Rivalry
September 1967
Cinnamon linked arms first with Jim and then with Rollin as the car that held
the freed Project 12 scientists sped away.
"So, who's buying me dinner?" Cinnamon asked.
Jim assessed himself and laughed. "I'm not going any where looking
like this."
Cinnamon and Rollin agreed with Jim's concern and joined in the laugh.
Jim then excused himself and moved to the van in which Barney and Willy had
loaded Stavek and his hoods.
"Barney, Willy, you guys ready to deliver them to the authorities?"
Jim asked, lighting a cigarette.
Willy nodded, "More than ready."
Jim smiled at Willy and he slapped Barney on the back. "When you're done,
join us at the restaurant. I think we all deserve a good dinner tonight."
Cinnamon watched her team leader as she waited for him with Rollin. They'd
been working together for only a short while, but she had already developed
a great deal of respect for Jim Phelps. She knew Rollin had been disappointed
when he was passed over for the position of team leader, but in her heart she
knew it was for the best. Rollin was an extremely competent agent, one
of the best, but he lacked the political connections in "the Company"
for that type of promotion.
The threesome returned to the vacant warehouse they had used for the setup so
Jim could cleanup and both Cinnamon and Rollin could change out of their "costumes."
Working in the States was always easier, as the team could rely on a Company
cleanup crew for help at the end of a mission.
Rollin changed out of his blue coveralls and back into his suit. Jim pulled
a clean suit from his hanging bag. Cinnamon changed into a stylish summer
dress.
Forty-five minutes later, Barney and Willy, both wearing their street clothes
now, joined Rollin and Cinnamon at the bar in the
"Starting without me?" Barney asked with a smile, taking a stool next
to Cinnamon.
She smiled at her friend and teammate as Willy took a seat next to Rollin. "Where's
Jim?" He asked.
"On the phone," Rollin answered, waving for the bartender.
Jim finally returned, finding them all with drinks in hands. "It's
good to see you all relaxing for a change." Jim picked up the drink
he had ordered before using the phone. "Grab your drinks. Our
table is ready."
"Oh, good, I'm hungry," Cinnamon interjected.
"Then, by all means." Jim offered
his arm to her. "Rollin, grab the bar tab," he said as Cinnamon slipped
off the bar stool and took his arm. Together, they led the way to the
table.
Barney gave Rollin a friendly slap on the back as he and Willy followed, leaving
Rollin with the tab and a frown on his face as he watched Cinnamon leave with
Jim.
They sat together in a crescent-shaped booth. Jim and Rollin sat on either
side of Cinnamon, with Rollin on the outside of the booth.
The dinner was lively with stories of past assignments and past lives, all cleverly
disguised for any eavesdropper. Jim did most of the talking through dinner
and drinks, however. After all, he was the new team member and it was
important for the others to know him. Still, it seemed to Rollin that
Jim's tales were meant to impress Cinnamon, in particular. And she did
seem to be enthralled with Jim's stories of his past. She asked questions
and offered enthusiastic responses that seemed only to encourage Jim.
As Jim told them about his short-lived career as a commercial airline pilot
before joining the IM Force, Rollin felt Cinnamon's knee purposely press against
his. He ignored her intimacy. She thought nothing of it and continued
in her private pursuit for his attention. She slipped her foot out of
her shoe, then caressed Rollin's calf with her toe.
She slowly met his eyes. She was surprised by what she thought she saw
there - Rollin's annoyance with her.
She put a cigarette to her lips, hoping to engage Rollin. However, Jim
beat him to it, offering her a light from his gold, monogrammed lighter.
Cinnamon watched Rollin as Jim lit her cigarette. "Did he just shoot
Jim a glare of jealousy?" She wondered to herself.
"Jim, what time's the flight?" Willy asked as he looked at his
watch.
"Eight-thirty. Are we okay?"
"Yeah, but I should probably get a cab."
Jim glanced at his watch. "Okay."
Barney called for the check as Cinnamon excused herself for the ladies room.
Rollin moved out of the booth and automatically offered his hand as she stood.
"Thank you," she said without emotion. She watched Rollin for
the brief moment it took her to excuse herself from the table hoping to get
a clue as to what was bothering him. He avoided her gaze, hiding any hint
in his eyes that might betray his resentment. He did watch her, however,
as she sashayed though the tables. He did like that walk.
As Rollin sat back down at the table, he noticed Jim also watching Cinnamon
make her way across the room. "What's that all about?" Rollin
thought to himself.
The waiter presented the bill to Rollin as he was sitting at the end of the
booth.
"Rollin, will you get the bill?" Jim asked. Rollin nodded
in an agreement as Jim continued, "We'll meet you outside."
To Barney and Willy he said, "Ready to go home, fellas?"
Rollin crushed out his cigarette in the table's overflowing ashtray as Barney,
Willy and Jim moved from the booth and started for the door.
"I'll wait for Cinnamon, too," Rollin said as they moved off.
"We'll be outside," Jim called over his shoulder.
