The Getaway Driver Job

Melanie was in Ophelia’s office, drinking tea and attempting to pry all the information she could out of Ophelia about the man she’d been seeing.

“He’s way too hot for you,” Melanie teased. “You’ll have no idea what to do with him, then you’ll have to call me and it’ll be all awkward.”

“Melly, I’ve never made a habit of dating unattractive men,” Ophelia argued. “You just never meet them.”

Someone knocked on the door, which Melanie reached back to open without moving from her chair. It was a public college; they were lucky to have both offices and doors.

“Dr. Mason?” the courier asked. “I have a delivery.”

“What kind?” Melanie asked. Ophelia came around from behind the desk to sign the man’s roster.

“He doesn’t know,” Ophelia chided. “He’s the delivery man, he doesn’t get paid to know what’s in the box.”

“She’s right,” the courier confirmed. “We’re not allowed to look.”

“What a pity,” Melanie sighed. Ophelia held up a $5 bill; the delivery man shook his head.

“Already taken care of,” he assured her. “Have a good day.”

“Who do I ask for if we need something else delivered?” Melanie asked. The man grinned and extracted a card from his shirt pocket before he departed. Ophelia resumed her seat behind the desk, the box in front of her.

“Who’s it from?” Melanie asked. “Is it from your hot boyfriend? Is it something embarrassing?”

Ophelia grinned before she slit the tape with a letter opener. She flipped open the top of the box to reveal a smaller box, which held a pink rose snow globe, a set of car keys, and a folded note.

“He sent you a set of car keys?” Melanie exclaimed. She was so shocked and impressed that her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. “What did you do to him?”

“I mean, date things,” Ophelia stammered. “Went to a bar to watch a hockey game with some of his friends, met him by accident downtown one Saturday, had dinner at his place. We had a picnic one afternoon. The usual stuff.” she answered vaguely, unable to figure this out either. She opened the note.

Melanie was not at all satisfied with her answer.

“Nobody sends you car keys after all that,” she pointed out correctly. “So it had to be something else. What did you do after you left the thing at the place that night?”

“Which thing at which place?”

“The mixer thing,” Melanie clarified. “Don’t tell me you just went home. There had to be more. So he scared the shit out of those two new guys in the Physics department and then you…”

“Oh. I took him for chili dogs and shakes, then took him to Powell’s,” Ophelia said as she reread the note.

“You had sex with your brand new boyfriend in Powell’s? That’s an interesting departure for you.”

“I read him the first four chapters of Wind, Sand, and Stars, then he kissed me good night and left town for like a week and a half.” It had been eleven days. Not that she had counted.

“And he liked that.” Melanie was far beyond skeptical; she had only glimpsed Eliot briefly, but she wouldn’t have picked him as a fan of Ophelia’s favorite literature. Not if they were both dressed, anyway. On the other hand, Ophelia’s Sherlock Holmes look had been pretty cute, and there were dozens of men who would have tolerated Powell’s when she looked like that.

“Ophelia,” the note read. “Here are my car keys. It’s parked where your Jeep was this morning. I’ll see you tonight. PS—Devil is staying with some friends of mine this weekend. He wants you to know he’s safe, happy, and will be fine until you get back. See you tonight. E”

“Huh,” she said, scanning through the note again. “That’s…ominous.”

“Let me see,” Melanie said. She was nearly bursting with excitement. “Gimme.”

Ophelia passed the note across the desk. Melanie read it twice before raising an impressed glance to her colleague.

“Should I go?” Ophelia asked. “I have no packed clothes, no idea where I’m going, and no idea how long I’ll be gone. Plus it’s possible he’s kidnapped my dog and stolen my Jeep.”

“Write down what you’re wearing right now,” Melanie suggested. “That way I won’t have to remember when the news shows up because you’ve disappeared.”

“I have no idea why we’re friends,” Ophelia sighed.

“Call me if it’s really kinky,” Melanie replied, fully aware of why they were friends. “And don’t think you’re going to get out of telling me about this picnic business.”

As promised, Ophelia found Eliot’s car parked where she’d left her Jeep this morning. She opened the door cautiously, peering in to see if someone was lurking in the back before she sat in the driver’s seat, no questions answered. There was a small white box on top of the steering column. It contained one small device.

