SPY: His Mission. His Orders. His Promise. Page 9

  "Victor," Xavier said softly, "this is a gift. You've been bitching about him for as long as I've known you, but the mouse has come to the cheese. Isn't that what you want?"

  "I love the way you think," Victor said under his breath. "Thank you, Xav."

  "And don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you upset."

  Slowly turning to face his lover, Victor smiled an evil smile.

  "Don't worry, not even his car will survive the night, and reminding me to keep my cool was just what I needed. I'm going to be very nice to you later."

  "Ooh, yummy. I can't wait."

  "I think we should go over there and say fuck you back."

  "That's what he's expecting," Xavier whispered. "Let him come to you."

  "Clever boy. Wait until I get you upstairs. I'll have you screaming like a fucking banshee."

  "Victor, you're giving me goosebumps."

  "I promise I'll be giving you a lot more than that, but right now I'm going to call Sergei," he said, sending out another text. "It just occurred to me he'd appreciate the opportunity to get even."

  "You never did tell me exactly what happened to him and Boris."

  "Apparently our friend Mr. Barton has equipped his black Spider with some new gadgets. He flooded their car with toxic gas."

  "Ick. Why weren't they able to shoot him?"

  "Those gadgets included bullet proof windows and tire covers. He's driving around in a fucking tank, but not for much longer."

  "How much fun is this? What have you told Sergei to do?"

  "He'll be here shortly wearing the ring."

  "The ring? You're going to kill Barton in this room? But there are so many people here."

  "They won't know why he's collapsed. We'll whisk him away and whether he dies or not will be up to him. He'll have about two minutes to tell me where Natalie is. If he does he'll get the antidote."

  "Phooey."

  "But only to keep him alive long enough for him to see how I deal with traitors. You'd enjoy watching me mess with her, wouldn't you?" he breathed in Xavier's ear.

  "Yes, yes, yes," Xavier said excitedly. "I hope he tells you."

  "He will, but what is our foolish mouse up to?"

  "He's just standing there people watching."

  "While we watch him. What an interesting evening this is turning out to be."

  "Isn't that the Senator coming over here?"

  "Don't worry, I'll get rid of him," Victor said, crooking his finger at a red-headed beauty loitering nearby. "I have a luscious buxom showgirl for him."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Across the room Oliver had felt Victor's eyes on his back, and was about to turn and face him when he noticed an exceptionally attractive woman moving towards him. She was tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed, and he guessed she was probably of Scottish heritage. Her toned and muscled bare arms suggested a stellar body and many hours at the gym.

  "Good evening," she said, smiling as she approached. "I don't believe we've met. I'm the exhibition's coordinator, Taylor Manning."

  "Delighted. I'm Oliver Barton, and you can tailor my clothes any time."

  "You're British."

  "Last time I checked."

  "And that's why you're droll."

  "I am?"

  "You know you are."

  "Is there a Mr. Manning?"

  "There is."

  "What a shame."

  "My mother doesn't think so," she quipped flirtatiously, tilting her head to the side.

  "Don't tell me a woman as fetching as you is here by herself."

  "Not if you don't want me to."

  "But I do very much."

  "Then, yes, I'm here by myself."

  "Good. I won't worry about a Nevada cowboy riding up to your rescue."

  "Will I need rescuing from you, Mr. Barton?"

  "Only if you're lucky," he said with a wicked grin. "Are you a lover of the arts, or are you here because your position demanded it?"

  "I'm a lover. Can't you tell?"

  "Most definitely."

  "Do you know Victor?"

  "Intimately."

  "Then you're aware he has quite a collection. From what I understand this is the tip of the iceberg, but tonight that's the star," she said, nodding her head towards the relic. "Imagine. That was in the home of a Roman hundreds of years ago, possibly even longer. Its history is still being researched."

  "Yes, it's extraordinary. Shall we take a closer look?"

  "We had a replica on display in the lobby for a while but it's not like viewing the real thing."

