It occurred to her as she hailed a cab for her lunch appointment that she should be making more use of this time alone. Here she was in New York, an independent woman with a wallet full of platinum cards, an indulgent husband who had more or less directed her to spend money on herself and a city which could offer you any and every experience you wanted. If she was the woman of the world that she believed herself to be, why wasn't she taking advantage of this chance to live the dream? It was no use sitting in her fashionably renovated farmhouse in the Dordogne bemoaning the lack of challenge and excitement in her life if when the opportunity presented itself she just sat in her hotel room and ordered room service and the movie of the week.

Come on, Annie, live a little!

Whatever that meant. 

What does a woman of her ages do for kicks? She wasn't actually sure she knew the answer to that anymore.

Annie looked about her on the busy city street and realized she was totally anonymous here. Nobody knew who she was. There was a certain sense of freedom in that knowledge.

A cab pulled up and a young man stepped forward at the same time as she did. He backed off and apologized, she smiled and got in. For a second she contemplated offering to share the ride with him. What harm would it do? It wasn't as if it would lead to anything.

But he closed the door as she nodded her thanks, giving the address to the driver and sitting back. A sense of having chickened out of something struck her. Just say she had asked him in...

"Thanks, you sure you don't mind? I'm just off to lunch. Meeting a client. Name's Ryan."

"Anna. Me too. Lunch, I mean. I'm meeting a friend."

"You British?"

"Yes".

"Holiday?"

"Yes"

"Cool. First time?"

"No. I used to live here years ago."

"Yeah? I worked in London for awhile. I'm in computers. Lived in Bayswater. You know it?"

"Sure. Used to have a flat in Kensington..."<his phone rings. He answers and pulls a face...>

"Damn. My client cancelled. I hate it when they do that last minute!"

"Excuse me. My cell... "<she answers and Mel rings to say she has had an emergency. Mol is running a fever and had to come home early from school> "Would you believe that? My friend just cancelled too!"

"That so? You fancy lunch? I mean...we both have to eat, right...?"

She pictures  a hotel room later and lying naked in bed with a young stranger....

"Okay, lady, we're here...that'll be..." Annie jumped, startled from her reverie and colouring slightly as if her thoughts were obvious to the cab driver. She felt foolish, a woman of her age having lurid fantasies about a young man half her age who probably hadn't even given her a second look. She paid and walked off briskly, half running up the steps of the restaurant. Mel was sitting there leafing through a magazine as she strode up.

"Sorry, am I late?" she asked as the two women kissed cheeks and settled down at the table.

"No, I was early. How's everyone? You sounded a little bit low on the phone..."

"Well...it's been a bit crazy lately..." She filled Mel in on Liam and also the story of Nick Costello's minor breakdown. 

"What brought that on? Costello looked as fit as a flea when we saw him at the dinner..."

"Don't know. Terry's tight-mouthed as usual. So I guess it's either top secret or more like disgusting and not fit for my delicate ears. And I'm worried about Zoe..."

Mel cut in. "...Yeah, what was with her that night? I felt like slapping her face, actually. I mean it just wasn't like her."

Annie shrugged. "Some guy. First she was mooning over him and then apparently she said it was all over. The rat must have phoned her and told her he didn't want to see her again...She spent the next day in tears. We did what we could and then packed her off back to Boston. Terry said he'd had enough of the tragedy queen act. She seemed okay then, although a bit on the pensive side, but since then God knows what she's been up to. Every time I call her place, her friends tell me she's out... At the library..."

"...That's what I used to tell your mum when Terry was in town and you dropped out of sight. For library, read naked in Terry's bed attending to his every need..." Mel giggled. "Sorry...bit tasteless...God, I could murder a fag. What kind of town is it where you can't have a pre-prandial smoke while you sip your Ricard and peruse the menu...?" Mel complained.

"Well, if she's got another bloke she didn't waste much time about it. That's what I keep trying to say to Terry. It is no point getting in a state about kids. One day they think their life is about to end and the next day they can't even remember what they were talking about. You need to take them with a very big pinch of salt..."

"...Or a martini. What do you want to drink?" They gave their orders and discussed the menu for a while interspersing that with general chat about Mel's children. Annie envied her; hers were still so young and everything in her life seemed to be secure and safely domestic: school events, sports' meets, family days out. Everything making sense and the world in a sort of order. It made her realize all the more that she felt as if hers was beginning to spin out of her control.

"So Terry's in Washington? Dino, too. Wonder what's up?"

Annie pouted. "Like I'd know?"

Mel gave her a look. "Sore point, hey? Thought you'd be used to that by now. It's not their fault..."

