The airport was a small, modern, glass and steel structure with a single runway.
We got separated by security, and I watched anxiously from a distance as Sebastian was questioned and patted down. It wasn’t until he was able to persuade them to look at his US Marine ID card, that they finally let him go.
He smiled as he walked over to me. “Guess I’ve got a criminal face or something.”
“I could have told you that,” I laughed. “I’m just glad they didn’t get one of the female security guards or you’d never have got away.”
He rolled his eyes.
The flight was short, less than two hours and we were back in Geneva, carless, bikeless and sunless.
The city was much cooler than the southern Mediterranean, but I felt colder inside, too. Our time together could now be counted in hours.
We took a taxi to Sebastian’s attic-like room; I hovered by the door as he threw back the shutters, letting the thin, gray, northern light of dusk into the room.
He saw the stricken expression on my face.
“We can check into a hotel, Caro.”
“No, this is fine. It’s not the room…”
“Don’t say it, Caro,” he said, softly. “Please, baby. I can’t bear it when you look at me like that.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. I made an effort to pull myself together, for his sake. “So, single bed, huh? That’s going to be cozy. We’ll have to improvise.”
He smiled at me gratefully.
“I just gotta pack up my shit, baby, then we’ll go find somewhere to eat, okay?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll write up my notes and check my messages.”
Predictably, I had long emails from both Jenna and Alice begging me to tell them if it was true that: a) I’d met a man; b) I’d actually had sex with him; and c) could it possibly be the hottie in the photograph. Nicole’s email was much shorter and so explicit in her demand for information, that I angled my laptop’s screen away from Sebastian, should he happen to glance over.
There was also an email from my editor saying that my credentials were on their way and I had a flight booked to Kabul 12 hours after Sebastian. I decided not to tell him, knowing it would give him something else to worry about – or possibly try to delay again, no matter what he said to the contrary. Although I did wonder if he’d perhaps put a word in for me after all, to expedite my papers.
It didn’t take Sebastian long to pack, he owned so little. He wouldn’t need his civvy clothes or the majority of his books, which were boxed up to be sent back to the US; everything else went in his duffel bag.
“You can stay here if you like,” he offered, rather apologetically. “It’s paid up till the end of the month. The owner is Madame Dubois. Just leave the key with her when you go: she’s cool.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.”
He smiled, glad to be able to do something for me.
“Any interesting emails?”
“All my girlfriends are drooling over your photograph,” I said, skating over the news that my editor had been in touch. “They can’t quite believe you’re real: neither can I sometimes.”
He smirked and pulled me into a hug. “I could prove it to you now if you like,” he said, pushing himself lightly into my body.
I didn’t answer, but ran my hands across the front of his jeans and squeezed, not very gently. His eyebrows shot up, making me laugh.
“Sex instead of food, Caro?”
“Yes,” I said, kissing his neck, “I don’t know what’s come over me: you must be a bad influence.”
He responded with enthusiasm, and I’d got as far as stripping off his T-shirt when his damn phone rang. I recognized the ringtone – it was one I wasn’t likely to forget – Sebastian’s CO. I’d have to have words with that man.
I raised my hands in defeat, and Sebastian scowled as he answered.
“Hunter. Yes, sir. Just got back to Geneva.”