| Subject: “Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement” - Part 5 |
Author:
Dancer
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Date Posted: 22:12:11 07/27/02 Sat
In reply to:
Dancer
's message, "“Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement” - Part 4" on 22:09:00 07/27/02 Sat
Harm was starting to worry. He could see Brumby not trusting him. Under the circumstances, that was pretty much a foregone conclusion, but Mac was another story. If she didn’t trust him, they were in a lot more trouble than just being stuck in the woods. He couldn’t stand that.
Although he did think the sleeping bag idea was a good one, as he sat in front of the slowly dwindling campfire, he was asking himself just what he’d been hoping to accomplish by bringing all of that up. She’d offered him his choice. He could have remade his “bed” anyway he liked, and yet, he’d practically insisted she do it his way. Why?
It was times like these when Harm almost wished for a cigar. He’d given them up for good reasons, but at such moments, there was something about the companionship of a fine, hand-rolled panatela that helped to clear the mind.
Right now, his mind was a mess – a veritable minefield of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Cold or no cold, if he had his way, truly had his way, Sarah would never be that close to him and not be in his arms, and that sleeping bag would simply be the cover they crawled in together while they kept each other warm. But, it couldn’t be that way tonight; it couldn’t be that way at all.
The image of her engagement ring flashing in the dim light inside the Humvee and the pleading, almost desperate, look in her eyes when she asked him to leave haunted his thoughts even now.
He’d hurt her, or he was about to, and that hurt him. Whatever thoughts she had in her mind, he couldn’t stand to see that look again. He’d have to come up with another idea – something to keep them both safe – at least for tonight.
It wasn’t too long after that that Mac came walking up through the darkness to join him by the fire. She had her arms wrapped tight against the front of her parka trying to hold the heat in. “I think I’ve pretty much got everything set in there,” she said evenly, “so you can go on in and get settled if you want to.”
The way she put that caught his ear. “Where are you going?” he asked with concern.
“Take a little walk.”
He looked up at her with a puzzled expression on his face. She gave a half-nod and a “message look” through her upraised eyebrows to complete her thought. The roll of paper clutched in her hand was also a clue.
“Oh,” he said with an understanding nod. “You want me to wait?”
“Ah, no,” she answered quickly. “You just go on in and get comfortable. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Whatever you say.” As he watched her walking away from the campsite, a wave of somber realization swept over him. In a very short time, that smile and those deep brown eyes would belong to somebody else, and there was very little left he could do about it.
He took one more look back at the Humvee and let go a bitter sigh. It was going to be a long night.
***************************
By the time the elevator began to move again, some alterations had taken place. Both Mic and Renee were still in their clothes, but perhaps less so than when they started.
It took a bit of hasty re-arranging, but by the time the door opened, both of the now hot-blooded occupants of the car had mastered the general appearance of propriety. Only the frank flushing of their cheeks gave away any hint as to what they’d really been up to. Of course, “Burt” might have a better idea than most. Both the demon investigator and the video princess had failed to notice the presence of the security camera in the car, but Burt wasn’t talking.
When the night manager greeted them, he was effusive in his apologies to the stranded pair. He addressed himself first to Mic. “I am so sorry about all this, sir,” he gushed. “Please allow me to offer my sincerest apologies to you and your lovely wife for any inconvenience we might have caused you.”
“And who are you?” Renee demanded irritably.
“I’m Mr. Harper, the night manager,” the oily, little man replied as he offered Mic his card, “and this is Carmine Chiccio, my assistant.”
“Harper and Chiccio,” Renee sniffed. “Just add Groucho, and we’ve got something.”
The little man rather pointedly ignored her to continue with Mic. “If you would allow me, sir, I would like to offer you a complimentary meal at ‘Scolios’ or, perhaps, an evening’s entertainment in our lovely ‘Sky Room’.” Mic gave the man a visual once-over and came away decidedly unimpressed. “We have Douglas Consuelo and his trio here on Friday and Saturday nights through the 15th, and I’m quite sure…”
Giving his clothes one last shake, Mic flexed his neck and began speaking in an even thicker Australian accent. “See ‘ere, my good man, the lay-dy and I were on our wa-ay down to yooar lobby when all this staarded.” The normal boom in Brumby’s voice now sounded angry, and the little man trembled slightly at the prospect of an unfortunate confrontation. “We were intending on checking into your foine establishment here, but ah’m afraaid this incident has cullared our impressions of your ‘ospitality.”
