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100prompts2019-05-01 02:50 pm
all_choseny) wrote in 100prompts2019-05-01 02:50 pm
Entry tags:
[Table 3 Prompt #006 Silver] Title: The Cuban Affair
Title: The Cuban Affair
Word Count: 3733
Characters: Napoleon Solo, Natalia Povlovsky, Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin
SL:The Man From U.N.C.L.E. When In Rome
Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Prompt:#006 Silver for100prompts
Rating: Mature
Summary: Gaby sighed and threw back her head in frustration. Illya’s eyes formed into thin slits as he shook his head. Always, he thought to himself. Whenever he and Gaby got even a little bit closer to getting intimate, someone managed to interrupt them. It took every ounce of his willpower not shove the maid out the door.
A/N: Thanks to my Beta Somedeepmystery [AO3]
Disclaimer: The story is mine, but the characters do not belong to me.
Havana, Cuba
Natalia worked hard to keep her nerves at bay. She always prided herself on her ability to keep a cool head under stress. Returning to Cuba under these circumstances was proving to be a challenge. The newly christened Russian Spy dawned her Givenchy sunglasses as she and Solo power walked through the busy Havana airport. If her calculations were correct, Illya and Gaby were already on their way their hotel. Natalia allowed herself a moment of pride at her handy work. Illya was a splitting image of the Russian diplomat he was posing as. Only a keen eye could tell the difference.
“Are you alright?” Solo spoke close to her ear as they grabbed their luggage from the carousel.
Natalia gave him a curt nod. “I’m fine,” she replied. The concern in his voice both comforted and irritated her. She didn’t want him to see that she was off balance. Solo had met the fabled Cat. Always put together. Never ruffled. Now was not the time for histrionics. But the warmth of his touch on the small of her back made her want to sink into it and him.
“Peril and Gaby should be checking in by now. Our hotel is directly across the street. The
trackers I placed on them will give us enough range to keep them well within our—”
“I know. We’ve been over this. Are you always this chatty during a mission?”
Solo opened the car door for her and ignored the waspishness in her voice. He acknowledged it for what it was. “No. But you could stand to relax a little. Trust me, you don’t want nerves getting the best of you.”
Natalia continued to stare straight ahead as her partner navigated the narrow Havana streets. She knew he was right and hated that he could sense her emotions so well. “Who says I’m nervous?” she quipped.
The corner of Solo’s lip twitched upward into a smirk. “I say. We may not know each other very well, Natalia, but I know people, and you aren’t doing as good of a job as you think hiding your feelings. The tension around you is so thick I can almost taste it.”
Natalia sat silently for a few moments before rolling down her window. The weather was balmy and a light sheen of sweat began to coat her skin. She fiddled with the radio until she found a song she liked. They rode in silence, letting the sound of music fill in where conversation waned.
“Your work on Illya was exceptionally well done,” Solo complimented, breaking the silence.
Natalia turned her head slightly and allowed herself to smile. “Thank you. I spent most of my childhood watching my father work.”
“It really is extraordinary. Did you ever consider making that your profession?”
Natalia burst into sudden laughter. “Not at all. I’m not sure you’re aware, Solo, but a costume designer in low budget Russian films doesn’t exactly put you in the lap of luxury.
“Hence why you took up ‘special acquisitions,’” he said, making Natalia laugh again.
“I see what you’re trying to do, Solo.” Natalia worked to mask her features.
Solo glanced her way and grinned. “Is it working?”
Yes, it was working. It worked so well that she felt guilty for finding a moment to laugh when her father was locked up somewhere on the island. She hated herself for admiring the scenery as they drove through the city. Natalia shifted in the leather-bound chair and sobered up. She looked over at Solo again. She appreciated his attempt at bringing some levity to the situation even if it was a matter of life or death. Truthfully, she was wound up rather tightly.
“How did you get into ‘special acquisitions?’” Natalia asked, ignoring his question. “The real reason,” she qualified.
“No sob stories for me. I stole because it was fun. And I’m good at it.”
Cocky. Natalia hated to admit it, but that was one of the things she liked about him. Long before she met Napoleon Solo, his reputation preceded him. He always managed to pull off some of the most impossible feats. She particularly admired the Rubens he stole. A man of his talents was wasted working for the government.
“Work is always fun when it’s something you enjoy,” she said.
“Indeed.” Solo brought the car to an abrupt stop. “And here we are.”
Natalia looked up at the gilded hotel. It looked pricey. She wondered if INTERPOL would be so generous with their money. She could only imagine what one night in a hotel like this cost them.
“Our room is on the top floor. Nothing but the best,” Solo said as he helped her out the car.
“Our room?” Natalia lifted a carefully shaped brow.
