Chapter 12
Olivia leaned against a boulder that was off the path and would have made a perfect seat except it was just a little too high for her to get onto. She managed to get her small knapsack open and reached in to pull out a rectangular plastic lunch box with a wide, bright-yellow stretch band that held the lid on. She glanced at Sloan and found him doing the same thing, but what he withdrew from his waist pouch was something small enough to fit in his hand.
He turned to reach out to her with an offering. Olivia frowned at the flat, rectangular object. She took it, examining it with curiosity.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a protein bar,” Sloan answered, opening his water bottle for a quick swallow.
As he screwed the top back on, Sloan, in turn, frowned at the plastic box she handed him. “That looks like the box from…don’t tell me you brought…” He took it from her.
“No, it’s not fried chicken,” Olivia scoffed, setting aside the bar. “Too messy to eat. And this isn’t supposed to be a picnic. Open it.”
She watched Sloan carefully remove the band and lift the lid. He stared down into the contents before replacing the lid.
“Not bad. It’s all healthy—grapes, cheese, and multigrain crackers. But it’s not fried chicken.”
Olivia gave him a wry smile, pleased with his implication. “Says the expert who goes hiking with protein bars. Disappointed with my contribution?”
“I liked your fried chicken.”
Olivia turned away to look for other items in her pack. “I’ll make some for you another time,” she promised in a quiet murmur.
Sloan moved to find a convenient place for them to sit, using the layered rocks with their rough surfaces. The picnic tables were in a designated rest area they’d silently agreed was too crowded and noisy. They couldn’t commune with nature—or each other—among the parents yelling at their kids to stop running. And she liked that they’d found a quiet little space just to themselves. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, and she liked that too.
Olivia removed the lid and balanced the box on her thighs so they could share the contents. She audibly sighed as she popped two green grapes into her mouth and smiled at Sloan, a silent signal that she was just fine. She was just…happy.
“Where are we again?”
Sloan munched a few of the crackers, a piece of cheese. Unexpectedly, he fed her a piece that Olivia accepted with a startled mew. But…she saw the corner of his mouth lift as he chewed, and her chagrin turned into a private triumph. Olivia gave no indication that she’d finally caught him off guard.
“This is called Firebreak Trail. You can see it leads right up to Griffith Observatory. We’ll take a look around before we leave. If you’re not too tired,” he added.
“I’m not,” Olivia assured him.
Still, Olivia was glad that the look around didn’t take very long. It was also clear that the grounds staff were setting up for some later afternoon or evening event. They still had to get back to street level and walk a bit to the car. And then Sloan took a meandering, indirect route out of Los Feliz, past Baldwin Hills where she lived, and headed most definitely toward the ocean. Sloan had asked her to pack for the night, and Olivia had not batted an eyelash at his presumption. She was looking forward to it. She sighed, very content, as she settled into the passenger seat. In truth Olivia didn’t much care where they were now headed. She didn’t think the day could get much better than what they’d already done together. And she was paying attention.
When did she realize, finally accept, that being with Sloan was of major significance to her now? The level of her excitement and anticipation spoke volumes.
The snack they’d shared at the Observatory was just that, a snack. It was never meant to substitute for dinner. She really didn’t feel like eating. There was something else gnawing at her insides…a very different kind of hunger. Olivia kept casting covert glances at Sloan’s profile. They didn’t talk very much. And she really wasn’t listening, responding with murmurs and smiles. His rough, gravelly voice was…intoxicating. Seductive. It did things to her nerves, made promises. She watched his large, well-shaped hands on his steering wheel, and again her mind went into a dizzying array of fantasies.
Who knew that a few hours of hiking could produce such stimulation? Of course, she knew very well that it was all about being with Sloan. Each time they were together, there was something more compelling, more desirable about him. It came down to the way he made her feel.
Priceless.
Sloan suddenly reached for her hand, capturing it and giving her a quick glance, the sparkle of his blue eyes, the tilt of his brows, and actively clenching jaw signaling her in a way she couldn’t mistake.