“Oh, but, sir,” the fearful Harper pleaded, “please, allow us to make amends.” He turned to his “assistant” standing beside him. “ Carmine, do we have a room available for these fine folks?” As Chiccio began scanning a computer printout, the manager offered Renee a broad, indulgent smile that showed nearly all of his teeth, but she remained professionally cool to his efforts at persuasion. She couldn’t help thinking that she wouldn’t cast this guy in a dog food commercial – even as the dog – although he did seem to be honing his boot licking skills.
When the assistant produced a number, the sniveling superintendent turned his dubious charms back to Mic. “341 is a lovely room, sir. A large bed, full size shower with tub, Cable TV with the option of pay-per-view…” Mic held his face still in an expression of determination meant to intimidate opponents in a boxing ring. “Of course, we would make the service available at no charge,” the simpering manager continued. Mic did not move. “We have HBO,” he sang out through an overly broad smile.
When Mic’s face hardened into the “round three stare”, the manager gulped visibly and urged the assistant to find, “A suite. We have a suite available, I’m quite sure.”
“’The Executive’ is free.”
“Wonderful,” he beamed. “We have a most charming suite available for you, sir.” His sighs of relief set Renee’s hair moving. “It’s one of our luxury suites, ma’am, complete with a king sized tub with Jacuzzi, and a fully-stocked wet bar right in the room.”
Mic remained unmoved. “Dunno,” he said grimly. “This sit-u-waay-shun has upsit the laay-dee vere much. I’m nott sure she’d bay willin’ ta spend the ni-ight ‘ere.”
Realizing what Mic must be up to, the erstwhile director had cast herself in the role of overwrought female seemingly traumatized by their “ordeal” in that stuck elevator. “I don’t know, darling,” she replied in a breathy, oversexed version of distress. “Just what floor is this suite on?” The sound she was making was somewhere between Marilyn Monroe’s voice in “How to Marry a Millionaire” and the hum of a Hoover upright vacuum cleaner. “I don’t know if I can get back on that elevator,” she sighed pitifully. “I – I just don’t trust it.” Then, she actually batted her eyes.
“Theh, ya see?” Mic declared hotly. “My poor darlin is raather upsit by oll o’ this. I’d really juss loy-ike to taake ‘er somewhaw that she can rest fow a lit-le wha-ile.”
“Fortunately, sir, ‘The Executive’ suite is right on this floor. Your lovely wife won’t even have to think about traveling in that nasty elevator.”
The assistant seemed a bit distressed by this representation, and tried to gain the manager’s attention by raising his hand in front of him.
With some impatience, the manager glared at his subordinate. Then to Mic, he said, “Would you please excuse me for a moment, sir?”
“No worries, ma-ate.”
When the two men had adjourned to a doorway nearby, Renee pulled Mic in for a confidential word. “See, I told you you could do those spots. You were terrific.”
“Thanks, luv,” he said in his normal voice, “but don’t tell anyone you heard that.”
She was about to ask him why when the management conference seemed to break up nearby.
“Sir? Madam? ‘The Executive Suite’ is actually on the third floor, but we do have a very generously appointed suite right here on the fourth floor. It’s the ‘Plaza Suite’ and we’re actually quite proud of it.” He was giving them that do-it-yourself dental exam smile again. “King size bed, Jacuzzi and the wet bar, of course. The view is quite lovely this time of night. Of course, if you’d rather just relax and watch television, we have a complete cable line-up complete with HBO and pay-per-view – sports, if you’re interested.”
He looked to each of them anxiously. “All complimentary, of course,” he urged them on through that billboard of a smile.
“I dunno,” Mic wondered looking to Renee. “Theh sound faair, Luv?”
“Oh, yes. Yes,” Renee enthused dimly. “That sounds lovely.”
“Well, that’s settled, then,” the manager oozed. “Carmine,” he said turning to his assistant. “Do you have the pass key?”
As the manager turned to lead the intrepid explorers to their suite, a smaller, rounder man in the blue work shirt stepped forward to stand with Chiccio
“You nail ‘em, Burt?” Carmine inquired in a confidential whisper.
“I didn’t, but he was about to,” Burt replied evenly. “I suspect that’s why they want the room.”
Both men chuckled knowingly. “But, you did get the tape, right?” Carmine asked as he continued to admire the southbound view of Renee.
Burt looked on noncommittally. “Might have. I can’t remember.”
“Ah, come on, Burt,” the younger man wailed. “A dish like that? I’ve got a bottle of scotch that says you did.”
“What kind?” the older man asked.
“A good scotch,” Chiccio offered defensively. “It’s aged.”
“Well, you know, that VCR can be kind of temperamental. Doesn’t always work right.”
“O.K., O.K., five-year-old scotch.”
The older man’s eyes began to twinkle as he looked back toward the elevator car. “Can’t remember if I loaded the tape or not.”
“Ten-year-old scotch.”