“Part of the cover,” Solo answered her casually. “We’re supposed to be on vacation.”
Natalia glanced across the street. The hotel and Gaby and Illya were staying in was even more expensive than theirs. Natalia squinted at the signage across the front of the sprawling building. It was fitting for a Russian diplomat and his wife.
The bellhop gathered their bags and showed them into the hotel. “Dinner is at six,” Solo reminded her. “Gaby and Kuryakin will be meeting with the Cuban emissary around that time for dinner as well. We’ll be close by to keep an eye on them just in case.”
Cuban music played ambiently in the lobby, drowning out the sound of rapid chatter coming from the hotel guests. Natalia followed Solo to the concierge desk and waited patiently for them to get checked in.
“What are the odds we find my father this evening and get the hell out of here?” she whispered in his ear.
Solo took her hand in his and brought it to the lips. All part of the show. “We’re good. But not that good. In the meantime, Peril and Gaby will work their magic and hopefully we won’t have to be here any longer than necessary.”
++++
“Well, how do I look?” Gaby asked emerging from the bedroom they shared.
Illya looked up from his magazine and placed it aside. It was written in Spanish anyway. He eyed Gaby with subtle appreciation. The dress was bright and colorful, matching the atmosphere and complimenting her olive skin tone. This was Illya’s first time in the Caribbean. He was used to bitterly cold winters and cool summers. Looking at Gaby made him appreciate the warm island weather.
“Like a diplomat’s wife,” he said with a hint of a smile.
A grin tugged at Gaby’s lips. “Are you sure I don’t look like an architect’s fiancé? Or maybe a rich business man’s secret lover?” she teased.
Illya smiled back at her. Ever since Austria, things were different between them. The tension was still there, but it was laced with something else. Illya enjoyed the change. He liked working with Gaby. There was something there between them, although he suspected they both worked hard to ignore it. This time he was glad they both pushed for their arrangement as husband and wife. He liked having her by his side as his woman.
“Here let me…” Gaby said, closing the distance between them so she could help him with his bowtie.
Illya stood over her as she reached for the tie that hung loosely around his collar. He planned on tying it before they left for dinner that evening. As Gaby worked her delicate hands over the fabric, he focused his attention on the painting hanging on the wall behind her. The scent of her perfume filled his senses. She smelled like spring. Illya closed his eyes when her fingers accidentally brushed the exposed skin above his collar and sucked in a breath.
“Who taught you how to tie tie?”
Gaby looped one piece of black fabric over the other. “I have many talents,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Illya grunted with approval, pleased with the growing intimacy between them.
“There.” Gaby leaned back and admired her handy work. She placed a small hand on his chest and smiled. “Don’t you look handsome.” She tilted her chin up to look at him.
They were close. The air around them grew warmer. All he had to do was lean a little closer and their lips would touch. Illya swallowed hard and placed his hands at her slender waist. His nose brushed against hers as he dipped his head for a kiss. Closer, closer--
Someone tapped loudly at the door before yelling, “Housekeeping!” from the other side.
Illya and Gaby sprang apart like two guilty teenagers. The door to their hotel swung open and a woman wearing a maid’s uniform stepped inside.
“Sorry, Señor, Señora,” she apologized. “You need more towels?”
Gaby sighed and threw back her head in frustration. Illya’s eyes formed into thin slits as he shook his head. Always, he thought to himself. Whenever he and Gaby got even a little bit closer to getting intimate, someone managed to interrupt them. It took every ounce of his willpower not shove the maid out the door. The housekeeper hurriedly swept through the suite, apologizing profusely as she restocked the towels. Illya stood impatiently as she scurried around the room before making her final exit.
Gaby rolled her eyes. “We should go,” she said with chagrin.
Disappointment crashed into him as he watched Gaby grab the small clutch he picked out for her and head toward the door. Perhaps it is best, my little chop shop, he thought to himself. Illya let out a heavy sigh and followed Gaby out of the suite.
++++
The emissary’s name was Raul Alvarez. Illya disliked him immediately. The man’s ego was worse than an American’s and he had plenty of experience dealing with an inflated ego. Illya chewed his food deliberately and listened to the man brag about everything from his swollen faced wife to his fancy, embargoed car. The Cuban chose one of the most expensive restaurants the island had to offer. Everything about it brimmed with exclusivity. It was a perfect venue to host a foreign diplomat. Illya kept a shrewd eye out for anything suspicious. Although he was in the country as a Russian diplomat, relations between Cuba and the Soviet Union were still tenuous.
“Don’t muck this up,” Waverly warned before the trip.
Illya was aware that Solo and Natalia were lurking about somewhere in the restaurant. They would remain undercover as backup unless something happened that would require their assistance. It was Illya’s job to make sure that didn’t happen.
