by Mary Hughes
“Who’s this?” Seeing me, Shweetie Pie’s expression turned distinctly hostile.
Not again. I gave her a huge smile, checking exit routes from the corner of my eye.
Fortunately Honeypot’s head popped up over the table, kind of like a sock puppet. She frowned at Shweetie Pie. “Who are you?”
Shweetie Pie’s glare swung to her. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m his girlfriend.” Honeypot shot to her feet.
“Yeah? Well, I’m his new girlfriend.” Shweetie Pie seized Race’s arm.
“I’m his better girlfriend.” Honeypot grabbed his other arm.
“Girls!” Race laughed. “There’s plenty Mac Daddy to go around. My shtubble…stable’s got lots of room. You all my bitches.”
Sudden silence.
Then Shweetie Pie slapped him so hard his head nearly did a Linda Blair. With a hair-toss, she stalked away. Honeypot and I watched her go.
Race touched his cheek. “The bizatch. At least my honeypot knows who’s boss.”
Smiling sweetly, Honeypot took the pitcher, topped off his beer. She lifted the glass to his lips. He puckered.
She dumped the beer over his head. While he sputtered, she slapped his other cheek. Beer droplets flew. She followed Shweetie Pie out, her stalk only slightly wobbly.
I finished my beer and rose. “Thanks for the chat, Race.”
And because I needed to keep in practice for Logan, I slapped him too.
I tossed and turned that night. Race Gillette unfortunately had a point. Logan was a very dangerous man.
Although I wondered about the “man” part.
Race wanted me to do something about Logan. I couldn’t just for myself, being barely able to raise a hand in my own defense. Yes, I run in where even stupid angels fear to fly, but only when someone else is in danger. Self-preservation? Wasn’t in my command set, which was why Botcher had rolled all over me. Logan, with his muscular body, would steamroller me flat…with diamond-hard climaxes… Focus. Race’s livelihood was threatened just like mine.
No one at ADD had stood up for me when Botcher had fired me. Race was an ass, yes. But when it came to one’s livelihood, nobody should have to stand alone.
So. Race’s livelihood and my mother’s very life depended on me keeping this job. Not for me, but for them—I had to get rid of Logan Steel.
But how? My options were limited. I’d sparred enough with Mr. Miyagi to know that in a frontal attack (ooh, Logan’s powerful front—no, not going there) he’d beat me hands down (putting my hands down his front…argh). I’d have to strike first and hardest. Nasty and underhanded, but when fighting a much stronger opponent it was the only way.
An idea came through that long, sleepless night. I needed a concentrated charge. A quick, sharp offensive aimed at the three people powerful enough to eliminate the threat of a golden prince.
A knight. My boss Chief Dirkson, Executive Director of the Blood Center.
A queen. Dolly Barton, whose gossip network made the National Enquirer look like a grade school newsletter.
And a king. Mr. Elias, chairman of the Steel Security board of directors.
Tuesday morning I rose before the sun, showered and dressed with care for battle. My armor? My prettiest dress, silky pink with a billowy skirt and an empire waist. Softly clinging to my generous curves, it made me feel powerful, sexy. As I walked to the Blood Center, the skirt swirled deliciously around my legs. My courage ratcheted up a notch with every step I took. By the time I got to work, I was ready.
Cup of coffee in one hand, mouse in the other, I sat at my desk and waged all-out war. My ammunition? A picture. But not just any picture. The scene was the hottest I could find from FuckMeDungeon.com, two guys powering into a racked and handcuffed gal. Pretty torrid stuff. The guys were riding her like bronco busters.
One guy was decently toned. The other was pudgy with a corset and bad toupee. He looked vaguely familiar, like every seedy porn star from the seventies. I spliced Logan’s face (I blush to admit I’d snared one on my cell) onto the better-built of the two.
I have to say, the composite picture was good. The blend was seamless. You’d never have known it wasn’t real unless you’d seen Logan’s body. Then it was obvious, wasn’t it? The Dungeon man was built, no doubt. A Porsche. But Logan was a Lamborghini.
Shizzle, even thinking about Logan made my engine rev. I had to get him out of my life, as quickly as possible, before I got idiot ideas about him and me, together. In Meiers Corners. In my bed.
Before I started seriously thinking of trying to make Logan stay.
