Earth Bound (11 page)

Her head was thrown back, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and she was making the most incredible noises—greedy, urgent, and just plain gorgeous.

That was what pushed him over the edge: her frantic pleasure that mirrored his own. Arms bracing him over her, he gave one last thrust, his cock jerking as he came.

His arms collapsed and he folded onto her, having nothing left to give.

After a moment, she pushed against him and he rolled off her, his chest heaving and his gaze blurry. Well, he’d definitely achieved the not seeing straight bit. The mattress dipped next to him, and snapped back. She was off the bed and had shut herself into the bathroom before he was even able to take a full breath.

He pushed up on one elbow and frowned at the bathroom door. He hadn’t expected they would cuddle after, but that seemed… abrupt.

It had been the most intense encounter of his life. And it had ended with corresponding swiftness.

He felt confused and a bit hollow, but he needed to concentrate on the fact it had happened at all.

When she exited the bathroom, she’d dressed and smoothed herself back to perfection. She was utterly lovely as always, but her face was a serene mask. He’d seen her when it shattered. He knew now how much of an act it was. He respected it, even as it kept him outside.

“We never talk about this at work,” she said.
 

His heart sank, since her words sounded quite final.

“This time or any other,” she finished.

Before he even had time to fully process it, she was gone.

Thank God there was a staff meeting the next morning.

Parsons wouldn’t have to risk catching her alone—their first meeting would be with plenty of onlookers. No risk of awkwardness, at least none they could openly indulge.

Not that they’d be indulging in anything at work. He’d been very clear: Nothing must jeopardize their mission here.

Parsons for once wasn’t running the meeting; the capsule development team was presenting their latest results. But of course, the team head wasn’t here yet, so Parsons was marking up a draft of a technical manual.
 

So much time wasted waiting for meetings to begin. He ought to work up a more efficient system for ensuring things started on time. Not that this meeting was technically starting late—but he already knew it would.

He drew a heavy black line through an utterly inane sentence in the technical manual.

Charlie wasn’t here yet, either. She would be—the capsule had several computers, so the deputy director of computing ought to be here.

Deputy director
. Such an idiotic distinction, because God forbid she be given the title she deserved. He shook his head.

“Do you need something?”
 

His secretary’s fluttery voice at his elbow had him wincing. Peg was too delicate to be his secretary—she took his foul moods too much to heart. But she had three kids to feed and a husband who couldn’t work, so Parsons couldn’t bring himself to let her go. And he couldn’t curb his temper enough to keep her from cowering.
 

He could pass her to Jensen—it would be a promotion of sorts, even—but Jensen was handsy with his secretaries. So Parsons and Peg would have to scrape along together.

“It’s fine.” He blacked out a too-florid line. It was a technical manual, not a book of poetry.

Parsons wasn’t one for poetry. Or the deep romantic feelings that usually went along with poetry. Oh, he’d had encounters with women. Some had been like himself: only looking for release and nothing deeper. A few had thought to change him, or God forbid, even fix him. They’d thought if they’d just been charming enough, provided a comfortable haven away from work, he’d want to settle down.

Those ones had wanted to
date
, a word he regarded with horror. He didn’t do dinners or dancing or drinks. What no one understood was that work was his refuge, his comfort, his haven. He was happy when he was working; he needed no respite from what he loved.

But all this pondering of romance and the women who’d come before raised the question: What did Charlie want from this?

He didn’t think she’d want dinner or dancing or drinks, and if she did, there were a thousand men who’d jump at the chance to do those things with her. Men more charming, more personable than he was. Parsons hadn’t a lick of vanity—he knew what he looked like next to all those golden astronauts.

But if she only wanted release, again, why pick him? Another thousand men would line up for the chance to have a few sweaty, grappling hours with her in a motel room.

Heat bloomed on his skin and collected under his collar as he remembered her beneath him. If he’d meant to shock her, he should have known better. This was Charlie, who took everything he dished out with hardly a blink. Even when he dished out his darkest imaginings.

Was that why she’d said yes? Because she refused to be caught off balance by him?

It still made no sense though, not for a woman as gorgeous and smart as she was. If she were Venus, he was most certainly Vulcan—stunted and swarthy as he hammered away at his forge.

He made a face. There was some of that poetry he tried to avoid.

Feet shuffled to his left and he looked up.

Jefferies was approaching, the hunch of his shoulders apologetic. Parsons had no idea how a man that big could make himself look so small.

“Um, sir?” Jefferies ventured.

“We’re a civilian agency. You don’t have to call me sir.” There, there was a joke for Charlie. Too bad she wasn’t here to hear it.

Jefferies cleared his throat. “Yes, s—. About the MASTIF…”

Parsons’s spine turned to ice. “What about it?”

No one was scheduled to train on that simulator, which meant something had gone wrong. He could already guess who might have been behind it.

“Well, I’m not entirely clear on the details, but it seems Carruthers insulted Storch’s flying abilities.”

Parsons did not want to hear the rest of this. Put Carruthers together with Storch and their combined stupidity increased by an order of magnitude. Of all the astronauts, those two were his least favorite.

