Michelle returned to the room, not only with a glass full of amber liquid but with the decanter as well.
Keller was lying propped up on the bed, using the remote to surf through the TV channels. He looked up and his eyes lit up as he saw her offerings.
He took the glass gratefully, said thanks, and downed it in one gulp.
He held out the glass for more, and Michelle filled it half full from the decanter.
She put the decanter down, lifted her dress a bit and climbed on her knees onto the bed. She heard Keller catch his breath as she leaned against him from behind, placing her hands on his shoulders, and began to massage the tense knots of muscles there.
She couldn’t see his face, but he dropped the remote onto the bed and rested his hand on his thigh.
“Feels good,” he said, with a catch in his voice.
“You’ve had a rough time,” Michelle murmured.
Keller sipped a bit of his drink. “In more ways than you know,” he murmured, almost too low for Michelle to hear.
“Unbutton your shirt,” she murmured.
Keller finished off his drink and let the glass drop to the bed as well. He unbuttoned his shirt with fingers that trembled a little, and shrugged out of it. Michelle’s hands were cool on his skin and she rested her belly against his back as she continued to massage his shoulders.
Keller reached down and unzipped his trousers…he must be getting aroused and needed a bit more room down there. But he made no other mood, just sat there, letting her massage his shoulders, his hands resting helplessly on his thighs.
Michelle shifted to one side and pressed him down gently onto the bed. He laid back wordlessly, gazing at her silently. She laid down beside him, propping herself up on one elbow, and began to kiss him gently on the mouth. He responded tentatively, reaching up to rest his hand on her other arm.
Gradually he let his hand slide down to her wrist, and pulled it gently so that she would rest her hand on her chest. He then reached out for her waist, and tugged at that gently. She responded as she hoped, and straddled his chest with her knees, while she kissed him. He rested his hands on her hips.
Then, suddenly, he gently pressured her to get off him. Puzzled, Michelle did as he bid, and he rolled over onto his side, his back to her, his hands over his face. Was he crying?
Tentatively, Michelle leaned up against him, just to offer him the comfort of her body. He reached out with one hand and took her hand, but did not turn.
After a few minutes, she deduced that he had fallen asleep.
Son of a bitch, she thought. I knew there was a reason why I hated liquor. Two glasses of brandy, or whatever the hell it was, and he’s out like a light.
But she knew that he had fallen asleep from nervous exhaustion. He must have been in hell the last week. Of course, she’d meant to put him through hell, when she’d thought he was an amateur who was trying to put his skills against hers, as a professional. But to have lost his memory, and to be told he was a cold-blooded killer, and yet not to feel like a cold blooded killer…interesting how one’s morals and ethics held true even if one couldn’t remember one’s own name.
Michelle rested her body against Keller’s warm form and sighed. Her work was so uncomplicated – black and white. Her personal life….way too complicated.
What was she going to do?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Michelle Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 39
Michelle Bravo rearranged her dress, slowly. Although she kept her face impassive, inwardly she was laughing. She had wondered how Keller was going to get himself out of this predicament…now she knew. Should she continue to have a little fun with him? She picked up the rifle and returned to her chair, distancing herself from him.
“All right, Mr. Largo,” she said. “I’m a big believer in luck myself. Once you feel you’re luck has gone, it’s best to give up the job. So I’m going to let you off. I’ll even buy your ticket tomorrow.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Keller said. There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice that irritated her no end, and she hardened her heart. She was going to have some more fun with him, if that was the way he was going to be!
“I thought so,” she said, her voice hard. “So, where do you want to go?”
She stared at him, surprised, as an expression of confusion washed over his face. Suddenly he was saying urgently: “I want to go somewhere where you’ll go with me. Let’s get out of this, please. I tell you I’ve got a feeling, and when I get a feeling, it invariably comes true. We’ve both got to get out of this.”
Michelle gazed at him, really confused now. Why in the world would he want her to come with him?
“Jeez, you are in a funk, Mr. Largo,” she said. “This…this isn’t like you.”
