Nancy put down her pint and wiped away her little Newcastle Ale moustache. “In spite of all that, she’s wasting her time making coffees for corporate wankers and hipsters. I don’t get the appeal.”
Eva gave a friendly shake of her head. “Hey, if I want to know how to properly spell something or lose an empire, then I’ll talk to the English. Coffee, not so much.”
Nance rolled her eyes. “What would an Australian know about coffee?”
“Bitch, please. I come from Melbourne, we rode Starbucks out of town on a rail.” Raising an eyebrow at Nancy, Eva asked, “You’ve tasted my coffee, and?”
Nancy shifted uncomfortably, took a sip of her beer and mumbled something incomprehensible.
“You’ll have to excuse me, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“It’s like tasting angel semen, okay! Happy, Miss Awesome Barista?”
“I am now. Nobody’s referred to my coffee like that before.”
Paul nodded, patted his wife’s leg, “And I hope they never do again.”
“Two Masters, eh?” Stephen sounded impressed. “That’s fairly amazing.”
“What’s probably more amazing is that they didn’t throw me out for being a fraud before they handed me those considerably expensive slips of paper.”
Stephen jutted his chin out. “You tend to put yourself down a lot, don’t you? You really have no reason to.”
Eva tucked her stray hair behind her ear. Maybe she could stay a bit longer. Two pints, but that was it.
Nancy gave them both a half-grin. “So, you two seem to be getting along, then?”
“Rather well, I think,” Stephen said. “Definitely no faults I can find.”
Eva let out an unintentional, “Ha!” Recovering, she cocked her head in Stephen’s direction. “You’re improving, Nance. He’s nice.”
“Ah.” Stephen sighed, dejected. “Nice.” Somehow, he managed to have ‘nice’ rhyme with ‘loser’. “Girls don’t go for the nice guys do they? They prefer a bad boy.”
Nancy snorted. “Let me tell you something, Stephen. Girls going for bad boys is bullshit. I’ve seen it a million times.” Eva caught Nance eyeing her. “If a woman wants someone to treat her like a servant and alternate between being smothered and ignored, she can get a damned cat.”
Eva patted Stephen’s knee. “Darlin’, let me tell you something. Bad boys have their appeal, a lot of, well, let’s just say, girls dream about the bad guy, but we always end up with the nice ones.” She sipped her beer. “Bad boys are overrated.”
As Eva glanced across the bar to the blank TV screen, she hoped he believed the lie. All her adult life, she’d dated men who were bad for her. Men who treated her dreadfully and undervalued her worth. She knew that, she’d always known that, and yet she failed to break the cycle. There had only been one man who’d treated her with respect and as an equal. It was a shame he’d also threatened every government on Earth and drawn UN condemnation.
Eva ran her finger around the rim of her pint. Why were all the best kissers hell-bent on tearing down the world?
Chapter Three
Notwithstanding outward appearances, Stephen with ph had some skill. He flipped her onto her back, hardly missing a stroke. All right, quite a bit of skill. In the small confines of her bedroom, he didn't seem to mind her tattoos. Though he did seem a little shocked when she suggested keeping her heels on, displaying a possible gap in his kink factor, but he was certainly giving it his all.
Eva wrapped her slender legs around his torso and dragged her nails down his admirably muscular back. When she bit his nipple he faltered and lost his rhythm. Okay, she would hold back a little, let him show her how far he was willing to go. Her heels met each other and knocked together pleasurably. They were hideously high and revoltingly expensive, just the way she liked them.
He slowed and teased by withdrawing, then entering ever so slightly more than the previous stroke. She admired his self-control, but it wasn't the time.
She grasped both sides of his face and said with all the forcefulness she could muster, "Faster. Now."
"Certainly."
Eva closed her eyes and sank her head into her pillow. The bedroom swelled pleasantly around her. Deep within her a familiar, yet long-absent primal feeling stirred within. Christ it feels good. It was a pity it would end too soon.
