Kiss Across Chaos Read online

  She refocused. The man—it was usually a man she mapped in her mind as the one to watch, although not always—the man was talking to his friend.

  The man was a clichéd Capitol rat. Traditional overcoat, silk scarf and leather gloves. The suit beneath would be conservative. White shirt. Blue tie, or maybe a daring red. Nothing with thin stripes that might strobe on-camera.

  The man he was talking to was far more casually dressed, with a pea coat and green tartan scarf, shaggy black hair and glasses. He had sharp, intelligent eyes and nodded as the first spoke, then smiled, showing even white teeth.

  They were a long way from home, she thought. Interesting. What’s their story? There was always a story. What if they had a secret meeting out here in the sticks, where no one would notice?

  Spies? Co-conspirators, planning to take down the government. Or protect it, and no one believed them…

  Jesse spun four or five different storyline possibilities and was about to reach for her tablet and takes notes, when the first man, the one in the suit, turned to the counter to place their order.

  He was simply gorgeous.

  Jesse drew in a startled breath, taking in the black hair and strong jaw. Pale, clear cheeks and an agreeable amount of stubble on his chin that was daring, for Washington. He couldn’t be a politician, then. Politicians were always clean cut and non-offensive to the broadest common denominators. Lobbyist, probably… That would make more sense, story-wise. He’d be in a position to hear things, which would make him dangerous to the wrong people.

  She waited for him to turn properly, so she could get a full snapshot of his face, before she wrote anything down.

  He was perfect hero material. A hero of that caliber would have a love interest off to the side. She could kill the love interest off, make him really suffer before he took out the arch enemy. Maybe the guy next to him could be the arch enemy in disguise…that would be a fantastic twist!

  She reached blindly for the tablet, her brain moving faster and faster, while she mentally begged the guy to turn. She wanted to fix his full features in her mind, so she could recall them at will, later.

  His friend rested his hand on the suit’s shoulder. It looked friendly, but from this angle, Jesse could see the man’s fingertips rest against the other’s neck. A soft stroke. No one else would be able to see it. She was the only person at just the right angle.

  Jesse caught her breath, as story possibilities exploded. Lovers! How…delicious! How much worse would the man suffer when his lover turned out to be the bad guy?

  The man paid for the coffee and croissants, each of them picked up a cup—the one the casual man picked up was paper, and his croissant was in a bag. They turned to look for a table and finally, Jesse got a full view of the first man’s face.

  It was Aran.

  While her breath evaporated and every fabulous story idea she’d built up blew away like dust in a breeze, Aran stared at her. She was already studying him. No chance to look away and pretend she hadn’t seen him. She couldn’t hide.

  Her heart slammed. What to do?

  Then Aran’s mouth quirked—a smile formed at one corner. He murmured to the guy with him, the casual one with the tartan scarf.

  His lover, came the whisper in her mind.

  And now it wasn’t just panic in her gut, but a hot slew of confused feelings around a core of molten, inconvenient and highly, wildly inappropriate lust. Her brain involuntarily formed graphic images of two faceless men together, limbs entwined, bodies slick with passion, while her conscience chattered inanely at her. Aran was family, he was a friend, he was so much younger than her! Stop thinking that way, Jesse—it’s sick.

  And he was coming toward her.

  Her breath shortened. Again.

  This was the moment she had hoped to avoid. It was the moment that had scared the crap out of her at Thanksgiving. Brody had inserted the possibility into her mind, and it had terrified her so much she had blanked it out for the last few weeks. She had avoided D.C. like the plague, and buried herself in the novel, instead.

  Oh, grow a pair, Hall! she railed at herself. It’s just Aran. She made herself get to her feet.

  And she was glad to see him, underneath all the baffling hysteria running through her mind. Even though Aran wouldn’t remember it, he had saved her life four years ago.

  So when Aran put down the cup and plate and hugged her, Jesse was able to get her arms around him and be genuinely happy to see him.

  The other one—his lover, her mind supplied for her in a heated whisper—came up behind him and nodded at her.

  “Jesse, this is Kyle Fisher. Kyle, Jessenia Hall. She’s an old family friend.” Aran smiled. “Not that she’s old.”

  “Not in my estimation, no,” Kyle said. He grinned at her, the blue eyes behind the glasses twinkling. “Not in the slightest. Nice to meet you…Jesse, yes?”

  “She won’t answer to Jessenia,” Aran assured him. He looked back at her, his gaze frankly assessing. “Are you housesitting near here?”

  “Um…Arlington. This is the only decent patisserie anywhere near, though.”

  “It is,” Aran said. “We’re here three times a week, at least. Although the croissants…” He held out his hand and tilted it from side to side.

  “They’re not quite right,” Jesse said in agreement.

  “God, listen to you two snobs,” Kyle said. “It’s just flour and water.”

  “No, it’s not,” Aran said instantly. Firmly. “Until you’ve had the real thing, you can’t understand.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” Kyle replied. He put his hand on Aran’s arm. “Listen, you two catch up. I really do have to go.” The hand was just friendly, this time. He let it drop. “I’ll get a cab.”

  “‘kay,” Aran said, just as casually. “Ciao.”