Keller sat back on his heels. “What am I like?” he asked, in a defeated tone of voice.
To quote Joey Pants in The Fugitive, something was hinky here, Michelle thought. “What do you mean?” she asked
“I don’t remember who I am,” he told her, quietly.
Michelle felt a cold feeling go through her chest. Was he playing her?
“What?” she demanded?
“You remember …you remember, last week…or however long ago it was, I had that crack on the head? Well, since that time, I can’t remember anything. I don’t remember who I am!”
God, though Michelle. Could this be true? “And so, you don’t remember killing fifteen people in cold blood?” she asked.
His face twisted. “No, I don’t remember it!”
Michelle swore, inwardly. She’d known she should have disappeared several weeks ago. She’d known it. But oh, no, she had to play her little game, have her little revenge, and this was the result. Poor guy didn’t have a clue who he was. But…that meant…he didn’t remember who she was, either. That’s what had started all this, she’d reminded herself. The fact that he must have known her identity as Michelle Bravo – otherwise he would not have sought her out in that guise. She had thought he had blown her cover…he must have blown her cover…but now…he couldn’t remember it.
“You don’t remember who you are,” she said slowly. “So…you don’t remember who I am, either?”
“No,” he said.
Michelle laughed. She hadn’t intended to, but the ridiculousness of it all just hit her like a stroke of lightning.
She saw Keller’s face change to one of fury and he reached for her with violent intent. She reacted instinctively, placing her foot in his chest and shoving him backward. By the time he’d regained his footing she had the rifle cocked and pointing right at him.
He stood in front of her, calmly. “What are you going to do?” he asked quietly. “Kill me?”
That was a more dignified response than she’d expected of him, with a rifle pointing in his face from a mere six feet away.
“Not at all,” she said calmly. “And I’m sorry I laughed. I wasn’t laughing at you, believe it or not. So just calm down, and sit down.”
Keller sat down. Michelle eased down the hammer of the rifle, and propped it on the wall behind her. “It’s not even loaded,” she told him reassuringly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Keller said, and he sounded as if he meant it.
Michelle glanced around the room. “This is one time in my life I’m sorry I don’t drink. You look like you could use one.”
“I bet there’s a decanter somewhere in this house.”
“Yes…stay here, and I’ll go roust out some whiskey or something.”
She walked out of the room.
Once out of the room, she made a kicking motion with one foot, and then shook her hands skyward impotently. What complications in her life, complications that she could have well done without.
The game was off, that much was evident. And since he no longer remembered who she was, she could let him leave with impunity. But could she? He didn’t remember who he was - she’d always assumed he’d tracked her down during his vacation time but what if his vacation was up? What if there were people looking for him?
People who would also be looking for her? If not as Michelle Bravo, as Taran Tula?
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive, she thought, finally coming across a decanter of brandy and some glasses on a sideboard.
She couldn’t just buy him a ticket and send him on his own off to the States. She was a little bit responsible for his condition…
Michelle gazed contemplatively at the amber liquid in the decanter. And he had been acting odd, even given the amnesia. Why had he wanted her to run away with him? Why had he cared whether she went about her proposed assassination or not. He had seemed to care…not so much for preventing a murder…but cared for her…
It really was too bad she didn’t drink. She needed something to settle her nerves.
Something warm, and tender, and loving….and waiting for her in her bedroom.
“All right, Mr. Largo,” she said. “I’m a big believer in luck myself. Once you feel you’re luck has gone, it’s best to give up the job. So I’m going to let you off. I’ll even buy your ticket tomorrow.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Keller said. There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice that irritated her no end, and she hardened her heart. She was going to have some more fun with him, if that was the way he was going to be!
“I thought so,” she said, her voice hard. “So, where do you want to go?”
She stared at him, surprised, as an expression of confusion washed over his face. Suddenly he was saying urgently: “I want to go somewhere where you’ll go with me. Let’s get out of this, please. I tell you I’ve got a feeling, and when I get a feeling, it invariably comes true. We’ve both got to get out of this.”
Michelle gazed at him, really confused now. Why in the world would he want her to come with him?