“Tell Me, Mr. Lukin, what do you and your lovely wife think about my country? I understand this is your first time, no?”
“We like it,” Illya said while laying his fork down carefully on his plate.
“Ah, come on! I’ve had the misfortune of visiting Russia. Cuba is a great improvement.”
Illya clenched his fists under the table. His shoulders tensed as the man’s insult to his country. Russia was no misfortune. Men like Alvarez would be lucky to have Russian blood coursing through their veins. Illya started to respond when Gaby placed a hand on his thigh and gave it a light squeeze.
“What my husband is trying to say, Mr. Alvarez, is that we are enjoying ourselves. The accommodations are lovely, and your country is very beautiful. Thank you for welcoming us to your home.”
Alvarez's lips spread into a wide, toothy smile. “You are too generous, Mrs. Lukin.” Alvarez clapped his hands together happily. “We should toast.” He waved over one of the wait staff and ordered a bottle of wine for the table. “To our lovely countries and even lovelier wives,” Alvarez toasted.
Illya lifted his glass between stiff fingers and took a small sip of the bitter liquid. He didn’t like to drink. Alcohol clouded judgment and made men weak.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find the ladies room,” Gaby said, standing to her feet. Illya stood up with her before sitting down again.
“Maria, why don’t you show Mrs. Lukin the way. That’ll give us men time to talk.” The Cuban’s wife nodded before excusing herself from the table to escort Gaby to the ladies room.
Once the women were gone the table grew silent. Illya sat with his back straight against his chair and studied the man. He wasn’t the same one who attacked him and Solo back in Austria. That man had dark, curly hair and a mustache. Alvarez was tall and swarthy with dark hair slicked back by oils. His teeth were huge and a long straight nose was attached to his very punchable face.
“Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Lukin,” Alvarez began. “But not Russian.”
“No.”
Alvarez grinned and took another drink of his wine. “I forget how chatty you Russians are,” he joked. Alvarez eyed Illya over the rim of his glass and shook his head. “Tomorrow we will give you the grand tour of the island. Then we will discuss some business. But in the meantime, you look like a man who could loosen up. This is paradise.”
Illya grunted his response. He had no interest in loosening anything. His mission was to retrieve the nuclear codes, Kirkoff, and Natalia’s father. In that order. “Business is more important,” he said.
Alvarez chuckled and wagged a finger at Illya. “Yes, but even diplomats should have their fun. Our country has more than just magnificent beaches. The women are very nice, too,” he said with a wink.
Illya barely choked back his disgust. The man’s wife was only a few feet away and he was soliciting him for—Illya clenched his fists again. His heart began to thump loudly in his ears, drowning out the restaurant. He could see Alvarez's lips moving, but he couldn’t hear him above the rush of blood. If Gaby was his wife, he would never dishonor her. Illya sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nostrils. Waverly recommended he try the breathing technique when his temper began to flare. Most of the time it didn’t work.
“So, what do you say, Lukin? We can drop the women off and—”
“No,” Illya interrupted curtly. He took another fortifying breath. “It is first night. We will spend it together,” he amended.
Alvarez nodded his head in understanding. “You’re right. There’ll be plenty of time for fun. Alverez looked up just as his wife and Gaby returned to the table. And speaking of fun,” Alvarez said, standing to pull back his wife’s chair. “I was telling your husband about the grand tour of the island.”
“Oh?” Gaby smiled as she took her seat. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yes. Then after the tour, you’ll have your audience with the president.”
“Will we see your prison?” Illya asked, prompting Gaby to dig her elbow into his ribs.
Alvarez paused. A confused frown creased his brow before he spoke again. “If you wish.”
Illya nodded his head satisfied with the emissary’s answer. The foursome finished their meal before parting ways for the evening. As he and Gaby exited the restaurant, Illya caught a glimpse of Solo and Natalia. He gave them a barely perceptible nod before exiting the building. The air was heavy with moisture as he and Gaby strolled down the streets of Old Havana together. He thought about their near kiss from earlier and wished for another moment like it. Illya looked up. Stars dotted the inky blue sky heightening the romantic atmosphere. It reminded him of their first stroll together in Rome.
“Stay close,” he mumbled out the side of his mouth. “We’re being followed.”
“Solo and Natalia?”
Illya shook his head. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close. Illya helped Gaby cross the cobbled road to the opposite side of the street. The crowd was dense and festive. He hoped the crowd would put distance between them and whoever was following them.
“Let’s stop here,” Gaby said. “There are a lot of people.”