  "No copy can live up to the genuine article," Oliver said as they ambled forward, "regardless of what it is."

  "Isn't it beautiful," she sighed as they stopped and stared through the large transparent bell jar. "It has such a lovely sheen to it. Artifacts of this age are usually quite drab, but this one…well…it isn't. Its original splendor survived."

  Oliver flashed back to Leo's observation.

  The genuine relic had no luster.

  It was the fake in the glass case!

  "I suspect it's the way the light is hitting it," Oliver said, wondering why Victor had put the replica on display. Did he think no-one would notice? More importantly, where was the authentic artifact?

  "Yes, you're probably right," she nodded, then turning around and looking at him intently she added, "I'd love to hold it in my hands and see it up close and personal.

  "I'm sure if it were able to talk it would tell you the feeling is mutual, and now I must pay my respects to our host. Would you care to join me?"

  "Just between you and me," she said, lowering her voice, "that strange creature he has at his side gives me the willies."

  "Xavier?"

  "Do you see any other strange creatures?"

  "Now, now, Miss Manning, you're becoming a tad cheeky."

  "Cheeky. How marvelously British, and was that a warning?"

  "Take it however you wish but I really must pay my respects, and I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting that interesting friend of his."

  "You'll see what I mean. I'll be at the buffet. They have the most divine puff pastry brie balls. I can't wait to pop one in my mouth and let it squirt against my tongue."

  "That's quite an image, one I'm sure I'll carry with me for a while. I might see you over there, unless Victor has other plans for me."

  "Other plans?"

  "One never knows with him. It's been a pleasure, Taylor."

  The blatant foreplay came to him as naturally as breathing, but as the provocative vamp glided away he had no desire to continue the seduction. Natalie owned his heart and his body, and rather than feeling imprisoned, he felt liberated. Glancing across at Taylor standing at the buffet table, he wondered if she knew how vicious Victor was, or if she'd been imbedded by one of the intelligence services. He had the distinct impression she knew who he was, but turning his attention back to the Russian psychopath and his thin, pale boyfriend, Oliver began to walk towards them.

  "Oliver Barton, what a surprise," Victor said as Oliver neared. "I didn't expect to see you here this evening. Did you receive an invitation?"

  "I did," Oliver declared, producing it from his pocket.

  "I wonder how that happened."

  "What's that saying? Where there's a will there's a way."

  "I don't believe you've met my special friend, Xavier," Victor said, unable to think of a suitable retort.

  "Hello, my special friend, Xavier."

  "Hello. Is your tuxedo Armani?"

  "No, it's Brunello Cucinelli, Fall 2017."

  "It's divine. I should have known."

  "Are you here to see all my beautiful things," Victor asked, glancing at Xavier, "or does your interest lie solely with the artifact?"

  "The former, but Victor, do you ever give tours of your vault? Isn't that where your truly precious items are found?"

  "You are well informed."

  "I try to be, but your hush-hush collection is one of the worst kept
secrets in the art world."

  "When did you become a member of the art world?"

  "You couldn't be," Xavier piped up, jutting out his chin, making his thin angular face appear even more gaunt. "Only true art savants can call themselves members. You may be wearing a five-thousand dollar tuxedo, but you're no art expert."

  "You're quite right, Xavier," Oliver replied, studying Xavier's strangely pale blue eyes. "I'm not an authority by any stretch, but I am connected to a number of serious collectors."

  "Why? Did you steal something?"

  "Now, now, Xavier," Victor scolded, "don't be rude to our guest."

  "No, you don't want to be rude, Xavier," Oliver said, lowering his voice and leaning towards him. "Daddy will send you to bed with no supper and a well-spanked bottom."

  "Really, Mr. Barton," Victor scowled, "you're becoming tiresome."

  "I've been called many things, Victor, but never tiresome."

  "Then it's a title whose time has come. I have a way of dealing with tiresome guests, but I'll let you off the hook if you tell me where I can find Natalie."

  "Probably shopping. That woman loves to shop."

