One arm locked under his shoulder so he couldn't spin on her, the other keeping him in a choke hold as she pulled the man backward, off balance and dragged him across the floor, two dozen people staring, wide-eyed at them, some exclaiming with sadistic glee.
Seeing the outright terror on the face of the ONE guy she'd been really interested in, Rachel had her first pang of regret for publishing that book. She laid Chuck down as he tapped out, She whispered "That's the most basic move in the book, you can't get out of
that
?"
Chuck was one of those "stolen valor" guys, who said he'd been in the service but obviously hadn't seen combat; all bravado and condescension. Everyone knew who he was, an Aussie who spent a lot of time bragging about the firewall software he'd helped develop.
She'd been giving a talk about her self-published book at yet another security convention. The book was on basic security: Bouncing, a bit about technology and hardware, mostly from her nightclub experience with her own illustrations.
Of COURSE she was going to get people testing her. She hadn't thought Chuck would go that far, though. "You couldn't take down anyone over 200." The Australian said under his breath toward the end of the panel, but loud enough for almost everyone to hear it.
"Pounds or Kilos?"
He sneered, "Pounds."
She eyed him; he was certainly over 200 pounds. She beckoned him toward her. "Ooooo" came from a few people.
"Can I take you down?" She asked.
He smirked, but she could see he was sweating, he pulled out his asp and whipped it to full length "You could NOT take me down, but you can bloody try."
Now that she had consent, she moved before the last word was out.
Like catching frogs at the lake
. The asp clattered to the ground and that was that.
He grumbled about "Not supposed to touch people" and "did it wrong" as he stomped out of the room. She imagined they wouldn't see much of him around after this. When the door shut there was scattered applause, she bowed stiffly, grinning despite the knot of anxiety that settled in her belly.
Rachel preferred hanging out with the techs. A lot of the actual muscle at the conventions were tedious at best, the software guys were easier to deal with. She knew enough to keep up on the conversation but rarely let on unless she caught someone trying to bullshit her or the crowd; even other programmers' eyes glazed over when an engineer got into minutiae. She made enough at her regular job the book sales were beer money at best. The REAL reason she went to these conventions were the after parties and hopes of finding someone who either didn't know who she was or wasn't flat out terrified of her, as an otherwise typical red-blooded security specialist, she had
NEEDS
.
One of the techs was Briggs. In retrospect he was an expert at being unobtrusive but not quite ignorable. She knew Briggs in passing from the after parties, he was one of the red hat guys who did volunteer security on the side. Often he would just sit on the smallest seat in the room and watch people, interested, curious, but nothing more, he was just relaxing. Occasionally he'd get into loud and boisterous conversation with old friends, but generally kept to himself, people watching.
Looking back it was interesting at a convention where there were at least eight or ten gatherings to choose from he was usually in the same room she was. She'd caught him looking at her a few times and raised her glass, one off-duty security person to another, a nod, that was it. Half the time he had a girl on his lap, though she hadn't noticed him serving as anything more than furniture in that capacity, keeping the few women's more persistent suitors at bay, the women had him pegged as one of the "safe" guys.
Hypervigilance being common in the circle, catching him looking at her didn't even make Rachel's radar. All this in retrospect of the first incident.
She was behind him as they headed up the stairs, it was about midnight and they were the only ones in the stairwell, he stopped before opening the door. "Hey." He said quietly.
"Hey." She paused, thinking it was just a friendly hello. She went to walk past him and a hand landed, palm flat, on the wall next to her head. Blocking her way to the door.
How did I piss
Him
off?
That was a big hand. The artist in her chattered away, admiring the bones and structure of his wrist, the impressive, meaty forearm that advertised he wasn't JUST another tech.
Open-mouthed she turned to face him, UP to his face, she suddenly realized Briggs was a BIG man, a solid 6'4" she hadn't noticed when he was sitting at the parties. His eyes blazed. For a second she thought it was anger, but he loomed over her and his lips curved just slightly, the smoldering gaze from those grey eyes turned her guts to ice.
Well this is new
. Rachel's usual internal alarm system was strangely dormant, but her heart was in overtime.
"Hi." His smile grew, then his mouth descended on hers.
Oh! Holy shit yes!
She didn't hesitate or question, she met him, teeth scraping his lower lip, hand clasping the back of his neck, pulling him closer, tongue exploring, his body pressing hers against the wall. Her other hand grabbed his shirt to steady herself. He moaned low in his throat, a dangerous growl of approval that sent a bolt of aching tension through her core. She hummed needy little chirps as they kissed like desperate teenagers.
His other hand found her breast and rolled a nipple under her clothes, she gasped and thrust her hips against him while his lips worked their way hungrily along her jaw. She reached under his shirt and kneaded her fingertips down his back muscles, massaging the velvety granite chords she found there. He threaded his hand into her hair and made a fist, making her gasp.
Oh Gods
Her heartbeat thundered in here ears, a tiny rational grain of her terrified that it would take very little persuasion to ride him right there in the stairwell, indecent exposure charges and all.
They heard the door in the stairwell below them open. She withdrew her questing hands, he smoothed her shirt, thumb deliberately caressing her nipple, he pulled the door open and ushered her onto the second floor.
"More later." He growled quietly and strode down the hall toward the party, she right behind him. The part of her responsible for most of the trouble she had ever been in pulsed needfully.
"That never gets old." She muttered, it being the first thing that came to mind through a roiling sea of endorphins.
WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM?!
Being the second.
"Heh." was all he said as he opened the door to the crowded bar. Her body's need was almost physically painful. She bit the inside of her cheek, ordered a drink and tried to punish her raging libido to a less distracting ebb. She considered heading straight to the bathroom and rubbing one out, but people approached and started talking to her. Briggs mingled as well, occasionally casting sideways glances and a smirk, but not approaching her in the crowd.
She wondered what signals she gave that he took the chance to kiss her, or that his behavior didn't raise any red flags at all, in fact, she felt irrationally safe near him. Nervous and unsure, yes, but absolutely safe.
As the party started to wane she realized he'd disappeared. She eventually made her way to her room and bed, questioning the next morning if it had really happened. Her lips tingled when she thought about it.
She didn't see him for three months, again at a convention. He was helping run one of the vendor booths. Nothing save a nod was exchanged until that evening, he was headed toward her in the hall with the ground-eating strides of someone who had somewhere to be, he didn't look at her, but slowed a little as he approached. "Peach whiskey in the room. 1735." He said quietly on his way by and slipped a key card into her hand without breaking stride.
She watched him head down the hall -NOT toward the room number he'd given her. She slipped the card into her back pocket and continued toward the lobby.
She visited with other convention goers and was invited up to a publishers' party. Not wanting to turn that down she went and hung out, asking questions of writers and war journalists for a while, she helped herself to glass of champagne and tried to ignore the anxious tension in her chest and the key card that felt heavy in her jeans.
After about 45 minutes she decided she wasn't missing much and took the back way to 1735.
She let herself in, the promised whiskey, ice and two tumblers sat on the dresser by the TV. Otherwise there wasn't much evidence the room was occupied.
She heard a noise from the bathroom and turned. He was topless, wearing just jeans and wiping his face with a towel.
"I was starting to wonder if you would show."