“Put this in your ear,” the note said.

“You are positive you won’t be able to hear what we say?” Eliot asked, examining the contents of the box.

“Eliot, I don’t care what you say to her,” Hardison repeated. “I won’t be listening to whatever you two talk about.”

Eliot threw an arm around Hardison’s shoulder. The hacker clawed at it, fighting for air.

“If you listen in on me, you get what you deserve,” he growled. “If you listen in on her, I’ll rip out your heart and feed it to you.” With that, he slapped his coworker on the back and walked away into the crowd.

“You coulda just said thank you!” Hardison shouted after him.

She put the piece in her ear, wondering if there was a power switch, then reached for the seatbelt. Finally, she pushed the start button. The car roared to life with a satisfying rumble.

“Hey Princess,” he said softly.

“Jones?”

“Unless you’re dating another guy who drives an orange Challenger,” he joked. He’d checked: she didn’t even know anyone else in the state who owned one. He thought checking on what her friends, neighbors, and associates drove was perfectly normal and reasonable. Sophie assured him it was neither.

“This is a weird way to kidnap someone,” she noted. “Is…that what’s happening here?”

“Of course not,” he said. “You’re driving.”

She could have argued, but that wasn’t going to advance anything.

“Where am I going?” she asked. “Are you going to be my air traffic control?”

“I’ve got some other things to finish up,” he said. “Check your screen.”

The display in the console flared to life, a blue dot showing her current position. She pressed the Go button, which caused a map to trace itself across the screen.

“Are you sure this will work?” she asked doubtfully. “I won’t just end up driving around the outskirts of Portland all weekend?”

“I’d never let that happen, Princess,” he said. “Drive safe. Talk to you later. But I’m here if you need to talk to me, like if the map is wrong.”

The drive was a nice one, and her phone connected with the car almost immediately. She sang along to her favorite songs, completely forgetting that Eliot could probably hear her. He could, and found her music choices as interesting and as inexplicable as he found everything else about her. But he didn’t interrupt.

As she turned onto the street of her eventual destination, he came back.

“Pull up to the entrance,” he instructed. “There’s a valet. You can let him have the car.”

“I’m really not sure I want to,” she said. “It has heated seats. I love it.”

He smiled; all the indications were that she had very much enjoyed the trip.

“You can have it again, then. But you need to give it up for now, okay?”

“I suppose,” she said ruefully. “What is this place?”

“You’ll see,” he answered. “Talk to you later.”

She got out of the car, reluctantly surrendering the keys to the man who appeared at her door. She tried to pass him the same $5 the delivery man had refused.

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s taken care of.”

“Oh. Okay.” She looked around, not sure what to do next.

“The front door is open,” he said gesturing to the massive mahogany slab. “You’re expected.”

She ascended the wide brick steps to the front door, which led to a spectacular entrance hall that ended in a grand, carpeted staircase. The house looked like it had been built by someone who was overly impressed by the design of Twelve Oaks in Gone With the Wind; she suspected that’s why Eliot had chosen it. On the shiny antique entrance table, she found a note with her name on it, and an old-fashioned key beneath it.

“Room 213 is ready for you,” the note read.

All the doors to the rooms on the first floor were closed, and none of them were numbered. She climbed the massive staircase to the second floor. Room 213 was the first door; the key fitted into the lock with a satisfyingly heavy click. The room on the other side was as plush as she could have imagined, with deep rugs over gleaming wood floors, an enormous four-poster bed, and a window seat that looked out on a damp garden. Her exploration led her to an immense bathroom and a claw-foot tub filled with hot water and bubbles. A wooden tray across the end of the tub held a glass of champagne, a plate of cheese and crackers, and a note: “Relax.” Someone else had been in the room recently; the mirrors were still covered in steam.

After closing the door to the bathroom, which she felt a little ridiculous doing, she shed her clothes and slid into the tub; the water was warm and smelled wonderful, and the snacks were tempting. She realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. She leaned her head back on the rim of the tub.

“What if I fall asleep?” she asked.

“I’ll make sure you wake up,” Eliot answered. She had all but forgotten he was in her ear, which almost caused her to splash hot soapy water all over the tile floor. “But there’s plenty of time if you want to.”