Good idea, he thought. They sat in front of a coffee house together. Illya flagged down a waitress and ordered them each a cup. The streets were live with natives and tourists enjoying the warm night. Music wafted across the square prompting some brave souls to dance. Illya snuck a glance at Gaby. Her legs were crossed at the knee and her foot bobbed to the music. She liked to dance. Illya recalled the night she tackled him fondly. He looked around the square again. Whoever had been following them was gone. Illya was not a dancer, but they were in Cuba. He stood up before he could talk himself out it and extended his hand out to Gaby. He cleared his throat and waited for her to notice him. Gaby looked at him with surprise behind her dark eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked hesitantly.
“Waiting for you to stand up so we can dance.”
Gaby shook her head and laughed softly under her breath. “We’re being followed.”
“Not anymore. But this is good. We dance. We look like them,” he said nodding his head toward the crowd.
Gaby looked around before slowly standing to her feet. “But you never dance.”
“Russian architect never dance. Russian diplomat dance occasionally.”
Gaby shook her head and laughed. “Well, when you put it that way.” Gaby placed her hand in his just as Otis Redding’s “These Arms of Mine” began to play from somewhere in the plaza. Illya wrapped his arms around Gaby, pulling her close. She rested her cheek against his chest as they swayed to the American, soul ballad. Holding her did something to him. She made him want things that a Soviet spy shouldn’t want. It made him think about the impossible. Illya closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her lithe body against his. Tomorrow they would begin their search for Kirkoff and Natalia’s father. Tonight, they danced.
++++
Solo tracked Illya’s and Gaby’s movements. They were being trailed for a while, but the two men soon abandoned their target and slipped back into the shadows. Solo watched the couple from across the street. “I believe the coast is clear,” he said to Natalia.
“Shouldn’t we stay close just in case?”
Solo shook his head. “They’ll be alright. If anything happens, Peril can take care of himself. Trust me. The man once tore the back of my car off with his bare hands.”
“You’re kidding!” Natalia exclaimed in disbelief.
“Afraid not.” He watched them for a few more minutes before guiding Natalia back to their hotel. “They have the trackers. If anything happens, we’re still close. I’d like to get back to the room and study the plans for the prison and casa el presidente.”
They still didn’t know exactly where the Cubans were keeping Kirkoff or Natalia’s father,but they had narrowed it down to the president’s personal estate or the prison. The most likely place was the president’s home. Solo had a feeling that Castro would want them close.
“Good idea,” Natalia agreed, trailing behind him before matching his stride.
They walked back to the hotel, bypassing vendors and late-night tourist. Solo checked for messages at the front desk before they returned to their suite. He cautioned Natalia to wait by the door while he checked the room for any intruders or bugs.
“All’s clear,” he said, motioning her inside the suite.
Natalia dropped her clutch on the table and slid out of her shoes as soon as she walked inside. Solo pulled at his tie as he spread the plans to the President’s estate across the eat-in table. Over the next few hours, he and Natalia poured over the plans. He occasionally monitored Illya and Gaby until they were safely back in their room. Hours later, the map was littered with notes and possible areas they were keeping Kirkoff and her father. Tomorrow, while they were on tour, Gaby and Illya would try to confirm their location. That evening they would go and extract their target.
Solo looked up from the city plans and studied Natalia from inside the suite. She was standing out on the balcony overlooking the city. Silver moonlight cast a soft glow around her. Solo pushed the plans aside and stood to his feet.
“Are you alright?” he asked, standing behind her.
Natalia used the butt of her hand to quickly wipe her tears away. “I’m fine. You should get some rest. Long day tomorrow.” She spoke with her back toward him.
Solo felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. He knew she was embarrassed. Vulnerability wasn’t something either of them was comfortable with. He didn’t know how to handle emotional women. Without saying a word, Solo turned her around to face him. Natalia hesitated for a moment before resting her cheek on his shoulder. They didn’t say a word as he held her. Napoleon tried to make sense of what he was feeling. Women had always been an easy commodity for him. Ever since he was a young man, there was never a shortage of women who were willing to warm his bed. But intimacy was something new to him. Solo struggled with his conflicting emotions as they stood together on the balcony. He hated that Natalia was going through this. He wanted to comfort her and assure her that everything was going to work out. They were partners. But above all, he did care for her. The realization struck him like a fist to the gut.
“Why don’t you head inside and get some rest,” he suggested. I’ll tidy up out here.
Natalia nodded her head as she pulled away from him. “Solo…” she hesitated at the door.
“Mmm…?”
Natalia’s lips parted before she shook her head. “Goodnight.”
She was asleep by the time he made it back to their room. Solo undressed in the dark and slid under the covers in his queen-sized bed. He started to drift off when the weight shifted in his bed. Natalia’s arms snaked around his waist as she slid into the bed beside him.
“Natalia, what…?”
She placed her fingertips on his lips. “Don’t speak,” she said.