  "Last chance, Mr. Barton. Tell me where she is. I promise you, if you don't you'll regret it," he sneered, spying Sergei over Oliver's shoulder closing in, "and sooner than you might think,"

  Victor hadn't shifted his gaze, but Xavier had, and Oliver had seen his eyes light up. The threat was fast approaching from behind, and abruptly lunging forward he grabbed Xavier and spun him around. Sergei was only a few feet away, his hand poised front of him, the sharp deadly needle protruding from the ring, and as Oliver shoved Xavier into him, the toxic tip pierced Xavier's back.

  "VICTOR! HELP. HE STUCK ME."

  Oliver was already sprinting towards the portrait gallery when Xavier's plaintive scream filled the room. He could hear footsteps chasing him, and looking over his shoulder he saw several thugs in pursuit, and Taylor Manning smiling as she watched. Bolting outside he dashed towards the parking garage and ducked behind a wide pylon, then peering around he saw the henchmen running in the opposite direction towards the black Ferrari in the open air parking lot.

  Catching his breath he walked quickly through the garage, into the back alley, and hurried across to the dumpsters. Reaching for the duffle bag he unzipped it, switched his tuxedo coat for his motorcycle jacket and donned his helmet. Jogging to his bike and taking the bag with him, he stuffed it into the storage compartment, climbed on board and rode towards the strip. As he passed the parking lot he saw the Ferrari Spider in flames. He grinned. Victor would soon be dealing with a very angry car rental agency.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Natalie stared at the half-empty bottle of wine on the bedside table and considered pouring herself another glass, but she was already buzzed. Closing her eyes she felt one of her moments of truth about to fall from the ether. They only happened when she'd overly imbibed and an irritated frown crossed her face.

  "Shit. Why did I push the envelope? I should have known this would happen."

  The epiphanies usually began with a feeling of weightlessness, and as it began she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. She found herself recalling her morning adventure. She'd always been a risk-taker, and though standing next to Victor in front of the display had been terrifying, she'd loved the adrenalin rush. It was why she'd asked Oliver if she could become a member of The Force. She loved drama and heart-stopping adventure—but her eyes suddenly flashed open and she sat bolt upright.

  "No, that's not why," she muttered. "It's true, but it's not why I asked him. It's because sitting around waiting for my man to come home isn't who I am. I'll go crazy living this way."

  The roar of the Harley signaled his return. It was remarkable timing, but everything with Oliver had been remarkable. Meeting him at the Chateau in the South of France, their blazing whirlwind romance, the insanity at the mountain cabin, and being separated for two years only to be stunned by his sudden reappearance.

  "And the sex," she mumbled. "It's beyond remarkable. The things he's done to me. The things he says he'll—"

  "They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," he proclaimed, cutting her off as he entered the bedroom.

  "How are you able to move around so silently?"

  "Practice," he replied, slowly peeling off his clothes. "The things who says? Who's he?"

  "He is you. I was thinking out loud."

  "I'd like to know more, but first I have to share something with you," he said softly, now naked and dropping on the bed next to her. "I met a woman tonight, and—"

  "Do I want to hear this?" she asked, her heart suddenly sinking.

  "My goodness, settle down. You can't let your imagination immediately take you to the worst possible scenario."

  "Sorry. I don't know why that happened."

  "You have no reason to feel insecure, Natalie. None. That's what I'm about to tell you. I met a woman tonight who was very beautiful and flirted with me outrageously, but I had zero interest. She's the coordinator for the exhibition, she works for Victor, and normally I would have followed up and slept with her. It would be the smart thing to do, but even if I felt it was needed I wouldn't, I couldn't."

  "Oliver…"

  "When we were separated I wasn't a monk, but you were always with me, always on my mind, and I was always wishing I was with you."

  "You've made me all gooey."

  "Like soft caramel? Then I'll have to eat you up," he purred, softly kissing her neck, "but what was it you were thinking about when I walked in?"

  "How amazing it is when we have sex."