She looked around again, just to make sure she was alone, then pinned her hair up and out of the way and propped her feet up on the end of the tub. Her toes just barely peeked out from under the bubbles.

During the time she would normally have been freaking out at the lack of clothes or plans or even another visible person, she luxuriated in the vintage tub. Instead of worrying about where he might have put Devil, she lazed in the hot water and nibbled on cheese and crackers. This would be fine, she was sure.

The mountain of bubbles was beginning to subside when he spoke again.

“You awake, Princess? Time to get dressed.”

“Get dressed in what?” she asked. “The clothes I wore to work?”

She could hear him smile at that, and while she was glad he was amused, it didn’t solve her clothing dilemma.

“If you want,” he chuckled. “But I think you can find something else to wear if you look around.”

She stepped out of the tub after pulling the stopper and shrugged into the fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door. It felt a little like wearing a Muppet; she’d have to look for one for her own place later. It was unbelievably soft, plus it smelled like the citrusy scent that pervaded the bathroom. Cautiously, in case someone else was out there, she opened the door to the bedroom. Now there was a beautiful pink dress and everything that went with it on the bed. Including fancy underwear plus a garter belt and stockings. She stared for a long moment, trying not to overreact; there was nothing she loved as well as pretty clothes, unless it was pretty underwear and someone who appreciated the effort. And clearly, if he’d gone to this much trouble, he was bound to like the overall effect, right? Assuming, she thought, everything fit. That thought caused her to panic just a little.

Unnervingly, everything was a perfect fit. She twirled in front of the mirror to make the skirt flare out, then did it again just to watch it. She went into her purse for some touch-up makeup, and found that she’d left a lipstick in there apparently the last time she’d used it. The color was exactly what she would have picked, had she been given the option. Before she left the room, she looked for shoes. Finding none, she assumed they wouldn’t be leaving, but checked in the mirror to make sure her seams were straight. No need to go out with improperly applied hosiery, after all.

“Where do I go next?” she asked, hoping she would hear him in the house when he spoke into her earpiece.

“Downstairs to the open door,” he instructed. “You can’t miss it.”

“Will you be there?”

“Wait for me, Princess.” Wherever he was, she didn’t hear him beyond the voice in her ear.

She padded down the stairs, this time taking in the grand chandelier above the staircase. From this distance, she couldn’t tell if it was an antique or an extremely good reproduction, but it was majestic either way. There was now one door on the first floor standing open. It led to a letter-perfect reproduction of a Victorian library with dark paneling, deep leather chairs, books for days, and the perfect window seat. There was even a giant globe with sea monsters on it. She explored the shelves for a while before pulling a copy of one of her favorite retellings of a fairy tale and taking that to the window seat, where she curled up to read it.

She was settled in the book when she heard the doors in the back of the room open. It was true she hadn’t recognized the panels as doors when she came in, but she’d know the sound of opening pocket doors anywhere. He realized too late that he should have known she’d recognize the sound too. He had the shortest of moments to appreciate the picture she made before she looked up, surprised. He didn’t know what she might have been caught reading at another time, but the way she pressed the open book protectively against her chest made him think it had been rude, embarrassing, banned, or possibly all three.

“Jones!” Fortunately, she looked glad to see him, not completely traumatized by any number of things he could have found an easier way to accomplish. “What on earth are we doing?”

“Having a weekend,” he said. “You’re off tomorrow and you’re off Monday, right?”

“I am.” He had checked her schedule and the school’s schedule to make sure she’d be off, and was quite proud when he went to Sophie and told her the information he’d found himself.

“It is wonderful that you’ve found her schedule, Eliot,” she murmured. “You’re acting like a stalker.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just ask her?!”

“It’s called communication, Eliot. It’s the latest thing from Europe. You really don’t have to ambush your girlfriend into doing things with you. I’m sure she’d be quite pleased to find you have planned something before someone drops her out of an unmarked van in front of a strange house.”

“You think I should let her drive?” His question was so genuine she almost shouted.

