There were people around, but we were suddenly kissing passionately. It was always like this when we'd been apart for a while, and sometimes even when we hadn't been. There was just something about the two of us that wouldn't let us keep our hands off each other. I don't know what it was, but sometimes it was overpowering.
I had to sit down on the lounge chair before the condition she had caused attracted further attention. She laughed, knowing exactly why I had broken the embrace, and sat down next to me, her hand on my leg.
'How long have you been here?' she asked.
'I just arrived a few minutes ago.'
'Not the hotel. The city. Barcelona.'
I paused, then admitted, 'A few days.'
She shook her head. 'What a waste. I could have gotten here earlier, you know. But I knew you'd want to have a look around alone first.'
'Guess I'm getting predictable.'
'I understand. I'm just worried I'll have nothing new to show you.'
I looked into her blue eyes. 'I want you to show me everything.'
Her hand moved on my leg, playful, insistent. 'All right. Shall we start with the room?'
We hurried, but getting back to the room seemed to take a lot longer than my trip to the pool a few minutes earlier. We made it, though, and I had her out of that bathing suit before the door had closed behind us.
I kicked off my shoes and we moved into the room, kissing again, Delilah pulling off my shirt and pants. I paused at the foot of the bed to get out of my boxers. Delilah scrambled up and reached suddenly under one of the pillows. Even though I'd checked there already, I tensed, but then saw it was only a condom. It was a measure of her own abandon that she hadn't reached more slowly – she knew my habits, and what could set me off – but also of mine, that I hadn't spotted the move in time to have done anything about it.
She lay back and I moved up on top of her, advancing between her open legs. She kissed me again and was rolling the condom onto me even as I moved inside her. For a second I thought of Midori and was glad we were being smart this time. We hadn't been, in Phuket.
We made love hard and fast. We didn't talk, talk was beside the point, it was just moans and breathing and finally a pair of sharp groans that were probably heard in the adjacent room.
As we lay side by side after, catching our breath, I realized that, for a few minutes, my nearly constant security awareness had been temporarily eclipsed by blind lust, and then by its afterglow. On the one hand, it was liberating, hell, it was life affirming to realize I could have a moment like that. But at the same time, it was worrisome. I hadn't told Delilah yet what I'd learned about Midori. I didn't know how to tell her, or when. What I did know was that I had never needed my skills as much as I would need them for what I planned to do next.
2
We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening dozing, making love again, then dozing some more. I remember thinking at some point it was good Barceloneans eat so late, or we would have missed our chance for dinner.
We finally managed to shower and get dressed, and then had a hotel car take us to Torre d'Alta Mar, a restaurant perched seventy-five meters above the sea atop the Torre de Sant Sebastian, one of three towers that serve the city's cable car system. Delilah had made the reservation, and once again she had chosen well. The 360-degree views were jaw-dropping; the food, even more so: partridge and lobster and filet mignon, all flavored with Catalan specialties like Ganxet beans, Guijuelo ham, and Idiazábal cheese. We killed two bottles of cava from a local winery called Rimarts. I'd never heard of the place, but they knew what they were doing.
I didn't bring up anything about Midori. It seemed too early. We'd only just gotten together, and the meal and atmosphere were so perfect, I didn't want to spoil any of it. Also, after all those hours of lovemaking, I was just too confused, not only about what I was going to do, but even about what I wanted.
So we stayed with familiar subjects instead, mostly work and travel. She told me she was still on administrative leave, pending her organization's completion of an inquiry into what had happened in Hong Kong, where Delilah had defied orders and helped me. They'd lost a good man there, and there were people who thought Delilah was to blame. I knew better, of course, but it wasn't as though she could call on me as a character witness.
'I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm happy to have the time off.'
I nodded. 'I was wondering how you managed to get away for this.'
She raised her glass. 'I'd say it worked out well.'
We touched glasses and drank. I said, 'How do you expect it's going to turn out?'
'I'm not even thinking about it.'
I knew her better than that and smiled sympathetically. Delilah didn't like to take shit from her supposed superiors, or from anyone.
After a moment, she shrugged. 'I'm a little worried. Not so much about whether I'm going to be reinstated or reprimanded or whatever. It's more… I just hate the way they use me and then judge me for doing the jobs they send me on. You'd think Al-Jib dead would trump everything else, but no.'
Al-Jib had been a terrorist, part of the A. Q. Khan network, who'd been trying to buy nuclear materiel so he could assemble a bomb. Delilah had killed him in Hong Kong, a target of opportunity, and right now that victory was probably the only thing holding the line against her organizational detractors.
'Well, they've got their priorities,' I said.
'Yeah, their little tsk tsk meetings, that's the priority. I swear, sometimes I feel like I should just tell them to go to hell.'
'I've dealt with that type, too,' I said, reaching over and taking her hand. 'Don't let them get you down.'
She smiled and squeezed my hand. 'I haven't even thought about it since I saw you. Not until we started talking about it, anyway.'
'Well, you'll have to see me more often, then,' I said, before I could think better of it.
She squeezed again and said, 'I'd like that.'
I didn't answer.
We finished after midnight and walked northwest into La Ribera. It was a weeknight, but even so El Born, one of the most ancient streets in the city and the heart of La Ribera, was hopping, with crowds spilling out from the bars lining the street and from the surrounding clubs and restaurants. We managed to get a table at a bar called La Palma. It was a beautiful old place, unpretentious, with wine barrels in the corners and sausages hanging from the ceiling. I ordered us each a shot of a 1958 Highland Park, one of the finest single malts on earth – ridiculous at 150 Euros the measure, but life is so short.
Afterward we strolled more. Delilah hooked an arm through mine and snuggled close in the chill night air. It felt so natural it almost worried me. I wondered what it would feel like to be this way all the time. Then I thought of Midori again.
We drifted south, into the Barri Gòtic, where the maze of stone streets narrowed and the crowds thinned. Soon the echoes of our footfalls, the shadowed walls of dark cathedrals and shuttered apartments, were our only companions.
A few blocks west of Via Laietana, I heard loud voices speaking in English, and as we turned a corner I saw four young men coming in our direction. From the clothes and accents, I guessed working-class British, probably football hooligans; from the volume and aggressive tone, I guessed drunk. My immediate sense was that they had struck out with the local girls in La Ribera, hadn't found any prostitutes to their liking along Las Ramblas, and were now heading back to La Ribera for another pass. My alertness ticked up a notch. I felt Delilah's hand on my arm stiffen just slightly. She was telling me she had noted the potential problem, too.
The street was narrow, almost an alley, and there wasn't much room to let them go by. I steered us to the left so I would have the inside position.