When they drove past the agency field office, Olivia recognized it but didn’t acknowledge it to Sloan. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were pulling into a community on the edge of the Will Rogers Park but before the very expensive and exclusive real estate of Pacific Palisades. They drove up a sharp incline until Olivia could glance past Sloan and down into the crystalline shimmering of the Pacific Ocean in the late-afternoon sun. It was low on the western horizon.
Sloan pulled into an allotted parking space, turned off the engine, and turned to her. “This is where I live.”
A slow grin teased at Olivia’s mouth as she slowly shook her head. “Poor baby. On the outside of the gated communities looking in?”
He didn’t break his habit, but there was a gleam of white teeth that was promising. “Yeah, but I do have the ocean at my doorstep…unlike some people I know who couldn’t even identify a park in their own neighborhood.”
She released her seat belt and climbed out of the car. “Maybe. But I have other qualities to recommend me,” she said with saucy inflection in her tone.
“Affirmative,” Sloan murmured dryly.
The building was small, only six stories, but designed so that all the units faced the ocean. It was stunning, and when they entered Sloan’s apartment, Olivia stood for an instant, recognizing not only that she was in an unfamiliar place but it was his place. She knew he was watching more than her reaction; he was trying to gauge her emotions in this latest moment of discovery. After maybe a minute, Olivia headed right for the wall of the open-plan space with nothing but glass and sliding doors and another magnificent view beyond. She stood looking out for a long time. Behind her, she heard Sloan’s quiet movements. He placed something on the kitchen counter, the refrigerator opening and closing. The thud of his hiking boot landing on the tile floor. She sighed and turned around.
“I hate you,” Olivia said quietly, staring at him. But she could tell from the subtle changes in his facial expression that he didn’t believe it for a minute.
In fact, he slowly approached her and gathered her into his arms, letting their hips and thighs be firm points of contact. “You can come and visit anytime you want.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“Believe me, that’s not an idle invitation. And it’s very rare.” His voice ended on a low drawl as he kissed her cheek, ran his hand beneath her hair to angle her face, and lightly kissed her mouth.
“You don’t have to justify to me,” she said, running her hands up his arms and glancing into his eyes.
“That was an honest confession.”
“I don’t need that either.”
“I know. But it’s important to me that you hear it. What I want…”
He stopped and Olivia waited for Sloan to finish, but he seemed to struggle, and she knew he was monitoring his words.
“What?” she urged.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Is that another promise?”
“No, Olivia. That is a truth.” Sloan released her and began a conversation that was neutral and less fraught for her. “Make yourself at home. Stay awhile. The night,” he said suggestively, making her chuckle.
He gave her a quick, informal walk through his apartment and put her knapsack in his bedroom. He had a queen-sized bed. There was something very reassuring to Olivia that it was neatly made. The second bedroom was an office setup with two oversized monitors and audio station, a laptop on the floor by the desk. A navy-blue windbreaker with the FBI logo on the front and back was haphazardly tossed over the back of a chair, a T-shirt hanging on a doorknob. Olivia hugged herself at the very comfortable signs of a lived-in place not in perfect orderly condition. It was a comforting sight. There were several phone lines, and although he never said so, Olivia knew they were through his office, possibly other official agencies. The answering machines on both were lit, notifications of recorded messages. There were dozens of files, binders open on the desk or the bookcase. On the wall were not posters or artwork but framed citations and awards, his Quantico degree, and a few photographs of Sloan with people she didn’t recognize except—she had to lean closer to make sure she was correct—there was Sloan shaking hands with President Barack Obama.
When Sloan went into the kitchen, he announced that he’d see if there was anything decent to make a meal out of…unless she wanted to go out. Olivia didn’t want to go anywhere. She took off her vest, her own hiking boots, and took up his offer to make herself at home. While he busied himself in his kitchen, she did roam but did not return to his office. In the living room she found a few haphazard stacks of DVDs. Olivia casually browsed through the casings. None of the films were new releases, and they were a broad range of genres: action adventure, drama, a few documentaries, even horror. Only one really caught her attention, and she was astonished that it would be among his collection.
The movie was Loving, a film about a Virginia couple whose marriage was the basis for a Supreme Court decision allowing interracial couples to legally marry. There was nothing logical about the films Sloan had, but this one was particularly puzzling. She debated just putting it back and not questioning Sloan about having it. If she began to ask questions, what was she looking for in his answer? What would any answer mean?
