Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

K ira's dreams were intense and confusing, with no linear thread, just impressions of danger and fear. Rand. Andre. Reuben. Her mother and father. Even Freya and Apollo made cameos. But no one was who they appeared to be and nothing made sense in the way that was only acceptable in dreams.

Sometime in the wee hours before dawn, she surfaced from the dreamscape and felt Rand's nude body by her side. Sleeping next to him was so much better than a baseball bat.

Deeply asleep, his breathing set a slow and even rhythm that made her believe in comfort and joy. Their lovemaking had been more than she'd imagined it could be, with him giving everything and asking for nothing but her pleasure.

That he wanted more than here and now was something she'd never quite believed in. He was a leprechaun teasing her with tempting treasure.

Lieutenant Commander Randall Fallon had found and stolen the key to her joy. It wasn't sex—although that was rather spectacular—and it wasn't anything so simple as friendship.

She was terrified to put the label that felt most appropriate on it, because it was so soon and the path so twisted. But even without labels, she knew this wasn't small or fleeting or even just physical. Her longing for him—even as they slept side by side—was an ache that couldn't be easily satisfied.

She was head over heels for this man, probably had been since the day they met, and now she had a way to show him the things she wouldn't say. She kissed his smooth, hot skin as her hand slid down his perfect stomach.

The man's body was a masterpiece—and the one thing she knew was art. He put Renaissance sculptors to shame with his perfection of musculature. Her hand found his hard cock, and his intake of breath told her he was awake.

Now the game was interesting. Should they both feign sleep and come together in dark, erotic silence, or would they dare acknowledge the sleepy arousal that brought them together?

Kira liked the sensual power of making him lose control of his sculpted body, and slowly, she slid down beneath the blankets until her mouth found his cock.

They both made soft, muted sounds of pleasure as she brought him to orgasm with lips, tongue, and strokes of her hand. He let out a drawn-out groan as he pulsed into her and she swallowed. His fingers threaded through her hair, scraping her scalp in a way that sent pleasurable tingles along her nerves.

Slowly, she inched her way up his body, kissing every part of him in the path to his mouth. His tongue met hers, and the kiss was as intense as every other exchange, but there were no words. Just feeling.

His hand slid between her thighs, and she broke her silence with a moan. Her sex was hot and ready, and he'd learned just how to play her, plucking at her nerves like a maestro. His touch was steady and slow, building the pressure ever higher. She came, a hot, undulating wave. Just as her orgasm began to recede, he rolled on a condom and was inside her again, continuing her orgasm in one endless stream of pleasure.

Afterward, she curled up beside him, her entire body tingling with the power of what might be the longest orgasm of her life. He kissed her neck, her chin, her collarbone, and finally spoke the only words that made sense. "Holy fuck."

She ran a finger along the grooves between his abs, tracing each muscle, and said, "It's been a while for me, but I think this might not be exactly normal."

He laughed and pushed her to her back, his mouth exploring her neck with kisses and licks that were more carnal than sweet.

"Not normal. Extraordinary."

"Are you sure this isn't a dream? Because I know I was asleep a few minutes ago."

He sucked her nipple into his mouth, causing a tightening at her core. Then he gently bit, and she felt a sharp but not painful sting as his mouth switched to sucking.

"Okay. Not a dream, then."

"I'm not sure. You woke me. Maybe I'm the one who's dreaming." He slid from her side, pulling off the condom as he did so. He was in and out of the bed in a flash.

"I guess if we find a second condom in the trash in the morning, we'll both know for sure."

He laughed. "I don't want this to be a dream. If it's a dream, I'll wake up in my house in Virginia Beach, all alone and longing for you. I don't want another day of that. I've had too many already."

She settled in beside him again, loving the feel of his hand as he pulled her tight to his side. "Me too. Please let this be real."

He kissed her nose, her neck, her cheeks, her lips. "It's real, Kira. And this is just the beginning."

A loud noise pulled Kira from a deep sleep. She reached across the small bed for Rand and found the space empty, the sheets cold. She pried her eyes open. The morning light gave little hint as to time of day—she hadn't been in Malta long enough to know the nuances of sunrise—but she thought it was early.

Too early for whatever was making that horrible racket. It was an alarm of some sort. Smoke? She shook her head, willing herself to make sense of the sound that threatened to split her head open.

Was it possible to have a sex hangover? If so, that really wasn't fair.

But it wasn't sex or even fire that had set off the evil smoke alarm, it was steam from the shower, which became apparent when Rand stepped out dripping wet to silence the alarm and apologize for waking her.

He was naked, so she forgave him. A dripping wet, naked Rand might be her most favorite sight to wake up to.

Rand returned to his shower, and when he was done, he made coffee while Kira took her turn in the shower. Clean and coffeed, they settled in the living room with their laptops to go through all the data Freya had gathered in the last two days.

"Do you think fake Andre is still in my hotel room?" Kira asked, as the information on him proved scant even with fingerprints and all the other biometric photos they'd taken.