In the manner of most slackers (which Ophelia called herself a lot, despite copious evidence to the contrary), she generally arranged her affairs so she was off on Fridays. The Monday off was a bonus. He had the time off, and felt like it could best be used holing up with her somewhere cozy with a lot of books. Finding someone to take her dog, then explaining the entire endeavor to the dog, had taken more time than anything else. He was looking forward to a few quiet days where he wouldn’t get punched and hopefully she’d be as happy as she had previously claimed to spend time in his company.

“I thought it might be nice to spend it together. Here. Together.” He watched her expression for a minute. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“It sounds like a great idea,” she said. “But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

He frequently forgot that she had no idea the depth of his feelings, but was jarred into remembering whenever she found his behavior bemusing.

“I finished reading your book while I was gone,” he said, apparently at random. “You were right: I really enjoyed it.”

She closed her book then, realizing if there was a move to be made, she needed to be the one to make it. He seemed to be stuck halfway across the room. She noticed that he didn’t specify which book he’d read, either, and at this point he’d borrowed about three of them. She was glad for him to take them and read them, since that was the point of a book anyway. She just found it amusing that he didn’t name which one he’d liked or finished.

“I’m glad. I hoped you would.” She rose from the window seat and shook out her dress. “What do you think?”

“I thought of you as soon as I saw it,” he said. He had. In Paris. Where he’d forced Sophie to detour on the way back from their most recent job.

“Why am I here, Eliot?” she asked. “I love Paris, but you could have at least asked me.”

“I need help,” he answered. “What’s that fancy dress place you like?”

“You have to do better than that. Are you thinking of something for yourself? More formal? Or daywear?”

“For Phee,” he growled. “A dress for Phee. Does this have to be a whole thing, Sophie?”

“It’s going to be a much bigger thing than you realize, Buster. Give me a minute. I’ll make some calls.”

Eliot Spencer in a Parisian couturier was not an experience anyone involved was ever likely to forget, although many would try.

“Does it fit okay? Do you like it?”

She twirled around for him, which he appreciated a lot more than he could currently say.

“I love it,” she answered.

“You didn’t like the shoes?”

“There weren’t any,” she said. He said something that sounded like “Dammit, Parker!” before he came to where she was to take her hands.

“I assumed we were staying in,” she explained, “so it doesn’t matter that there aren’t shoes.” The shoes she had worn to work were absolutely not going to complement this outfit if he had made plans somewhere else for tonight.

“There should have been,” he said, starting to get flustered. She put a finger against his lips.

“It’s not a problem,” she promised. “I prefer being barefoot.”

“When we find them, will you wear this outfit again?”

She smiled, which drew his attention back to her lipstick; the glittery, shiny pink was the perfect color. Since she hadn’t known about any of this until today, he didn’t know how she managed. And he didn’t know how she’d react to him picking an outfit for her, much less just leaving it in front of her with no explanation. The way she pressed against him, just a little, was reassuring.

“Of course I will,” she said, sliding her hands up his sweater to lace her fingers behind his neck. He put his arms around her waist. There was definitely a peach scent coming from her person; to distract himself from exploring where the aroma might be coming from, he gently tugged the earpiece from her ear and dropped it into his jacket pocket.

“Did this work okay?” he asked. “It was something I thought maybe we could try. If you didn’t hate it.”

“It was nice,” she said. “Does it have a range?” She wasn’t sure what else to ask, but since he’d provided the earpiece it only seemed polite. She was also fairly sure they’d both rather explore some topic other than technology, because she felt that wasn’t really capturing his attention. Indeed, he was already lost in the idea of taking her to a dress shop in Paris just to see what kind of dress she would choose. And that one bookstore he’d heard about for years. The old one.

“Yeah, it does,” he said suddenly, catching the tail end of her question. “What do you think of this library. Is it okay?”

“It’s great! I found another of my favorite books here. Do you want to hear some of it?” she asked, hoping to prompt him into action.

“Dinner!” he said, suddenly reminded of what they were supposed to be doing. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she confessed. “And something smells amazing. Did you make it?”

He took her hand and led her out of the library across the hallway and into a blue damask dining room where the formal table was already set for two. She’d seen tables like this her entire life; an ambitious hostess could seat 14 people around it, as long as those 14 people were in the mood to be reasonably well acquainted with each other at the beginning of the meal and intimately familiar by dessert.