“Jeez, you are in a funk, Mr. Largo,” she said. “This…this isn’t like you.”
Keller sat back on his heels. “What am I like?” he asked, in a defeated tone of voice.
To quote Joey Pants in The Fugitive, something was hinky here, Michelle thought. “What do you mean?” she asked
“I don’t remember who I am,” he told her, quietly.
Michelle felt a cold feeling go through her chest. Was he playing her?
“What?” she demanded?
“You remember …you remember, last week…or however long ago it was, I had that crack on the head? Well, since that time, I can’t remember anything. I don’t remember who I am!”
God, though Michelle. Could this be true? “And so, you don’t remember killing fifteen people in cold blood?” she asked.
His face twisted. “No, I don’t remember it!”
Michelle swore, inwardly. She’d known she should have disappeared several weeks ago. She’d known it. But oh, no, she had to play her little game, have her little revenge, and this was the result. Poor guy didn’t have a clue who he was. But…that meant…he didn’t remember who she was, either. That’s what had started all this, she’d reminded herself. The fact that he must have known her identity as Michelle Bravo – otherwise he would not have sought her out in that guise. She had thought he had blown her cover…he must have blown her cover…but now…he couldn’t remember it.
“You don’t remember who you are,” she said slowly. “So…you don’t remember who I am, either?”
“No,” he said.
Michelle laughed. She hadn’t intended to, but the ridiculousness of it all just hit her like a stroke of lightning.
She saw Keller’s face change to one of fury and he reached for her with violent intent. She reacted instinctively, placing her foot in his chest and shoving him backward. By the time he’d regained his footing she had the rifle cocked and pointing right at him.
He stood in front of her, calmly. “What are you going to do?” he asked quietly. “Kill me?”
That was a more dignified response than she’d expected of him, with a rifle pointing in his face from a mere six feet away.
“Not at all,” she said calmly. “And I’m sorry I laughed. I wasn’t laughing at you, believe it or not. So just calm down, and sit down.”
Keller sat down. Michelle eased down the hammer of the rifle, and propped it on the wall behind her. “It’s not even loaded,” she told him reassuringly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Keller said, and he sounded as if he meant it.
Michelle glanced around the room. “This is one time in my life I’m sorry I don’t drink. You look like you could use one.”
“I bet there’s a decanter somewhere in this house.”
“Yes…stay here, and I’ll go roust out some whiskey or something.”
She walked out of the room.
Once out of the room, she made a kicking motion with one foot, and then shook her hands skyward impotently. What complications in her life, complications that she could have well done without.
The game was off, that much was evident. And since he no longer remembered who she was, she could let him leave with impunity. But could she? He didn’t remember who he was - she’d always assumed he’d tracked her down during his vacation time but what if his vacation was up? What if there were people looking for him?
People who would also be looking for her? If not as Michelle Bravo, as Taran Tula?
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive, she thought, finally coming across a decanter of brandy and some glasses on a sideboard.
She couldn’t just buy him a ticket and send him on his own off to the States. She was a little bit responsible for his condition…
Michelle gazed contemplatively at the amber liquid in the decanter. And he had been acting odd, even given the amnesia. Why had he wanted her to run away with him? Why had he cared whether she went about her proposed assassination or not. He had seemed to care…not so much for preventing a murder…but cared for her…
It really was too bad she didn’t drink. She needed something to settle her nerves.
Something warm, and tender, and loving….and waiting for her in her bedroom.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Romantic couples
If you haven't seen The Thin Man, or I Love You Again, see them.
Our story resumes Saturday the 19th!
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Michelle Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 38
Gus Keller watched as Taran Tula rearranged herself in her dress, reached behind her to pick up the rifle, and carried it with her back to the chair she’d been occupying before their intimate interlude had begun.
“All right, Mr. Largo,” she said. “I’m a big believer in luck myself. Once you feel you’re luck has gone, it’s best to give up the job. So I’m going to let you off. I’ll even buy your ticket tomorrow.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Keller said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“I thought so,” Taran said, her voice hard. “So, where do you want to go?”
