Four hours before dawn and calm reigned supreme.
Thorne, however, was restless. He paced his apartment, waiting for Jeannie to come home. He'd lost track of her at the party when he escorted the redhead girl to her car.
Thorne had fully expected to finish the night with the redhead. After all, she seemed eager enough. When they arrived at her vehicle, she'd pressed her warm lips against his. At first, Thorne had returned her kisses, but soon, he pushed her away.
Something was lacking.
The anticipation... the longing he'd felt when he almost kissed Jeannie, wasn't present. The kisses he'd shared with redhead were nothing more than flesh meeting flesh.
Thorne had used the back of his hand to wipe off her cherry tasting lip-gloss and sent a disappointed Red on her way. As soon as she'd driven off, he hurried inside.
Back in the main room, he was just in time to see a co-ed slap Robert. Thorne had grinned like a wolf at the way Robert's head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. Thorne assumed embarrassment had made Robert scuttle like a crab along the walls before racing from the room with what dignity he had left.
Thorne's smug smile at Robert's comeuppance hadn't lasted long. After twenty minutes of searching for Jeannie, he concluded she'd left. To make sure, he'd approached the stage where Quentin was dancing.
With his shirt off, Quentin's muscles rippled as he rocked to the beat. When Thorne motioned, the stocky man jumped to the floor and moved to his side.
"Have you seen her?" Thorne asked, searching the mass of gyrating bodies.
"When you left, Dalton took over. Check with him."
Thorne nodded, already moving to find a quiet area to call his subordinate. When Thorne cut a path through the dancers, they easily parted around him, deferent to his size. And while his phone buzzed in his ear, Thorne, among hundreds of people, felt very much...alone.
Dalton had answered on the first ring and gave Thorne a quick progress report.
Jeannie, Sarah, Theo, and the guy Jeannie had been talking to earlier, a man by the name of Shon Westwood, were at the all-night diner close to campus. They'd just dug into their breakfast combos. Shon was now feeding Jeannie a spoonful of his Eggs Benedict and sheâ.
Thorne had interrupted Dalton, stating he needed to hurry to the apartment before Jeannie got back. Dalton had let out a wheezy laugh at Thorne's impatience, cutting it off when Thorne said a choice curseâsomething about Dalton and his mother.
Back at his apartment, with just his thoughts for company, anxiety welled within Thorne's chest at every scrape of a tree branch or jingle of the wind chime on the porch. When he heard a key scrape in the outside lock, his heart froze.
The hall light came on, flooding under his door. Footsteps, one heavy, one light, proceeded down the corridor. From underneath the door, shadows intersected on his floor.
Thorne pressed his ear to the wood, straining to hear the dulcet tones.
"Had a really nice time..."
"...you up later?"
"Yes, of course, I..."
"We could..."
"I'd like that..."
The shadows moved closer together. Thorne's hand turned the knob. His heart raced in his chest.
"Goodnight, Shon."
"Goodnight, Jeannie."
Receding footsteps. The outside door opened and closed.
Jeannie's shadow moved. The muffled sound of her hands on his door reverberated in his ears. Sweat broke out under his arms. His heart beat out a sluggish rhythm. He held his breath, fearing she would hear him.
He heard a hefty sighâfull of disappointmentâthen an embarrassed giggle. A few seconds later, Jeannie switched off the light and retreated into her apartment.
Only then did Thorne allow himself to breathe.
The next morning, he dressed in black jeans and a tight white T-shirt. After putting his hair in a tie, he knocked on Jeannie's door.
Thorne wanted more information on Shon Westwoodâhow far their relationship had progressed. He'd convinced himself he needed the intel to report back to The Source. It was not to satisfy his own curiosity.
Jeannie opened the door. With no makeup, her hair wrapped in a brightly colored scarf, her natural beauty was visible.
Thorne's heart rate sped up, and he resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot.
She's so beautiful.
Instead of telling her his thoughts, he said, "Uh-um, I was wondering if you had watched Casablanca yet? I'd like to have it back if you don't mind."
"Sure." Jeannie motioned for him to enter. "I haven't watched it yet, though. Hold on a sec and I'll get it for you."