Solo gazed into her face in the darkness. There was desperation and hunger reflected in her dark eyes. He sifted his hand through her thick dark hair and pulled her close for a fiery kiss.
Word Count: 3733
Characters: Napoleon Solo, Natalia Povlovsky, Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin
SL:The Man From U.N.C.L.E. When In Rome
Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Prompt:#006 Silver for
100promptsRating: Mature
Summary: Gaby sighed and threw back her head in frustration. Illya’s eyes formed into thin slits as he shook his head. Always, he thought to himself. Whenever he and Gaby got even a little bit closer to getting intimate, someone managed to interrupt them. It took every ounce of his willpower not shove the maid out the door.
A/N: Thanks to my Beta Somedeepmystery [AO3]
Disclaimer: The story is mine, but the characters do not belong to me.
Havana, Cuba
Natalia worked hard to keep her nerves at bay. She always prided herself on her ability to keep a cool head under stress. Returning to Cuba under these circumstances was proving to be a challenge. The newly christened Russian Spy dawned her Givenchy sunglasses as she and Solo power walked through the busy Havana airport. If her calculations were correct, Illya and Gaby were already on their way their hotel. Natalia allowed herself a moment of pride at her handy work. Illya was a splitting image of the Russian diplomat he was posing as. Only a keen eye could tell the difference.
“Are you alright?” Solo spoke close to her ear as they grabbed their luggage from the carousel.
Natalia gave him a curt nod. “I’m fine,” she replied. The concern in his voice both comforted and irritated her. She didn’t want him to see that she was off balance. Solo had met the fabled Cat. Always put together. Never ruffled. Now was not the time for histrionics. But the warmth of his touch on the small of her back made her want to sink into it and him.
“Peril and Gaby should be checking in by now. Our hotel is directly across the street. The
trackers I placed on them will give us enough range to keep them well within our—”
“I know. We’ve been over this. Are you always this chatty during a mission?”
Solo opened the car door for her and ignored the waspishness in her voice. He acknowledged it for what it was. “No. But you could stand to relax a little. Trust me, you don’t want nerves getting the best of you.”
Natalia continued to stare straight ahead as her partner navigated the narrow Havana streets. She knew he was right and hated that he could sense her emotions so well. “Who says I’m nervous?” she quipped.
The corner of Solo’s lip twitched upward into a smirk. “I say. We may not know each other very well, Natalia, but I know people, and you aren’t doing as good of a job as you think hiding your feelings. The tension around you is so thick I can almost taste it.”
Natalia sat silently for a few moments before rolling down her window. The weather was balmy and a light sheen of sweat began to coat her skin. She fiddled with the radio until she found a song she liked. They rode in silence, letting the sound of music fill in where conversation waned.
“Your work on Illya was exceptionally well done,” Solo complimented, breaking the silence.
Natalia turned her head slightly and allowed herself to smile. “Thank you. I spent most of my childhood watching my father work.”
“It really is extraordinary. Did you ever consider making that your profession?”
Natalia burst into sudden laughter. “Not at all. I’m not sure you’re aware, Solo, but a costume designer in low budget Russian films doesn’t exactly put you in the lap of luxury.
“Hence why you took up ‘special acquisitions,’” he said, making Natalia laugh again.
“I see what you’re trying to do, Solo.” Natalia worked to mask her features.
Solo glanced her way and grinned. “Is it working?”
Yes, it was working. It worked so well that she felt guilty for finding a moment to laugh when her father was locked up somewhere on the island. She hated herself for admiring the scenery as they drove through the city. Natalia shifted in the leather-bound chair and sobered up. She looked over at Solo again. She appreciated his attempt at bringing some levity to the situation even if it was a matter of life or death. Truthfully, she was wound up rather tightly.
“How did you get into ‘special acquisitions?’” Natalia asked, ignoring his question. “The real reason,” she qualified.
“No sob stories for me. I stole because it was fun. And I’m good at it.”
Cocky. Natalia hated to admit it, but that was one of the things she liked about him. Long before she met Napoleon Solo, his reputation preceded him. He always managed to pull off some of the most impossible feats. She particularly admired the Rubens he stole. A man of his talents was wasted working for the government.
“Work is always fun when it’s something you enjoy,” she said.
“Indeed.” Solo brought the car to an abrupt stop. “And here we are.”
Natalia looked up at the gilded hotel. It looked pricey. She wondered if INTERPOL would be so generous with their money. She could only imagine what one night in a hotel like this cost them.
“Our room is on the top floor. Nothing but the best,” Solo said as he helped her out the car.
“Our room?” Natalia lifted a carefully shaped brow.
“Part of the cover,” Solo answered her casually. “We’re supposed to be on vacation.”