Where did he want to go? Somewhere that had a hospital that could treat amnesia cases, obviously. Somewhere where he’d be…all alone…
“I want to go somewhere where you’ll go with me,” he said, urgently, approaching her again. “Let’s get out of this, please. I tell you I’ve got a feeling, and when I get a feeling, it invariably comes true. We’ve both got to get out of this.”
She stared at him, out of her beautiful blue eyes.
“Jeez, you are in a funk, Mr. Largo,” she said. “This…this isn’t like you.”
Keller sat back on his heels, defeated. “What am I like?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t remember who I am,” he told her, quietly.
She stared at him. “What?”
“You remember …you remember, last week…or however long ago it was, I had that crack on the head? Well, since that time, I can’t remember anything. I don’t remember who I am!”
“And so, you don’t remember killing fifteen people in cold blood?”
“No, I don’t remember it!”
She continued to stare at him, an expression on her face that he didn’t understand.
“You don’t remember who you are,” she said slowly. “So…you don’t’ remember who I am, either?”
“No,” he said.
To Keller’s shock, she began to laugh delightedly. She was laughing at him. How dare she laugh at him when he’d been bearing his soul. He reached out towards her, intending to shake her and stop that laughter, but she reached up with her leg, planted her foot in his chest, and shoved him backward. As he regained his footing he heard the sound of the rifle being cocked, and stood up to see her standing up also, the rifle pointed right at him.
He felt a cold chill go through him. Her face was impassive, but he knew that she at least would have no compunction in pulling the trigger.
“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly. “Kill me?”
“Not at all. And I’m sorry I laughed. I wasn’t laughing at you, believe it or not. So just calm down, and sit down.”
Keller took a deep breath, and sat down. He watched as Taran Tula eased the hammer down, then set the rifle aside.
“It’s not even loaded,” she told him.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She glanced around the room. “This is one time in my life I’m sorry I don’t drink. You look like you could use one.”
“I bet there’s a decanter somewhere in this house.”
“Yes…stay here, and I’ll go roust out some whisky or something.”
She walked out of the room.
Immediately Keller got up and strode over to the rifle. He hefted it and looked at it futilely. Hell…how was he supposed to tell whether or not it was loaded? There were no bullet chambers, like in a revolver. He’d just have to take her word for it that it wasn’t loaded.
Keller dropped back into his chair and rubbed his face.
That was interesting…he remembered stuff…if not his own name…he remembered how to play the piano. If he’d been an assassin, why didn’t he remember how to load, or unload, a rifle?
Was that part of his problem…a reason why the amnesia was staying on so long? Had he hated being an assassin so much that he was blocking everything that had to do with that career…including the simplest things like unloading a rifle?
And what about Taran Tula…. What was she thinking? As an amnesiac assassin who didn’t want to kill anymore, he could be of no use to her.
What was she thinking right now?
“All right, Mr. Largo,” she said. “I’m a big believer in luck myself. Once you feel you’re luck has gone, it’s best to give up the job. So I’m going to let you off. I’ll even buy your ticket tomorrow.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Keller said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“I thought so,” Taran said, her voice hard. “So, where do you want to go?”
Where did he want to go? Somewhere that had a hospital that could treat amnesia cases, obviously. Somewhere where he’d be…all alone…
“I want to go somewhere where you’ll go with me,” he said, urgently, approaching her again. “Let’s get out of this, please. I tell you I’ve got a feeling, and when I get a feeling, it invariably comes true. We’ve both got to get out of this.”
She stared at him, out of her beautiful blue eyes.
“Jeez, you are in a funk, Mr. Largo,” she said. “This…this isn’t like you.”
Keller sat back on his heels, defeated. “What am I like?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t remember who I am,” he told her, quietly.
She stared at him. “What?”
“You remember …you remember, last week…or however long ago it was, I had that crack on the head? Well, since that time, I can’t remember anything. I don’t remember who I am!”
“And so, you don’t remember killing fifteen people in cold blood?”
“No, I don’t remember it!”
