Intimate Knowledge Part 1 (4 page)

Chapter Three

An hour later, I contemplate taking a header over the patio railing.  I have worked undercover in a few rough assignments, but this one is killing me.  Boston society pledging is definitely my toughest gig yet.  How the hell can you spend an hour?  Yes an hour, discussing hues and frills of various fabrics designed to festoon (is that even a word) the venues for this event?  Devoid of anything significant to contribute, I manage to ease away, unobserved, from the large loud, animated group of young women in the living room to step out onto the deserted patio.

Covering half the rooftop, with a spectacular view of Boston’s North End Waterfront, it
is dominated at the furthest end by the pool and Jacuzzi.  On the other side, the central seating area is semi-shaded by a pergola intertwined with highly, fragrant vines.  In stark contrast, at the edge closest to me, stand two sterile, steel trellis structures at the far corner in a broken L-shape.  They seem alien to the rest of the place, almost like forgotten modern art exhibits or relics from an ancient site.  The feeling settles and sits in me and then starts to evolve into an idea.  I walk over and stand in front of them, my concentration fixed, until my inner radar begins to vibrate.

Turning, I can see a narrow
walkway straddling the patio and a smaller, less visible, glass encased balcony.  Through the glass, I see him at the far end.  Positioned in front of a small desk with an open laptop, he stands looking at me intently.  His intent stillness evokes memories of where, for the past two nights, sheltered in the dark of my apartment, courtesy of the recorded digital CCTV feed, I watch him secure me with that same proprietary look.

I sit in the sultry heat of my solitary bedroom and, weeks after the event, under the excuse of official surveillance, observe him as his gaze follows me around the gallery.  It feels creepy, like a double whammy voyeuristic act, to watch him watch me as I become lost in the haunting gallery images, unaware of his voyeurism; too captivated by each poignant chronicle to notice.  I try to remember to breathe, as I
am caught in the struggle to resist the primal ache his persistent gaze awakens in me.  The same struggle engages me now as I battle to bring my focus back from his scrutiny to engage my own primal powers to gain his attention and eventual trust.

A trust I will then betray.

Staying in his line of vision, I turn my back to him, hoping this will entice his emergence from his study slash lair.  Then, I am caught up again by my earlier ideas around the steel structures.  I examine them from different angles, over the side of the railing and between the steel squares.  Time passes as I enter my own world, ideas burgeoning around wires, timber…barbs.  My eye is caught by a circle of coiled steel at the corner and, without thinking, I step up to stretch over the railing to reach it.  My heart flips as the railing shifts under me.

I am only just aware of him moments before he blocks my movement
.  Resting his strong hands on the top rung of the railing, his resolute arms nearly encircle me.  They support and enclose me without the constraint of touch as his voice caresses my ear with a gentle, yet firm command. 

“Careful, Raisa, it i
s a very, long way down.”

I am
still as I suddenly realize how little purchase I have on the slippery steel of the fragile, shaky barrier.  Looking at that very, very long way down, I take a deep breath and shift my gaze to his bare feet just visible on the ground.  They are planted slightly behind at either side of me, his long, muscled legs providing further steady support.  I let out a gasp, noticing how my own high-heeled clad feet are balanced precariously on the lower rung.  Using his feet as a guide, I obey his cautionary command and slowly, carefully disengage my heels from their unreliable perch and step back down to firm ground.

We both let out a slow release of breath.  He is so close I can feel his body heat.  He lets go of the railing and moves back slightly to give me more room.  I resist the urge to mold my trembling body back into him, foregoing the respite of his fresh, musky fragrance and feel.  He notices I am shaking and reassures me quietly, his arms encompassing me.

“You’re safe, cara.  Relax.  I have you.”

His firm, quiet tone brings my hammering heart and shallow breathing under some control.  I release a long breath and a blunt statement.

“Jeez, that was really stupid of me.”

He gives a deep, low laugh that seems to reverberate from his body to mine.
A creeping, slow heat starts to unfurl in my lower half.

