You’re better than that, Adam. If you take what you want now, maybe it won’t be there when you *need* it. All at once Adam realized that it was not his father’s or even his late mother’s, but his own voice that he heard. Damn, that was the problem with giving yourself good advice. You would look three kinds of fool if you didn’t take it.
“Nicky…” He had no idea where he found the strength, but he pushed Jazz back, his hands caressing rather than gripping his shoulders. “I love you—“
Jazz shrugged off his hands, the sulky look that appeared doing nothing to alter his beauty in Adam’s eyes. “But--?”
Adam sighed. “But this isn’t the time or the place.” Adam allowed himself to sway dangerously closer to Jazz, his body aching and more than ready to take what was being offered. His lips grazing Jazz’ ear, he whispered, “Our first time should be special.”
Jazz made a soft noise, his fingers instinctively carding Adam’s hair. “But you won’t be 18 for another two years, Adam, and I—I’ll be 15 this year, but that means it’ll be three years before we can…what if you get tired of waiting? What if—“
Adam lightly brushed Jazz’ ear with his mouth. “I won’t find someone else, Nicky.”
“Pr-promise?”
Jazz quivered in his arms as Adam kissed his eyelids shut, one at a time. “Promise.”
***
“Want to help me push this thing?”
“I got a better question, man. How come we haven’t passed a single gas station yet?”
“I dunno. You have any idea where we are?”
Jazz grinned. “Well, we’re still in France.”
“Funny.”
“It’s starting to get late, Adam.”
“What is that, a newsflash?” Adam snapped. He was hot and sweaty and tired beyond belief. His muscles ached in places he didn’t even know he had. Who knew that pushing a motorcycle could be such hard work?
“Just a thought. Either we find gas soon or we’ll be out here overnight.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. I hope your Dad has a really big insurance policy out on you.”
Adam frowned. “Why?”
“Cause you are gonna be *so* dead.”