trashy romances and alias overload

Low, low slung jeans, hastily yanked on as he dives out the bathroom window onto the fire escape. No time. Bare flesh, flat planes of muscle flexing and contracting with each pounding step towards the roof. Breath condensing to steam with each exertion.

The woman abandoned in the bed stretches sinuously, then wraps the sheet around her naked body. Hair rumpled, make-up seductively smudged, her bare feet lazily make their way to the window with long legged grace. She laughs silently. Gooseflesh ripples down her arms as the night wind chills the steamy room. Unbothered, she looks beyond the neighboring high rises and miles of urban landscape. She’s counting the time he’ll be taking in the bathroom. Her eyes rest briefly on the second building from the left. She lifts her palm, and places it on the cool glass, a silent salute.
The third window on the second floor acknowledges the signal with a flicker, then all goes black.
Still laughing softly, she strolls over to the bar, and fills a long flute with straight cranberry juice. She grabs a few strawberries from a nearby bowl, then drops the sheet. Taking a juicy bite and a long sip, she makes her way back to the bed, She lies on top of the sheets, artfully sprawled over luxorious eiderdown, and awaits his return.

The cold slaps his chest, and instantly condenses to a burn in his lungs. He strains with oxygen debt as he takes the last rung, clears the concrete to the expanse of urban skyline. He sees a movement to his right, and recognition barely registers before the leather clad leg snakes up behind his back, and knocks him face first into the floor. Icy steel snicks past his ear and rests behind his neck. For a split second, he freezes. Then he blindly grabs the shoe heel he has eye contact with and pulls. Manages to flip onto his back, get to his feet.
And finds a gun resting point blank on the center of his forehead.
Completely unruffled, her black ponytail intact, she smiles. Her jump suit leaves little to the imagination. “Hey grey eyes, got a good workout with your girlfriend??”
Instant recognition, black hair against pristine white pillow case. Lamplight on creamy skin. He grins right into the gun barrel, and drawls, “nah honey, that was just a warm up. I’d ask you to join us, but she’s a little particular.”
Eyes narrowed, she opens her mouth to speak, but with a flick of his arm her has her throat between his hands. He anticipates the groin crushing knee, and has already spanned one hand around her waist, shoving her too close to do any damage. Standard issue material imprints onto his exposed chest. Legs entangled, pony tail slightly askew, she’s breathing a little heavily. He cuts off anything she was about to say, “why don’t you just tell me what the hell the old bastard wants me to do, I’m running out of time for your little games”.
She tries pushing him away, then gives in. “He told me to tell you that they know you’re here. Leave in the morning. He’ll see you at plan B on the high street on Tuesday.” She pushes him away again, he traps her hand against his heart.
Black eyes stare into grey. “She’s nothing. I swear. What I asked you that day, it still stands.”
She looks away, tries to snatch her hand back. Reluctantly, he lets her go. Watches as she clips on her safety ropes. She stands at the edge of the precipice, poised, black hair darker than the night sky, strands whipping her pale face. Her eyes glimmer white in the dark. She pauses a second, then mumbles something into her radio, and then jumps off the side of the building. Nylon leaded twine whirs as it carries her weight down forty stories to the lights below.

He turns his back, climbs back down. Enters the warmth. Walks over, deliberately draws the shades over the palm smudged window.

He’d just deal with her right now instead of the morning. To hell with the old man and his bloody instructions.

[on edit: poor character development, weak plot, random story line. better luck next time]