George
George left the shelter of the park gazebo, walked to the path, and peered in both directions. Fog whispered around the trunks of trees and with each passing minute, the grayness thickened. Soon, it would be too dense to see more than a foot or two. Why Bianca had insisted they meet here was beyond him. He hurried back to the gazebo. In the dim light of one bare bulb, he checked the time again. Eight-thirty. His stomach cramped with the sharp pain of disappointment. She'd promised to be here by eight o'clock and up until now, Bianca Raborman had always kept her promises.
He rubbed his hand across his face, pleased at the smoothness it offered. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he leaned casually against a wide support column and admired the shoes of soft leather on his feet, relished the feel of fine wool against his legs. He had forgotten how good the nicer things of life could feel, but it wouldn't be long and he would have them all again. There was a time when a contract with the Connecticut Rabormans had been nothing more than a coveted dream. Not any more.
He jerked away from the column at a sudden thought. Had she brought him back to this place to leave him, to throw him onto the streets again? He shuddered at the thought. After all she'd promised, surely she wouldn't do that. Unless . . . unless his continued refusal to accept her proposal had frustrated her.
What if she found someone else to take his place and him with his decision already made; he would help Bianca with her little virility program. It would give him time to swing the job he really wanted—tobacco and subliminal went together like a matched pair of thoroughbreds. Even if he failed in his objective, he'd managed to up her price, five million dollars for a few months work was pretty damned good negotiating. Besides, if her serum really worked, he'd take all she wanted to give him; fucking stamina was always good for a single man's reputation.
Withdrawing one hand from his pocket, he rubbed his mouth. God, I need a drink, he thought. He pulled his sweater sleeve back and stared at the thin, gold line ticking off seconds. If she didn't show in five minutes, he was gone. He had his clothes back at the hotel and he had stashed some of the cash she'd given him. He'd get by.
A lilting whistle echoed out of the fog. Startled, George slipped away from the dim circle of light and crouched beside the gazebo rail. Who the hell could be walking in the park, whistling? Fear whispered across his mind. That could be dangerous for the whistler—or for the listener. His breathing quickened as the merry sound approached the gazebo. He gazed through the railings trying to discern any kind of movement. A scant five days ago, that sound would only have buzzed around him like a worrisome gnat, but he didn't wear Italian leather then.
The whistling chopped off into silence.
Ears straining, George caught a faint scraping sound and his muscles tensed. Not until the fragrance of JeTu eddied through the fog did he allow himself to relax.
She stepped into the circle of light. "George?"
He crouched lower, barely letting his lungs expand as he watched her. She had come, so she hadn't given up on him. Let her stew for a while, he thought. If she wants me badly enough, she'll wait. He saw her take an object from her pocket, heard the crinkle of paper being removed. Somfbitch—she brought protection, he thought. So tonight was the night. He felt the thrill of anticipation spread like quicksilver through his genitals and he waited for the stiffening. His brow furrowed then instantly cleared. Not to worry—she'd brought him up before and she would again. Only this time, she'd get a lot more than she was ready for, he could promise her that. He had once been one of the best when it came to satisfying. Hell, not one of the best. He was the best. He started to stand when he saw her pull something from the other pocket. Puzzled, he continued to watch.
Bianca turned slightly and swept the fog-shrouded bushes with her eyes. "George?" Her satined alto sang out. "I know you're here. Are you pouting because I'm late?" She cocked her head, listening. At last, she reached up toward the light.
Shocked, George realized she was filling a syringe. The lousy bitch! She plans to inject me with something. His leg muscles bunched then released like rubber bands wound too tight. As Bianca whirled toward the sound, his shoulder plowed into her midsection. The syringe clattered across the gazebo floor, bounced down the steps, and fell into silence. The force of his lunge carried them both to the deck, but he kept his grip on her body. Bianca lashed out with her fist and caught his jaw. Sparks flashed behind his eyes as pain roared across his face. She jerked free, leaped up. Her leg rose high then slammed downward. Rolling at the last minute, George caught the heel of her shoe in his thigh. She whirled toward the steps. With a howl of pain, he grabbed her foot and yanked hard. As she hit the deck, he threw himself on top of her.
"The syringe," he screamed. "You were going to pop me one with that needle, weren't you?"
Her struggles ceased. "No, George, no. I was frightened. I thought you'd left and I was frightened. I wanted protection."
"You're lying! No goddamn needle is going to protect you."
"Yes, it will. I filled it with a harmless nerve potion but it's fast acting. It would give me time to get away." She freed her hands from his. "Please, let me up. I can't breathe."
George relaxed, brought his feet under him, and started to stand. Bianca raged into action. Her knee missed its target and jammed into his gut. As he grabbed at her leg, fire raked across his cheek and he felt moisture trickling.
"You bitch." He backhanded her twice. Before she could move, he grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the deck. "You fucking lousy bitch."
Suddenly her arms were around his neck, pulling his face to hers. His neck bowed and he half rose. Her body arched, pressed tight. "Don't go." Her arms moved to his hips and pulled him hard against her. "Oh, please, don't go," she whispered against his mouth, her thighs grinding. "Come to me, George." Her mouth covered his face with kisses, her body moved with thrusting rhythm. With a groan, he surrendered to the musky fragrance of JeTu and this time, she accepted his driving response.
Much later, drifting in the euphoria of satiation, George listened to her whispered pleas to take up residence on the island. Easier to monitor the project, she said, but George knew better. She'd just had a taste of the best and she wanted more. Why not go to the island tonight? he thought. The sooner he got settled in, the sooner he could give her what she wanted. When the project was completed, she could go her way and he would go his. Although, if she followed through with all of her promises, she wouldn't let him go alone, she'd want him in her bed every night.
Snickering to himself at his thoughts, he agreed and almost before he knew it, they were clambering aboard the Pelican. When she locked the cabin door behind them, the look in her eyes told him she didn't intend to wait until they reached their destination.
Minutes later, the purr of the cruiser only added to George's satisfaction as he watched Bianca button her blouse. She had yet again worked her miracle and although brief, the pleasure had been just as intense as it had been at the gazebo. She smiled at him.
"We'll be at the island in another five minutes. You won't regret your decision, my pet. I promise."
"I agreed to help with the campaign, Bianca, and I will. As for your serum, I know now that all I've ever needed was the right woman." He motioned her down onto the couch beside him and stroked his hand along her jaw. "You are incredible. I think I could fall in love with you."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But one thing is certain—before I'm finished, your prowess will be the talk of the town." Her gaze strayed to his groin and George beamed. He might need a shot or two of her libido booster after all—just to keep up with her.
She rose and going to the cabin door released the lock, then sauntered to the mirrored scene of Pelican Island hanging on the cabin wall. Tilting her head back slightly, she brushed her hair smooth. A discreet tap echoed from the door; Bianca swung it open immediately.
"You and your guest may disembark now, Doctor Raborman." The man's gaze rested briefly on the four red marks running down George's cheek.
"Thank you." She motioned toward her companion. "This is George Kayman, Captain Harmon. He'll be quartered on the island from now on."
George tipped a finger to his forehead. The captain nodded.