She wandered into the kitchen. He glanced up at her from stirring a pot of simmering water with rigatoni pasta bubbling in the slow turbulence.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I don’t mind telling you I’m not feeling the least guilty that I’m not doing anything to help.”
“I’m okay with that. This is not going to be beef bourguignon…or cassoulet,” he said, referencing her comment from a few days ago. “Plain ol’ pasta with Bolognese sauce.”
Olivia raised her brows. “Yum,” she moaned playfully. She pointed to an avocado in a small bowl on a counter. “How long have you had that?”
“I don’t know. A few days.”
She picked it up and gently squeezed. “It’s almost past being ripe. What were you going to do with it?”
“Don’t know that either.” He casually bustled around, emptying a jar of the sauce into another pan to heat.
“I could make guacamole if you like.”
He looked sharply at her. “Seriously? Is yours any good?”
Olivia had to laugh. “Or we could just slice it into the pasta. That could be interesting.”
Sloan shook his head. “I vote for the guac…and I think I have chips.” He reached to a pantry door, pulling it open. After a quick glance inside he reached for a bag and pulled it out, handing it to her.
“Okay. Just give me a little space to work and I’ll do it. But I have a question I need to ask first.”
“Yes, I have onions and…”
“No, that’s not it. I hope you don’t mind, but I looked through the films you have in the living room. Strange selection.”
“I agree. But I didn’t choose them. They were a gift. From a friend,” He added after a pause, “Works at one of the studios.” He concentrated on his pasta and stirring the sauce. “What do you want to know?”
“You have a copy of Loving. Do you know anything about the story?”
“I don’t. Do you? Have you seen it?”
“I haven’t seen it, but I do know the story.”
“Want to watch it with me?” he asked smoothly.
Olivia considered Sloan’s question, considered the seriousness…and the subject of the movie. Had he at least read the synopsis? She did want to see it with him. For his reaction. “Sure. I’d like that,” she said just as smoothly. “You can come to my place and I’ll make dinner.”
“Or we’ll make it together. Better get a fresh avocado,” Sloan said with a straight face.
Olivia rolled her eyes at him. But their plans now firm, she efficiently worked around Sloan, making the guacamole and finding a shallow dish to serve it in. Sloan was plating from the stove, passing her the two prepared bowls of pasta and sauce, hastily finding place mats, utensils.
“Is beer okay?”
“Fine.”
Soon they were seated at the small dining table, the sun nearly set behind the edge of Santa Monica Mountains, the orange sky melting and spreading over the ocean.
“So how was your first time hiking?”
“Well…I’m probably in terrible shape, but I did enjoy it. I liked being outside in nature. I liked feeling so free. I liked that I had to work a little bit to make it up some of the hills.” She glanced at him thoughtfully. “I’m proud of myself for making it to the top.”
“You done good.” Sloan nodded approval. “You should know you walked about four and a half miles total.”
She winced. “I guess that explains my tired legs.”
“Yes.” Sloan looked sharply at her. “How about your back? Any problems there?”
Olivia exaggerated a rotation of her shoulders and hips, wiggling in her chair. “Everything seems to work. I’m a little achy, but that’s it.”
He nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “A little achiness is to be expected. I can probably give you something to help ease that.”
Olivia caught the inference at once. She glanced at him with a suspicious smile. “I bet you could.”
Dinner was filled with gentle innuendos and teasing. But there was also a certain growing tension that she understood perfectly…and welcomed. Olivia felt a sudden wellspring of hope within her that her feelings were real and she needn’t be afraid of them. And they were far more than just enjoying Sloan’s company. He was proving to be grounded, steady, and trustworthy. Olivia was really feeling that, maybe, he would be careful with her heart. Even though the idea was scary, she was not willing to pull back. She wanted very much to know where she and Sloan were headed. Olivia knew she’d already signed up for the ride.
By the time dinner was done, the guacamole decimated—“Excellent,” Sloan had murmured in surprise—dishes stacked in the washer, and the mood drifting toward serene, Olivia distinctly felt not only romantic arousal but a sense of domesticity that was comforting and welcome. Another fantasy. A playful daydream.