I stared at the picture. Handcuffs would work for that.
No, no! I wanted Logan Steel out, out, out. And in. And out and in and…grrr. Clenching my jaw so tight I felt teeth break, I typed up the email. Attached the scandalous picture.
Paused with my pointer over “send”. Could I really do this?
Logan would be removed from his position. Not fired. Nobody could fire a man—maybe a man—like Logan. But negative pressure would make him quit. He might never find another job, never hold his head up again. He’d be ruined, like I was before Elena rescued me. My hand slid away from the mouse. It was dirty and underhanded, and made me just a little sick.
But if I didn’t do it, what would happen to my mother? To Race Gillette? I put my hand on the mouse and steeled myself to click “send”.
And hesitated again.
Pop! A tiny woman appeared on my shoulder. Dressed in a slinky red gown, she looked suspiciously like devilish Elizabeth Hurley in Bedazzled (but with my face).
“Do it,” she said. “It’s a preemptive strike. Get that man before he can get you.”
I frowned at her. “Who are you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Small imaginary creature? Like you, but with really great clothes? Guess.”
“Um…Bad Liese?”
She clapped, sarcasm obvious. “You’re not as dumb as you look. Destroy that man, Liese. While you still can.”
“That man is named Logan,” I said. “And I’m not quite sure he’s a man—”
“Who the fuck cares? Look. If Botcher is an inch of dangerous, Steel is a couple hundred miles of death. If you don’t take him out now, you won’t get another chance.”
“Nooo, it would be wrong.” Another little Liese popped up on my other shoulder. She wore a pink ruffled pinafore over a blue-and-yellow gingham dress, no fashion sense whatever. “If you do this, you’ll be no better than Botcher.”
I blinked at her. “You’re Good Liese?” I wondered if I was totally sane. “Why are you guys here? I’ve never hallucinated Mini-me twins before.”
“Don’t you know your imaginary creatures clause? Honestly.” Good Liese tapped her tiny patent-leather shod foot. “In the event of a life-altering decision, the party of the first part—”
“That’s you,” Bad Liese said.
“Will be visited by the parties of the second part who shall, in turn, be either a bipartite personification of conscience or a tripartite phantom apparition—”
“That’s kind of hard to understand,” I said. “With all the parties and parts and such.”
Good Liese heaved a put-upon sigh. “Please don’t interrupt.”
Bad Liese whacked me on the ear, much more direct. “For shit’s sake. Look. It comes down to this. You get ghosts, or you get us. Scrooge got ghosts. You get us.”
“Oh. Okay. All clear.”
“Can we continue now?” At my nod, Good Liese cleared her throat. “Nooo, it would be wrong. If you do this, you will be no better than Botcher.”
“But Logan lied to me,” I said. “Just like that rat-bastard. Logan called the Blood Center my place. Why would he say that, if he weren’t coming to stay?”
“He told you he isn’t here to put you out of a job,” Good Liese said.
“Obviously he lied about that too.”
“Just like your ex.” Bad Liese chortled from my shoulder. “Botcher lied when he called
you beautiful. He lied to get your position. And if that wasn’t enough, he lied to get you blacklisted from any reputable firm in the entire Midwest.”
I shuddered. “Thanks for reminding me, little Miss Exposition.”
Good Liese shook a tiny finger at me. “Logan Steel is not cut from the same rotten cloth as Bernie Botcher. You must trust him.”
“No, you have to eliminate him.”
“No, you—”
I threw up my hands. “Look, this decision is hard enough. Your kibitzing isn’t helping any.”
They shot each other a look around my neck. But the bipartite personification of conscience, a.k.a. the gruesome twosome, took the hint and popped out.
Alone again, I took hold of the mouse. My pointer hovered over “send”. My finger itched with indecision but I was leaning toward Bad Liese. Logan Steel was definitely dangerous. Yet…he called me beautiful and seemed to mean it. And he was so adorable with his puns. Did I have the right to ruin him?
“Do it,” Bad Liese said. “Push send.”
“Nooo, it would be wrong,” Good Liese whined.
“I thought you guys were gone,” I said.
