FriendorFoe (8 page)

He bumped into the desk. Clumsy and built like a Mac truck, no doubt.

Agnes snarled silently and bounced on her good foot. She could spring halfway across the room from here, but landing worried her.

The goon slid around the side and managed to miss tripping over the crutch.

She could hear him breathing now, low and relaxed, used to this sort of thing. Her nerves lit up like candles and her heart thrummed inside her ribcage.

The goon stepped forward.

Agnes tested her knees. She could see his silhouette, dark on dark, against the window. More than that, she could sense him there, standing brazen as hell in the middle of her damned gym.

He stepped forward again.

She growled and launched directly at where she hoped to find his midsection. He grunted at the impact. Agnes scored a direct hit, but as his body gave and rolled backward, two arms clamped around her waist and pulled her down with him. She landed across his chest.

He didn't struggle.

When Agnes pushed against the floor and tried to sit up, his hands released her. She stopped halfway, propped up on one elbow and squinted at him.

"I've missed you." A deep chuckle shook his chest.

"Simon!" His hands found her arms and traced along them to her face. Agnes shivered at the contact and the heat of his body against hers took on a whole different perspective. She leaned in and let his palms pull her down until his lips brushed against her mouth. The touch sent a wave of heat ripping through her nervous system. She found his shirt, grabbed a handful of fabric and pulled their bodies together.

Simon moaned and pressed the kiss deeper.

His tongue slid between her lips and Agnes opened her mouth. Her body trembled and Simon's hands found her waist again, wrapped tightly around her back and held her to his chest. His tongue danced around hers until she couldn't help but wriggle against him.

He paused and pulled back, winding one hand into her hair. "Agnes."

"This is breaking and entering. You know that?"

"Can you forgive me?" He ran his other hand up her side, lingering alongside one breast.

"Mmmm maybe. It took you three days."

"You didn't leave a forwarding address." His hand moved forward and his fingers traced a circle over her bra.

"Can you forgive
me
?" She gasped as the circle got smaller.

"I'm in love with you, Agnes."

She closed her eyes, even in the dark, and let the words settle over her. Simon's fingers did a wicked little tap dance around her nipple. "I've loved you since I was a little girl, Simon."

He sat up, pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her neck. "Now," he said. "We just have to sort out this whole Rutherford, Maxwell thing."

A shot of fear grabbed Agnes by the spine. He might have waited, she thought, to bring it up. Whatever happened between them, Agnes didn't want to lose him before they even got out of the gate. She held her breath and pressed her eyes tight. "How do you feel about a long distance relationship?"

"I don't like that plan," Simon sounded far too cheerful about it.

"You never do like my plans," Agnes said quietly. Did he have a better one?

"I'd rather you came back with me."

"I can't."

"You can if you come back as a Maxwell."

She wished she could see his face, stared hard at the dark patch that could be wearing any expression. "Are you proposing to me?"

"Marry me, Agnes."

"Oh, Simon." She laughed then, let the motion bring her head down to rest on his shoulder. "You're so damned cute."

* * * *

The comm unit pulsed inside his jacket pocket. Simon reached across the backseat and retrieved it. He'd ignored it longer than he should have. The button flashed below the small, round screen. He pressed it and waited.

"Maximus!" The chief got it right on the first try.

"Sorry, Chief. This really isn't a good time."

"This can't wait! Wait. What did you say?"

"I just got married." Simon grinned across the limo at Agnes. She lifted her champagne flute and gave him a look that almost made him toss the comm back to the floor.

"You did? I don't. Well, congratulations."

"Simon," Simon said. "Simon got married, I mean."

"Right."

For a moment no one spoke. Simon raised his eyebrows at his bride. She smiled and sipped her drink and the button flashed red reflections all over the leather interior.

"So." Simon shrugged. "What can't wait?"

"Mayor Lee's been kidnapped."

"What?" Simon stiffened. A knot of dread clumped in his stomach and he recalled the flash of a hostile expression. "The driver?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Have they left a message?"

"Yeah."

"Show me."

His comm screen flickered and a familiar face appeared. The features twisted in rage. The chief explained while the suspicious limo driver outlined his demands.

"He calls himself Furious."

"Nice."

"I don't know, Maximus, I think this guy is big time. He's after more than tearing down a few buildings."

Simon nodded. A big time villain. He'd sensed as much when he met the man. "Do you think he's working with The Spartan?"

"No." The answer came from inside the car. "Spaulding never had those kinds of connections." Agnes shook her head slowly. "He wanted them, mind you, but he never pulled it off."

"Maybe he finally did?" The chief suggested.

"I don't know," Simon said. "I don't like it." A shiver of excitement raced through him. A big time villain. He looked sideways at Agnes and grinned. The woman of his dreams and a super villain in one day. "I'm on my way back. Don't worry chief, I'll--"

Beside him, Agnes cleared her throat. She gave him a different sort of look.

"I mean
we'll
take care of it," he said. "We're on our way."

About the Author

Though she always held aspirations to be a writer, Frances originally chose to pursue a career in visual arts. Her stories, however, had other plans for her. By the time she entered her thirties, they were no longer content existing solely in her head. Compelled to free them, she set aside her easel and began to write in earnest

She currently resides smack in the center of Washington State with her husband and two children. When not writing, she dabbles in insane things like puppetry, belly dance and playing the ukulele. She collects rocks, and is a firm believer in good wine, fine chocolate and dangerous men.

Her short fiction has appeared in Alternative Coordinates magazine.

More information on Frances and her writing can be found on her website.