“Thank you for saving me the trouble of pointing that out.”  He says wryly.  “Although I did speculate, for a moment, as to whether you had decided that rapid death by descent was preferable to slow death by pledgedom.”

I start to giggle, amused at how close he is to my previous thoughts.  Only the giggles don’t stop and I know I am lapsing into hysteria.  Trained and skilled in dealing with any number of dangerous situations, I am at a loss as how to deal with a simple, textbook reaction in myself.  He takes me by the hand and leads me along the walkway to the enclosed balcony.  There is a leather two-seater against the wall.  Steadying me with a strong hold on my shoulders, he sits me in one of the corners.  The feel and smell of soft, Italian leather engulfs me, echoing his reassurance and comfort.

The furnishings and scent of the room seem to reek of him and his commanding presence.  Encouraging me to
gulp down a number of swallows from a bottle of water, he kneels beside me, his hand caressing my nape and I feel the hysteria subside under his stabling influence.  An overpowering sense of security surrounds me similar to the way I felt in his arms on the railing.  It is a feeling that is strange, alien, to me.  It unnerves me so much, I am driven by the urge to counter it with flippancy.  I hold out the half-empty bottle of water.

“Screw this.  Got anymore of that beer?”

He grins and then disappears out the door in the wall behind and shortly returns with two opened beers.  It must be the entrance into the apartment.  Handing me one, he sits on the arm on the other side of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him.  We drink in surprisingly, companionable silence for a few minutes and I marvel at how my irresponsible stupidity has been rewarded by entrance to the lion’s den far more quickly than anticipated.  I angle my body to his and ask.

“How did you get there so fast?”

“I was watching.  When you got too close to that shaky railing, I came over to warn you.  It’s supposed to have a barrier in front.  They’re fixing it tomorrow.  Someone must have moved it.  I was almost beside you when you stood on the railing.”

“I didn’t hear you.  I guess because you’re barefoot.”  I look at his feet and his gaze follows mine.  They are olive skinned, tanned, long and tapering yet solid and masculine, matching the anatomy of his hands, one encircling the beer the other resting on one thigh.  Still barefoot, he has otherwise deferred to Rosa’s wishes as he wears a dark green, open-necked t-shirt with his pale grey chinos.  I lick my lips and take a sip of my cool be
er.  He is delicious. 

“Possibly, but you were elsewhere.  What were you up to?”

I give him a secret grin over my beer.  “Believe it or not, I was thinking about the pledge challenge.”  I let my libido return, more comfortable with its familiar feel.  Even if it is disturbing, it is less unsettling than the potency of his comfort and security.

He grins back and asks in a slow, sardonic drawl. 
“Really?”

“Really.”
  I nod and take a sip of my beer.  “I had an idea.”  I start to pick at the label of the beer bottle.  “You know that exhibit, right?  You’ve been there.  It’s not about hues and frills.  It’s about kids suffering and their survival.  That painting isn’t just art; it’s art therapy.  It’s not just an expression by survivors, it’s what helped them survive.”

I look at him, feeling foolish, wondering where that outburst emerged from.  I take my eyes from him and drop my head, grateful when a large chunk of hair falls free from my braid and covers one side of my face.  It somehow becomes imperative to concentrate even more on removing the label from my beer bottle.

I push aside the thought that I know exactly where it comes from.  I push away fleeting images, tortured memories and childish tears and laughter.  For the second time in less than two hours, I think that maybe this assignment is a mistake.  Lately my emotions are too raw, too out there.  Ever since the gallery opening, I have felt unsettled, too many dangerous images from the past pushing through.

What used to be a simple masturbation fix has transformed into a primal ache and this quiet, intimate moment in this masculine,
comforting room.  All the raw emotions attached to the art exhibit and the elements of this case are becoming irrevocably entwined, and I fear that I am still susceptible to those dark, hidden yearnings.

“Well?”

I lift my head and look at him blankly.

“Your idea.”

I pick at the label again and shake my head.  “It’s silly, really.”

“A
ll creative ideas seem silly under scrutiny.  It’s the psyche’s way of protecting you from the pain of rejection.  Just spit it out.”