  "We don't have sex. Sex is mundane, boring, yawnsville."

  "If it's not sex what is it?"

  "It's possession," he said huskily, moving his lips to her ear. "It's all-consuming lust, it's my devouring you, every part of you, your luscious body, your mind and your heart."

  She was utterly lost before he'd even finished speaking, and as his mouth kissed its way to her breasts and hungrily sucked her nipples, she moaned loudly and raised her chest.

  "It's owning your pussy," he breathed, slipping his fingers between her legs, "making you wet like this, then ravaging you with my cock."

  Moving on top of her, he placed his member at her entrance and thrust home, and as he began to stroke she clung to his back, loving the feel of his powerful member and the rasping of his chest hairs against her nipples.

  "It's bending your body to my will," he continued huskily, "controlling its responses, feeling your willing surrender."

  "Yes," she bleated, "yes, it's all those things."

  "I can take you higher and higher," he purred, his lips at her ear as he accelerated. "You can feel me lifting you."

  "God, Oliver, yes."

  "And I can bring you back down," he crooned, slowing his strokes, "but still make you feel things."

  Staying buried inside her, he returned his mouth to her breasts, initially lapping, then nipping, making her squeal, then suddenly withdrawing he knelt up, deftly flipped her on to her stomach and pulled her hips into his pelvis.

  "It's also smacking your ass," he said sternly, landing his hand with a volley of hot slaps, "chastising and dominating you. Beg for more, Natalie!"

  "Please, Sir, spank me."

  "That's not begging," he scolded, teasingly rubbing his cock at her entrance. "Try again."

  "Please, Sir, please spank me harder. I need you to, please?"

  Thrusting back inside her, he began spanking with one hand, dropping the other against her pussy and searching out her clit. As he urgently massaged the magic nub he could feel her walls pulsing against him, and hear her groans growing more fervent. Clasping her hips he began to pummel in earnest, pounding her pussy with quick vigorous strokes.

  "It's taking you to the edge," he exclaimed, then stopping abruptly he added, "then saying no."

  "Sir," she gasped, "please, I can't stand it. Please let me come?"

  "It's hearing you
r need," he said, unexpectedly softening his voice, "and giving it to you."

  Gripping her tightly he began to move, slowly building her back up, gaining momentum until her gasps told him it was time. Increasing his speed he rode her forward, and as she let out a series of wild cries he let himself erupt, and shuddered through his powerful climax.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Though Oliver had an internal alarm clock he always set his watch. When it dinged he was already awake, mentally rehearsing his meeting with Andy Petrov, and feeling Natalie stir he tightened his arm around her. As much as he wanted it, he found himself wondering just how realistic it was to consider a life with her. It was the middle of the night and he was about to take off again. A pang of guilt made him frown.

  "Was that your alarm?" she asked groggily. "Do you need to leave?"

  "Yes, and yes. Go back to sleep."

  "Are you going to meet Andy?"

  "In a little while."

  "Oliver, there's, uh, something I need to tell you."

  "Okay."

  "I was recruited by MI5."

  "Go on."

  "I went through the training, then one day I was having afternoon tea and a man sat down opposite me and told me I should reconsider. He was with the CIA. As you know I have dual citizenship, and he made it clear I'd have to take sides. The U.S.A. and the UK might be allies, but apparently not in the intelligence services. I couldn't do it. I feel loyalty to both nations so I walked away."

  He didn't respond, and nervously sitting up she switched on her bedside lamp and studied his face.

  "Oliver! You're not surprised!"

  "I've known for a while. When you disappeared I did some serious digging trying to find you."

  "Why didn't you say anything?"

  "I knew you'd tell me if you wanted me to know, and I'm very glad you have," he said softly, and slipping his hand into her hair, he pulled her into a long, soft kiss. "It means we're whole now. I was living with only half of you."

  "I suppose that's true," she murmured. "I was going to tell you earlier when you finished your story about that woman but I didn't get the chance. So, uh, now what?"