  “Jesse,” Kyle added, nodding at her. He turned and left.

  Aran didn’t watch him go. Instead, he pointed at the other chair. “May I?”

  Jesse’s heart had been sinking the moment she realized he would want to sit at her table. Now that he had asked, she found herself reply crisply, “Stupid fucking question. Why would you even ask?”

  Aran sat and draped the fronts of the expensive coat over his long legs so it didn’t drag on the slush-covered floor.

  She sat and cleared the little table of her tablet and phone to give him room, and to give herself time to pull herself together. Aran was strangely different from how she remembered him. He was four years older, only that wasn’t the sum of the change. He’d always seemed older than God to her. It came from all the jumping about in time, she suspected. He’d experienced more of the world and humanity by eighteen than most middle-aged men ever came close to.

  He was just as tall as she remembered. Brody’s height. Brody’s heartbreaking, Celtic good looks, combined with Taylor’s eyes and ridiculously long lashes. And the stubble.

  Her hand twitched and she put it on her knee and curled the fingers in until the nails bit her palm. “Does Kyle know? About…?” The tables were too close for her to finish the question. Does he know that you can travel through time?

  “Kyle?” Aran shook his head. “He’s just a friend.”

  Jesse looked at him steadily. Really? He was going to deny it?

  Aran’s smile was quick. Easy. He’d interpreted her expression. “Okay, friend with benefits,” he admitted. “But not that close a friend.”

  Jesse batted away the pornographic images that slid into her mind and stole more of her breath.

  Aran wasn’t drinking his coffee or eating the inadequate croissant. He was simply staring at her with those eyes. She had forgotten how his eyes could pin her down and make her forget what she was going to say.

  “It’s really good to see you, Jesse,” Aran said.

  She nodded. “It is.” Something grabbed her throat. The same something which had made her blubber, when Brody had spoken about family at Thanksgiving. But it was different, now. It was harder. Sadde
r.

  “You look great,” Aran added. “There’s nothing of the military about you.”

  “It’s all in here,” Jesse assured him, touching her temple. “And muscle memory, too.” She smiled. “I had pinned you as the dangerous man in the room before I realized it was you.”

  Aran laughed. “That’s a compliment, I suppose.”

  The silence that fell was warm and good, but there was still something beneath it that was making her heart patter. Or maybe it was her imagination.

  Aran glanced at his watch.

  It was a casual movement, but it reminded her of what she had forgotten in the last couple of minutes. Aran had a life. A career. He was so busy with that life, he never went home anymore, even though getting to Canada was as simple as flexing his knees. He didn’t want to, is what it came down to.

  That was why he seemed different. The world he was moving in now was a high-power one, and he was a player. It gave him an air of authority, of supreme confidence—well, he’d always been confident, but now it showed.

  No wonder she had pegged him as the powerholder in the room.

  Jesse abruptly rose to her feet, before even she was aware of what she was going to do. “I have to…I’ve got to go. I just saw the time on your watch and I have… I’ve been here too long.” She already had the tablet and her phone in the backpack. She picked it up and slung it over one shoulder, as Aran got to his feet, which was when she realized her mistake.

  He was so much taller than her. She was five eight, but he had over four more inches and at least a hundred pounds on her, most of that pure muscle.

  And he stood far, far too close.

  She swallowed. “I’m sorry. This is…I wish I could stay…” And she really wished she could, but just a few minutes with him in front of her was unsettling. What on earth was wrong with her? She gripped the strap of the pack as he studied her and made herself smile at him. “I’ve been away from the house for too long. I should get back.”

  Aran didn’t say anything.

  She gave him another stiff smile and skirted past him.

  “‘bye, Jesse,” he said softly.

  She picked up her pace and burst out into the cold December air and breathed with the gusty inhalations of someone who had just escaped death by a bullet-width.

  His coffee was cold and the croissant had lost all appeal. Not that it had held much in the first place. Kyle was the one who liked to head out here where they could talk without half of Washington stopping by their table to shore up favors or freshen the contact.

  Aran stared at the foam on the cappuccino, frowning. What had just happened there? Apart from the shock of seeing Jesse in the first place? She had been on edge and he didn’t believe the “I gotta go” either.

  But she was always uptight. White knuckles were her status quo. All that military training and preparedness kept her constantly braced for trouble. She was like her books—the plot never stopped for a moment. A new body would drop through the roof, bullets would fly, the story would twist on its stalk, even before you caught up with the last fantastic development.

  Not that he’d read any of her books for…years. Life had just got too busy for reading.

  Although she wasn’t really uptight, anymore. Not on the surface, at least. He’d spoken truthfully when he said that all the military patina she’d once worn was gone, now. She was…well, softer than he remembered. She’d let her hair grow even longer and wasn’t wearing it in a tight knot at the back of her head, either. It was thick, rich dark brown, not quite black, curling over both shoulders and down the front of her jacket. The jacket was some leather thing that cinched in around her waist and made her legs in the tight jeans seem even longer than they were.

  The throaty note in her voice was unchanged, though. So was the frank, in-your-face plain speak.

