NoFoolAnUndercoverMission

by Ann Raina

  “Please, milady, turn it off.”

  She stepped closer, brows raised, a playful smile on her face. “I’d like you to beg me for it.” She cupped his face. Dry, warm hands caressed his cheeks.

  He frowned.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I want.”

  He dropped on his knees. “Release me, milady. Don’t be cruel on me.”

  She kissed his forehead like a maiden would have done in the Middle Ages. “I won’t be cruel. I want you to love me, Matt.”

  “As you wish.” There was no need to pretend he wanted the release. He had been horny since the first use of the remote control and the vibration got him crazed by now. She didn’t turn it off, just tuned it down so he wouldn’t fall on her with reckless eagerness.

  Michael found the zipper of her long skirt and the satin piece of cloth rustled on the carpet, followed by her undies. The sight of a garter belt and stockings spurred his lust in a most marvelous way. He was eager to get out of his pants and boxers. “Couch or floor?”

  “Never did it on the floor.”

  His voice was breathless. “First time for everything.” He put her down on the thick carpet and hovered above her.

  “You bet.” She looked along his firm body. “That’s the steel America was forged of.”

  He had no witty reply to that. His thoughts were reduced to how fast he could enter her. No time to ask if she wanted foreplay. She didn’t complain, but was eager to lift her buttocks and get more of him. She clasped her legs around his ass, still with her pumps on.

  “Ouch! Careful, lady.”

  “Stop talking.” She looked in his eyes. She was as horny as he and would not stop even if the house caught fire. The deja-vú was worth a smile.

  He clenched his teeth and faded out the pain while he rode her. Her hands were under his dress shirt, holding tight at his chest. He loved the feel of it, would have asked her to scrape along his back with her long nails, but he had no breath left. His mind shut off, lust ruled. He heard the lady’s short shriek. Her grip tightened. He let her have a moment, feeling her spasms around him while he held back. It was more painful than her heels pressing in his ass. The next second she let out her breath, sliding that downward slope of satisfaction. Michael got the last kick with one deep thrust, using all leeway he had to make the most of it. He saw her wide-open eyes. He saw the raw need. Her nails dug into his sides, her legs clasped harder. She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted everything he had to give and then some. It was a wonderful sensation.

  Michael couldn’t collapse. He would have driven all air out of her lungs with his weight. His arms trembled with strain. It was like doing push-ups under aggravated conditions. He sweated profusely. “I need…”

  “No, not yet.” She kept him pinned in her, pulled him down on his forearms and elbows to have his face close to hers.

  He saw the fine lines around her light green eyes, the soft shimmer of eye shadow and how carefully she had brushed her brows. She was so elegant and perfect that he wanted to know why she had hired an escort. She could probably get every man she wanted. “Stay with me.”

  He lowered his chin, still panting, but also avoiding squinting at her.

  “You want this to be over? Is that it?”

  She sounded like a grieving child, so he looked at her face again. “No, why?”

  “Isn’t it always like this? You satisfy the lady and then she takes you back?”

  “No, it’s not.” He gently pushed a lose strand of auburn hair out of her forehead, a fading smile on his face. “You can have me as long as you want. I just can’t come again so soon.”

  “I didn’t expect you to.” She pulled her hands free of his shirt and lowered her legs. “I just don’t want you to run like you got a second date tonight.”

  “I won’t run, milady.”

  The smile was back on her face. “You’ll miss the third act if you don’t.”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “Politeness over honesty.” Her eyes sparkled. “I like that. The lady trained you well.”

  “There was no need for training.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude.” She caressed his cheeks. “You are a gentleman, Matt. I appreciate that.”

  She indicated to get off her and he kept his expression in check. He did not want her to know how much his backside hurt when he got up and helped her stand. Joy was for both, but pain should be kept for one person only.

  “It’s always a strange moment, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, avoiding his gaze. “Under different circumstances we’d dress and drive home, enjoy the night and laugh about what we did. Yet…” She turned and dressed again. “Did you like the opera so far?”

  “I’ve seen better stage decorations, but the singers are great.”

  “You watched this opera?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She lowered her gaze, pretending to search for her undies. “Sorry to stare at you. It certainly is not unusual that you’ve been to the opera before.”

  “It’s not.” He put on his clothes. “You wouldn’t expect me to be an ignorant.”

  “But I don’t understand you to work in this job if you had a solid education.”

  The skirt was back on and he helped her close it. “Some decisions in life come unexpected.”

  Mrs. B. brought order to his tie. “Is that to say you had no choice but to take this job?”

  “There are always choices.” He held out his arm for her. “Would you like to watch the third act, milady?”

  Mrs. B brought order to her hair and reapplied her makeup, yet the couple in the adjacent balcony shot her doubting glances. She smiled friendly, pushing those curious creatures back behind their barriers.

  The third act was as wonderful as the first two and there were standing ovations at the end. Michael had difficulties to suppress yawning. He was so tired he couldn’t think of this evening to go on for long. He offered Mrs. B. his arm to escort her back to the waiting limousine. They made small talk about the singers and the costumes and other guests and she was aware that her short disappearance was subject of other couple’s conversations.

