Maelstrom

Chapter 45: The Other F-Word

Ivan opened his fingers, and as I took the hard-won underwear from him, he kissed me again. Deep and long, his tongue weaving into my mouth, stroking and twirling, his lips sliding over mine only to lock on again. His hands went into my unbound hair to bring my mouth more firmly to his, pulling me up onto my toes; I found that I had dropped the boyshorts back onto the counter to splay my hands over his bare, beautifully muscled back.

He finally released me and pulled his fingers gently through my hair, interlocking them at the small of my back. "Hablas español," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I admitted.

"How well?"

I hesitated only a moment. "Fluently."

"Why did you lie and say you couldn't?"

Rage and fear flooded me. "Because I wasn't about to let on that I understood every filthy, insulting, disgusting suggestion that asshole was making," I snapped. My fury had gripped my so suddenly, it surprised even me. I tensed to pull away, but he held me tightly against him. "Would it have been better for me to make a scene instead? Or perhaps you expected me to flirt with him and pretend to entertain the idea of putting on a live sex show right there in the box?" I brought my arms down hard on his, breaking his hold, but he grabbed my hands before I could back away.

"No!" he barked, commanding my attention. I stilled, anger blazing. "No," he said more gently. "You were right. It was better that they believed you didn't understand. I just wanted to know your reasons." He brought my hands up and kissed each of my clenched fists before letting them drop again. He pried with his long fingers to interlock them with mine, and begrudgingly, I relented.

"I told you before that I didn't want you to 'whore it up,' as you so evocatively put it, but I still think it works to my advantage to have you tending the balcony bar for certain meetings. However, I think you should continue to pretend you don't speak Spanish; it makes things much simpler. Agreed?"

I pursed my lips in thought. "Are you sure you want me there, now that you know I can follow what's going on?" I realized that part of me – the part that was uncomfortable with the hairs I was splitting about where my job as an undercover cop ended and my private life began – wanted him to say no, no I can't have someone spying on my nefarious dealings with the local criminal underworld. After all, I would no longer have to feel conflicted about not reporting Ivan's activities to DiMarco if I was no longer party to valuable insider information.

"I still want you there," he assured me. "But this is a decision you have to make for yourself." He reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm not a doctor or an architect or a stock broker, Lex," he said quietly. "I'm certain you've figured out the kind of work I do, and the kind of people I work for, and with. You need to decide for yourself whether you can live with that."

I hesitated. "And if I can't?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Then I guess I'll have to kill you." My eyes bulged and he laughed. "I'm just joking," he said and planted a quick kiss on my hairline. "If you want to stay out of it, that's your choice. You'll work your usual station at Asylum, not in the private box, no matter what happens between us. If I can convince you, we can continue to see each other outside of work, but I won't force you into my business, or make you privy to more than you're comfortable with. Being in this world, even just on the periphery of it, isn't a small thing to ask, I know."

"Then why are you asking me? Why would you trust me with something that could get you into, I suspect, a lot of trouble if I talked? You've only known me for a few weeks – why on earth would you take this kind of risk?" I searched his eyes, wanting to see inside of him the way he seemed to see inside of me.