"And?" Giving James a long-suffering look, born of a week of listening to his sarcastic sense of humour and rotten jokes, I waited for him to return to the subject at hand. I knew from experience that this could take a while.
"Are you hungry? There's a fantastic little bistro just down the road. They serve a wonderful full English breakfast, and I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He patted his washboard abs affectionately and then grinned at me.
Just as I’d thought, the bastard was trying to change the subject. He was utterly exasperating. Seriously – the man could give an aspirin a headache.
“And?” Even though I knew I wasn’t going to get the answer to my question, I tried to persevere with my line of questioning.
"And there's eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, beans, bacon, sausages, more toast, and a cup of tea thrown in for good measure." He gave me his boy-next-door-look, which would have worked if I had only known him for five seconds.
"James, we don't have a lot of time. What's Dumortier likely to do to me if I get through to stage two?" Guzzling the rest of my mug of coffee, I then slammed it down on the thick, oak table – with the hope that it might ease some of the frustration I currently felt. James had left me hot and horny most of the week, and while I'd seen to his needs, he most certainly hadn't seen to mine. There had been a method in his madness. Apparently, Dumortier was unlikely to grant me an orgasm unless the circumstances were exceptional. He liked all of his girls to be very needy and desperate to please. After a week of torment, I was all that and more.
“I’ll do you a deal, Lois. If I tell you the ‘in’s and out’s’ of stage two, you have to suck my cock and accompany me to breakfast.”
Banging my fist down on the table so hard, my coffee mug jumped up in the air, I almost screamed. These were the constant games we had been playing all week. While I knew in the back of my mind he was just trying to prepare me for life under Dumortier, it didn't make me any less irritated. Still, two could play at this.
“Throw in an orgasm for me, and you have a deal.” I smiled my sweetest, butter-would-not-dare-to-melt-in-my-mouth, smile.
“Uh, uh, uh, Lois. You’re supposed to be controlling your urges, remember. By the way, your deal expires in three, two…”
“Fine! I’ll take it. But just so you know, when I’ve finished severing Dumortier’s head from his body, I’m coming back for yours.” This time, my smile was evil and full of glorious intent.
“I’ll look forward to that.”
“You’re a sick bastard, of course you will,” I retorted.
“I’m not the one who’s actively searching out death.” James’s eyes narrowed in on me, and I felt myself shrinking under his gaze. I refused to back down, though. Sitting up straighter in my chair, I glared back at him and didn’t utter a word. If he thought he was getting me to talk about that, he was much mistaken. Smoothing my chestnut locks carefully back into place, I studied the wall in front of me.
"I bet the therapist had some fun with you, Ms. Reeves." James went back to tapping his pen against the table. I wanted to scream.
"You have no idea." I hadn't spoken to my therapist for the first three weeks following Kiel's death, which left him more than a little frustrated with me. The only reason I eventually did begin talking, was because I knew I wasn't going back to work until he gave me the go ahead. Even then, I only revealed what I had to. My private life was precisely that – private.
There was the sudden scraping of chair legs, and James leaned back and stretched out his arms. A full pack of abs strained against his black t-shirt, the slogan of which read, ‘It's only illegal if you get caught.' That was relatively tame for James. The man had some corkers in his arsenal. The best one I'd seen had a red arrow pointing towards his crotch, upon which read ‘Free pony rides.' The worst thing about that t-shirt was that none of it was true. After a week of being tormented by James's mouth and fingers, I'd have killed for a ‘pony ride,' so to speak, but apparently, he didn't do stuff like that. Anything for the job was okay, but anything else was off limits. Go figure. You could look for a man like that all over the world and never find one. It was just my luck that when I finally discovered someone I wouldn't mind having sex with - he didn't want to know. Life was great like that.
“What are you going to do if you find Dumortier attractive, Lois?”
