The Villa

crossways on the bed, misjudged direction and rapped smartly into a chair.
    Listening to his muttered curses, Sophia smiled into the sheet. God, he was cute. Funny. Smarter than she'd given him credit for. And incredible in bed. On the floor. Against the wall. She couldn't remember any man appealing to her on so many levels. Especially when you considered he was the type who had to be held at gunpoint to put on a suit and tie.
    Which was, she supposed, why he always looked so sexy in them. The caveman temporarily civilized.
    Lost for the moment in that thought, she yelped when Ty held the iced water to her bare shoulder. "Ha ha," she muttered, but was grateful enough to roll over, sit up and gulp down half the glass.
    "Hey. I figured you'd share."
    "I didn't say anything about sharing."
    "Then I want more sexual favors."
    "You couldn't possibly." She chuckled.
    "You know how much I like proving you wrong."
    She sighed as his hand snuck up her thigh. "That's true." Still she handed him the rest of the water. "I might have a few sexual favors left in me. But then I really have to go home. Early briefing tomorrow."
    He drained the glass, set it aside. "We're not thinking about that now." He hooked an arm around her waist, then rolled until she was under him. "Let me tell you just what I have in mind."
     
    It had been, Sophia mused, a very long time since she'd snuck into the house at two in the morning. Still, it was one of those skills, like riding a bike or, well, sex, that came back to you. She dimmed her headlights before they flashed against the windows of the villa and eased the car gently, slowly around the bend and into the garage.
    She crept out into the chilly night and stood just a moment under the brilliant wheel of stars. She felt outrageously tired, wonderfully used, and alive.
    Tyler MacMillan, she decided, was a man just full of surprises, of secret pockets and marvelous, marvelous energy. She'd learned a great deal about him in the past few months. Aspects and angles she hadn't bothered to explore. And she was looking forward to continuing that exploration.
    But for now, she'd better get in the house and get some sleep or she'd be useless the next day.
    Odd, she thought as she walked quietly around the back, she'd wanted to stay with him. Sleep with him. All curled up against that long, warm body. Safe, cozy, secure.
    She'd trained herself over the years to click off emotionally after sex. A man's way, she liked to think. Sleeping, and waking, in the same bed after the fun and games were over could be awkward. It could be intimate. Avoiding that, making certain she didn't need that, kept things from getting messy.
    But she'd had to order herself to leave Tyler's bed. Because she was tired, she assured herself. Because it had been a difficult day. He wasn't really any different from anyone else she'd been with.
    Perhaps she liked him more, she considered as she navigated through the shrubbery. And was more attracted to him than she'd expected to be. That didn't make him different. Just… new. After a while the polish would wear off the shiny excitement, and that would be that.
    That, she thought, was always that.
    If you looked for love and lifetimes, you were doomed to disappoint, or be disappointed. Better, much better, to seize the moment, wring it dry, then move on.
    Because thinking was dulling her mood, she blocked out the questions. And rounding the last bend in the gardens, came face-to-face with her mother.
    They stared at each other, the surprised breath each puffed out frosting into little clouds.
    "Um. Nice night," Sophia commented.
    "Yes. Very. I was just, ah… David…" Stumped, Pilar gestured vaguely toward the guest house. "He needed help with some translating."
    "I see." A wild giggle tried to claw its way out of Sophia's throat. "Is that what your generation calls it?" A small choking sound escaped. "If we're going to sneak the rest of the way in, let's do it. We could freeze out here trying to come up with reasonable excuses."
    "I was translating." Pilar hurried to the door, fumbled with the knob. "There was a lot of—"
    "Oh, Mama." The laughter won. Sophia clutched her belly and stumbled inside. "Stop bragging."
    "I was merely…" Floundering, Pilar pushed at her hair. She had a very good idea how she looked—tumbled and flushed. Like a woman who'd just slid out of bed. Or in this case, off the living room sofa. Taking the offensive seemed to be the safest course. "You're out