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"The keycards? You remember— "
"No. I mean using them to locate people."
"Oh. Every time you run the card through one of the scanners, the change in your position is recorded in a computerized database." He walked over to his desk and flipped the power switch of his personal computer. "Then you just use the Access program to locate the person's last known position."
Rebecca came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. The computer blinked quietly, prompting for a password.
"I can't use the program if I don't know your password," she reminded him.
Desmond chuckled. "It's SERAPHIM."
She watched in disbelief as he sat down and typed the letters, and the computer screen sprang to life. "Seraphim? Like the angels?"
"Why not? It's easy to remember, the right number of letters, and I can guarantee you wouldn't have guessed it."
The computer hummed and beeped for a minute, finally displaying a dark blue screen filled with pictures used to start various programs. He pointed to a picture of a compass.
"That's the Access program." Tapping keys, he selected and started the program, filling the screen with a map of the Institute.
"I didn't realize how big this place is." Rebecca traced her finger across the four topside buildings and the three levels of the complex underground. "No wonder taking care of it is using up so much of your time."
He lifted her hand away from the screen and pressed a brief kiss into her palm, but didn't comment on her thinly veiled reference to his recent added hours. He described the map of the Institute, instead.
"It's color coded. The research areas are white. Common areas are yellow. Residential areas are blue. High security areas are pink."
"High security?" She leaned closer, resting her hand on his shoulder for balance. One of the topside buildings and half of the lowest level of the complex glowed pink.
"The generators, communications and air filtration systems," he elaborated, tapping the topside building. With his other hand he reached up and covered her fingers in a light embrace. "The pumps, water, and computers are down on the bottom level."
She cuddled closer to him, resting her cheek against his thick mane of hair. The information he'd just given her was detailed enough that anyone she gave it to could shut down the Institute, but Desmond wasn't the least bit concerned. He trusted her. Completely.
She ran her hands over his shoulders in a soft caress, but the rough weave of his jacket interfered. Not to be deterred, she slid her hands around to the jacket's open front. When she reached inside to stroke his silk clad chest, he closed his eyes and let his head tip back against her breasts.
"Mmm," he sighed. "That's nice."
"I don't want to be nice," she whispered back, stroking his chest in rhythm. "I want to be wicked."
He laughed. "And you do it so well."
She reached inside his shirt to tease his hardened nipples, her own breasts swelling in sympathy. The weight of his head against her tender flesh was a delicious agony, and she leaned closer.
He reached back and guided her around the chair, sitting her on the desk before him. With excruciating patience, he unfastened the buttons of her blouse and pushed it aside, then cupped bo
th her breasts in his warm, capable hands. She leaned into the caress, her eyes closing as she exhaled in a soft whimper. His touch excited and inflamed her until she could barely think. And yet, she wanted more. She wanted him.
He reached inside her bra, freeing her breasts to the gentle torture of his thumbs flicking across her nipples. When he replaced one hand with his mouth, she grabbed his head and forced him closer, aching for the union they could achieve if only he wasn't so exhausted.
She closed her eyes and tipped back her head, overcome with a rush of desire. A broken sigh escaped her lips as he pulled her from the desk into his lap, and she felt the strength of his desire for her. He nuzzled the tender underside of her jaw, his warm breath steaming across the sensitive skin of her throat and making her quiver with need. He tightened his arms around her and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss on her pulse point, overloading her already straining nerves.
The world turned black and fell away, leaving only the blazing trail that ran from the fire between her legs to the miniature inferno at her throat. She lost herself in the raging wildfire of emotion burning through her, a fiery cataclysm she'd never experienced in anyone else's arms and that seemed to grow stronger each time they embraced. It seemed impossible to contain so much passion and pleasure within one person, yet Desmond's every touch only stoked the fires higher.
When she gradually drifted back to awareness, the telltale soreness in her breasts and neck reminded her that this bout of lovemaking had gone the way of the others. He had given her more pleasure than she used to dream existed, and she hadn't given him anything. She opened her eyes to find Desmond smiling down at her. He didn't seem as drawn and peaked as he had before. Maybe their lovemaking had been just what he needed, after all.
Desmond shifted his hold on Rebecca so that he could better see her face. He loved watching that sated expression she had after making love, her eyes barely half open, shining with a glint of starlight, a slumberous smile weighing on her lips. Reaching out, he brushed back the lock of hair that never stayed where she wanted it, letting the soft strands float across his fingers. So fine, like a chestnut cloud.
He smiled, knowing she'd laugh if he told her that. Having grown up in a far less poetic era, she had no patience for his more lyrical expressions. She'd probably tell him it was the shampoo she used, a honey and lemon blend that reminded him of spring. She must be running low on her travel size tube by now. They'd have to buy some more for her in Las Vegas.
He intended to stop in a drug store, anyway. He wasn't about to settle for this hands-off mental lovemaking on his wedding night.