Natalia glanced across the street. The hotel and Gaby and Illya were staying in was even more expensive than theirs. Natalia squinted at the signage across the front of the sprawling building. It was fitting for a Russian diplomat and his wife.
The bellhop gathered their bags and showed them into the hotel. “Dinner is at six,” Solo reminded her. “Gaby and Kuryakin will be meeting with the Cuban emissary around that time for dinner as well. We’ll be close by to keep an eye on them just in case.”
Cuban music played ambiently in the lobby, drowning out the sound of rapid chatter coming from the hotel guests. Natalia followed Solo to the concierge desk and waited patiently for them to get checked in.
“What are the odds we find my father this evening and get the hell out of here?” she whispered in his ear.
Solo took her hand in his and brought it to the lips. All part of the show. “We’re good. But not that good. In the meantime, Peril and Gaby will work their magic and hopefully we won’t have to be here any longer than necessary.”
++++
“Well, how do I look?” Gaby asked emerging from the bedroom they shared.
Illya looked up from his magazine and placed it aside. It was written in Spanish anyway. He eyed Gaby with subtle appreciation. The dress was bright and colorful, matching the atmosphere and complimenting her olive skin tone. This was Illya’s first time in the Caribbean. He was used to bitterly cold winters and cool summers. Looking at Gaby made him appreciate the warm island weather.
“Like a diplomat’s wife,” he said with a hint of a smile.
A grin tugged at Gaby’s lips. “Are you sure I don’t look like an architect’s fiancé? Or maybe a rich business man’s secret lover?” she teased.
Illya smiled back at her. Ever since Austria, things were different between them. The tension was still there, but it was laced with something else. Illya enjoyed the change. He liked working with Gaby. There was something there between them, although he suspected they both worked hard to ignore it. This time he was glad they both pushed for their arrangement as husband and wife. He liked having her by his side as his woman.
“Here let me…” Gaby said, closing the distance between them so she could help him with his bowtie.
Illya stood over her as she reached for the tie that hung loosely around his collar. He planned on tying it before they left for dinner that evening. As Gaby worked her delicate hands over the fabric, he focused his attention on the painting hanging on the wall behind her. The scent of her perfume filled his senses. She smelled like spring. Illya closed his eyes when her fingers accidentally brushed the exposed skin above his collar and sucked in a breath.
“Who taught you how to tie tie?”
Gaby looped one piece of black fabric over the other. “I have many talents,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Illya grunted with approval, pleased with the growing intimacy between them.
“There.” Gaby leaned back and admired her handy work. She placed a small hand on his chest and smiled. “Don’t you look handsome.” She tilted her chin up to look at him.
They were close. The air around them grew warmer. All he had to do was lean a little closer and their lips would touch. Illya swallowed hard and placed his hands at her slender waist. His nose brushed against hers as he dipped his head for a kiss. Closer, closer--
Someone tapped loudly at the door before yelling, “Housekeeping!” from the other side.
Illya and Gaby sprang apart like two guilty teenagers. The door to their hotel swung open and a woman wearing a maid’s uniform stepped inside.
“Sorry, Señor, Señora,” she apologized. “You need more towels?”
Gaby sighed and threw back her head in frustration. Illya’s eyes formed into thin slits as he shook his head. Always, he thought to himself. Whenever he and Gaby got even a little bit closer to getting intimate, someone managed to interrupt them. It took every ounce of his willpower not shove the maid out the door. The housekeeper hurriedly swept through the suite, apologizing profusely as she restocked the towels. Illya stood impatiently as she scurried around the room before making her final exit.
Gaby rolled her eyes. “We should go,” she said with chagrin.
Disappointment crashed into him as he watched Gaby grab the small clutch he picked out for her and head toward the door. Perhaps it is best, my little chop shop, he thought to himself. Illya let out a heavy sigh and followed Gaby out of the suite.
++++
The emissary’s name was Raul Alvarez. Illya disliked him immediately. The man’s ego was worse than an American’s and he had plenty of experience dealing with an inflated ego. Illya chewed his food deliberately and listened to the man brag about everything from his swollen faced wife to his fancy, embargoed car. The Cuban chose one of the most expensive restaurants the island had to offer. Everything about it brimmed with exclusivity. It was a perfect venue to host a foreign diplomat. Illya kept a shrewd eye out for anything suspicious. Although he was in the country as a Russian diplomat, relations between Cuba and the Soviet Union were still tenuous.
“Don’t muck this up,” Waverly warned before the trip.
Illya was aware that Solo and Natalia were lurking about somewhere in the restaurant. They would remain undercover as backup unless something happened that would require their assistance. It was Illya’s job to make sure that didn’t happen.
“Tell Me, Mr. Lukin, what do you and your lovely wife think about my country? I understand this is your first time, no?”
