A dark miserable sob wracked her naked body. They were the first true tears of grief she had had since she'd been told Peter was dead. Peter wouldn't ever be coming back to rescue her, he had gone forever and she was trapped at Deuvar. Peter Howard had cherished her for her naivete and her innocence – Now, as Leonora was arranging to auction off her virginity, Emily realised, with a chilling start, that her innocence had already been lost.
Johnson had sent one of his men to the hospital and was fuming. He had spent all day trying to trace a man who should be extremely easy to trace. He knew his witness was barely able to walk, would need nursing and physiotherapy to recover his strength. But this man had managed not only to get out of the hospital, but then had promptly vanished. Johnson stared at the telephone, willing it to ring.
Max Fielding had always been entranced by Deuvar, even before its conversion into a pleasure palace without equal.
Set in magnificent grounds, the house dominated the landscape for miles in every direction. Autumn was his favourite time of the year and today the weather was balmy; bare trees in the long ride to the mansion thrown into relief by the golden sunlight. He had spent the day walking and exploring with one of Leonora's more articulate and intelligent girls for company.
He planned to have dinner, check on Leonora's arrangements for Emily's auction, take his pleasure with a girl or two and then, having spent another night at Deuvar, drive back to London the following day.
By late evening he had fulfilled his plans for dinner and tasted the delights of one of Leonora's more experienced girls; now he would have a drink and then return for second helpings of ripe female flesh.
As he leant comfortably at the bar he thought about Peter Howard – what a terrible shame Peter had never seen Emily at work. By all accounts the day had been an eventful one. Max wished he had been there to witness Emily's performance in the dining room.
In the heart of the Kent countryside, Peter Howard was re-arranging Angela's annexe to take the computers that had arrived just as night was falling. She had found him a desk and extension leads and brought in the wheelchair so that as fatigue hit him he could still manoeuvre around the growing bank of sophisticated technology. Peter had just managed to get the computer system on line and working when the final delivery arrived; a motor bike courier carrying a large gift-wrapped box. Angela carried it into Peter's room. "This just came. I assume its something else for you?"
Peter glanced over his shoulder as he slid another screen into position. "Actually," he said, without a hint of guile, "it's a little something I ordered for you."
Angela laughed. "What?" but even as she spoke she was tearing off the elegant wrapping. What was inside made her gasp and then giggle. Peter had turned his attentions back to the computer screen when he heard the noise. "Well," he said without looking up. "What do you think?"
Angela made a soft excited sound in her throat. "My god," she hissed. "It's absolutely wonderful."
Peter turned to watch Angela holding up the leather body harness against herself. It was set with links so that the wearer could be secured for her lover's pleasure. Straps criss-crossed back and forth across the body, designed to divide and accentuate the breasts, while others went between the legs and round the thighs.
Peter grinned. "You'll look superb in it. Here, bring me the box; there should be a few other little surprises hidden away in there."
Angela pulled a face. "Can't I look?"
Peter carefully took the box out of her hands. "They wouldn't be a surprise then, would they?"
Angela giggled and spun away from him, still holding the body harness up against herself. "Would you like me to put it on?"
Peter nodded as the screen he was working on flashed into life and a logo appeared.
Angela glanced at it. "Can I ask you what all this is about?"
Peter grimaced. "I'm not sure it's such a good idea, the less you know the less danger you're likely to be in."
Angela was working on the buckles on the body harness as he spoke. "I really would like to know," she said, running her fingers over the fine tooled leather thoughtfully. She read the words at the centre of the screen as they formed themselves into a perfect arch. "Johnson and Fielding? Who are they?"
Peter slipped a disk into the computer. "The bad guys," he said. "And I'm going to nail their arses to the mast." His tone was distracted and distant. It was vital that he got into Johnson and Fielding's main system without being traced. What he had got on the screen at the moment was their front door – their shop front onto the computer network. What he really wanted was to find an unlocked back-door or maybe the electronic equivalent of an open skylight.
Behind him Angela was making muffled noises as she struggled to get into the harness. He'd had to guess her size, which was one of the reasons he had chosen the harness – a Basque or a leather body suit would have required a far more accurate guess.
When he turned again she was slipping the shoulder straps over her alabaster flesh. The harness fitted her like a glove – a very tempting glove. The straps circled her heavy breasts, the black leather accentuating their fullness and pallor. Lower straps framed her sex and either side the thigh straps… Peter smiled, already the harness was working its magic on his cock. She reddened at his appreciative glances and the obvious bulge in his pyjama trousers as he helped her fasten the buckles.
"Isn't this -" she paused, as if to find the right word, "obscene?" she whispered uneasily.
Peter snorted. "Don't be silly. You look magnificent. The real obscenities in life are cooked up by bastards like this -" He pointed towards the intriguing spiralling graphics of Johnson and Fielding's logo. "To the outside world they appear totally respectable, while under the umbrella of their respectability they're selling arms, toppling governments to increase their market shares – and scurrying round to buy up cheap grain destined for aid convoys. That's real obscenity." His tone was so intense that Angela stepped back.
Peter lifted a hand in apology. "Sorry, I'll climb down off my soap box. I've been chasing this organisation for years. They're so well established they thought that no-one would ever dare -" He stopped suddenly, aware that he was doing exactly what he had tried to avoid. If he told Angela anything he would be putting her at risk. Not only her, but himself as well.
Angela nodded. "I understand, but why are you doing it? I mean, what has it got to do with you?"
Peter leant back in his wheel chair. "It's my job," he said flatly.
"Your job?" she repeated.
"That's right." In front of them the computer images curled and swirled seamlessly into a 3D satellite picture of the world.
Instead of satisfying her, his explanation obviously intrigued her more. She moved closer, her ripe body garnished temptingly in the leather harness.
"What do you do?" she said. She was so near that he could see puckering around her nipples and catch the warm intriguing perfume of her skin mingled with the smell of the new leather.
He groaned in surrender and pulled her to him. "I'm a policeman," he murmured as he cupped her breasts in his palms.
He felt her tense and then pull away. "A policeman?" she stammered.
He nodded, catching hold of her shoulders and pulling her back towards him. "A very special type of policeman. Poacher turned gamekeeper. Don't worry I'm not going to charge you with anything other than being the sexiest woman I've laid hands on in years."
His lips brushed hers as he slid his fingers through metal rings set in the waist band of the harness and jerked her sharply onto his lap, biting down on her bottom lip until he tasted the rich coppery heat of her blood. She rubbed herself against him.