There was no way she would be lucky enough to reach her goal. That was far too much to ask. Even with Stephen's valiant efforts she was going to be left disappointed and unsatisfied.
His breathing quickened, his thrusting less managed and more urgent. Quiet moans emanated from his lips. She held on tighter, knowing it would make no difference.
Heat spread to all parts of her body, her synapses popped. She could have sworn she'd heard the sound of smashing glass.
Frantic, Stephen was visibly holding back. Bless him. A wave of pleasure washed over her and black shapes filled the fringes of her vision. He began to make that noise and it would all be over in a matter of seconds. Almost pleading, Eva tried desperately to hold on to the last vestiges of pleasure knowing it pointless.
When he made the face, it was too late for both of them. It was ludicrous to think she could achieve climax with this guy. What was she thinking? His thrusting frantic, she was waiting for an orgasm that would never come.
Before she knew what was happening the dark shadows in the corner of the room reached for Stephen and he was wrenched from her grasp. His face displayed nothing but pure shock as it disappeared into the darkness of her room.
Eva threw her arms in the air, casting every ounce of frustration. "Every fucking time, guys!" she shouted at the four featureless black Kevlar masks. There was exhaustion in her words, she'd had this conversation too many times. "Just once, once, I'd like you to burst in after I come. Is that too much to ask?"
From the end of the bed came an exclamation of unintentional pleasure. She looked in Stephen's direction. Okay, so he was very close, then. The tip of the condom expanded with a pleasurable ejaculate.
Stephen, still in shock, managed to utter, "Sorry."
"That's gross," one of the guards said.
Eva shrugged. "Could have been worse, he might have been riding bareback and you'd have a nice white stripe down your trousers."
The other faceless guard said, "She's right. You know how hard it is to get that off a black uniform?"
His black-clad partner asked, "How would you know?"
She knew the voice.
Stephen laughed nervously. The shortest guard grunted at that. He stepped forward and backhanded Stephen. He went flying backwards and crashed into Eva's bookshelf. In an instant she leapt to her feet and launched herself off the end of the bed. The short guard received a foot to the chest and reeled backwards. She ripped off his mask and raked a nail across his face. A bloody red trench appeared on Van Buren's cheek.
Momentarily stunned, they didn't immediately retaliate to her attack. There probably wasn't a section in the manual advising how to deal with a violent naked and horny Australian woman. Probably. That, and she was sure they had orders never to harm her. How sweet.
Seething, her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. "Boys! Naked, semi-screwed, frustrated woman here! I will tear off every one of your testicles and wear them as a necklace if you touch him again. You've done your job – and so has he–"
Stephen covered his manhood and addressed Eva, confusion covering his face like sweat, "Sorry again. Uh, what's going on?"
"–so if you don't mind, can you please fuck right off. You've achieved your orders, you've intimidated and terrified him. Well done. Now piss off. I'm angry and frustrated, and won't be able to sleep until I take care of something, so unless you boys want to watch, you'd better get the hell out."
Eva turned to the man who until several seconds earlier had been enjoying himself. She assumed he most likely hadn't expected to be interrupted by four heavily-armed private security guards breaking into the bedroom.
"Sorry Stephen. You seem like a genuinely nice guy. But I'm sorry, it never would have worked. You were looking for what was wrong with me before? You want to know what my fault is? I'll tell you. I'm a girl that has one fatal flaw. I have this," she tapped her temple, "chip in my head where I fall for bad boys. Always have. And these guys," she waved her hand at the Kevlar-clad guards, "are a reminder of my dalliance with the baddest of all bad boys."
"You don't mean–?"
"Yep. Can I pick 'em, or can I pick 'em?"
"Are they going to kill me?"
"No." Turning to Van Buren she asked, "You're not, are you?"
Wiping the blood from his cheek, he gave the slightest shake of his head. His cold expression told her he wished it were otherwise. He was a sadistic little Mussolini, but he was as loyal as they came. If his master said stay, he'd do just that until he was a surrounded by a pool of drool. Stephen wasn't in danger, as long as Eva kept her distance he would be fine.