"I won't find Dumortier attractive. I'm very fussy. You're an aberration, but it's unlikely to happen again, so don't panic. Believe it or not, I'm a big girl. I can keep my focus, jump up and down on his cock, and still kill the bastard without shedding a single tear. It's what makes me such a wonderful human being." If my tone was slightly sarcastic, it was James's fault. The man had made me very frustrated this past week, and I sometimes got cranky when I didn't get what I wanted.
The corner of James's mouth nearly turned upwards, but then thought the better of it. "Don't let him get to you, Lois. The man is a beast, and I know this from experience."
“What kind of experience?”
“A bad experience. Lois, are you sure you don’t want to talk about Kiel before you go?” This was a typical James manoeuvre – he enjoyed deflecting questions he didn’t want to answer by asking some of his own. Since I didn’t want to answer his, either, I figured I’d play the same game.
“Do you want me to suck your cock or not?” I batted my eyelashes and then winked at him.
“Ah, now we’re talking, Lois. You know how I like it. Get down on those knees and start begging.”
Chapter Three
The bistro was simply called ‘Carmichael’s’ and James was right, they did serve a decent fry up, which made a welcome change from toast. Within half an hour I had a massive plate full of all things meaty and tasty. The bacon smelled particularly divine.
“See, I told you it was good.” James smirked at me and dug his fork in.
"You've been trying to fatten me up all week for Dumortier. Are you pleased with the results so far?" Apparently, Alain liked his girls with a bit more meat on their bones than me, and my six-pack of abs might alert him to the fact that I was not all I seemed, so James had been having enormous fun feeding me all things fried and sugary this week. Unfortunately for me, the man was a rather wonderful chef who had trained professionally in Paris, and I couldn't help but eat everything that was put in front of me. Although my weeks' stay with James had been rather demanding, I couldn't fault the perks that accompanied it. Three square meals a day with snacks in between, and then there was his rock hard, chiselled body that I quite often got to appreciate without clothes. If we could have added in the occasional orgasm, I would have been in heaven, bar his awful sense of humour. Still, no one was perfect, right?
“You’ll do. At least you have some reserves to fall back on, should Alain play nasty.”
“Play nasty?” I frowned and looked up from my plate, wondering what the hell James meant.
"You don't want to know, Lois. Besides, you'll find out soon enough. Just remember that when your life reaches its lowest ebb ever, and believe me, you'll have that moment somewhere in CB, I told you not to do this, not once but several times over. You only have yourself to blame." James poked his knife at me accusingly.
I ignored him and sank my fork into a thick slice of bacon, which I then liberally smeared with Heinz tomato ketchup. The experience wasn't quite orgasmic, but it was a close-run thing. I needed to share this thought. Typically, James read my mind and beat me to it.
“No, that is nowhere near as good as a decent orgasm, and if we’d had sex, I’d have blown your mind.”
“Talk is cheap. Why haven’t we had sex, by the way?” I was very curious about the answer, although I was loathe to show it. Concentrating on my breakfast, I sat there wondering if he would answer or deflect. My money was on the latter. He kept me waiting for ages as he savoured a bite of his thick, Lincolnshire sausage until it got to the point where I was ridiculously jealous of the damn thing, but finally, the man decided to open up, sighing heavi
ly as he did so.
"There are several reasons if I'm honest. Firstly, I don't have sex with colleagues. Secondly, I don't like having sex with people that are shortly going to be buried six feet underground, and lastly, you're not over Kiel. At the moment you're floundering about, and you have no idea if you'll make it through the next week, let alone year. It's as if someone's chucked you out of an aeroplane at thirty-six thousand feet, and there's no parachute in sight. You are lost. Until you come to terms with that death, you will continue to stay lost."
“I have come to terms with it, not that it’s any of your business, and I do have a goal. I’m going to assassinate Alain Dumortier in cold blood, and then get the hell out and retire.”
