Lauren squeezed inside, distinctly conscious that Stone made no effort to move aside. When their bodies touched he grunted, licking his lips. These were the times when Lauren really had to rein in her true nature. The everyday New Yorker persona was confident, outspoken, streetwise and more than a little caustic. Her professional façade kept those qualities under wraps, preferring to express them in other ways once she got her most obnoxious subjects under lock and key.
Or Saran wrap, she speculated.
For now, Stone was the client. She jammed herself into the room, expecting and immediately seeing a lavish apartment. Would somebody like Stone charge this to the taxpayer?
She almost laughed aloud. Stupid question.
Fiddling with the buttons on her coat, Lauren drifted over to the ceiling-length windows, pretending to be entranced by the lights as she gathered her courage. Tonight, she was sure, she was working for the good guys against the enemy. And that simple adjustment to her standard Nightshade character made all the damn difference.
In less than a minute, Stone was behind her, hands by his sides. “Before we get started,” he said. “Maybe you should meet my associate, Mr. Bell.”
Stone placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around. Nicholas Bell stood to one side, grinning. Lauren’s immediate thought was Shit, have we got this all wrong? Bell looked like a nice guy: great smile, hard body, laughing eyes. The complete opposite of Stone. Lauren was immediately drawn to the man, a rare event in her line of work. Was he really working with Stone? And what did the goddamn Pythians want with these two?
Bell stepped forward, right hand held out. “Nicholas Bell. Builder. Pleased to meet you.”
Lauren smiled and shook. The only chink to this man’s agreeable armor was that he had given her his real name and, possibly, occupation. Builder? Maybe not. Only those with ludicrous superiority complexes would give the game away at first contact.
She remained on guard. “Nightshade,” she said with an arched smile.
“The bane of many a good man.” Bell offered her a glass of champagne.
Lauren never drank in a strange apartment. She declined with a wave of her hand. “Shall we get started?”
Bell bowed. “I am yours to command.”
Stone retired to the lounge, leaving them alone. Bell leaned in and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Thank God, I thought the old bastard was going to stick around and watch.”
Lauren tried to hide the quick grin but failed. “Are you ready, Mr. Bell? Before we get started I always like to agree on a safe word. You know, if things get a little too… challenging? Does purple work for you?”
Again the diverting smile. “Whatever you say.”
Lauren hesitated. “Has Stone explained to you what I do?” Twice in the past she had visited clients that had been “set up” by their so-called friends, men that had run screaming when the nipple clamps came out.
Bell only nodded.
Lauren unbuttoned her coat, letting the material pool to the floor. Bell gasped appreciatively. Underneath she wore black stockings, a leather skirt that fell to mid-thigh, shiny boots that ended at the knee and a matching jacket with a shiny silver zip, undone to maximize her cleavage.
“Lady,” Bell almost panted. “That’s—”
Lauren cracked the whip. “Shut your mouth,” she said. “And get down on your knees.”
As she acted out her routine Lauren found her mind wandering. It wasn’t worth speculating on why a man like Bell would pay for her attentions. Men were complex beasts, impossible to ever fully understand, brimming with all sorts of primeval needs. Men buried their secrets deep and that was why Lauren found it difficult, impossible even, to form any kind of relationship with one. Yes, she was jaded, cynical, but then she had seen the opposite sex in all its degradations.
Take Nicholas Bell as a prime example. Rich, powerful, very good looking. No doubt he drove an expensive car, prowled the streets through the day and hit the clubs and private receptions at night, leaving with a girl draped over each powerful shoulder. A playboy. A celebrity in his own small world.
Take away the wealthy trimmings and Lauren might have been attracted to him. Add the dash of darkness and every ounce of perception in her body screamed out in warning. The trouble was, where men were concerned they always did.
Canned laughter drifted through from the lounge, Stone watching some kind of regimented comedy. Lauren straddled Bell’s back, scraping blood red fingernails down the length of his spine. The man shivered. Lauren swiveled and continued around the swell of his buttocks, the sensitive backs of his legs. With the tip of her whip she brushed the soles of his feet. Bell, confined, could only grunt and roll. Lauren climbed off and taught him the error of his ways.
Two hours passed. Lauren alternated between pleasure and pain, always leaving Bell guessing as to what was coming next — the gentle tickling touch of her long dark hair across his chest or the sharp sting of the whip; the bite of teeth, human or otherwise; the delectable tip of her tongue. A time came when Bell barely knew which century they were in and didn’t care. The sounds of his elation finally drowned out the monotonous TV.
Later, they lay on the luxurious couch together, one of them sipping wine. Lauren found Bell, now wrapped in a thick white robe, laid back and relaxed, taking time to listen to her as well as address her comments. For those moments she felt like she was the only thing on his mind, but she couldn’t help but know otherwise. The man was a consummate player, or an unwitting innocent. Lauren could only guess as to which. Again she was struck by how different he was to Stone — Bell lying around half-naked and growing gradually drunker whereas Stone was always reserved, inflexible, as taut as the suspension wires on the Brooklyn Bridge.
It was only when the general walked in that Lauren fully remembered her mission. Hours had passed and she was no closer to any kind of truth. On the plus side both men seemed to be at ease with her.
“In a moment,” Stone said. “I shall take a turn but in the meantime I need to talk to Mr. Bell here. Privately.”
“Wait right here.” Bell patted her hip.
“Oh, I don’t think she’s going anywhere,” Stone bellowed. “I think the girl enjoys our little trysts.”
Lauren shrugged, pouring herself another glass of wine and stretching along the couch so that her long legs were revealed. The two men walked back into the lounge with lingering looks, mere clay dolls for her to manipulate. When they closed the door Lauren swallowed down her anxiety, tipped the wine into a nearby plant pot, and headed across the room.
The best part of her job as Nightshade, she reflected, was that she didn’t actually have to lie with men like these. She was broad-minded to say the least, but some requests still shocked her and powerful characters like Stone and Bell acting out submissive role plays didn’t sit right. Now she placed her ear carefully to the closed door and thought a silent Yes! when she heard Stone mute the TV.
“Enjoying my gift, Nicholas?” Stone’s voice was faint, but Lauren could still hear the superior tones. She pressed herself closer to the door, angered by his superciliousness.
“Passes the dull hours of waiting,” Bell answered without any emotion to his voice. “I’m still at a loss as to why Webb suggested I should come down here instead of returning home.”
Lauren remembered the name. Stone’s laugh was cold. “Perhaps it’s to keep you safe.”