BWBLG
If this is utterly incoherent, blame the constant interruptions that have plagued me tonight.
This was all so much easier to write before it insisted on developing a stinking plot.
Dixon said, "I don't want to know, do I?"
Sydney giggled again.
Sark stalked over to the computer and finished the job he'd begun before their little closet tete-a-tete. One corner of his mouth quirked up as the download finished this time. "Got it," he declared, slipping the CD into a case.
"So where to now?"
"While you two were doing each other---or whatever," Dixon said, "The transmitter you planted on Cornelius had him in the office. He accessed his safe. It�s behind the photograph on the wall."
Sydney looked at the picture. Then she looked again. Was that . . . ? With four people? And a hamster. Oh, that was just disgusting.
Sark glanced at it and grimaced, muttering sotto voce, "Looks like a Silenko special."
Her father had a lot---a lot---of explaining to do.
So did Sark.
"You seem to know a lot about that," Sydney commented.
"More than I ever wanted to," Sark replied. He began checking to see how the photograph came off the wall, trying not to set off any alarms.
"Why?" Sydney asked curiously, watching the muscles in his back move sinuously as he ran his fingertips along the top of the picture frame. "I mean, how do you know?"
"My second---" he paused, finding the catch that released the frame so the they could see the face of the safe, "---that's got it---mission for, ah, The Man I had to pretend to be part of Silenko's stable."
Just how far had the pretense gone? And, God, he had a great ass. The leather clung to it the way Sydney wanted to do.
Sark turned and quirked a smile at Sydney that made her stomach flip-flop. As though he'd read her mind, he said, "It sucked. I didn't."
In her radio ear piece, Dixon snorted and choked.
"Oh. Ah. Good," she mumbled.
Sark turned back to the safe. "I need the access code now."
Dixon relayed it and Sark went to work, opening the safe smooth as cream on strawberries. No alarms. He opened the safe and carefully lifted out a crystal flagon containing a glowing amber liqueur.
He held it up to the light.
"Formula #47." His eyes took on a wicked gleam. "Want a shot?"
"Could we just get the hell out of here?" Sydney snapped.
Sark shrugged and handed her the flagon, pulling a musty bunch of old papers out of the safe next. "Looks like a Rambaldi gold mine." Lacking anyplace else to stick them, he shoved the papers down the front of his pants. He pushed the safe closed with one finger and set the picture back in place over it.
Despite herself Sydney looked at the photograph again. Leather. Clamps. Handcuffs. Check. Feather duster? She slid her eyes over Sark and wondered if he was ticklish.
"You don't like that sort of stuff, do you?" she asked.
Sark blinked at the picture and then her. A wide smile bloomed across his features and he began laughing. "Considering the bondage scenarios we've both gone through in this business that could get a little uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing, Sydney."
This was all so much easier to write before it insisted on developing a stinking plot.
Dixon said, "I don't want to know, do I?"
Sydney giggled again.
Sark stalked over to the computer and finished the job he'd begun before their little closet tete-a-tete. One corner of his mouth quirked up as the download finished this time. "Got it," he declared, slipping the CD into a case.
"So where to now?"
"While you two were doing each other---or whatever," Dixon said, "The transmitter you planted on Cornelius had him in the office. He accessed his safe. It�s behind the photograph on the wall."
Sydney looked at the picture. Then she looked again. Was that . . . ? With four people? And a hamster. Oh, that was just disgusting.
Sark glanced at it and grimaced, muttering sotto voce, "Looks like a Silenko special."
Her father had a lot---a lot---of explaining to do.
So did Sark.
"You seem to know a lot about that," Sydney commented.
"More than I ever wanted to," Sark replied. He began checking to see how the photograph came off the wall, trying not to set off any alarms.
"Why?" Sydney asked curiously, watching the muscles in his back move sinuously as he ran his fingertips along the top of the picture frame. "I mean, how do you know?"
"My second---" he paused, finding the catch that released the frame so the they could see the face of the safe, "---that's got it---mission for, ah, The Man I had to pretend to be part of Silenko's stable."
Just how far had the pretense gone? And, God, he had a great ass. The leather clung to it the way Sydney wanted to do.
Sark turned and quirked a smile at Sydney that made her stomach flip-flop. As though he'd read her mind, he said, "It sucked. I didn't."
In her radio ear piece, Dixon snorted and choked.
"Oh. Ah. Good," she mumbled.
Sark turned back to the safe. "I need the access code now."
Dixon relayed it and Sark went to work, opening the safe smooth as cream on strawberries. No alarms. He opened the safe and carefully lifted out a crystal flagon containing a glowing amber liqueur.
He held it up to the light.
"Formula #47." His eyes took on a wicked gleam. "Want a shot?"
"Could we just get the hell out of here?" Sydney snapped.
Sark shrugged and handed her the flagon, pulling a musty bunch of old papers out of the safe next. "Looks like a Rambaldi gold mine." Lacking anyplace else to stick them, he shoved the papers down the front of his pants. He pushed the safe closed with one finger and set the picture back in place over it.
Despite herself Sydney looked at the photograph again. Leather. Clamps. Handcuffs. Check. Feather duster? She slid her eyes over Sark and wondered if he was ticklish.
"You don't like that sort of stuff, do you?" she asked.
Sark blinked at the picture and then her. A wide smile bloomed across his features and he began laughing. "Considering the bondage scenarios we've both gone through in this business that could get a little uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing, Sydney."