"...I think I could be trusted with the general outline by now. I'm not asking for priority one status..." She rolled her eyes. "Take no notice. I'm just pissed off. Can't put my finger on it."

"Menopausal?"

"You joking? I'm not that old."

"You don't have to be old. We're old enough," Mel reminded her.

"Well, it's not that. Still regular as clockwork."

Mel grinned. "Not getting enough then? Terry slowing down?"

"MEL! There's nothing wrong with him. He's as horny as ever. They still eye him up wherever he goes..."

"Who? Women, you mean? Why not? He's a babe. He just gets better with age..."

"...Yeah, tell me about it..." Annie took a swig of her martini. "You ever wondered when it happens? When we become invisible?"

"Invisible? Who?" Mel answered, puzzled.

"Women d'un certain age... suddenly no one looks at you that way any more. We must wear a sign saying 'Old Woman' and then everyone knows to ignore us and treat us like we're mentally challenged..."

"...Speak for yourself. Is that what's behind this? You missing the attention? Well, don't expect too much sympathy. You've got Terry. He loves you. You're a size six and gorgeous. Talented beautiful children. Pots of money. Come on... what more does any woman want?"

Annie waved her hands dismissively and shrugged.

"Then have an affair. Find some young stud with nothing in his head but plenty in his pants and shag him blind. Isn't that what les femmes d'un certain age do in Paris? Take a young lover. It's all very civilized, so I hear, and great for your self esteem."

"For Christ's sake, Mel! Don't talk such crap! Terry would kill me. Not that I would anyway...and I don't live in Paris...but a tiny little conservative French village..." she added.

Mel snorted. " Terry would kill you...if he found out. And don't pretend the idea hasn't crossed your mind. You're married, not dead."

"Well, would you?" Annie threw back at her. Mel thought about it.

"At the moment, my life doesn't allow me the leisure. I work part time and have the kids with me the rest. Dino's mostly always here with me and frankly, baby, he is still pushing my buttons. But, in theory...yeah, I might. In the right circumstances, you know? I would never let Dino find out though. It would be purely physical. Just for a wild fling. Why not?"

Annie shook her head. "Because you're married. It means something."

"Hey, this is the twenty first century! You think they haven't? Come on, from time to time, they must have done! It's just like tugging a rope to them. And frankly it can be for us, too. You know how I feel about it...always have done. Sex just isn't a big deal unless you make it one. Hey, this girl I know told me about a trip she makes every year. She's happily married with four kids but her sex life's a bit dull these days. Once a year her husband goes to the Open and she goes to Amsterdam. This special travel agency arranges everything. It's horrendously expensive, but you get the five star treatment, first class travel, suite in a top hotel, limo provided, meals arranged at premier restaurants, theatre tickets booked..."

"...Pretty boring on your own..." Annie observed.

"Aha! That's the point....you are met at the airport by a young hunk whom you have picked from their brochure much like you normally choose a hotel room. He escorts you all weekend, wines and dines you, accompanies you wherever you go and at night gives you a five star fuck. Or you can have it any time of the day if you prefer to stay in bed and indulge... These guys can just get it up on demand, she says, and they do everything and you just have to lie there if you want...It's all part of the service..."

"WHAT? You mean you pay for it? Like a prostitute?" Annie gasped.

"Well, a gigolo, I suppose, but it's very select. These guys look like top models, ripped bodies, any size, colour, whatever you want. Hung like donkeys...it isn't sleazy at all. Their manners are impeccable and they make you feel like a queen...I can get you the details if you want..."

"You must be off your head! Why would I want that? I have a very good sex life. It's very varied and full. Well, mostly...I mean...you can't expect it to be amazing all the time...not after all these years..."

"See! You are bored. You don't have a job. You've no kids to look after. Terry's always on some jaunt. Treat yourself. Let some lovely boy get to work on your clit and blow your mind. Then go home and blow Terry's. I guarantee he'd thank you for it..."

The lunch was served and Annie just laughed as they began to eat. Trust Mel to suggest the world's worst way of solving a problem.

The only thing was, the idea was worryingly close to her fantasy life. What did that say about her?

"I've got a meeting. Why don't you join me later and we'll do lunch. Then we can hit the shops. We're going out tonight and you need something special..." Nick announced as they were showering the next morning. Zoe pouted and slithered down his legs, soaping his cock languidly.

"Cancel....come on, Nick, let's go back to bed..."

He grinned and hauled her to her feet. "Behave. This is important. Plenty more of that later," he held her at bay while he rinsed off and then stepped out of the cubicle, reaching for a towel. Zoe followed him out and tutted as he wrapped another towel around her.

"What is it this time? Another job? You just got back!" she moaned.