She was on Sloan’s very spacious terrace overlooking the magic of the nighttime scene of darkened beach and ocean surf. Sloan came to stand next to her, bracing his hands on the railing. His very nearness sparked a sudden desire in Olivia that took her by surprise—not that it happened but that her desire was so strong. Palpable. His arm was lightly pressed to her shoulder, and she wondered if it was an accident. But then she placed her arm around his, her hand against his forearm. Finally, her cheek against his shoulder.
Olivia could feel Sloan turning his head, angling his face down to peer at her, but she didn’t raise hers to initiate anything more. They stood silently like that for several more minutes, until a sudden cool sweep of ocean breeze took away their shared body warmth. She withdrew, retreated back to the living room. Sloan followed. He caught up to her, sliding his arms around her and drawing her back against his chest.
Olivia felt herself immediately surrendering to the embrace, the firm wall of his chest behind her. She held on to his wrists as his hands sought the bottom of her shirt and tunneled underneath. She held her breath, a sudden rush of heat and passion setting her off balance.
“Sloan…” she whispered, but was unable to utter anything more.
Her voice, her breathing, said the rest and Sloan pulled the top up and over her head, releasing her arms. Olivia’s sports bra was built into the top, and now she was bare from the waist up. He slowly cupped her breasts, and she became almost light-headed with longing. Had she been waiting the entire day for this moment?
Sloan’s gentle massaging, his thumbs rubbing over the nipples…his lips nibbling kisses under her ear, drew a panting sigh from her. He turned her in to his chest and began to kiss her deeply, in earnest. The way Olivia had become used to and ached for because it was all-consuming, deep, and arousing. She circled her arms over his shoulders, her fingers caressing his neck.
She was abruptly let go and was slightly dazed watching as he removed his top in one swift move and got out of his cargo shorts, and briefs in another movement. Sloan didn’t give her a chance to finish undressing but squatted to pull down her capri yoga pants and panties, and she stepped out of them. He stood and took her hand, leading her to his bedroom. Sloan didn’t bother with pulling back the comforter but helped her onto the bed and crawled partially on top of her and began to kiss her again, rubbing and twisting his mouth over hers, invading to dance with her tongue, drawing a reaction that left them both mindless.
Of course he remembered one final preparation step, removing the sealed protection from his nightstand. She felt shameless, wanting Sloan to hurry, wanting him to envelop her. He did not maneuver her onto her back but kept them on their sides, facing each other. He positioned himself between her legs, like the very first time they made love, with her upper thigh over his and leaving Olivia vulnerable and open when he thrust forward, inside. She held her breath at the first slow, deep strokes. They found a rhythm, Sloan’s hands splayed open across her back and pressing her close so that she could feel not only his control but his innate knowledge of what felt good for her.
And they kissed, a heady, druglike melding that rocked them from top to bottom. Olivia knew it wasn’t going to last. They were both too needy, too hot after the day of exercise and sunshine, too filled with abject lust and prolonged waiting to draw it out. Maybe next time.
Sloan brought his hand down to stroke her thigh, to inch over to where they connected, and the touch was enough to make her come. Olivia buried her face in his neck, panting and holding on until the heightened euphoria slowed into warm satisfaction. She felt the pulsing of Sloan, deep within, and tried to squeeze her legs tighter around him to facilitate his climax. He moaned, long and deep. He grunted, his breathing hot against throat, her chest. She could feel his heartbeat. His breath became slow and even.
They didn’t move. They didn’t speak. Olivia would never know if either of them tried. She sighed deeply, infused with happiness and well-being. Lying entwined, they fell asleep.
Sloan came awake smoothly, carefully. Another part of his training that brought him instantly alert to where he was. His eyes opened to note that it was still night. He glanced at the digital clock and read it was just after two a.m. Good enough. The timing was right. But he exhaled, suddenly very reluctant to awaken Olivia. His mental scan outlined exactly where she was. Now on his back, one of his arms held her secure to his side. Her cheek was resting on his chest, her open hand flat and sandwiched in between. One of her slender legs pressed against his.