Rollin paid the bill, then moved toward the restrooms.
He stopped at the cigarette machine and purchased another pack. Cinnamon
came up behind him, "Run out?"
"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly, pocketing the pack.
"Where'd everybody go?" She asked, looking past him to the
table.
"To get a cab." He offered nothing
more; no emotion, no intimacy, or affection despite
the opportunity of this rare private moment.
"Then, we'd better catch up," she said shouldering her purse.
She knew something was bothering Rollin, but knew that this was not the time
or place to deal with it. She walked ahead of him. Pouting, he hung
back, feigning that he didn't want to be with her.
Rollin and Cinnamon met up with the others just as the cab arrived. "Are
we all going to fit?" Willy asked.
"Sure, Cinnamon and I can sit up front," Jim volunteered.
Jim ushered Cinnamon to the passenger side of the front seat. She hesitated
ever so slightly - she was beginning to appreciate Rollin's apparent concern
- then slid in next to the driver.
"Good evening," the cab driver said.
"Evening," Jim said, smiling as he slid in beside Cinnamon.
Barney, then Rollin and Willy moved into the back seat.
The cab pulled off smoothly for the thirty minute drive to the airport.
The ride was just as animated as their dinner. Jim, Barney and Willy joked
and engaged one another, while Cinnamon and Rollin remained quiet.
At the airport, the five of them caught an eight-thirty commercial flight back
to
The flight arrived on time at LAX. Willy and Jim quickly grabbed a cab
together.
After they sped away, Cinnamon asked Rollin, "Wanna
share a cab?"
"No, I need to make a couple stops before I go home. Why don't you and
Barney grab a cab?"
Barney quietly waited for Rollin and Cinnamon to sort out their plans, aware
of the tension between his friends.
"No, I'll go with you, Rollin," Cinnamon insisted. "Barney, we'll
see you tomorrow at the debrief," she said politely
as she affectionately squeezed his arm.
Barney waived in acknowledgment and quickly took the next cab in line at the
stand, glad to leave them to work out whatever was the problem.
"Now, why did you do that? You should just go home." Rollin
chastised.
"Rollin, something is bothering you, and I want to talk about it."
"I'm really not in the mood right now. It's late. Let me put you
in a cab. . . . I'll see you tomorrow."
"No, Rollin," Cinnamon insisted. His eyes met hers. He could
see that he wasn't going to win this one. He paced the sidewalk and lit
a cigarette.
After a few hurried drags on his cigarette, he nodded. "Okay, let's go."
He held the cab door for her as she climbed into the backseat. He slid
in next to her.
They shared Rollin's cigarette, but neither one said a thing to the other during
the thirty minute ride to Cinnamon's apartment building. Once they arrived,
Rollin paid the driver, then they took the elevator
and walked in silence to her apartment. Rollin took her keys and opened the
door for her, and then followed her into the apartment.
"Do you want a drink?" Cinnamon offered.
"I could use one," Rollin said indifferently, as he lit a cigarette
and sat down on her couch. He wasn't going to make this easy.
Cinnamon poured each of them a brandy, then joined
Rollin on the couch.
She handed Rollin his glass. "Here's to
the end of a successful mission and a little time alone at home, just the two
of us."
Rollin stared at the brandy in his glass. He didn't drink to the toast.
She noticed.
"Rollin, what is the problem?"
He remained silent, swirling and still staring at the brandy.
"It isn't going to get any better, unless we talk about it," she prodded.
Rollin stood, and began to pace the room. Cinnamon watched him, waiting
for him to find the words.
Finally, he spoke without looking at her. "He's after you, I'm telling
you."
"What are you talking about?"
"He sent me away for four weeks to study Cyrillic just to get near you.
As soon as I return, he assigns us to a mission so that we can't have any time
alone. When the mission is over, he continues to make every effort to exclude
me."
"Rollin," the frustration in her voice was obvious, "we've been
through this. Jim is not interested in me in that way."
"Yeah, right." Rollin swallowed the
full shot of his brandy, then walked to the bar to
pour himself
another.
"Please, Rollin." She stood and joined
him at the bar, placing her hand on his. "I can't say that I've ever
thought of you as the jealous-type."
"I'm not." Rollin retracted his hand so that hers no longer
covered his. "I'm a realist."
"Rollin, what is it going to take to convince you? My heart belongs
to you alone." She moved to trap his exit from behind the bar.
He dropped his head in order to avoid her eyes.
"Listen to me . . ." She moved to him and took his chin
in her hand. He reluctantly met her eyes as she raised his chin.
". . . You're the one I want." Her lips descended on his in
an attempt to wipe away any vestige of doubt and uncertainty.
They held the kiss for a long moment before they broke it off. How could
he believe her? How could he not? He stared into her deep, green-blue
eyes and knew she indeed was his.
"How can you be so sure about Jim? He certainly was laying it on
thick tonight. All that 'when I was a pilot' stuff."
"You're the one who ignored me all night, sir." Her arms crept
around his waist.