He looks at me encouragingly, his head tilted very slightly to one side.  His gold-flecked, smoky orbs mesmerize me and I find myself telling him my ideas of the two trellises as skeletons of suffering and survival.  On one structure, stark and raw representations of the various scenarios: barbed wire for refugee camps, guns and drugs for child soldiers, broken plates and dolls for domestic abuse.  On the other, their own symbols of triumph: an open book, a well-made bed, a playground, a collage of texts,
Facebook and cell images.

“Those images haven’t really become clear yet.  I need to see the exhibit again.  It’s such a short time, tho
ugh and if the structures are unsafe…?”

“They’ll be safe by Saturday.  They need to be for the unveiling on Sunday.”

“Yes, but I’d need to get near them to plan before that.”

“Maybe not.”

He stands and disappears back into the room beyond and comes out with a tablet.  Moving the laptop off the desk, he sits in the swivel desk chair and brings over its companion from the corner.   Setting up the tablet, he pats the seat of the chair and beckons with his hand.  I sit and watch as his fingers move deftly over the keyboard and apps on the screen.  I glance at the tablet now and then, as I study his beautiful profile and observe him as his eyes dart from the screen to the patio.  In front of us, on the tablet, a 3D architectural drawing of the patio corner with the steel structures swiftly takes shape.

I take my eyes from the screen and let them rest once more on his purposeful features intent on the task.  I look at him, and deep in my gut, I know it is with that same proprietary look he
casts on me.  I know it is time. I know what I should do.  I know I should start my montage of movie projector protection.

But
, I don’t.  No, rather, I allow myself to look, to indulge in this foolish, treacherous moment instead.

Intimate Knowledge - End of Part 1

A note from Helen

Hi,

If you would like an
advanced complimentary copy of the next installment to read for review, email me at
[email protected]
and I will send you one.  (Available to the first twenty readers to email me)

Detectives & Desires
is my new erotic romance series.  Each story centers on a detective, their cases and most importantly the passionate desires that bring them, eventually, to their HEA.  The three detectives are Detective Raisa Gordon, a Boston 15
th
Precinct vice-cop, Detective Rick Andrews, a small town cop for the Lake Andrew’s Sheriff’s department, and Detective Luke Kincaid, Boston 15
th
Precinct homicide detective.  The action takes place in Raisa’s and Luke’s Boston.  Rick and Sara’s Lake Andrews.  As well as in Leo’s native Italy.  Although separate novels, the characters visit in each other’s stories and the plots entwine now and then.  Each story is a trilogy told from the alternating POV’s of the two main characters.  I will release the books in installments as I am writing them only a few installments ahead.  I try not to make them too horribly cliffhanging, but it is inevitable to have teasers, as that is a big part of the fun of a series.  I hope you will join me the world of
Detective & Desires
.

Intimate Knowledge
 
Detective & Desires Series#1

A
Fifty Shades
and
Because You Are Mine fan
, but are ready to move on from reading about 20 something virgins and young tortured CEO’s?   You will fall in love with this new series of a seasoned vice-cop and her obsessive younger lover.

How long can Detective Raisa Gordon resist, Leo Gold, her undercover target?  It is one thing to imagine and explore all kinds of hot scenarios in the safe haven of your own head; it is quite another to be in the position of actually having to pay the piper.  That is exactly the position Raisa finds herself in when her fantasies start materializing into reality everywhere she turns. 

One of Gold’s operatives stumbled upon an encrypted file of letters she wrote years ago exploring her deepest darkest taboos.  Now, Leo possesses intimate knowledge and is setting out to to satisfy her needs by enacting those taboos one by one.  Will the FBI’s plan to use his passion for her to bust the entire Gold operation wide open succeed?  Or will Raisa surrender to her treacherous desires?

This the first part in a series that will unfold over multiple volumes ranging from 10,000 to 20,000 words each.  Intimate Knowledge is an erotic romance with explicit sexual content with elements of BDSM.  It has a delectable slow build to consummation