She continued to stare at him, an expression on her face that he didn’t understand.
“You don’t remember who you are,” she said slowly. “So…you don’t’ remember who I am, either?”
“No,” he said.
To Keller’s shock, she began to laugh delightedly. She was laughing at him. How dare she laugh at him when he’d been bearing his soul. He reached out towards her, intending to shake her and stop that laughter, but she reached up with her leg, planted her foot in his chest, and shoved him backward. As he regained his footing he heard the sound of the rifle being cocked, and stood up to see her standing up also, the rifle pointed right at him.
He felt a cold chill go through him. Her face was impassive, but he knew that she at least would have no compunction in pulling the trigger.
“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly. “Kill me?”
“Not at all. And I’m sorry I laughed. I wasn’t laughing at you, believe it or not. So just calm down, and sit down.”
Keller took a deep breath, and sat down. He watched as Taran Tula eased the hammer down, then set the rifle aside.
“It’s not even loaded,” she told him.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She glanced around the room. “This is one time in my life I’m sorry I don’t drink. You look like you could use one.”
“I bet there’s a decanter somewhere in this house.”
“Yes…stay here, and I’ll go roust out some whisky or something.”
She walked out of the room.
Immediately Keller got up and strode over to the rifle. He hefted it and looked at it futilely. Hell…how was he supposed to tell whether or not it was loaded? There were no bullet chambers, like in a revolver. He’d just have to take her word for it that it wasn’t loaded.
Keller dropped back into his chair and rubbed his face.
That was interesting…he remembered stuff…if not his own name…he remembered how to play the piano. If he’d been an assassin, why didn’t he remember how to load, or unload, a rifle?
Was that part of his problem…a reason why the amnesia was staying on so long? Had he hated being an assassin so much that he was blocking everything that had to do with that career…including the simplest things like unloading a rifle?
And what about Taran Tula…. What was she thinking? As an amnesiac assassin who didn’t want to kill anymore, he could be of no use to her.
What was she thinking right now?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Michelle Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 37
Gus Keller stared at Taran Tula. She sat still, quite relaxed and unconcerned, her hands interlaced together casually, one long, gorgeous leg stretched over the other long, gorgeous leg. She looked amused. God…she looked beautiful.
“Is there a problem here, Mr. Largo?” she drawled.
Keller took a deep breath, and then he did something that he hadn’t expected to do. But…hell…he was a dead man anyway.
He stepped forward and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her to her feet. She rose, unresisting. He clasped her to him and kissed her savagely on the mouth.
She rested her warm hands on his hips and returned his kiss with interest.
Finally he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes…so close to his.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said huskily.
Could it be that he isn’t chickening out? Michelle thought. He was just jealous of my flirting with Pretorius this evening?
“I noticed you looked a bit irritated every time you saw me and Pretorius together this evening,” she said. “I thought you were just busy planning his demise.”
He pressed her to him roughly again, kissing her deeper and deeper. She seemed to melt into his arms, giving herself to him, her independence and strength forgotten. He moved her gently toward the bed, and she lay back upon it without resistance.
He grasped her wrists and slid her arms back over her head. Her hands, and his, knocked against the rifle.
He rested his body on hers, taking most of the weight on his elbows, but enjoying the feeling of her warm, submissive body under his.
God, he wanted her so bad. And she seemed to want him…
He took his lips from hers and began to kiss her cheek, then moved down to her neck.
“The thought of death excites you, doesn’t it?” she whispered, even as her hand played with his hair.
Keller froze for a second…God….she was so cold-blooded…did she really get her rocks off by anticipating the murder she was about to commit? She was so warm and… her other hand was caressing his cock through the fabric of his trousers…. Could she really be that cold and heartless?
But then…wasn’t he?
He rolled over onto his side, still keeping one of her wrists locked in his hand. He rested his other hand on her waist, and looked deeply into her eyes.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?” he said softly.
Her forehead creased and she looked a bit puzzled at the question.
“Long enough,” she said.
“And how many people have I killed?” he asked.
Her puzzled look increased.