"No, they'll just rough you up a bit, maybe give you a threat about never seeing me again and dump you someplace unpleasant. Sorry, it's been nice."
As they dragged Stephen with a ph away, she heard the second guard murmur, "Ooh, she said nice. The poor bastard."
Eva stared at the phallic insult to the London skyline. At least that's what he'd told her when he'd purchased it for his headquarters. His justification was that he'd funded free schools for females throughout the Middle East, so it balanced out a bit. The fact that the fifty-storey Lancing Tower supplied an unimpeded 360 degree view of the city, a three-storey penthouse apartment and his own helipad had nothing to do with it either.
It really was rather phallic though. The last few floors curved towards the tip to add that extra layer of penisisity
Seated on a park bench opposite the building, Eva sat freezing her arse off. She'd been so livid once the guards had hauled Stephen away that she'd tossed on clothes and stormed straight over. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. She carefully picked out a flattering outfit that would appear as though she'd thrown it on and then stormed straight over. Same same.
Eva went through the nine circles of abuse she'd throw at him. Her seething anger multiplied with each intake of the glacial night air. The only problem with acting these scenarios out was it involved leaving the bench, entering the building and actually talking to him. Not as easy as it sounded.
Sure, there were the multiple floors of security personnel, countless anti-intruder devices, including lasers, concussion blasts, knock-out gas and random trapdoors, but they weren't the main problem. It was seeing him again.
The man had taken her heart, loaded it in a skeet trap, raised his gun and yelled 'Pull!' He was also the man who had shown what a skeet trap was. The smug son of a bitch was up there, swanning about and probably laughing his head off about how he'd managed to ruin yet another date for her. Didn't he know she was perfectly capable of messing up her own relationships, thank-you-very-much?
She raised herself from the cold bench and ground her teeth. Eva shook. Partly because of the freezing London air, but mostly the unmitigated rage. Her mind was made up. She pivoted on the spot and walked away from the massive cock of a building and further into the park.
Her footsteps echoed in the cold night as she strode down the cobblestone path beneath the bare winter trees. She found the toilet block. The Gents door creaked open and she selected the third cubicle. Eva closed the door behind her. It had been a while, so it took some time to find the right brick. It slid into the recess of the wall. She counted to five, stood back and waited. A series of whisper-quiet clicks and whirrs emanated from behind the wall until it swung open, toilet and all, to reveal stairs descending into darkness.
It took a few seconds for the lights to flicker on and she had a moment of doubt. It only took the memory of the private security guards dragging away another man she'd brought back to her apartment to steel her resolve. Twat. She pressed the button to close the door behind her and marched down the secret passage.
After the hundred-metre walk, she halted, dread enveloping her. Was she really going to do this? How would he react? Would he even be in? Would he see her? And if he did, would he turn her words around so his argument seemed like the most logical thing in the world, like he always did? Would he yell? Embrace her? Ignore her? What did she really want? Damn Eva, how much did he mess you up?
Before she had a chance to think about it, her black polished fingernails typed in the code and pressed the only button available – up. The code hadn't been changed, did that mean anything? She tried to steady herself. Good luck with that. She stepped into the elevator and it ascended noiselessly.
Only two other people had access to his secret elevator; Eva and his Security Chief, Van Buren. The latter had told her the small collection of individual contractors who made it were apparently no longer alive. Or so he said. She was never sure if his posturing was an attempt to propagate Lancing's legend, an attempt to shake her, or was actually true. She suspected a combination of the first two.
Lancing's political aggression of late was aimed at the corrupt and intensely greedy. It had won him greater favour even in the face of his less than subtle, or legal, methods. Putting a bullet in the head of an apprentice electrician wasn't really his style.