"You haven't and you won't. If by some chance of fate you are successful in your mission, you'll go straight back to Sharkey and ask for another hair-brained assignment that will hopefully get you killed." He put his hands in the air then, knowing I was about to start yelling at him and said, "Look, do you want to know about stage two or what? This is our last day together, so let's not argue."
Growling at him, I said, “I would be less inclined to argue if you said slightly less inflammatory things, James.” Eyeballing him, I let him know how I felt, but it didn’t make him the least bit uncomfortable. The man was so bloody infuriating. That was probably why I liked him so much.
Placing his hand across the table, in a handshake offering, he then said, “Truce?”
Frowning, I shook his hand. There was nothing to be gained from arguing, and I wanted him in a good mood. "Truce," I affirmed. "Now tell me what's going down in stage two of the auction." My curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I needed to know.
“You want me to tell you now?” James looked around him in mock horror.
I rolled my eyes. “No one is listening to us. We’re not that exciting,” I said. “Now if I had a butt like Kim Kardashian and I started waggling it around the place…”
“Noooo,” wailed James in horror. “You’re perfect just as you are.”
Nearly falling off my chair, I was a little taken aback by that remark. Thankfully, I quickly recovered. “Why James, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
"Don't let it go to your head. I'm only being nice to you because you're going off to get yourself killed tomorrow." His jaw hardened.
Sighing, I shook my head and groaned. "James, hurry up and deliver your side of the bargain before I hit you." The look I gave him was dry.
“Before you try to hit me,” he countered.
I kicked him in the shins under the table, and he swore.
“Lois…” his warning tone was back in place, but he was hardly going to show me who was boss in front of all these people. Shifting my chair back a couple of inches so he couldn’t get his own back, I smiled sweetly, and said, “I’m waiting.”
“Just you wait until I get that pretty ass of yours back to base. It won’t know what has hit it.”
“It will, and it might even enjoy it.” Looping a strand of my chocolate brown hair around my finger, I gave him a flirty pout.
“Lois…” he warned again.
“Just get on with it, James.” I may have grown accustomed to the fact that I was never going to have either sex or a relationship with James Leveritt, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease him to the ends of the earth whenever the opportunity presented itself. When I finished this mission I intended to stalk him until he saw things my way - and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. All I wanted was a little taste of the man. Surely he could give me just a little flutter in the sack? Twenty minutes of his time should be more than adequate. Just a taste. He’d been doing his damnest to make sure I craved his body all week. I was the direct product of his machinations at the end of the day.
James narrowed his eyes at me, and for a moment I wondered if he'd read my mind, but then he said, "So, stage two of the auction. Let me see." Tapping his fingers against the table, which was marginally better than the annoying pen, he appeared lost in thought for a while. I didn't dare disturb him, as we were now on the subject that I had been dying to hear about, so I finished my second breakfast quietly while he decided what he would and wouldn't tell me. I knew that I would be getting an abbreviated version of events, but anything was better than nothing. Chugging down a whole glass of orange juice, followed by yet another cup of steaming hot coffee, I tried my best not to fidget as I waited. It wasn't easy.
“Okay, so let’s say you get through the initial round. The first thing they’ll do is un-tie you all, and the successful ones will be led away to private rooms. This is your first indication that you have an interested buyer. At this point, don’t get your hopes up. There’s a good chance it won’t be Dumortier.”
“What happens if it isn’t? Will I still have to go through with the charade?” I hadn’t considered that outcome. It was entirely possible someone else would buy me, and escape probably wasn’t going to be easy – even for an accomplished operative like me.
"Well, that depends." James frowned. "We can trace you, send in a team, and have you home in twenty-four hours – but I don't think you'll want us to do that." He looked at me questioningly as I quickly tried to add the dots together. It didn't take long.
“What you’re saying is that if I’m unsuccessful the first time and want another chance at Dumortier, I’ll need to serve my ‘sentence’ as a slave. How long is a normal contract, anyway?” I suddenly went cold at the thought of being some sadist’s plaything for three years or more. Was that too heavy a price to pay to get another chance at Dumortier? I would need to think long and hard about it.