“Don’t do this,” Good Liese said. “You’ll never forgive yourself. You will remember it as the lowest point of your life. You know it’s—”
“Wrong, yeah.” The annoying thing was, she was correct. I always thought Black Saturday was the worst day of my life. But if I ruined Logan, I’d feel worse.
On the other hand, at least I’d still have a job. Mom would have her treatments. I could probably stomach a lot of guilt with a healthy mom and a regular paycheck.
My hand wavered between send and cancel.
“Penny for your thoughts,” came a deep, masculine drawl.
I jumped, accidentally popping the “send” button.
Well. Decision made.
“Liese? What’s wrong? You’ve gone white.” Logan stood before me in all his muscular male glory. Just past him a limo sat at the curb, lit by the streetlamp. Though it seemed like hours, only minutes had passed. It was still dark out.
“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.” Frantically, I minimized the telltale photoshopped picture. “I, um, thought you had appointments all day.” I smiled, felt my upper lip tremble.
“Actually, that’s why I’m here. Change in plans, I’ve got to go to Chicago. ADD’s having some internal problems. Missing cash.”
“Oh good, good.”
He gave me a strange look before continuing. “They want to beef up their security. Bo’s chauffeur is waiting for me but I have to explain a few things to you before I go.”
Which meant Logan was going to be here for a bit. “Fine, fine.” I pushed and held my laptop’s power button. The system whined as it shut down. My hard disk was going to be so fragmented—matching my life about now. “What do you need to explain?”
“AI installation, remember?” Logan leaned on my desk, whispered in my ear, “Unless you have another installation you’d like me to tackle. I’ve got the latest hardware. You’d be very satisfied.” His purring breath tickled my earlobe. “Mmm. You smell divine.”
I swallowed a sudden influx of saliva, nearly choked. “You have to leave soon. Shouldn’t we get busy? I mean to work? I mean…” I hopped to my feet. “AI?”
Logan’s eyes did a pogo-stick scan of me, and a grin spread across his face.
Ah, yes, the sexy pink dress, donned to give me courage. In the reflection of Logan’s hungry gaze it now felt like table linen at a Liese buffet. I shifted awkwardly in my sparkly pink sandals. The matching pink lace undies were dampening rapidly. His nostrils flared as if he could smell it, and his smile turned distinctly predatory.
This time I did choke. “Work.” I coughed. “Right. We’d better get to it.”
“Get to it?” Logan rounded my desk sinuously, winding like a cat. I was definitely feeling all dinner-ish. Only it was barely breakfast time. Maybe brunch-ish. Or brunchy. Whatever.
“Yes—I mean no.” I backed away. “I mean, get to work.” The feeling of being consumed wasn’t helped by Logan licking his well-shaped lips. I backed away. “Work, you know. Just do it.”
Logan’s eyes flared instantly red-hot. “Do it?” He bared his teeth, white and sharp, his canines particularly pronounced. He stalked me into a set of flat filing cabinets.
I squeaked, trembling between cold hard steel and hot hard Steel. My lips parted on a gasp and in that instant Logan’s mouth claimed mine.
His kiss was hungry, deep and driving, like he wanted to eat me to my toes. Fire swept my body, melting bones and muscles. I wrapped my arms around his neck to save myself from liquefying into a puddle of 10W-Liese at his feet. My breasts rasped against the thrust of his chest, my nipples cinched at the scorching heat. He grabbed my breasts two-handed, long fingers seizing the hard nubs and pinching them like vises. Lightning bolts of need streaked through me. My respiration shot into overdrive. I swallowed a cry and arched into his palms. Logan’s fingers clamped harder. I shrieked.
Strong hands cupped, pressed and rubbed. Need shuddered through me. Desire spiked hot in my belly. When I groaned, he pinched harder.
I whimpered. Still pinching me into oblivion, he started kissing his way down my throat. His kisses pooled on my cleavage, bared by the pink neckline. His tongue heated a trail of need along my exposed flesh.
My breath came faster. Last time my bra hadn’t stopped him, but surely he couldn’t suckle me through both bra and dress? Maybe he’d unzip the dress first but then he’d have to stop grinding me into the filing cabinet.
While I was distracted by logistics, Logan slipped his clever fingers under both bodice and bra and, with a single yank, stripped me naked to the waist.
My breasts tightened at the cool rush of air. My eyes snapped wide open. His flared bright red. “Gorgeous.” With a purely male growl of satisfaction, he bent and latched onto one nipple. I threw back my head and moaned.