The elevator pinged far too loudly for her liking. The doors slid open with a gentle hiss. She blinked several times so her eyes could adjust. The harsh fluorescents of the elevator contrasted with the low-lit mahogany interior of his inner sanctum.
It never failed to impress. The stunning view, the massive open plan room taking up the entire floor, coupled with the décor that was at once stylish, but masculine. The grey colour scheme accentuated the wooden features, including the wet bar, the two-storey library, the huge raging fire in the centre of the room. In the countless times she'd been there, she'd never once wondered where the smoke went. Yeah, because that's what you should be focussed on right now.
If the fire was lit, he must be home. But she couldn't see him. Her chest constricted when she realised he might have company. Of the female variety. If he was entertaining some skank that would be all Eva needed to send her crashing through the nearest window.
A small cough emanated from the sunken floor lounge next to the fire. He was in, though she couldn't see him. It was possible to hide pretty well down there. They'd spent hours in it, wrapped in each other's arms, ignoring the world. Given who he was, that was quite something.
Without standing, he said, "So, Eva, I'm thinking of calling the new European currency ducats, what do you think? I'm leaning towards it partly because I need a name that's not currently used for legal tender, but mostly because it makes me laugh."
He raised his head above the polished Tasmanian Oak floorboards and shot her a devastatingly cheeky grin. Bloody hell he was good-looking.
With clenched jaw, she strode over but found herself unable to utter a single syllable. He lounged amongst the numerous cushions, dressed casually in jeans, a tight white t-shirt and bare feet. Myriad of computer pads at his feet displayed figures, stock tickertapes and footage from parliaments around the world shouting his name. Ignoring her anger, he waved pleasantly.
Smug git.
"Hi. I've missed you."
She held up a single accusatory index finger and pinched her lips together. Countless emotions bombarded her at once. The urge to throw something heavy at his flawless face, the need to scream abuse until her lungs bled, or maybe grab one of the logs from the fire and raze the whole bloody building to the ground.
But deep down, that wasn't what upset her most. The fact that despite everything she'd been through, including tonight, she still loved the bastard.
Finally able to gather enough willpower to speak, she croaked, "Where the hell do you get off sending guards into my apartment?"
"My men thought you were in danger." Harry gave a congenial shrug. "They said you were crying for help."
That was a new one. She issued an incredulo
us look. "I was crying, but the 'oh god' kind."
"And you the hardcore atheist."
This was not going how she'd envisaged. All she'd wanted was to send a little abuse his way, for him to make a full and unqualified apology, and to promise never to interfere in her life again. Was that too much to ask?
While Eva desperately tried to find the words to convey all that, he said, "Can I get you a drink? I always have a bottle of Jägermeister handy, in case you pop by."
Eva remained rigid and clenched her jaw. Bad memories came to mind of a drunken night in Algiers. Visions of her head in a gutter and Harry holding her hair back. She'd vowed never to touch Jägermeister again. How could he make jokes?
"Bring it on. I'll just chuck on your pretty floor."
Harry shrugged. "Lacking some of your usual tact, wouldn't you say?"
"Tact is reserved for people who haven't seen you naked."
That made him smile. Casually, he said, "Did you hear I have something cooking for tomorrow?"
It was a stupid question. Of course she had. The entire world had. If anyone else had pulled what Harry had in the last few days they'd have been hauled in front of the nearest firing squad. Harry wasn't like anyone else. Not that long ago he'd been a bona fide hero. A lot of the world, London in particular, still loved him and that had given him leverage. Unfortunately for Harry he'd pretty much squandered all of the goodwill he had left.
"Yeah, I've heard. You've pissed off the entire world, Harry. No small feat."
"Oh you're sweet, you still follow my career." He'd always loved teasing her. "The mild leaks I've released so far have ruffled a few feathers, yes. But I assure you that's merely a forewarning. Spirited foreplay, if you will. What's coming is going to be good. It'll make Russia look like a schoolyard skirmish. As well it should, I spent a whole lot more time on it than I did on that."
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage Page 3