“We’ll only negotiate for six months or a year at most, but Lois, that’s a hell of a long time when you’re at someone else’s mercy. Even if they’re not a complete bastard, you’re going to suffer in that time – both mentally and sexually. Are you sure you’re up for that?”
Exactly how much did I want to kill Dumortier? Enough to waste away a year of my life? I blew out a long breath of air. Then I smiled.
“I’m up for that.” I nodded my head sharply. If the buyer in question turned out to be a monster, then his life expectancy wasn’t going to look good, but that was his problem. As long as I made it look like an accident, I didn’t think anyone would mind.
As per usual, James read my mind. "That means that even if the guy is a total nutcase, you can't kill him. If he does disappear under ‘mysterious' circumstances, Dumortier won't consider you suitable in the future. He does a thorough background check on all his girls. At the moment we're fine because he's never seen you before and we can make shit up – but we won't be able to do that once you've appeared at the auction. Well – not unless we change your entire appearance and that's not a fun procedure."
I flattened my lips and made a groan of annoyance – but determination won out. "I'm going to see this through to the end. If I don't get his attention this time around, I'll try once more. Let's go with that six-month contract though. I don't particularly want to waste a year of my time if you know what I mean." James raised an eyebrow at me but nodded. "Anyway, we're off topic. What happens in round two?" I refused to let the man skirt around the issue. I'd fulfilled my half of the bargain and had eaten my breakfast like a good little girl. The least he could do was deliver what he had promised.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” His ice-blue eyes danced with amusement.
I smiled sweetly. "If I were easily distracted, I wouldn't be very good at my job, James."
“Good point.” Running his hand through his hair, he then traced a line over his bottom lip with his index finger, catching a small smear of ketchup. Sucking the digit into his mouth, I felt my stomach tighten.
“James,” I said warningly. He grinned. “Fine. Where were we?”
“In the private room,” I gritted out.
"Ah yes. So you're in the private room and waiting for your prospective buyers. The chances are there will be only one, but if
there are more, they'll come in one after the other. This will be their opportunity to size you up and see if you'll be a good fit for them. Generally, they'll want to know how long you've been a submissive, in what manner you've been trained, and how you'll respond to certain stimuli. They'll want to see if you're responsive to both pleasure and pain, and how you react to it. It’s more than likely that they'll also want to humiliate you – it's part of the game."
“What happens if I have two interested parties? Will it be the highest bidder who wins?”
James snorted. “That’s extremely unlikely. Even if you’ve made it through to stage two, that is by no means an indication that you’ll be bought. The sought-after submissives have been in the system for at least a couple of years and have developed a reputation for themselves. It’s very rare that two parties will bid against each other for a new sub, but yes, if it does happen it all comes down to money.”
“Doesn’t everything?”
“Pretty much. You’ll have nothing more than your smile with which to recommend yourself, and unless you’re a virgin, it doesn’t make a terribly appealing prospect for most of these men. Are you a virgin?” James smirked at me, as well he might. He already knew the answer to that question.
"I can be a virgin if necessary. Hell, I'll be anything Dumortier needs in order to get close to him." I said the words vehemently, and I meant them, too.
“I don’t think you can, sweetheart. They check for proof. Anyway, Dumortier doesn’t do virgins. He likes his submissives experienced and feisty.”
“Why feisty? Isn’t that at odds with the term ‘submissive?’” A little confused, I looked to James for an answer.
“He wants you feisty, so he can break you down. Little by little, that bastard will pull all of your strings, until you’re nothing more than a puppet obeying his every word. It’s all about the challenge as far as Dumortier is concerned. He’ll want to get you from A to Z, and the more difficult that might be, the better. The man is as sick and twisted as they come. I may have mentioned that before.”
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