She left me standing, and turned to her friend who was applying an indecent amount of lipstick, although at least her dress was more respectful and less revealing.
“You’re dressed to impress, Natalie,” said the second woman, in a heavy, German accent. She gave her friend’s designer gown the same visual appraisal as my own, but with less honesty. “I wonder if I can guess who you’ve got your eye on – seeing as you mentioned you’d bumped into him again.”
The woman called ‘Natalie’ smiled coolly. “What can I say, Hanna? He’s a five-star fuck: stamina and expertise, with fabulous packaging. Paris was memorable: I’m planning on having another night to remember; who’d have thought Kabul could be so entertaining.”
I followed the two women out of the restroom, shaking my head.
“What a bitch!” I muttered to myself.
“You don’t know how right you are,” said a familiar voice.
I whirled around, beyond thrilled.
He looked dashing and so handsome in his Dress Blues; my heart leapt with joy, reveling in the fact that he was here, that I was here – that we were together so much sooner than either of us could have hoped.
“Sebastian! What are you doing here? I thought they were sending you to Kandahar?”
“Change of plan,” he said, his eyes dancing with happiness. “I’ve had a two-day stopover and I’d heard the Press would be here tonight, so I wangled an invite. I wasn’t sure when you were arriving.” He grinned at me wickedly. “But now that you’re here, I’m planning on seducing you behind the potted palms.”
“Or somewhere a little more private, I hope,” I breathed out.
His eyes flared with excitement. “Yes, ma’am.”
“By the way, do you know that tramp?” I said, jerking my head in the general direction of the slutty woman.
He smirked. “Her name is Natalie Arnaud. French. She’s a PA for some guy at the UN: but she likes people to think she’s important.”
“And you know her because…?”
He didn’t answer, looking away.
“One of your Parisian conquests.”
‘He’s a five-star fuck.’ Oh no.
“It was just a warm body, Caro,” he said, correctly reading the expression on my face.
“I understand that,” sort of, “but she’s going to get herself into a lot of trouble; she’s only dressing like that to impress you, Sebastian, so you’d better speak to her.”
I felt proud of myself for taking the moral high ground. Sebastian scowled at me, clearly unhappy with the mission I’d just given him.
“Suck it up, Hunter,” I smirked at him. “You created this situation; you’ve got to deal with it. And then find somewhere private for us.”
He shook his head in irritation at my insistence he deal with the slut-fest going on in the main room, but smiled and threw me a cocky salute.
“Yes, boss.”
Then his smile faded and his eyes darkened in a way that made me long to run my hands over his strong body, and push my tongue between his soft, sensual lips.
I knew he was on the same page, because he glanced around him quickly, took my hand and tugged me down the corridor. We were clearly in the staff area of the hotel, because we passed several cramped rooms full of desks and crammed with filing cabinets.
But when Sebastian found an empty office that was larger than a closet, he pushed me inside, slammed me against the door, and kissed me roughly, the buttons of his uniform pressing painfully into my breasts.
His hand was under my dress, dragging the skirt up to my waist, his fingers circling the edge of my panties, and then he ran one long finger under the material and inside me, making me cry out.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he hissed.
I moaned in reply.
“I am so fucking hard right now,” he growled into my ear. “Here and now: yes or no, Caro?”
“Yes!”
He unzipped his fly quickly, rolling a condom over his erection, while I shimmied out of my panties.
“Bend over the desk,” he ordered, as he gripped my hips.
“Sebastian, the door!”