Jeannie bent down. Thorne stood transfixed while he watched her round derrière bob and weave as she searched the TV cabinet for his DVD.
"Here it is," she said, straightening.
Thorne turned, pretending he had been studying the picture of the Kremlin she had on her wall.
"Great." He shifted his eyes to hers. "I wanted to check it out this afternoon." He straddled the armrest of her couch, tapping the DVD against his hand. "Would you like to watch it with me?"
A guilty look crossed her face, and he tensed. "I can't, Hawthorne. I have a date."
The lash-of-a-whip like pain, which crisscrossed his chest, took Thorne by surprise. Jeannie was nothing to him. She was a mark, an assignment he'd yet to handle.
If that's all she is, why does her going on a date hurt so much?
He'd examine the reason later. A more pressing issue was at hand: who Jeannie was going out with.
Blood pounded in his ears, and he resisted the urge to ball his hands into fists. Despite this, Thorne asked calmly, "Who with?"
"Shown Westwood, he's a classmate of mine." Jeannie waved her hand in the air as if swatting a fly. "He plays water volleyball, and...uh...he's taking me to a game. He's in a league, you know."
Why is she babbling? Is she nervous?
"So what time is he coming to pick you up?" Thorne stood, towering over her.
Jeannie blinked up at him, moistening her lips with her pink tongue. "Um, his game is at three, so he will pick me up at two. We'll come back here after the match."
There it is that guilty look again.
"I'm...um...going to make dinner for him."
Thorne bit back his regret he hadn't asked Jeannie out earlier. Regret and the feelings of jealousy that coursed through him had no place in his assignment.
Thorne said, "I hope one day you'll invite me over for dinner again."
His request wasn't fake. He'd truly enjoyed the last dinner they shared.
"I will," Jeannie said with a hardness in her voice. "One day when you don't have a date planned." Her caramel eyes burned him with her sudden, unexpected ire.
Is she jealous?
"Why are you concerned about my dates, Jeannie?"
Jeannie took a step backward and crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up her breasts so high, they nearly spilled from her top.
Thorne tried but couldn't help ogling her display of cleavage.
"I'm not concerned, Hawthorne. Not at all."
Thorne's training from The Source included lie detection, both manual and machine. However, he didn't have to be an expert to tell Jeannie Jones was lying.
Thorne grew smug knowing he wasn't the only one affected by the chemistry between them. "Your voice...the slight tremor in it, tells me otherwise, Jeannie."
"I think..." Jeannie said, backing up a few paces.
Thorne followed, drinking up her scent. "Yes?"
Jeannie turned and opened her door as wide as it could go. "I think...it's time you left."
Shon had spent almost every evening with Jeannie for the past month. She cooked while he read interesting articles from different medical journals. Since Sarah and Theo were coming over, Shon put aside his reading to help.
"Let me cut the vegetables, babe. I can at least do that."
As he took the knife from her, Jeannie's grateful smile warmed his heart, and at that moment, he considered dropping Bekka. He nixed the idea a second later. Jeannie wasn't ready to take their relationship further and he, like most men, wanted someone to fulfill his needs.
And Bekka served that purpose. For now...
Jeannie watched Shon nimbly chop the broccoli for the casserole. His fingers were niceâslender and manicuredâbut she preferred strong hands, like...Thorne's.
Feeling bad about ejecting Thorne from her apartment after telling him about her date, she'd baked him applesauce cake by way of an apology and took it over to him the very next day.
When the door opened, Jeannie had let out a half-moan, half-gasp of surprise. Thorne was shirtless, his wet blond hair had stuck up in all directions, and was dripping water from his long torso into the towel hovering casually at his hips.
Jeannie traced his Lady Justice tattoo with her eyes for several moments, lost in time and space. Thorne had to clear his throat to get her attention. With a smug smirk, he'd asked her what she wanted.
"Um...I just wanted to see if you wanted the applesauce cake I baked?"
Thorne leaned into the doorjamb. He seductively licked his bottom lip, gently scraping his teeth over the wetness. His eyes lingered on her mouth, then lower, before he snapped them back into hers. "Why don't I cook dinner instead? We can have the cake...for dessert."
