Earth Bound (14 page)

Her neck was raw from the ever-present scruff on Parsons’s face, and her hips were sore from where he’d gripped her as he’d…

She shook her head to blot out the thought and pushed herself up. She was here to calm down and clean up, not recall every heated moment of the encounter. She watched herself in the mirror. She was pale and disheveled, her eyes and brows dark, framed by the almost black of her hair. The rest of her was devoid of color.

She pinched her cheeks. It didn’t help. Well, no matter. She had to get herself in order and home.

The heat clung to her exposed skin, heavy and sultry in a way East Coast summers never had been. After eighteen months in Texas, she still wasn’t acclimated.
 

She turned on the water. The ceramic sink had once been white, but was now streaked with tea-colored stains. She washed her hands and splashed the icy water on her face and neck.

This place should probably horrify her, but she’d been meeting Parsons here for nearly a year, and she knew Mulligan’s was clean enough—albeit run-down. But as to what they did here… Well, it was intense.

And it grew more so every time.

Even before she’d taken her clothes off for him, Charlie had known Parsons was forceful, a perfectionist. Those were welcome qualities in a lover.

In this room all of that energy, all of his observational power, turned squarely on her. His talented hands wanted nothing except to give her pleasure. His smart, crude mouth spilled heated words into her ear. His eyes saw when she hadn’t climaxed, and he didn’t seem to be able to until then. In short, he brought all his intelligence and creativity to bear on her, and it was thrilling.

Unlike some of Charlie’s previous lovers, he didn’t seem to want her submission. When she would tease, resist, or order him around, she could feel his interest snag, quicken. He liked her rebelliousness.

The only possible explanation was that the man was perverse. But of course she had other evidence of
that
—and, again, that wasn’t the point. At least not at the moment.

She combed her fingers through her hair. Once she’d untangled and parted it down the middle, she pushed the dark sheaths behind her ears. It wasn’t stylish, but her curls had been tamed. She’d taken another step toward presentable.

She gave herself one more instant to think about how he’d bowed her over the dresser, the press of his body against and over hers, while he’d whispered against her neck. It was yet another frenzied moment she would add to the catalog of their time together.

And now this one was done.

She opened the bathroom door, and it squealed in complaint. Parsons was sprawled on the bed, the dingy sheet pulled snug around his hips. He had twisted one arm haphazardly over his eyes. Since he wasn’t looking at her, she took a moment to inspect his torso, muscular and scattered with dark hair.

When she pulled his clothes off that first time, she’d been surprised to find him so well developed. Now, months later, she knew he was truly powerful. She suspected it was his will manifest in his body. When he wanted a thing, he simply made it happen. Whatever strength he needed for his work, for her, he found in himself. He was blunt and unpretentious and earthy, and he left her mouth dry.

But she couldn’t stand here gaping at him. Eventually he’d ask what she was doing.

She started to hunt for her underthings. Her brassiere peeked from under the nightstand, her panties stretched abandoned by the dresser, her garters and stockings straggled over the floor.

Once she’d gathered them, she began to put them on.

When she was half done, Parsons cleared his throat. “I have no idea how you still have the energy to move.” His voice was lethargic, rough.

Not for the first time did she wonder what it would be like to fall asleep next to him. Could she steal a bit more from him, maybe half an hour of rest? Would he permit it?

She wondered too if he stayed here after she left. He always let her go first. Did he sleep in the sheets where they’d been and drag himself home at dawn?

She ignored the thought and began searching for her slip and dress. “I don’t have any energy, but I have to get home. Long day tomorrow.”

All her days were long. She never felt like she’d done enough; she never felt like her work was over. The constant dissatisfaction and the endless series of harder goals were what she loved about ASD.

But this conversation was getting close to breaking their rules, so she kept her excuse vague. Anyone might say she was going to have a long day to put off a lover.

He pushed up onto one elbow and tapped on the nightstand for his glasses. He truly was nearsighted. In some ways, it helped her relax with him. She wasn’t sure if he saw her like this. It drew a line between who he was at work and who he was with her.

Once he’d slipped his glasses on, he pulled the sheet up to cover more of himself from her view. He was always doing that, as if he didn’t like his body. If so, he couldn’t be more confused. His body was marvelous.

But of course she couldn’t complain if he were hiding himself from her. She was the one dressing mere minutes after he’d been inside her.

She could feel his eyes on her. Once she knew he was watching, she had to act cold. It was what they both expected. She had to rebuild the wall between how they were here and who they were at work.

She shimmied into her slip and smoothed it over hips. Then she stepped into her dress and tugged the zipper up. A few shrugs, wriggles, and pats, and she looked composed. Utterly together.

She opened her purse and began to pull out the things she needed. She lined them up on the dresser beneath the mirror: powder, blush, atomizer, mascara, and lipstick. She started with the powder.

“It’s 10 p.m.,” he said. “Why are you putting on your makeup?”

Because she could control it. She could make it perfect. But of course no one in his life had ever judged him because he hadn’t freshened up his lipstick, and she wasn’t sure if she could explain it to him.

She clicked her compact closed and tossed it back into her purse. “I… I like to be together.” The words were true, but probably inadequate. She picked up the blusher and pressed the small brass button. It opened and she seized the brush. She attacked her cheekbones, and once they glowed pink, this compact joined the powder in her purse.