“I may have helped a little,” he admitted bashfully. She took it as given he’d bossed the kitchen staff around all afternoon, and the survivors would prepare whatever meals they could until there was nobody left in the kitchen. He would have been surprised at the accuracy of her assessment. “You can tell me if you’d like something else.”

He pulled out her chair before taking his own, which faced her, then removing the fancy silver dome from her plate. She leaned over an inhaled appreciatively, her eyes closed in pleasure.

“It’s something I whipped up,” he said. “Just meat and potatoes.”

“It looks wonderful,” she assured him. “What’s in these potatoes? They smell fabulous.”

“It’s a secret recipe,” he warned her. “So don’t go around telling everyone it’s manchego cheese. Fresh. Not that stuff out of a plastic bottle.”

“They can torture me,” she promised. “I’ll never tell. And I won’t leave any evidence, either. Your secret is safe.”

“You want to know if there’s more?” he grinned.

“I absolutely do,” she replied. “You could never make these at your place. I’d just stand in the kitchen and eat them right out of the bowl. It would be undignified.”

For a man who’d been around as much as he had, he still momentarily froze at the mental image of her standing in his kitchen licking a cooking spoon. She grinned to herself and returned to her excellent meal, giving him time to contemplate or recover, whichever he chose. Either way, she expected that sooner or later, he’d make this dish at his place. It was something to look forward to for both of them.

“Some wine?” he offered belatedly. True to Hardison’s warning, she rarely ever drank wine, and even more rarely looked at a wine menu. He was pretty sure if she had any at her place at all, she’d received it as a gift. “It’s red.”

“Sure,” she answered with marked hesitation.

“I picked it myself. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she smiled. “I just don’t know very much about wine, and I think I’m not very good at choosing it either. And I definitely can’t talk about it.” She glanced at the glass as he filled it. “Except to say something ridiculous like ‘isn’t that a pretty color?’, which isn’t helpful.”

He filled his own glass and considered.

“You’re in luck,” he answered. “Because I know a lot of things about wine. You want me to tell you about it?”

“I absolutely do. Why do you know things about wine?”

“I’m a chef,” he reminded her. “And it’s a lousy chef who can’t recommend something to enhance his dinners.”

“I had literally never thought about it that way,” she admitted. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

She could make a story about stopping for gas sound like an adventure to a wild yet exotic planet; he relished the challenge of having her hang on his words for a change.

“That was so good,” she said when they finished the meal and a delightful bottle of wine. “I should be embarrassed; there’s almost no need to wash the plate.”

“I’m glad you like it, Princess,” he answered. “There’s dessert too, but we can have it later. I mean, we don’t have to have it right now.”

“Sounds great,” she said. It would be rude, she thought, to ask what they were doing next, although she did wonder.

“Back to the library?” he asked. “Unless you have something else you’d like to do.”

“You don’t even have to try to convince me to go back to the library,” she said. “I would move in there if I could.”

Which is what he’d hoped she’d say. In the house he was already planning for them, he had planned to install a giant library for her. Just like in that movie, where the guy gave the girl a library. He thought maybe there were animals involved, but wasn’t completely sure. She had talked about it a few times; maybe it was a cartoon?

They crossed the foyer again to the library, which had been redecorated in their absence.

“Seriously,” she said. “How are you making this happen?”

“It’s cool, right?” For the right amount of money, he had discovered that they could be here for hours without seeing or hearing another person, and yet the rooms would be reset to his exact directions.

Her glance took in the roaring fire in what had previously been an empty fireplace, and the pile of fluffy rugs and inviting floor pillows in front of it that hadn’t been there before either.

“Is it ghosts? It’s ghosts, right? Because real people could be watching from anywhere and that would be phenomenally weird. And a little creepy.”

He kissed her on the shoulder and pulled her back against him.

“You can trust me, Princess: nobody’s watching.”

“Are you completely sure?”

“I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t kid you about this, but are you worried about what someone might see?”

“A little,” she conceded. “Mostly because I’m too old to use the excuse ‘I don’t know how that video got on youtube, my precious little students.’”