  “They’re but jealous,” she whispered when he held the door for her.

  “If you say so.”

  “Who would not be?” The lady leaned back into the softness of the leather seat of her white limousine. Her gaze traveled down his body. She sighed and after the car had taken off the curb asked, “Do you really want to work like this or is it just to pay the bills?”

  “I like to escort you, ma’am,” Michael replied courteously, but—as he hoped—determinedly to let her know he was not for hire.

  She waved her hand. “Don’t tell me you want to do this until you look old. Do you know what hookers look like within two years? Gray. They have gray skin, are thin and haggard, older than their years. I can offer you a position as my personal assistant. High salary, fifteen days vacation a year, health insurance.” She shrugged. It was an offer that was hard to decline. “Are you still telling me that you like what you do for Lady Summerston?”

  “What would the job of your personal assistant require?”

  Her smile said, I’ve got you hooked already. “You take care of my appointments, prepare the meetings, call the limo if I need it or make arrangements if I can’t meet in person. If you prove worthy and intelligent enough, you’ll be manager of one of the main business branches in no time.”

  “And?”

  The smile withered around the edges, but she tried to save it. “I might ask for some more personal service from time to time.” She waited for him to understand. “What you did tonight was much to my satisfaction. And,” she held back his retort, “you would only do it for me. You would never bother to think about other women’s preferences.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. B., but I signed a contract with Lady Summerston that requires my service for her firm for two years. I owe her, and so I regret, but I cannot accept yo
ur offer.”

  “You really slap me in the face like this?”

  “No, I don’t. You’re very generous. I’m grateful you think so highly of me that you would hire me. But, understand—”

  She held up a hand. “No need for further explanations. You obviously like to satisfy different women every day instead of belonging to one.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. B., but you could hire a lot of men who would eagerly fulfill all of your wishes.” He didn’t say that a boyfriend would be a fine solution, too, but she read it in his face.

  “I don’t want obligations like the one you think of, Matt. I rule the house. I want a man to work for me—under me—and not make demands like telling me what I have to wear or what kind of gala I should attend or not.” Her gaze was fixed on him and all loveliness seeped away from her face. The businesswoman took command as if she had played nice long enough. “If I pay, everybody does as I say. If it gets too personal, men like to command.”

  He could not honestly contradict, but he tried. “It doesn’t depend on paying a salary that men would do as you wished, milady.”

  “Oh, yes, it does. In a man’s world, a man rules. Women like me who made it to the top, are called cold-hearted bitches. If a woman like me drops her shields, she’s molested and outruled. I prefer to pay men for their services and call the shots.” She cocked her head. “Are you really not interested? I mind sound harsh, but I’m a very righteous employer.”

  He had to smile. “Mrs. B., please, forgive me. It’s nothing personal, but Lady Summerston gave me a chance. It would be very rude to leave.”

  She squinted at him. “Darn, you’re a gentleman. That’s rare. I bet, ninety-five out of a hundred would have taken my offer.”

  “That’s a sure bet.”

  She sighed. “But you have to belong to the brave five. I might ask for your company again though.”

  “Sure.” He wasn’t so sure he wanted it, but after all, he didn’t call the shots in this game.

  * * * *

  George Summerston slipped into his soft loafers and got up from the bed. He could not sleep, his body was covered in sweat and when he closed his eyes, he saw the frightened face of Habib. He pressed two fingers on each side against his temples, but it did not help. Simple gestures or words never helped. It was a rule. Charles had used it more often than George could remember.

  Quietly, because Dave was fast asleep, George left the room and made his way across the sparsely lit floor to his office. The soft shine of the outer lamps threw long fingers of light across furniture and carpet so he found his way without stumbling. The small bar in the corner was filled with scotch, bourbon and whiskey. He poured two fingers broad of whiskey and gulped down the alcohol. No, it would not help. Nothing would.

  He ran a hand through his well-cut hair, put down the glass and walked slowly toward the window. How peaceful everything was at night. Then the face of Kamal invaded his mind again like it had done before. He grimaced. There was no doubt, Kamal had handled Habib the worst way. He had told him about the results three hours later, grim and determined. His body had been rigid, his words short and clipped as if he spat the betrayal to get rid of it. Habib had been a spy and had stolen the hard drive because he had hoped to find details about the ongoing operation on it. George had shaken with the thought that enemies of Kamal would have put their hands on such delicate information! The evening had been the worst he could remember. He could not stop thinking about the consequences for his future. How selfish. Don’t you ever think of others, just yourself? George heard his brother talk in his mind and shook his head. There was never a good time to look back the way one had come. You only got ahead if you planned for the future. It was high time to save what could be saved. He left the office and closed the door carefully. Maybe the alcohol would help him back to sleep, eventually.

  “Up so late?” Lady Summerston asked.