She
knew
he was looking at her, but she pretended he wasn’t. She could take his hands, his questions. At work she could handle his demands. But right now, she wasn’t prepared for his stare.

She picked up her atomizer and gave herself a spray of Soir de Paris, the powdery, rose-scented perfume she favored. Then she applied a few sweeps of mascara and, finally, a coat of lipstick.

Only when she’d finished and her things were stowed did she turn and return his gaze. He was giving her that hard, inspective look, the one she’d misinterpreted for months. She’d thought he hated her. Now she suspected he’d been thinking something else.

But today? She had no idea.

“You’re so pretty,” he said. Except his tone didn’t sound like a compliment.

For all the months they’d been tumbling in the sheets together, he didn’t praise her looks often. She knew he found her attractive, but it wasn’t his way. That she was beautiful was a reason for him
not
to want her.

“You gleam,” he went on. “Why are you here, in this room, with me?”

She watched him, levelly. She was here because she couldn’t not be. Because she’d begun to wonder if she could ever have anything normal—and she suspected he couldn’t either. They might only be capable of this, together.

But she wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. It could go wrong so easily. She opened her mouth, shut it, and bit her lip.

He waved his hand and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He pulled on his shorts and stood, stretching his back. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask.”

That was for the best. So without another word, she swished out.

Charlie walked into the conference room in the computing department. Hal and Jack were spread out, not having a meeting, but eating their lunches and discussing a recent prisoner break from Alcatraz.

“I’m telling you, those guys drowned.”

“No, no, it was a clean escape. They’re probably in Mexico by now.”

Charlie set the cardboard box in her hand down on the table. Both men turned, a bit startled by her appearance.

“I just replaced another tube in the testing capsule display computer,” she explained.

Hal, the remnants of his sandwich in one hand, made a sour face. “Damn.”

“It’s time to have this conversation, gentlemen. Clearly the technology we have is inadequate for our needs. Not only is it disrupting the testing schedule, it’s got me spooked about something going wrong on a mission.”

Jack shook his head emphatically. He’d been close with her predecessor, Ken something or other, and he thought the current technology was fine.

He was, in other words, an idiot.

“The operators over there don’t know what they’re doing,” Jack said. “They force the capsule to perform at crazy levels.”

“Crazier than it will when it goes to space and back? Because what’s being tested isn’t only the astronauts, it’s also our systems. We need to face the facts and switch to digital.”

Hal had finished his sandwich, and he took a long swig of his coffee. “Digital’s more expensive. And analog is faster.”

These things were unfortunately true. “But it’s more adaptable and reliable. An analog machine is static. It does what it does. It can’t be reprogrammed.”

“But programming is prone to errors,” Jack said.

Were they computer scientists or not? “Nothing is perfect. Including all the CRTs that keep shattering. We’re also forgetting that weight is going to be a serious issue for the moon shot. Digital is lighter, smaller.” She took a deep breath. She didn’t have a lot of tools at her disposal, particularly if Hal and Jack were going to refuse to see the facts.

“Industry is moving away from analog,” she finally said. “The guys at Maynard wouldn’t be caught dead with what we have.”

Now she had Hal’s attention. She suspected, as Dot and Beverly had long been suggesting, Hal stood somewhat in awe of what happened outside of government science. He was an interesting anomaly for ASD. He’d been at Naval Research and ASD his entire career. He’d never had a job outside of the cozy confines of government, and he idealized what happened elsewhere for that reason.

“Hmm,” he said.

That was a promising noise.

“Let me put together a report for you,” Charlie said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I’ll glean as many specs as I can from some recent patent filings and media reports, and try to give you a sense of what’s happening over there. We can compare it to how we’re running things. If there are deficiencies in our programs, we can put together some numbers about how they might be addressed. You can take it to Stan, try to get him to buck up our budget.”

She knew that Parsons would help her too. She’d copy him on her memos for Hal, and he’d pick up on the themes, echo them. She trusted him to help her.

Hal was listening to her carefully. Then his gaze went over her shoulder as he thought it through.

Come on, you big lug,
she wanted to shout,
let’s make some progress here
. But she gave him time to come around to her position on his own.

When several beats had passed, she added, “I’m just saying we could use some more information. It’ll be my work. You do with it what you want.”

“Could be useful. What do you think, Jack?”

Jack glared at her. “Maynard has a different set of constraints, and a different budget.”

“I’m not saying we should remake ourselves into them,” she pointed out. “And as you say, our stakes are higher. We’re much more invested in quality control and accountability. But”—she picked up the empty CRT box and shook it—“we’re not infallible. Let’s put what we’re doing into an industry perspective.”

Jack rolled his eyes and looked back at Hal. Then he shrugged. “What could it hurt?”

Hal tapped the table with his hands before snapping to his feet. “Excellent! I look forward to reading your memo.” He scooped up his lunch things and left jauntily.

What an ass. He probably thought all of this was his idea. That was certainly what he would tell Jensen if he decided to move forward with it anyway.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jack said as Hal disappeared.

“What do you mean?”

“Hal is… Well, I hope you’re right about this.”

Charlie’s thoughts as Jack vanished were even less charitable than those toward her boss. But no matter! She had a memo to research and write.