Again, Thorne had given her a heated gaze that made Jeannie's legs weak and her heart stutter. She'd valiantly fought off her traitorous feelings to insist that Thorne also invite Dalton and Quentin. She had to have others there. If she'd found herself alone with Thorne, things might've gotten out of control.
With little protest, he'd done as she asked. Quentin and Dalton were in Thorne's apartment when she'd arrived and while they laughed and joked around, Thorne was mostly silent. As she ate the delicious meal Thorne prepared, whenever she'd look up from her plate, his eyes would be on her, smoldering with some unknown fire. Nervous, she'd dropped her knife and then her fork under the intensity of his gaze.
Since then, she'd run into him every weekday morning. As she left her apartment, Thorne was coming back from his morning jog, just in time to lift her bicycle down the stairs.
Jeannie had given up protesting a long time ago and just let him carry on, mainly as it was to her benefit. She not only had a perfect view of the way his sweaty T-shirt clung to his chest but also the way his muscular legs bounced with each step.
It was cute how their morning greeting had become a ritual she looked forward to.
Thorne: Here you go, Jeannie.
Jeannie: Thank you, Hawthorne.
In unison: Have a good day.
On the weekends, he left, probably to some girl's apartment, but come Monday morning, there Thorne was, holding the door open for her, a slight smile on his fantastic lips, his hairâ
Reality swam into focus as Shon's voice brought her back, "Here you go, Jeannie."
Outwardly, she smiled, but her heart clenched in disappointment. The words were the same as Thorne's, but the man behind them was different. Shon was sweet. Just like his kisses. There was no passion. No heated desire...just mundane.
Jeannie had spent weeks searching her feelings. She concluded her relationship with Shon would be nothing more than it was, sweet.
And she wanted more.
"So..." Sarah said as she piled the plates in the dishwasher and Jeannie wiped down the stove. "What's going on with you and Shon?"
Jeannie lifted the heavy grate to get at a stubborn spot of gravy. She'd made a pot roast with potatoes, broccoli casserole, and a homemade white chocolate mousse for dessert. Jeannie and Sarah were on clean up duty as the guys had done it last timeâturnabout being fair play and all. While the TV blared out smooth comments on a soccer game, Sarah and Jeannie had a heart-to-heart.
"Nothing's 'going on.' We're just friends." Jeannie scrubbed harder, slowly winning against the grease.
"Well, he seems to think you're more."
Jeannie whipped around, staring at Sarah in surprise. "He told you that?"
"No, not in words." The plate Sarah was holding dripped water onto the floor. She threw an apologetic glance at Jeannie before grabbing a paper towel to clean it up. "Shon just hasn't been like this with any girl, at least not that I know of."
"How could you know for sure? You two don't hang out much. Do you?" After the frat party, when they were all at breakfast together, Jeannie had asked Sarah why she and Shon never talked during class. Sarah had laughed and said Shon was too competitive. Shon, overhearing their conversation, had given Sarah such a dark look she immediately changed the subject.
"Yes, we don't hang out, but we do talk." Sarah threw the wet paper towel in the garbage and then looked at Jeannie for a reply.
Jeannie wanted to confide in her friend, but she knew Sarah would tell Shon the truthâthat she liked Shon as a friend, and only as a friendâbefore she had a chance to tell him herself. She couldn't have that. It wouldn't be right, so there was nothing to do but lie and hope for the best.
"I like him...a lot."
"I like him...a lot."
The microphones in Jeannie's apartment were state-of-the art. There was no way Thorne could have misinterpreted her words.
An angry heat rose in him. He balled his fists, slamming them into his thighs. Thorne had put up with Jeannie's relationship with Shon as long as it was just kissing. A boyfriend, however, was not in the cards. He would make sure of that.
I need to ratchet things up a notch, he thought.
Thorne called Quentin on a secured line then patched Dalton in. "I'll need you two to do a grab bag." He gave them the details, and once ordered, it was a done deal.
Thorne kicked back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. Shon Westwood was about to be scared straight from Jeannie Jones. She, in turn, would need a friend to console her due to the loss of her almost boyfriend.
Well, he had just the person in mind.
Himself.