“You won’t end up on youtube,” he chuckled, tightening his grip on her. “And if you do, just tell me and I’ll take care of it.”

“Pantsless in Brazil?”

“If they’re lucky.”

“What did you have in mind tonight, Jones?” He bent to kiss her on the neck, then let her go so he could retrieve a book from one of the shelves. Since he’d put it there before she even arrived, he was able to put out his hand and close his eyes, certain that he’d pull the right book and hopefully impress her with the illusion. It was probably cheating, but he found he didn’t have that much of a problem with it.

“Let’s see how lucky we are,” he teased. She grinned at his surprised look. “Secondhand Lions. Heard of it?”

“I never have,” she answered, reaching for it. He held it behind him, which didn’t work as well as he hoped. She circled him like a shark around a recently-speargunned swimmer. “Let me see.”

He turned counter to the direction she was moving around him, moving the book from hand to hand to keep it out of her grasp.

“Listen,” he laughed, “there’s a perfectly good version of this weekend where I blindfold you right now and don’t take it off until Monday.” She had reached through his arms, trying for the book that way; he locked his elbows, effectively pinning her hands in place. She blinked at him for a long moment as they stood nose to nose. The smell of peaches was much fainter, but still there.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” she admitted.

To be honest, he wasn’t really sure either.

“But I’m positive I can’t read through a blindfold,” she breathed.

“I can,” he answered, which didn’t clarify anything for either of them, although it opened an avenue of questions he’d really rather not answer right now or maybe ever. He could actually feel the evening careening from sexy to chaotic. “I mean, I can read if you’re blindfolded.”

“Oh.”

“But then I can’t tell if you like the book or not. So maybe later.” He saw her realize that had not been a question, and also saw that she didn’t recoil from the idea. Since she had shit for a poker face in his experience so far, he let himself believe she at least didn’t hate it.

“Maybe,” she answered, knowing that he hadn’t required a response.

He was just human, and she’d been standing so close this entire conversation; without letting her hands free, he kissed her like he’d wanted to since she got in the car this afternoon. His memory of their first kiss was still a hazy, burning memory that he couldn’t quite catch, but since she’d come to his bed the first time, he felt like she was kissing on a completely different level. And it was a level he hoped to explore to its far limits. Her response led him to believe she was a willing participant.

“Do you mind?” he asked hoarsely.

“Mind what?” There were so many possibilities: the book, the kiss, the idea of dessert later.

“I wanted to make it nice,” he explained. “I mean, I don’t want you to think all I wanted was to roll around in a big bed with you all weekend.”

“But you do, right?” She was teasing him.

“A lot,” he confirmed. “But you can back out if you want to.”

“Sorry Jones,” she chuckled. “You might have talked me out of it without the books and the clothes and the potatoes and the car. Next time maybe you’ll consider all the possible consequences of your actions.”

Part of his brain noted the order in which she had appreciated his efforts; the rest of it worked out a fast plan to get them to the floor without either body slamming or dragging, both of which would set the wrong tone. Probably, it would impact her agreeability to his entire plan too. She settled the question by grabbing his hand and twirling under his arm, then sinking gracefully to the floor in the circle of her skirt. She extended a hand up to him and smiled; it was an invitation he would never resist. He settled onto one elbow so he could watch her face while she read.

It wasn’t long (he didn’t know how long) before he could feel the hot Texas sun on his face as she read and hear the old men arguing as they shot fish in the pond when he heard the discreet tap at the door. His head snapped up at the sound.

“Is something wrong?” She hadn’t heard anything.

“Dessert is here,” he announced. “It was a very distinct knock,” he explained to her puzzled look. He kissed her hand before guiding it to the page. “Hold our place.”

She pulled a pillow behind her into a more comfortable position as he fetched back dessert, which turned out to be a tray of tiny fruit tarts and a bottle of white wine. The tarts were still warm, and in a very few moments, the sweet smell surrounded them.

“Try a white?” he suggested.

“Tell me more.” She nibbled on a fruit tart and sipped at her wine while he held forth on both. He wasn’t sure how long he would have kept talking had she not swiped a tart from the tray and held it up to him.

“I’m talking too much?” He didn’t bother not licking her fingers.