  George swiveled around, flabbergasted to see Katherine stand on the topmost step. She was a corpulent dark shadow against the soft light on the corridor. His heart beat unbearably fast. He could not speak.

  “Now, George, it was your own office,” she teased as she came closer, fingertips playing on the handrail. “You haven’t done anything forbidden in there, have you?”

  “Certainly not.” His dignity was just pretense.

  She chuckled.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I asked first.” She had reached him and mustered him from loafers to tussled hair. She smelled the whiskey on his breath. “What kept you awake?”

  “I had a lot of stress today, Kate.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Lots of customers, orders. And some virus got into our computer system. My wine list was suddenly gone. I couldn’t open it. Alyssa was called and I hope she can help.”

  “I’m sure she can.”

  George felt uneasy under her scrutiny. He expected her to talk about Alyssa so quickly changed subject. “What about you? It’s not your habit to walk these lonely corridors at night.”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I better go back to bed now.”

  “Die Geister, die ich rief…”

  “What?”

  Katherine waved her hand. “I just thought of a very old poem. It’s about a young apprentice. He learns the skills of a wizard, but when the master’s gone, he tries magic and fails miserably. That’s why he says, The ghosts which I called I cannot get rid of them.”

  George frowned, one hand on the handrail. The thundering of his heart seemed palpable. He hoped she did not notice his shallow breathing. “What do you mean?”

  “As I see it, George, you invited ghosts to this house, but you cannot control them. You desperately try, but the ghosts play hard and won’t let you go. Or sleep, for that matter.”

  He could do nothing but stare at her. What does she know?

  “I advise you to put the ghosts back into their boxes. So you can sleep.” She turned and was gone downstairs before he found his voice again.

  * * * *

  Lighting a cigarette, Michael walked back across the driveway of the estate. He had asked the limousine driver to let him get out on the street. He needed a moment alone to think about Mrs. B.’s offer. It was absurd to ponder about changing jobs, the voice of reason said. It would be a total new challenge, said the adventurer. The longer he lived with men whose lives’ concept consisted of sex, good food and how to spend the money they earned, the more he was corrupted by their easy mannerism. They liked to live in an ivory tower and avoided thoughts about the future like a trapeze artist avoided thoughts about falling down. Michael had asked them about their ideas after Lady Summerston would no longer need them. Only few considered going back into the firms of their fathers or return to their old, profane jobs. The rest lived on borrowed ignorance.

  Michael tried to be irritated but couldn’t. The weeks on the wellness farm had changed his point of view. From the outside, he would have said these men are daydreamers, good-for-nothings. From the inside, he judged them to be strange professionals who served a clientele that would go without sex and entertainment for long years. It was hard to condemn these men if you were one of them.

  He watched the glowing tip of ash in the darkness. His father had urged him to apply for training with the CIA. In the old days, such a profession had been highly respected and nothing short of great respect should have come over Mr. Tesker’s only son. Michael had followed his father’s piece of advice on this subject like he had followed many others before. Taking a different lane in life would have meant to dishonor his father’s wish.

  Michael’s ex-girlfriend had asked him if he truly wanted to serve his country and risk his life every day. Back then, he had said yes convincingly.

  “How was your evening?”

  Michael looked up and choked on smoke. Lady Summerton stood on the topmost step and stared down at him. He couldn’t tell for how long she had watched him, but he did not like that she had sneaked upon him. �
�Splendid, milady, thank you.”

  She chuckled low in her throat. “That doesn’t sound honest to me.” She moved down two steps, stout calves and strong feet peering from under a long, woolen skirt the color of dark honey. “Don’t you like going to the opera or was Mrs. B. a bitch?”

  He stubbed the cigarette. “Like I said, it was splendid.” He knew by her glance she had already made up her mind and wouldn’t budge, even if he brought forward five witnesses.

  “Mrs. B. likes her little games. I hope, you were not annoyed.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” He shrugged and fingered for another cigarette. He needed something to hold in his hand.

  “She offered you a bonus, I suppose?”

  The lilt at the end of the question made Michael hesitate with the lighter. He didn’t want to tell that a competitor had made him an offer, but by a glance, he knew Lady Summerston had heard it all before. “She wanted to hire me.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting.” Lady Summerston laughed, her voice deep and rich and truly amused. “Was it a good offer, after all?”

  “Yes.” He pulled on the cigarette and looked up to her. She could have been a dragon despite her expensive two-piece. She had the eyes of a hunter. “I denied.”

  “You did? You’re the first.”

  He didn’t buy her surprise, so just shrugged.

  “How shall I interpret this? That you like being one of the boys around here or that Mrs. B. wasn’t to your liking?”

  “I have a contract with you, not with her.”

  She made a dismissive gesture. “Pah! I’ve seen boys come and go for lesser reasons! But be aware that Mrs. B. has more wastage than you can imagine.”

  “I said, I denied her offer.”

  She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “If one of you wants out, I’d be the last to hold you back. There are always others waiting to get a chance. Like you got one.”

  Her voice softened so suddenly, Michael shivered.