“We like it,” Illya said while laying his fork down carefully on his plate.
“Ah, come on! I’ve had the misfortune of visiting Russia. Cuba is a great improvement.”
Illya clenched his fists under the table. His shoulders tensed as the man’s insult to his country. Russia was no misfortune. Men like Alvarez would be lucky to have Russian blood coursing through their veins. Illya started to respond when Gaby placed a hand on his thigh and gave it a light squeeze.
“What my husband is trying to say, Mr. Alvarez, is that we are enjoying ourselves. The accommodations are lovely, and your country is very beautiful. Thank you for welcoming us to your home.”
Alvarez's lips spread into a wide, toothy smile. “You are too generous, Mrs. Lukin.” Alvarez clapped his hands together happily. “We should toast.” He waved over one of the wait staff and ordered a bottle of wine for the table. “To our lovely countries and even lovelier wives,” Alvarez toasted.
Illya lifted his glass between stiff fingers and took a small sip of the bitter liquid. He didn’t like to drink. Alcohol clouded judgment and made men weak.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find the ladies room,” Gaby said, standing to her feet. Illya stood up with her before sitting down again.
“Maria, why don’t you show Mrs. Lukin the way. That’ll give us men time to talk.” The Cuban’s wife nodded before excusing herself from the table to escort Gaby to the ladies room.
Once the women were gone the table grew silent. Illya sat with his back straight against his chair and studied the man. He wasn’t the same one who attacked him and Solo back in Austria. That man had dark, curly hair and a mustache. Alvarez was tall and swarthy with dark hair slicked back by oils. His teeth were huge and a long straight nose was attached to his very punchable face.
“Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Lukin,” Alvarez began. “But not Russian.”
“No.”
Alvarez grinned and took another drink of his wine. “I forget how chatty you Russians are,” he joked. Alvarez eyed Illya over the rim of his glass and shook his head. “Tomorrow we will give you the grand tour of the island. Then we will discuss some business. But in the meantime, you look like a man who could loosen up. This is paradise.”
Illya grunted his response. He had no interest in loosening anything. His mission was to retrieve the nuclear codes, Kirkoff, and Natalia’s father. In that order. “Business is more important,” he said.
Alvarez chuckled and wagged a finger at Illya. “Yes, but even diplomats should have their fun. Our country has more than just magnificent beaches. The women are very nice, too,” he said with a wink.
Illya barely choked back his disgust. The man’s wife was only a few feet away and he was soliciting him for—Illya clenched his fists again. His heart began to thump loudly in his ears, drowning out the restaurant. He could see Alvarez's lips moving, but he couldn’t hear him above the rush of blood. If Gaby was his wife, he would never dishonor her. Illya sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nostrils. Waverly recommended he try the breathing technique when his temper began to flare. Most of the time it didn’t work.
“So, what do you say, Lukin? We can drop the women off and—”
“No,” Illya interrupted curtly. He took another fortifying breath. “It is first night. We will spend it together,” he amended.
Alvarez nodded his head in understanding. “You’re right. There’ll be plenty of time for fun. Alverez looked up just as his wife and Gaby returned to the table. And speaking of fun,” Alvarez said, standing to pull back his wife’s chair. “I was telling your husband about the grand tour of the island.”
“Oh?” Gaby smiled as she took her seat. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yes. Then after the tour, you’ll have your audience with the president.”
“Will we see your prison?” Illya asked, prompting Gaby to dig her elbow into his ribs.
Alvarez paused. A confused frown creased his brow before he spoke again. “If you wish.”
Illya nodded his head satisfied with the emissary’s answer. The foursome finished their meal before parting ways for the evening. As he and Gaby exited the restaurant, Illya caught a glimpse of Solo and Natalia. He gave them a barely perceptible nod before exiting the building. The air was heavy with moisture as he and Gaby strolled down the streets of Old Havana together. He thought about their near kiss from earlier and wished for another moment like it. Illya looked up. Stars dotted the inky blue sky heightening the romantic atmosphere. It reminded him of their first stroll together in Rome.
“Stay close,” he mumbled out the side of his mouth. “We’re being followed.”
“Solo and Natalia?”
Illya shook his head. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close. Illya helped Gaby cross the cobbled road to the opposite side of the street. The crowd was dense and festive. He hoped the crowd would put distance between them and whoever was following them.
“Let’s stop here,” Gaby said. “There are a lot of people.”
Good idea, he thought. They sat in front of a coffee house together. Illya flagged down a waitress and ordered them each a cup. The streets were live with natives and tourists enjoying the warm night. Music wafted across the square prompting some brave souls to dance. Illya snuck a glance at Gaby. Her legs were crossed at the knee and her foot bobbed to the music. She liked to dance. Illya recalled the night she tackled him fondly. He looked around the square again. Whoever had been following them was gone. Illya was not a dancer, but they were in Cuba. He stood up before he could talk himself out it and extended his hand out to Gaby. He cleared his throat and waited for her to notice him. Gaby looked at him with surprise behind her dark eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked hesitantly.