"How am I supposed to compete with him?" He swallowed another
shot of the brandy, then turned in and out of her arms
and back to the bar to pour himself another.
"You're not. You have your own set of unique talents. Several of
which I am very fond of." She said with a smile. "Am I
going to have to convince you all over again?" She asked with that
sultry tone that made his heart skip.
He turned to meet her gaze.
"Stay with me tonight," she invited.
He watched her for a brief moment, then walked past
her back into the living room, milking his insecurity. She understood this,
and smiled to herself, fully appreciative of the fact that she loved the boy
in him as well as the man. He was playing this for all it was worth.
He needed reassurance. She would let him have it.
Cinnamon followed Rollin into the living room. Catching up with him, she wrapped
her arms around his waist from behind. Moving her hands up his chest,
she kissed his neck below his ear.
He swallowed the full shot of his brandy pour, then lowered his head and closed
his eyes.
Cinnamon hugged him tight, her head resting against his back.
"Rollin, I'm yours. How can you doubt that?"
He said nothing, his eyes remaining closed. He did doubt it, he thought
to himself.
Cinnamon sensed his unrelenting doubt. She slipped around in front of
him. "Come here." She started to remove his jacket.
He stopped her.
"I should go," he said.
"That's the last thing you should do." She persisted. She removed
his jacket, then loosened his tie. She leaned
in to kiss his lips. He didn't move, neither encouraging nor resisting
her.
Without taking her eyes from his, Cinnamon unbuttoned his dress shirt and removed
it. She then unbuckled his belt. She kissed his lips again, a little
longer this time, before unzipping his trousers. Still watching him, she
lowered his trousers, letting them fall to the floor.
She reached around him and under his t-shirt, then
pulled him to her. Her lips crushed his with sincere passion. He
was intrigued and reveled in her touch, but he still didn't want to give in;
his arms remained at his side and he didn't kiss her in response.
She raised the t-shirt over his head, then moved to
his boxers. Crushing her body against his, she reached her hands into
the backside of his boxers and caressed his buttocks, then lowered his boxers.
She could feel his sex hard against her.
Cinnamon pulled back and pushed Rollin into the overstuffed chair behind him.
He avoided her gaze, trying to hold out. She was on to him, however.
She kneeled on the floor in front of him and removed his shoes and socks.
When she was done, he sat there fully naked and aroused.
She leaned in between his legs and took his chin into her hands and made him
look at her. "I'm yours," she said in a tone that would leave
no doubt. She kissed him. This time, he kissed her back.
He was hers; she was his.
She held his gaze as she caressed his chest with both hands. Her massage
moved slowly down his torso. He leaned his head back, enjoying the sensations
she stirred in him. Her touch stopped just short of his sex, teasing him.
She leaned in to kiss his chest. She teased one nipple, then the other
with her lips, her tongue, her teeth until she was
sure Rollin would surely lose his mind from this exquisite torture. At
that point, her tongue slowly made its way down his torso to his manhood.
There, Cinnamon took him in her mouth and he lost himself.
He groaned, his blood pounding in his veins. There was nothing he could
do. He was lost in the pleasures she stirred in him.
At his edge, he gathered his fraying senses and grabbed her and pulled her to
him. He smothered her mouth with his, kissing her with everything he had.
At the same time, he ripped her clothes from her. She let him. He
desperately needed to feel her flesh against his.
She would never wear her dress or undergarments again after he had taken them
from her. She understood that more than ever he needed to dominate her
now.
He held her in his arms and took her to the floor. There he didn't hold back.
He caught her hands with his and pinned her to the rug. He bent to taste,
to savor, first one then the other of her breasts. She gasped at the exquisite
sensations he inspired. Desire burned within both of them and they both wanted
more.
"Cinnamon," Rollin's voice was gentle in her ear, "love me .
. ."
"Rollin, I do...I do," she offered, enjoying the sensations coursing
through her. He raised his head and looked into her eyes.
Her gaze locked with his and slowly she raised his hand, still clasping hers,
to her lips. Her manner bewitching and provocative, she rubbed his knuckle
along her lower lip, her eyes never breaking with his. His blood pounded in
his veins and he groaned aloud. He jerked her hand back to the rug and held
it there beneath his, then bent his mouth to hers in a kiss hard and savage.
His lips crushed hers, intent on defeat, requiring surrender. His arousal
pushed hard against her, demanding release. Rollin gasped with the urgency
to possess and devour her.
Heat flushed her face and an ache throbbed deep within her.
"Take me, Rollin. Take me now."
He didn't hesitate. He pressed into her throbbing heat, submerging himself
in the fire within her. He plunged his manhood again and again, his thrusts
hard and fast.
Her hips rose to meet his and they moved together. He called her name
over and over in a frenzy of pleasure and selfish possession. With one
powerful thrust, he took her, driving himself deep within her. Cinnamon
cried out, the heat within her exploding in waves of ecstasy. Rollin shuddered
convulsively against her, his body clasped to hers.
Victory.
She was his.
THE END
Catherine Block
Elena Vorska