  He recalled the expression on her face when he’d claimed Kyle was just a friend. She’d batted that aside almost impatiently and just…looked at him.

  Washington was a dangerous place to let such associations become well known. Kyle understood that as well as Aran did and was just as circumspect, but there were benefits to the mutual understanding. They had remarkably similar tastes, especially when it came to women.

  A collection of snapshot moments rifled through his mind. Carnal moments, soft feminine flesh against him. Harder male hands on him. There had been many interesting times with Kyle, enough to keep the friendship going, even though Kyle was a politically risky friend to have. If anyone knew Aran was fucking a journalist at the Washington Post, his career in Washington would be deader than the undead. That was another reason they headed out here to buy croissants instead of the bakeries in Georgetown.

  Jesse had seen through the mask instantly and it had felt good to just admit it and move on.

  Plain speak. He’d forgotten what it was like. Even her unfinished question—had he told Kyle about time travelling—had been refreshingly direct, addressing a part of him that no one else knew about in his increasingly complicated life.

  He glanced out the window at the thick grey clouds coming in from the east. More snow was on the way. And Jesse stood at the bus stop, two hundred yards up the road, the Swiss Army backpack over her shoulder, her head down. Her breath plumed the air in front of her.

  “Fuck,” Aran breathed, and dug in his pocket for the car keys.

  Chapter Three

  Jesse had only just caught her breath and calmed down when the Mercedes S Class sedan with smoked windows pulled up beside the bus stop. The passenger window rolled down.

  “Get in, Jesse!” Aran called.

  She bent reluctantly. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  He had one hand resting on the wheel, the other on the wide console between the seats, over the window controls. All she could think was that the car was made for someone of his long length. It looked like it was molded around him.

  He glanced in the rear mirror. “Bus is coming. Hurry up,” he said urgently.

  She glanced behind the car. The bus was coming, forcing her to make a snap decision. She couldn’t think of a reason not to get in the car that was any better than “I don’t wanna.” That churlishness decided for her. She opened the door and slid into the seat. There was more than enough room to dump her pack on the floor between her knees, too.

  She shut the door even as Aran pulled the car away from the curb. The window rolled up and warmth bathed her. Silence, too.

  Jesse looked around the car while Aran steered it back into the traffic. “It’s not Brody’s Maserati, is it?” This was a soft car. A luxury car. She couldn’t even hear the engine purr. The smell of real leather and whatever the detailers used on the carpets replaced the stink of slush mixed with motor oil that was all she had been able to detect, standing at the bus stop.

  “Don’t be fooled by the padding,” Aran said. “It’ll jump to sixty miles an hour in less than five seconds.”

  “Really?” She reexamined the car once more. There was a full-sized tablet screen built into the console between the front seats and it was currently displaying a map, with a blip to show where they were. “I guess the lack of armor plating is misleading.”

  Aran grinned. “No, it’s not even close to a Hummer. Where in Arlington is your house?”

  “You can drop me on the corner of 10th and Wilson,” she said. “It’s five minutes from there.”

  More like fifteen, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “I can take you right to the door.”

  “I like to walk.”

  “It’s twenty degrees out there.”

  “It’s nice,” she said, with a tone of agreement.

  “A bus, Jesse?” he said, with a tone that made it sound like the question had been pushing to get out all along.

  She jumped. A bit.

  “There’s cabs and übers all over the city,” he added.

  She gripped the strap of her pack even tighter.

  “Is money really that tight?” he asked
, his voice softer. “You’ve got dozens of books out there. I thought you were doing okay.”

  She heard the note of stress in his voice. “It’s not up to you to keep tabs on me,” she said stiffly.

  “You’re one of us, remember? That’s what we do.”

  “You can’t even visit your family for Thanksgiving, so don’t drop that one on me,” she shot back.

  He glanced at her, startled.

  Jesse drew in a breath. “Never mind. Forget I spoke. The corner is fine.”

  “It’s not, but that’s all you’re going to give me, so…” His sounded as though he was grinding his teeth together.

  Her heart thudded. In the luxurious silence inside the car, it was all she could hear. “I make enough, okay?” she said, surprising even herself. “Sales are up and down and I have to save where I can because I don’t know what next month will be like.”

  There. She’d said it.

  “I thought you had money from the Navy?”

  “Not much,” she admitted. The final pay cheque, which had looked so enormous to her at the time, had melted away like a snow pile in spring.

  Aran glanced at her again. This time, his eyes were narrowed. “You’re pulling on the capital?”

  Her middle jumped. “What else would I do with it?”

  “Invest it. Money markets. Day trading. Rolling high interest accounts. Tax free savings. You don’t spend it. Jesus…” He pushed his hand through his hair.

  Jesse considered the butter soft leather lined interior of the Mercedes once more. “You didn’t lease this on your salary, then?”

  Aran gave a soft sound. She thought it might have been a snort, but it was too quiet. “This model starts at two hundred thousand and I paid cash for it.”

  She stared at him. “I had no idea you were doing that well.”

  “In Washington? They pay grunts peanuts here. And that’s all I am, right now.” He glanced in the mirror, then flicked the indicator on and moved the car over to the outside lane.