“It’s just that I’m going to end up eating all of these, and you’ll miss them,” she replied. “Which would be a shame, because they’re really good.”

“We can probably get some more,” he grinned. “Especially if you like them that much.”

She held up another one, which he accepted readily. Eating straight from her fingers freed up his own hands, one of which was currently exploring its way up her stockinged calf. He had correctly guessed that she would look amazing in silk stockings and also that she would like them enough to wear them. He had figured after he saw her mixer outfit that they weren’t completely outside her scope; still, he had been uncharacteristically nervous about presenting them with no explanation.

His hand eventually found its way past her knee; she kissed him with the taste of wine and fresh strawberries still on her lips.

“Are you waiting for a signal to ditch the library and go back upstairs?” she murmured.

“Depends on if that’s it,” he answered, which caused her to barely break their kiss when she laughed.

“I meant from someone else,” she chuckled. “Were you waiting for another stealth knock?”

“That’s not–,” he began. “I mean, if you–…”

“I feel like we’d get more accomplished upstairs,” she interrupted gently. “And you surely didn’t hunt down a bed like that to ignore it.”

She would never be able to accurately describe how they went from reclining on the floor to standing upright while maintaining a kiss like that. He lifted her carefully, her toes barely grazing the floor, and carried her towards the door. She reached out and grabbed a volume from the shelf without looking away from him.

“Love poems?” he asked.

“The Seven Pillars of Wisdom,” she answered. He would never understand how she did that, either the trick with selecting a book without looking at it, or taking a benign-sounding book and setting his brain absolutely on fire with it.

“I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes,” he promised. “Don’t get started without me.”

A short fluffy nightgown and a lacy peignoir awaited her this time. The part of her brain occupied by a voice that sounded distinctly like Melanie viewed the garments with a lascivious smile, while another part insisted she was in way over her head with Eliot Spencer and was going to end up either embarrassing them both or doing something she regretted. The part that sounded like Melanie won out, because of course it did. She didn’t remove the hose or the garter belt, but she did hang the pretty dress carefully in the armoire.

This room had been reset while she was gone, too. There were candles (electric, because there’s nothing less sexy than having to call the fire department because the drapes caught on fire), a fire in the smaller fireplace, and the sheets had been turned down. There was also champagne chilling in a bucket along with two glasses, plus a plate with chocolate covered strawberries.

She was still standing in the middle of the room, trying to decide how to arrange herself, when she heard him coming up the stairs. In a moment, he was at the door and in another he was inside it and completely unable to take his eyes off her. Certainly he had picked all of this with her in mind, but the way she brought it to life just reinforced the idea that she really was magic.

“You’re just in time,” she said. Seeing that he had temporarily lost the ability to speak, she continued, “Damascus won’t liberate itself.”

It was very late that night or very early the next morning before either of them got to sleep.

Even if he hadn’t had everything planned to second this weekend, he would have been awake before she was. He didn’t sleep much, and she very much did. Her soft, incoherent murmur when he left the bed kept him smiling the entire time he cooked breakfast, and it was his pleasure to kiss her awake with a tray of pancakes, bacon, and mimosas.

“Mr. Spencer!” she exclaimed in a mock-southern accent. “I do believe you are trying to get me intoxicated! And at this hour of the morning!”

He grinned. “Is it working? Because if this won’t do it, I am wiling to try Bloody Marys,” he answered, then laughed at the way she scrunched up her face.

“I don’t understand the appeal of tomato juice,” said the girl who had tomato season marked on her calendar. “And the addition of celery is a war crime.”

“Noted,” he said. “Dig in, there’s plenty.”

She padded to the bathroom to retrieve the fuzzy robe for herself before coming back and arranging some pillows on which she could lean and eat.

“Do you want to tell me where my dog is?” she asked. “Because if you put him in a kennel for a weekend, he’ll tell me.” She was teasing; she didn’t for a single second think he would have checked her sweet baby into an anonymous kennel then walked away from him.

“I have a friend from the service who has a ranch with cattle, and a bunch of his own dogs. Has he ever herded cattle before?”

“We were so close to ‘herd of cows’,” she laughed. “But no, he hasn’t. I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it though. It sounds like his ideal weekend. Will he be putting your friend out?”