What the hell? What game’s he playing? Oh…of course….he believes I think that he’s Mr. Largo, the assassin. Not knowing that I know the real Mr. Largo.
“Well, Mr. Largo,” she said softly, “To my knowledge you’ve killed fifteen men.”
Fifteen, he thought. Jesus Christ.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom. How could this be? To be able to kill fifteen men…required a certain absence of morality. Now that he’d lost his memory…wouldn’t he still be amoral? And yet the thought of killing a man filled him with revulsion.
Now it was Taran Tula’s turn to roll over so that her side pressed against his arm, and she looked down upon him. She was looking amused.
“Fifteen men, and you’ve had glorious sex before every one of them?” she said, laughingly. “And shall we make it a sixteenth?”
She bent her head and kissed him.
He pushed her away, then once more rolled until he was on top of her. He stared at her…trying to think of something to say…but nothing was coming, so he began to kiss her again, slowly, savoringly, even as he did so his mind was racing.
What could he say to make her stop this madness? He wasn’t going to kill anyone! But how could he get out of this? They weren’t going to kill Pretorius here, thank God, but rather back in Sydney. And so all he’d have to do was accompany her to Sydney, and there, just….go. Get on a plane and get the hell out.
But that would leave Pretorius at the mercy of Taran Tula. If he left, and she killed him, his death would still be laid at his door.
He raised his head and stared down at her.
“Taran,” he said carefully, “You know me…you know what I’ve done and what I can do. But…but everything I do…I have a good feeling about it, you know? And this job…I don’t have a good feeling about it. “
She stared up at him, then brought both her hands together and laced them behind the back of her head. In this position the musculature of her arms was well apparent, and in their kissing her breasts had become loosened from her dress and now, with her arms held the way they were, her breasts beckoned him all the more.
“What are you saying, Mr. Largo? You don’t want to do this job?”
“That’s right. I don’t want to do it.”
For some seconds she stared at him in silence.
“Well,” she said at last, “I’m not one to go against a man’s gut feelings. If you don’t want to be in on it, it’s no problem. I can handle it myself.”
He felt a chill of relief, but that wasn’t good enough.
Now, a bit more sure of his ground, he reached out and cupped her breast, warming it in his hand like a brandy snifter. He bent down and caressed her nipple with his lips, and she continued to do pleasant thing to him with her hands…
Finally he lifted his head again and said, “No.”
She laughed. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no. I don’t want you to do the job, either.”
Instantly he knew he’d made a mistake with his choice of words. Her whole body seemed to freeze, and she shoved him away and sat up.
“Oh, you don’t want me to do the job either, eh?”
“Is there a problem here, Mr. Largo?” she drawled.
Keller took a deep breath, and then he did something that he hadn’t expected to do. But…hell…he was a dead man anyway.
He stepped forward and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her to her feet. She rose, unresisting. He clasped her to him and kissed her savagely on the mouth.
She rested her warm hands on his hips and returned his kiss with interest.
Finally he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes…so close to his.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said huskily.
Could it be that he isn’t chickening out? Michelle thought. He was just jealous of my flirting with Pretorius this evening?
“I noticed you looked a bit irritated every time you saw me and Pretorius together this evening,” she said. “I thought you were just busy planning his demise.”
He pressed her to him roughly again, kissing her deeper and deeper. She seemed to melt into his arms, giving herself to him, her independence and strength forgotten. He moved her gently toward the bed, and she lay back upon it without resistance.
He grasped her wrists and slid her arms back over her head. Her hands, and his, knocked against the rifle.
He rested his body on hers, taking most of the weight on his elbows, but enjoying the feeling of her warm, submissive body under his.
God, he wanted her so bad. And she seemed to want him…
He took his lips from hers and began to kiss her cheek, then moved down to her neck.
“The thought of death excites you, doesn’t it?” she whispered, even as her hand played with his hair.
Keller froze for a second…God….she was so cold-blooded…did she really get her rocks off by anticipating the murder she was about to commit? She was so warm and… her other hand was caressing his cock through the fabric of his trousers…. Could she really be that cold and heartless?