“Could be I did,” Burt murmured absently, “but you never know”
“Single-malt,” Carmine added anxiously. “Single-malt scotch, Burt. The expensive kind.”
Burt let out a slow smile, regarding the younger man carefully. “All right then,” he said mischievously. “You bring the scotch, and I’ll see about the tape.”
***************************
As Mac made her way back through the campsite, she was wondering how she should handle what lay ahead of her. It was getting late, and she was hoping Harm would have gone to sleep by now, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he was bound to wait up until she got back.
From the beginning, when she first realized that they were stuck here for the night, she’d been dreading the idea of this sleep over. If only they’d been prepared for this. If only there’d been a tent in one of those cases instead of that damn sleeping bag, she wouldn’t have to worry so much.
The back end of that Humvee had a surprising amount of space in it, but not enough to make her happy. Harm would still be lying too close to her, and she couldn’t imagine getting much sleep knowing he was there.
She was about to be married, for Pete’s sake. She shouldn’t even be thinking about Harm now. The fact that she was thinking of him made her wonder about a few things. She could understand it crossing her mind. After all, in these circumstances, it would be strange if she didn’t even consider it, but why was it so much harder to put it aside this time. They’d been in tight spaces before, and he’d always behaved like a perfect gentleman. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t even him she was worried about.
When he touched her hand, it was like liquid fire being applied to her skin. She knew her bad case of nerves about the wedding had a lot to do with that. Still, when Harm touched her, she knew she was in trouble. If only it wasn’t this hard, she thought to herself.
He had been a perfect gentleman, a perfect companion. Not once had he said anything or done anything to give her the wrong impression of what this night might be like, but she was still worried. She couldn’t escape the feeling that they were running out of time.
When Mac reached the side hatch of the Humvee, she stopped to take one last, deep breath trying to relax before she went in.
To her surprise, when she crouched down to enter the vehicle, she found the much talked about sleeping bag she’d laid out as a platform was empty except for the thermal blankets she’d left folded up for pillows. As Mac crawled over the sleeping bag and pulled the door shut behind her, she heard a rustle up front that nearly caused her to jump. Training her flashlight on a figure in the front passenger seat, she could see a man shifting fitfully trying to make himself comfortable and sighed, “Harm, what are you doing up there?” Her voice had a trace of impatience about it. “The bed – ah, the sleeping bag is back here.”
“I know it,” he said amiably. “I just thought I’d take the first watch.”
“Watch?” she asked quizzically. “What do you mean watch?”
“This is official Marine Corps. property, Colonel,” Harm reminded her. “Don’t we have to post a watch or something?”
“Commander.” The obviously irritated voice suddenly came from right next to him, so when she spoke, it startled him. “You want to tell me who’s going to steal a car with no gas in it?” she demanded to know. “And if that weren’t enough, we’re not just going to be watching it, we’re going to be sleeping in it,” she declared flatly. “So, what do you think you’re doing? There’s plenty of room back here.”
There was a long pause before Harm finally nodded his head her way. “I just thought you might like some privacy.”
Looking at him with some impatience, she sighed, “We’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, Harm. We’ve been here for hours and haven’t seen another living soul. You can’t even hear a radio or a car engine out here. I don’t think it could get much more private than that.”
He turned to look straight into her eyes, “I meant from me,” he said plainly.
Mac went still upon hearing those words. She froze in suspense worried about what he might mean.
Seeing the glimmers of outside light reflected in her suddenly widened eyes, Harm turned back to stare out the dusty front windscreen of the Humvee and slowly began to speak. “A man and woman,” he said softly, “ – you and me stuck out in the woods like this. People are going to talk, Mac.”
It took her a minute, but then, she shook her head thoughtfully, and sighed, “You sleeping up here isn’t going to change that, Harm.”
“It might make it easier.” He spoke to her, but he wouldn’t look at her.
After that, she couldn’t imagine what he might say next, but she couldn’t let him go on this way. “Harm, your concern for my reputation is lovely, but how’s it going to look when I have to go back to the Admiral and explain how I let you freeze to death out here.”
“I’m not going to freeze.”
“But you are going to be a wreck in the morning,” she protested. “That seat doesn’t even have a back on it.” She couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was actually trying to talk Harm into doing what she’d been afraid of all evening. He was giving her an out, but she wouldn’t take it.
“I’ll be fine, Mac.”
“Look, I went to all this trouble back here. The least you could do is tell me if it’s comfortable.”
She was serious. There was something about seeing Harm trying to scrunch all six-foot-four of him under that wispy little blanket that just seemed so ridiculously cautious of him, she almost wanted to laugh. The very idea that he should turn his back into a pretzel trying to get comfortable in that iron maiden of a front seat when he could be stretched out on a relatively soft bed in the back of the Humvee just seemed too high a price to pay for propriety.