“He said it was find, and I think he won’t even notice after while,” Eliot answered. “But he said he’d keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t get hurt and said he’d get fed the same way his dogs do.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Then I don’t need to worry about him. What are we doing today?”

As if on cue, the rain started outside.

“I checked the forecast,” Eliot said. “It’s going to be miserable! Like, the entire day! Nothing but rain. We’ll have to stay inside all day!”

“Oh please not the briar patch,” she grinned. “Then I guess we’ll have to have indoor fun today.”

“And then tomorrow is supposed to be nice. Do you know how to ride a horse?”

“I…not really,” she admitted. “I had a friend at school who’s family had horses, and sometimes we’d spend the weekend at her place and take horses out. But that was a while ago, and we just rode her dad’s retired horses around her property.”

“Retired race horses?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, frowning in concentration as she tried to remember. “They weren’t racehorses, but they probably had been show horses. Anyway, everyone was really sure we wouldn’t get thrown off and left in a field somewhere, and that’s why we got to ride them. We were also generally unsupervised, and they wouldn’t have let us out all day on unsafe horses.”

Eliot had to almost physically tamp down his reaction to hearing that, not only had her parents put her in boarding school, but that her friends’ parents hadn’t provided much in the way of watching out for her either. The fact that she wasn’t feral shocked him; any discipline she had was self-discipline. He couldn’t even imagine trying to attempt to be the grown-up in her own life.

He yanked himself back into the present just in time to see the sly look on her face.

“Go ahead, Peaches. I can tell you want to ask.”

She swallowed a mouthful of pancakes before asking in the most hopeful tone he’d ever heard: “Does that mean riding boots?”

It almost made him sorry to be spending all of today indoors. Almost.

Very late that night, he nudged her awake.

“Jones?”

“Have you ever read Scheherazade?”

“Depends,” she answered cautiously.

The possible ramifications of that question didn’t cross his mind even while he was in the middle of the conversation.

“What could that possibly depend on?” he asked, confused even though he had started this.

“I haven’t been counting, so I don’t know if I should be worried that you’re asking me that before we’ve known each other 1,001 nights. I can stop reading these stories at different places, really amp things up, if you think you’re going to behead me.” She spoke for a living, and could modulate her tone to any circumstance; too late he realized there was a nervous undertone she couldn’t hide.

“Hardison plays the violin,” he mumbled. “He can play the solo from that. I think I get it now. You want to hear it?”

“This can definitely wait until another time, right? Because as much as I’m a fan of Rimsky-Korsakov, it seems like an odd time to call Hardison.” Which was true, as far as she knew.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he understood the king better than he ever had now, and far from having her beheaded, he wanted to keep his storyteller safe.

“Yeah, Peaches. It can wait. I just wondered.”

“But if you’re a fan of classical music,” she said, leaning across him to where her phone was charging on the nightstand. “Maybe I can recommend some pieces?”

The sun was coming up by the time they got to sleep.

Monday afternoon found them at her place, unpacking more new clothes than she had ever had all at once and discussing their agendas for the coming week. Hers contained a lot of lesson plans; his contained a lot of falsehoods.

When someone knocked on the door, Eliot went to open it, waving that she should stay back. She followed him down the stairs anyway, because this could only be his rancher friend returning Devil.

The dog bounded through the door, radiantly happy and surprisingly clean for a dog who’d been playing ranch hand all weekend.

“Devil!” she enthused as Eliot greeted his friend. “Did you have a good time, my sweet baby?” Devil almost knocked her over with his elated greeting. Had he been able to talk, he would have told her that this weekend was the best, and it was also the best to see her now, and finally the best that Eliot was here too. He ran between them, alternately licking Ophelia on the face and barking his “Hey! I know him!” bark that he used mostly for Eliot.

“Did you thank you friend for me?” she asked after Eliot closed the door without introducing them. “He hasn’t smelled this good in weeks.”

“He said to tell you it was a pleasure, and to let Devil come out any time he wants,” Eliot answered.

Ophelia got a thoughtful look on her face, pondering before she looked back at Eliot. He almost blacked out from the power of her gaze.

“So that means we have additional weekend free time,” she mused. “Fancy that.”