Sloan wanted to forget what his plan had been for the middle of the night that meant getting up. He was suddenly so much at peace with right where they were. In each other’s arms. He glided his hand over Olivia’s lower back and up again to her shoulders. She sighed and undulated her hips and pelvis infinitesimally. He debated with himself but finally lost out to the fact he knew Olivia would not want to miss the scheduled event best experienced in the next hour or so.
He stroked her shoulder, gently massaged her nape. “Olivia,” Sloan whispered in his rough voice. “Wake up.” She moved but only to get closer to him. Sloan rubbed his chin in her hair, shook her shoulder. “Sweetheart…wake up.”
She moved, at first very slowly but then struggled up. Sloan swung his legs to the floor and stood. He left the room and quickly returned, holding a garment in his hand.
“Sloan? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
He held it out to her. It was his FBI jacket. “Nothing’s wrong. Put this on. I want to show you something.”
Olivia silently obeyed, but she was dazed. “Is it work? Do you have to go?”
“No, nothing like that. Come with me.”
He was naked but taking her hand, leading Olivia through the darkened apartment to the terrace. Sloan slid the door open and stepped out, carefully guiding her behind him. His eyes adjusted to the black night, and he knew hers would too.
“Wha…what are we doing? It’s cold.” Olivia’s voice sounded shocked.
“I want you to look up. Look up. Keep looking.”
Sloan left her, returning to the bedroom to pull the comforter from his bed. He swung it over his shoulder, like a great cape, encasing himself. He hurried back to the terrace, where Olivia was hugging herself against the chilled night air. His windbreaker provided cover but not any warmth. It stopped above her knees, the sleeves longer than her arms. Sloan stood behind her and wrapped Olivia tightly within the comforter, hugging her against his body.
“Aagghh!” she uttered in relief, grabbing what she could of the comforter to tighten it even more around their bodies. “What are we doing out here?”
“I thought you’d want to see shooting stars. Look in the sky, over there.” Sloan quickly indicated with a briefly exposed hand.
Olivia stayed still, trying to focus her gaze. They stood huddled together, silently for perhaps a minute, when…
“There!” Sloan said.
She moved her head about. “I… I don’t see…”
“There’s another,” Sloan said, pointing again.
“I can’t… I… Oh, Sloan! There it is! I see it!”
Sloan tightened his arms. She bounced excitedly once, on the balls of her feet. Before he knew it, he let out a quick, low chuckle near her ear. In another moment, Olivia rested her head back, and he heard her long exhalation.
“Sloan,” Olivia sighed.
He wasn’t sure if she was responding to the quick lines of light that streaked across the sky before burning out and disappearing or to the uninhibited sound of pleasure that escaped from him. Sloan waited for her to acknowledge that moment, but instead she kept exclaiming over the abundant light display.
“It’s the Orionids,” he offered. “A meteor shower.”
“Yes, yes! How could I forget it was happening? I tried to arrange something so the students could view it. But the district office wouldn’t approve my plans. Transportation was an issue. I think Colby, maybe you remember him from your academy class, he said he would ask his mother if she’d take him and some of the other students. I don’t know if she was able to.”
“That’s too bad.”
“They get excited about new experiences, what they’ve never done before or even knew about.”
“You mean like you?”
Olivia nodded. “Mmmm. Today was the best day.”
“You mean yesterday,” he mused. “I’m glad,” he said simply.
Sloan enjoyed the display for another ten minutes before deciding that they should get back inside. They weren’t exactly dressed for stargazing. He hustled them back to the bed, crawling under all the bed linens and spooning, hugging and rubbing each other until the chill left their bodies.
“You didn’t mind, did you? Taking me hiking yesterday?”
Sloan thought about that. In some ways he was sure he’d gotten far more out of the day with her.
“You forget I suggested it. Don’t worry about me. I got what I want.”
“Did you? Tell me?”
Sloan hedged, the true answer silent in his head.
I wanted you with me.
“Sharing the sun and the stars with you.”
Olivia didn’t respond. But then… “My hero,” she crooned in a high-pitched, comic heroine voice of adoration.
Sloan struggled. And then he lost it. He burst out in a ragged bark of laughter. Once, twice.
Olivia giggled. “Gotcha,” she murmured, triumphant.
Sloan nuzzled her neck and shoulder, squeezed her against him. “You sure do.”