“Harm. Please?”
When he finally relented, when he finally made his way back to the “beds” she’d arranged for them both to sleep on, he still felt the need to ask her if it was all right. She just looked at him and sighed.
She could trust him. She knew she could trust him. They’d done this before – well, something like it, anyway. She just couldn’t let him suffer when the solution was so easily come by.
As they settled themselves in under their separate blankets on opposite sides of the “no-man’s land” she’d laid out in between them, Harm said softly, “I’m sorry about all this, Mac,” and sounded a little sad.
As she prepared to put out the light, Sarah smiled back sweetly. “Well, I know you didn’t want to go to that rehearsal tonight,” she offered agreeably, “but not even you would go to this much trouble to get out of it.”
He gave her a pale smile in the darkness. “Good night, Mac.”
“Good night, Harm.”
As the light in the compartment died, he found himself watching the shape of the woman beside him fade into oneness with the dark, but seeing her beautiful face still before him in his mind’s eye.
He had to keep his imagination in check. She was almost married, he reminded himself. If they weren’t here tonight, they would have been at the rehearsal for her wedding – to someone else. She might as well be a million miles away. He had to keep that in mind.
With a weary sigh, he rolled over, drew the thermal blanket over his shoulders and tried to go to sleep, but he missed her.
What he didn’t know is that she missed him, too.
*****************************
The only thing they were missing in the Plaza Suite was yet another showing of “I Still Know What You Did Last Summer” on HBO. They hadn’t turned the TV on yet. They were still too busy with each other.
Parts of the room were newly decorated with a colorful assortment of freshly removed clothing. Some of it was still warm.
Mic had discarded his jacket almost as soon as the door shut behind that little weasel of a night man they’d had to deal with, and Renee had used her shoes for field goal practice against the upright elements of the scrolled wrought-iron headboard in the bedroom.
When he saw the shapely siren standing at the foot of the king-sized bed, the Wonder from Down Under had charged up behind her, grabbed her by the waist and swept her down on the bed to the sound of her delighted squeals.
“And just what do you think you’re doing, counselor?” Renee playfully demanded.
“Thought we’d scrum,” he replied with a chuckle.
The blonde bombshell’s eyes flared wide in consternation. “Thought we’d what?”
“Scrum, luv.”
Renee just gazed up at him blankly awaiting some further explanation, but none came. “Well,” she said darkly, “I’ve heard it called a lot of things, but I’ve never heard that one before.”
Mic’s hearty laughed filled the air around them as he rolled over with her toward the long row of pillows adorning the top of the bed. She whooped and hollered happily finally coming to rest with her exaggerated blonde mane arrayed over a convenient pillow while she felt her feet and, in fact, the lower half of her legs dangling off the side of the bed.
Her rough-hewn lothario’s face was hanging in space above her dipping slightly lower so that he might speak to her in a confidential tone. As if he were cooing the most sensual words of love to his paramour, the battling barrister from Sydney whispered, “It’s rugby, darlin’.” When Renee continued to respond with that deer caught in the headlights stare, Mic went on. “It’s how they start the game. You get all your mates to line up, and then, some bloke throws in the ball, and everybody dives for it.”
Renee’s expression suddenly went from impatiently uninformed to immediately concerned. “You want to dive for it?” she asked incredulously. “How big is that bathtub, anyway?”
As Mic took her back in his arms so that he could roll her up onto his big, broad chest, he happily exclaimed, “Renee, you’re priceless.” Then, he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her again.
Renee’s long, slow smile was accented by the waggling of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she whispered, “I think we need to celebrate.”
When Mic finally stirred himself to follow his half-dressed companion of choice into the other “room” of the suite, he found Renee raiding the wet bar. Much to her delight, she’d actually found a split of fairly decent champagne already chilled inside the frig.
“What’s this, then?” the burly Aussie inquired as he watched her setting out glasses.
“You’ll see,” the princess replied with a greedy gleam in her eye.
As Mic slipped up behind her to nuzzle at her ears and begin re-loosening the buttons on her blouse, Renee held up her glass in a mock toast and grandly remarked, “I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight.”
The loud rush of Mic’s thick laughter rang in her right ear as he quickly moved to whisper into the left, “I couldn’t tell you.” He gently brushed his lips against her cheek, and when she turned to see his face, he said, “and I couldn’t care less.” Renee turned to him with her arms raised to loop behind his neck, and leaned up against him in just the right way. Mic raised one corner of his mouth in an appreciative smile. “I’ve got mine,” he whispered in that husky voice Renee had begun to relish. “Let ‘em go get their own.”
To be continued...
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