But then…wasn’t he?
He rolled over onto his side, still keeping one of her wrists locked in his hand. He rested his other hand on her waist, and looked deeply into her eyes.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?” he said softly.
Her forehead creased and she looked a bit puzzled at the question.
“Long enough,” she said.
“And how many people have I killed?” he asked.
Her puzzled look increased.
What the hell? What game’s he playing? Oh…of course….he believes I think that he’s Mr. Largo, the assassin. Not knowing that I know the real Mr. Largo.
“Well, Mr. Largo,” she said softly, “To my knowledge you’ve killed fifteen men.”
Fifteen, he thought. Jesus Christ.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom. How could this be? To be able to kill fifteen men…required a certain absence of morality. Now that he’d lost his memory…wouldn’t he still be amoral? And yet the thought of killing a man filled him with revulsion.
Now it was Taran Tula’s turn to roll over so that her side pressed against his arm, and she looked down upon him. She was looking amused.
“Fifteen men, and you’ve had glorious sex before every one of them?” she said, laughingly. “And shall we make it a sixteenth?”
She bent her head and kissed him.
He pushed her away, then once more rolled until he was on top of her. He stared at her…trying to think of something to say…but nothing was coming, so he began to kiss her again, slowly, savoringly, even as he did so his mind was racing.
What could he say to make her stop this madness? He wasn’t going to kill anyone! But how could he get out of this? They weren’t going to kill Pretorius here, thank God, but rather back in Sydney. And so all he’d have to do was accompany her to Sydney, and there, just….go. Get on a plane and get the hell out.
But that would leave Pretorius at the mercy of Taran Tula. If he left, and she killed him, his death would still be laid at his door.
He raised his head and stared down at her.
“Taran,” he said carefully, “You know me…you know what I’ve done and what I can do. But…but everything I do…I have a good feeling about it, you know? And this job…I don’t have a good feeling about it. “
She stared up at him, then brought both her hands together and laced them behind the back of her head. In this position the musculature of her arms was well apparent, and in their kissing her breasts had become loosened from her dress and now, with her arms held the way they were, her breasts beckoned him all the more.
“What are you saying, Mr. Largo? You don’t want to do this job?”
“That’s right. I don’t want to do it.”
For some seconds she stared at him in silence.
“Well,” she said at last, “I’m not one to go against a man’s gut feelings. If you don’t want to be in on it, it’s no problem. I can handle it myself.”
He felt a chill of relief, but that wasn’t good enough.
Now, a bit more sure of his ground, he reached out and cupped her breast, warming it in his hand like a brandy snifter. He bent down and caressed her nipple with his lips, and she continued to do pleasant thing to him with her hands…
Finally he lifted his head again and said, “No.”
She laughed. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no. I don’t want you to do the job, either.”
Instantly he knew he’d made a mistake with his choice of words. Her whole body seemed to freeze, and she shoved him away and sat up.
“Oh, you don’t want me to do the job either, eh?”
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Michelle Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 36
After the party had ended, Michelle Bravo and Gus Keller were escorted to their rooms, adjacent to each other, on the second floor of Praetorius' luxurious home.
Michelle kicked off her shoes, then went to one of the two suitcases laying on the bed - the red leather one - fiddled with the combination lock, and flipped it open. Inside, nestled in foam, were the three pieces of a high-powered rifle.
With the ease born of long practice, she fitted the three pieces together, then, facing the window, she lifted the rifle to her shoulder and peered through the night-scope. The scenery outside the window was bathed in a green blow - she could see just as well as if it were daylight.
There was a "shave and a haircut, two bits" knock on the connecting door, and then Gus Keller came into the room.
Michelle turned to look at him, arcing one perfect eyebrow.
He just stood there, staring at her.
"Something the matter, Mr. Largo?" she drawled.
"I...I....yes."
She sat in a comfy chair angled near the bed, still cradling the rifle.
"Yes?"
Keller turned to close the door behind him, then turned back to face her.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself tonight with Praetorius," he said.
"I did. He's a very charming man."