“So Storch proved his piloting skills,” Jefferies went on, “by getting into the MASTIF and trying to recover a roll set at fifty rpms.”

If everyone weren’t filing in for a meeting, Parsons would have cursed a blue streak. As it was, his tongue tingled with the words wanting to fly from it. “The limit for the machine is thirty.” Goddamn those two. “How bad is the damage?”

“The repairs will take two weeks.”

Two weeks. Not to mention the cost. All because Carruthers pissed on Storch’s leg. Not that either of them would care. They were astronauts, adored by the entire nation. They could make all the messes they wanted, confident in the knowledge someone else would sweep it up.

And Parsons was that someone.

“Storch wrenched his elbow too,” Jefferies went on.

Parsons didn’t care—let Stan Jensen worry about his precious astronauts.

Goddamn pilots. Why couldn’t they have a nice, unmanned lunar mission? Send a docile, obedient robot that would never damage an obscenely expensive piece of equipment on a dare?

An engineer could dream.

Jefferies was nodding hello to someone behind Parsons. “Mr. Reed. Dr. Eason.”

She was here.
He wouldn’t turn, but all of him came to sharp, crackling attention.

“Jefferies,” Hal grunted as he took a seat, probably directly behind Parsons from the sound of it. “Parsons.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, keeping his gaze on the technical manual in his hands. The click of her heels against the floor was a drumming against his heart. Then the scrape of a chair sliding across the floor, behind him and to his left.
 

A tilt of his head, a swivel of his neck, and he could see her, if he wanted. He already knew how she’d look, carefully arranged in the chair as she always was.

But not last night. She’d tossed herself down in his office with an unguarded ease.
 

What do you want me for?

He’d almost told her right there. Hell, he’d almost shown her on his desk.

He frowned down at the manual. Those kinds of things couldn’t happen here, though. His fumbling recovery about her “skills” or some such hadn’t fooled her last night. But was everyone else fooled today?

They had to be. If they were caught, she could be fired. And that couldn’t happen—he needed her.

“I, sir—” Jefferies stuttered.

“What, what is it?” he barked. What the hell else was wrong?

“I am sorry about the MASTIF.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t your fault. It’s those damn fool… Well,
you
don’t need to apologize at any rate. You’re just the messenger. Why is everyone so nervy around here?”

He knew why
he
was, but unless the rest of them had spent several hours entwined with Charlie Eason, that wasn’t why
they
were.

That was when she spoke. “It might have to do with how you manage your staff. You could try smiling.”

His head snapped up, but he still didn’t look at her. “Could I?” Gruff, but not harsh. He’d have to try harder to be off-putting.

“Yes. Oh wait—do you not know how? I could show you.”

Jefferies laughed nervously.

“It’s easy,” she went on. “Use the muscles of your cheek to lift one side of your mouth. Repeat on the other side. Show a bit of teeth. But not too much.”

An image flashed through his mind—her lips parted, the tips of her teeth bared as she gasped beneath him. Ah God, to finally be with her, after all those months of binding need—

His pen skidded across the paper. He took a slow breath, placed the tip back where it had started. No one said anything, so they must not have seen.

“I know how to smile,” he said.

She knew it too, because he’d smiled at her last night like a besotted teenager. But just the once, since the rest of what happened between them was too intense for anything so wan.

“Since I’ve seen no evidence of any such thing, I’ll have to disbelieve. It’s the skeptic in me.”

She was mocking him, as usual. Jefferies had his hand over his mouth, no doubt trying to hide a smile, and Hal was probably silently laughing too.

Or was she flirting? There was a frisson between them that made her words less painful, more teasing.

Parsons finally allowed his head to turn and his gaze to land on her. She was exactly as he’d expected—composed, lovely, utterly in control of her expression and her posture.

And she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her gaze was directed at the front of the room, as if she thought the meeting might begin at any moment.

It didn’t hurt, her inattention. That was what he wanted: for them to carry on as before. He’d been clear, and she’d agreed with him. He was only a little piqued he’d given in to the urge to stare at her.

He turned back to the manual. “I see nothing to smile about here.” He crossed out another line.

Jefferies’s smile dropped, and Hal shifted behind him, clearing his throat. They likely thought he was only being his usual, surly self.

But Charlie no doubt heard what he was really saying.

Charlie shut the door to her office. She paused before locking it. She didn’t want to be disturbed right now.

It wasn’t a very large space. Four steps and she was at her desk. She set her notes down and exhaled, long and low. She dropped her chin to her chest and rubbed her shoulders, deep circles right where her neck meet her body. She’d made it through the capsule team’s presentation.

Except for Parsons’s hands. Charlie had sat several chairs down from where she normally did to be further away from him. She’d kept her eyes trained straight ahead and her pen moving the entire time. She’d practically transcribed the presentation word for word.

It hadn’t kept her from seeing his damn hands. She hadn’t made eye contact with him, but she’d watched his hands.

The last time she’d been in New York, giving a talk at a computing conference, she’d stolen away and explored the town. Her mother would have had a fit.
“Conferences are for networking, Charlotte.”