Logan suckled me until the hot tugging drove me insane. I writhed against him, pushed my breast into his mouth, mutely pleading for more. Then not so mutely. “Oh, Logan, please, I—”
“Und vat ist goink on here?”
I jerked, clanged into the file cabinet. The rough, accusing voice was an alto, if grizzlies had choirs.
Logan grabbed my arms in a steadying grip. “Breathe,” he murmured. When I nodded he raised his hands and stepped back, fingers loose. Keeping his body a shield between me and the newcomer, he turned. Behind him I pulled up bra and bodice. When I was decent I peeped around his broad back.
Glaring at us was a Valkyrie crossed with a polar bear, her small beady eyes loaded with censure. I took a fortifying breath. “Hello, Nurse Battle.”
Our part-time RN was two hundred fifty pounds of stone-crushing maternal warmth. A mother hen, if hens worked for the KGB. When I was learning names at the Center my mnemonic for her was Battleax. Someday I would slip and call her that out loud, no doubt making an amusing epitaph for my headstone.
She put hands on hips, three hatchet handles apart. “And what are you doing? I hope you are not—making out?” She said ‘vat’ and ‘doink’ and ‘may-kink out’. Her accent was more German than a native’s, thick and hard to understand.
Her expression was unfortunately quite clear.
“We weren’t doink…I mean doing anything, Nurse Battlea—Battle.” I smiled weakly.
“Liese got some dirt in her eye,” Logan said, smoother than cream. “I was trying to get it out.”
“Some dirt, so?” Battleax reached into an apron pocket. I think she shopped at the Mary Poppins Survivalist Store—the apron was white, frilly and stuffed with the instruments of Armageddon. She extracted a yards-long needle and aimed it at me. “Let me see.”
“No! I mean…the dirt’s out now. Logan…er, Mr. Steel got it out.”
“Ja? This is so?” She turned the needle on Logan.
“Absolutely,” Logan said without a flicker of fear. Damn, he was good
.
A new gleam entered her beady eyes. “You are Mr. Logan Steel? Security consultant?” At Logan’s shrug, she smiled a bear-trap of teeth. “Gut. The Executive Director told me you are coming here.”
“Did he? Well I’m flattered—” Logan broke off when Nurse Battle grabbed his wrist with one ham hand.
“You will be getting employee physical,” Battleax said with obvious relish. “Come.” She tried to drag him toward the back room, leaning into it like an ox. She had at least twenty pounds on him but he didn’t move.
“I hate to point this out, dear lady, but I’m not an employee of the Blood Center.”
“You are working here. There must be no contamination!” She released him to reach into one pocket and pull out a set of rubber gloves, which she snapped on like an executioner. “You will have full physical.”
“Oh.” Logan’s voice was a little faint. “Well. If I must.”
“We start with medical history.” She grabbed him again and pulled him through the door. This time he went. “When was last digital rectal exam?”
Chapter Seven
Nurse Battle finished with Logan in fairly short order. She came wandering out five minutes later, alone, mumbling strangely about coffee.
She clutched my arm. “Red Eyes, Liese. It was Red Eyes!” She wouldn’t let go until I promised to go get her a Red Eye from the Caffeine Café. On my way out, she thanked me. “Liese—fanks!”
But when I returned with her Red Eye, Battleax was nowhere to be found. Neither was Logan—on his way to Chicago, no doubt. Apparently the AI instructions could wait. I was both relieved and disappointed.
A squad of Steel Security jackets arrived at eight on the dot. They were armed with wafer-thin laptops, typed at two hundred m.p.h. and chattered rapid-fire about evolutionary algorithms and combinatorial explosions. Obviously the software division of the company, and even more obviously damned good at their jobs.
All that brilliant industry made me feel tired and outdated. I collapsed heavily in my chair. It was a nice chair. I would miss it.
Automatically I set my mood-timer for five minutes. It didn’t help.
The instructions for the data extract were on my desk. I read them over. Black clouds obscured the lights, so it took me a while even though everything was spelled out, easier to follow than Lego instructions. The extract took me twenty minutes, half of which was spent coaxing my Dell to spit out the data. The black cloud darkened, enveloping me.