"And yet...you're still prepared to use that on him tomorrow?"
Michelle looked down at the rifle. "Don't be silly. Of course not. While Praetorius and I were dancing tonight the whole scenario was becoming clear in my mind. Yes, it'll mean a lot of argy bargy, but it's best this way. We'll go on a tour of the opal mines tomorrow, then return to Sydney. And there, two days from now, Praetorius and I are going to go scuba diving. He's promised to show me a place called Cathedral Cave. The two of us are going to go into that cave...only one of us will come out. It will be a terrible tragedy. Experienced cave diver sacrifices life to save that of a beautiful woman."
"You've got it all worked out," said Keller.
"Yes. You do know how to drive a power boat, don't you?"
"I...yes..."
"Well then, what's the problem?"
Michelle had crossed her legs, draping one long, lithe, tanned and muscular leg over the other, set off quite nicely by the white dress she wore. She looked down now at the rifle and stroked it lovingly.
"God damn it," said Keller, striding forward. He reached out and jerked the rifle from her hands. Rather than struggle to prevent it, Michelle let him have it.
Keller threw the rifle onto the bed, violently. He was sobbing.
"What on earth is the matter with you, Mr. Largo?" Michelle demanded.
Keller turned away from her, holding both hands to his face, breathing deeply.
Michelle stared at him. This is what she had been aiming for, putting this amateur in a position where he'd have to pretend to be a cold-hearted killer. She'd expected him to crack...it had only been a matter of time. But he was really cracking.
And she wasn't enjoying it.
Before she could speak comfortingly to him, he'd turned around.
Michelle kicked off her shoes, then went to one of the two suitcases laying on the bed - the red leather one - fiddled with the combination lock, and flipped it open. Inside, nestled in foam, were the three pieces of a high-powered rifle.
With the ease born of long practice, she fitted the three pieces together, then, facing the window, she lifted the rifle to her shoulder and peered through the night-scope. The scenery outside the window was bathed in a green blow - she could see just as well as if it were daylight.
There was a "shave and a haircut, two bits" knock on the connecting door, and then Gus Keller came into the room.
Michelle turned to look at him, arcing one perfect eyebrow.
He just stood there, staring at her.
"Something the matter, Mr. Largo?" she drawled.
"I...I....yes."
She sat in a comfy chair angled near the bed, still cradling the rifle.
"Yes?"
Keller turned to close the door behind him, then turned back to face her.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself tonight with Praetorius," he said.
"I did. He's a very charming man."
"And yet...you're still prepared to use that on him tomorrow?"
Michelle looked down at the rifle. "Don't be silly. Of course not. While Praetorius and I were dancing tonight the whole scenario was becoming clear in my mind. Yes, it'll mean a lot of argy bargy, but it's best this way. We'll go on a tour of the opal mines tomorrow, then return to Sydney. And there, two days from now, Praetorius and I are going to go scuba diving. He's promised to show me a place called Cathedral Cave. The two of us are going to go into that cave...only one of us will come out. It will be a terrible tragedy. Experienced cave diver sacrifices life to save that of a beautiful woman."
"You've got it all worked out," said Keller.
"Yes. You do know how to drive a power boat, don't you?"
"I...yes..."
"Well then, what's the problem?"
Michelle had crossed her legs, draping one long, lithe, tanned and muscular leg over the other, set off quite nicely by the white dress she wore. She looked down now at the rifle and stroked it lovingly.
"God damn it," said Keller, striding forward. He reached out and jerked the rifle from her hands. Rather than struggle to prevent it, Michelle let him have it.
Keller threw the rifle onto the bed, violently. He was sobbing.
"What on earth is the matter with you, Mr. Largo?" Michelle demanded.
Keller turned away from her, holding both hands to his face, breathing deeply.
Michelle stared at him. This is what she had been aiming for, putting this amateur in a position where he'd have to pretend to be a cold-hearted killer. She'd expected him to crack...it had only been a matter of time. But he was really cracking.
And she wasn't enjoying it.
Before she could speak comfortingly to him, he'd turned around.
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