“Waiting for you to stand up so we can dance.”
Gaby shook her head and laughed softly under her breath. “We’re being followed.”
“Not anymore. But this is good. We dance. We look like them,” he said nodding his head toward the crowd.
Gaby looked around before slowly standing to her feet. “But you never dance.”
“Russian architect never dance. Russian diplomat dance occasionally.”
Gaby shook her head and laughed. “Well, when you put it that way.” Gaby placed her hand in his just as Otis Redding’s “These Arms of Mine” began to play from somewhere in the plaza. Illya wrapped his arms around Gaby, pulling her close. She rested her cheek against his chest as they swayed to the American, soul ballad. Holding her did something to him. She made him want things that a Soviet spy shouldn’t want. It made him think about the impossible. Illya closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her lithe body against his. Tomorrow they would begin their search for Kirkoff and Natalia’s father. Tonight, they danced.
++++
Solo tracked Illya’s and Gaby’s movements. They were being trailed for a while, but the two men soon abandoned their target and slipped back into the shadows. Solo watched the couple from across the street. “I believe the coast is clear,” he said to Natalia.
“Shouldn’t we stay close just in case?”
Solo shook his head. “They’ll be alright. If anything happens, Peril can take care of himself. Trust me. The man once tore the back of my car off with his bare hands.”
“You’re kidding!” Natalia exclaimed in disbelief.
“Afraid not.” He watched them for a few more minutes before guiding Natalia back to their hotel. “They have the trackers. If anything happens, we’re still close. I’d like to get back to the room and study the plans for the prison and casa el presidente.”
They still didn’t know exactly where the Cubans were keeping Kirkoff or Natalia’s father,but they had narrowed it down to the president’s personal estate or the prison. The most likely place was the president’s home. Solo had a feeling that Castro would want them close.
“Good idea,” Natalia agreed, trailing behind him before matching his stride.
They walked back to the hotel, bypassing vendors and late-night tourist. Solo checked for messages at the front desk before they returned to their suite. He cautioned Natalia to wait by the door while he checked the room for any intruders or bugs.
“All’s clear,” he said, motioning her inside the suite.
Natalia dropped her clutch on the table and slid out of her shoes as soon as she walked inside. Solo pulled at his tie as he spread the plans to the President’s estate across the eat-in table. Over the next few hours, he and Natalia poured over the plans. He occasionally monitored Illya and Gaby until they were safely back in their room. Hours later, the map was littered with notes and possible areas they were keeping Kirkoff and her father. Tomorrow, while they were on tour, Gaby and Illya would try to confirm their location. That evening they would go and extract their target.
Solo looked up from the city plans and studied Natalia from inside the suite. She was standing out on the balcony overlooking the city. Silver moonlight cast a soft glow around her. Solo pushed the plans aside and stood to his feet.
“Are you alright?” he asked, standing behind her.
Natalia used the butt of her hand to quickly wipe her tears away. “I’m fine. You should get some rest. Long day tomorrow.” She spoke with her back toward him.
Solo felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. He knew she was embarrassed. Vulnerability wasn’t something either of them was comfortable with. He didn’t know how to handle emotional women. Without saying a word, Solo turned her around to face him. Natalia hesitated for a moment before resting her cheek on his shoulder. They didn’t say a word as he held her. Napoleon tried to make sense of what he was feeling. Women had always been an easy commodity for him. Ever since he was a young man, there was never a shortage of women who were willing to warm his bed. But intimacy was something new to him. Solo struggled with his conflicting emotions as they stood together on the balcony. He hated that Natalia was going through this. He wanted to comfort her and assure her that everything was going to work out. They were partners. But above all, he did care for her. The realization struck him like a fist to the gut.
“Why don’t you head inside and get some rest,” he suggested. I’ll tidy up out here.
Natalia nodded her head as she pulled away from him. “Solo…” she hesitated at the door.
“Mmm…?”
Natalia’s lips parted before she shook her head. “Goodnight.”
She was asleep by the time he made it back to their room. Solo undressed in the dark and slid under the covers in his queen-sized bed. He started to drift off when the weight shifted in his bed. Natalia’s arms snaked around his waist as she slid into the bed beside him.
“Natalia, what…?”
She placed her fingertips on his lips. “Don’t speak,” she said.
Solo gazed into her face in the darkness. There was desperation and hunger reflected in her dark eyes. He sifted his hand through her thick dark hair and pulled her close for a fiery kiss.