"Doubt it. We can check later today, because I'd hate for housekeeping to get a nasty surprise, but even if no one came to collect him, he's had enough time to untie the knots and escape."

"I don't love the idea of him being at large and not knowing about it."

"If he's alive, he's likely long gone. Too many people are after him now that he screwed up with you. He was working for someone to get you here, but he must have messed up. Made promises he couldn't keep. Has to be something like that given his panic yesterday at the garden."

"I went to Birgu and picked up the letter. Who didn't want me to receive it?"

"My money is on Reuben. The latest intel Freya sent has more information on the younger Kulik's political goals. He doesn't just want to join the current regime; he wants in at the highest level. In Russia, a deputy prime minister—finance, fuel, defense, what have you—is recommended by the prime minister to the president. If it became known that his father's intelligence trading with your father included information on the current president, his shot at a government position is out. In fact, there's likely an open tenth-floor window with both Kuliks' names on it."

"So why meet with me and tell me of the spying? I had no idea."

"He didn't know what fake Andre had told you, or if your father told you everything. He probably wanted a feel for your innocence in this. He might be the one who sent Andre to the hotel room to do his dirty work."

"I'm not feeling great about going to the meeting point in Mdina."

"Also probably part of his plan."

"So you think his father wants to meet me, and he wants to stop it without his father knowing?"

"That's my working theory. It'll all be shot to hell, though, if Luka Kulik wasn't your dad's pen pal."

K ira had watched enough Game of Thrones to write off the eerie feeling she had as they approached the gate to Mdina as related to the show.

Like everything else in Malta, the walled former capital city was stunning. It wasn't a replica or a movie set. It was the real deal with high-walled bastions, a ditch, gates, magazine curtain, and enceinte.

It was her third fort since arriving, and she'd been staying in a walled city, but Mdina was so different for being inland and entirely contained. According to tourist websites, 250 people lived within the walled city today.

They arrived early—more than an hour before the noon meeting—and Kira was thankful for the time to explore.

She and Rand held hands as they wandered through the narrow passageways of King's Landing. They paused in the shade, refuge from the heat, and studied the map like any other tourist. Cold water was purchased more than once as the hour sweltered on.

For a few brief minutes, Kira enjoyed the feeling of being on vacation with a man she was falling for and imagined what it would be like if they ever took a real vacation together.

She knew he skied—he'd gone to Aspen for a week last December. Was that his ideal vacation—centered on a sport? She'd never gone skiing, but she'd try it for him.

Still, she wanted—needed—to travel, while his work sent him all over the world. Would he enjoy vacationing in the cities of Europe, or was he a beach person? She'd never been much into beaches, but the idea of lounging in the sun, enjoying fruity cocktails and swimming in tropical seas was a lot more appealing if he were with her.

She took a photo of a store named The Maltese Falcon and laughed at the silly tourist trinkets, wondering who she could buy something for. She remembered Chase, her self-defense instructor at Raptor, was on Falcon team and his wife called him Falcon sometimes. She decided to buy him a small Maltese replica of the movie's eponymous sculpture.

She then picked up toys for Morgan's two daughters, while Rand picked out a toy for his niece. She studied the fridge magnets that looked like the colorful Maltese balconies and considered buying one for herself. Later, she'd get some Gozo glass.

As they were browsing, a thought hit her. "My father visited Malta often when I was a child, yet he never brought back gifts for me. He brought me things from Germany—carved wooden toys, Bavarian Christmas ornaments, Kinder eggs…but nothing Maltese, kitsch or otherwise. I wonder why that is?"

"You knew he went to Malta?"

"Sometimes. But most of the time, no. I thought he was in Germany, or he'd just say ‘Europe' and I assumed."

"If you really were remembering Birgu yesterday, my guess is he wanted your memories of Malta to fade into nothing."

"But how could I have been here with my mother? For the last twenty years, I believed she left Russia without permission before I was born. My birth certificate—which I finally got a copy of—says I was born in Pennsylvania. There's no way she could have left the US after she settled there. She didn't have a passport or any kind of papers. She didn't have a social security number. She was a stay-at-home mom who helped my dad with his research. She had no income."

"How were her taxes filed?"

"I checked after my dad died and he filed as head of household, but didn't claim my mother. I was his only dependent. He owned the house. Everything was in his name. My mom didn't drive, except when my dad was traveling, then she'd drive, but as little as possible. We stayed home a lot."

"It must've been hard for her, to live a life in hiding like that."

They purchased the trinkets and left the store. Back on the street, she resumed the conversation. "My mother always seemed happy with her life, but there was an undercurrent of melancholy. She loved my dad. She loved me. She loved painting and reading and dancing to '80s music and watching '80s movies. But I always knew she was missing something. Now I'm wondering if the thing she was missing is here in Malta, not Russia or Germany. Maybe my dad didn't bring home Maltese trinkets so she wouldn't be reminded of what she left behind."