"Stop whining, love. Not a job. A meeting. And I have to work. How else you think I'm gonna pay for all this?" he grinned and picked up his electric razor, running it over his stubble, leaving a slight shadow. He did not care to look too dapper for this appointment. It was his swan song. The one where he bowed out and told them 'no, to whatever inducements they were going to offer him. And then tonight the two of them were going to celebrate his liberation.

"So where should I meet you?"

He gave her a location, a prestigious office building on Fifth Avenue, one of those old style addresses that smacked of privilege and probity. She wondered who he was going to see.

"Why do I need to go shopping? What's on tonight?" she asked.

"A surprise. But we get dolled up. You've only got jeans with you."

"Thought you liked me in jeans."

"I like you in jeans and I like you out of them. But tonight I want you in couture," he smiled.

Zoe began to dry her hair and gave him a sulky look. It reminded Nick uncannily of her father; there had been odd occasions when that notion had passed through his mind before and it always caused him some pause. "You don't have to buy me clothes, you know, Nick. I'm not a little dress up doll!" she objected.

He grinned as he patted on some cologne. "I want to buy you something. What's wrong with that? Can a bloke not buy his girl something?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so...but you don't have to spend a lot of money on me. You already pay for everything. I hate to feel like I'm being kept....it makes me feel like a tart..."

"Don't talk crap. You paid for dinner last night. I've got more than you - so what? I've got loads of money and nobody to spend it on. But you. Indulge me. Let me have some fun. Anyway, I love shopping. I think I have female gene for it. Adore designer stores and spending money. Everything looks great on me, you see? I can't help it if I'm gorgeous, can I?"

She laughed at his arrogant vanity and slapped his naked bum as he minced off to dress. Slipping on a thick bathrobe, she went downstairs and made breakfast, clearing up from the night before.

"Just a coffee. I'm late already," he announced as he strolled in, already in a sharp suit, taking her breath away with his vitality and startling good looks. She handed him the cup and smoothed down his tie and collar; he smiled back at her as he drank it quickly. It gave her a surge of something indefinable, a mixture of erotic desire and nurturing instinct. He was hers and she wanted to look after him. No man had ever made her feel like that before.

"Twelve thirty. In the vestibule. Okay?" he said as he pulled her close and kissed her, his hands kneading her buttocks sensuously through the cloth.

"I'll be there. Have a good meeting," she whispered shyly as she reached up and kissed him softly again. It was a very domestic moment but one that was strange and new to them both. He grinned, winked at her and picked up his attaché case as he made for the door.

"Nick...I love you..." she had a sudden urge to tell him. He looked back and his wide smile of delight told her she had said the right thing.

"Love you too...catch you later..." he almost skipped out, like a young kid. She sat back and sighed as she sipped at her own coffee. I make him happy, she thought to herself. He's like a little boy, so full of excitement and eagerness. I did that to him. I found him when he was lost and alone and made him whole again. It was an overwhelming feeling to think that such a man could feel that for her.

She cleared away breakfast and wandered about the kitchen and then the downstairs lounge. There was something amiss that she had never been able to put her finger on and then it struck her. There was nothing personal in his home. No photographs, bills, cards, notes, none of the clutter that people pick up when they live their lives. Everything was new. Where had he lived before he moved here? Why no trace of mementoes acquired as he went along as other people did? Or did he hide them away somewhere? But why?

Nick had never mentioned much about his family. Just some vague outlines. His parents were immigrants, like everyone she supposed, his dad from Italy and his mother from Greece. They had married late and had two daughters. Years had passed with no hope for the son they had wanted so much until, late on, his mother had found herself pregnant again. She had been 40, his father 45. Along came Nicholas - his devoutly religious mother's little gift from god. The golden child. Beautiful, talented, intelligent - everything they had ever wanted in a son. He was smothered in love and attention, while his sisters, already nearly grown, became resentful of him and the privileges he was given. Private school, every toy he asked for, always dressed like a little prince, feted and fawned over while they were left working long hours in the restaurant their father owned.

"So what happened?" Zoe had asked, realizing there was a but somewhere in the story. 

Nick had looked uneasy as if he didn't want to recall those times. "I grew up. The angelic altar boy became a teenager who didn't much want to do anything they had planned for him. I was headstrong and wild, spoilt and indulged. Tell a kid he's a little king often enough and he'll believe it. So I did what I liked. Suddenly they tried to put the brakes on but it was too late. In the end, I was the devil incarnate. So I walked out and left home. Failed all my exams so couldn't get a decent job. Two choices. Crime or the army. Took the latter and found I had a taste for it. Or rather it had a taste for me. And the rest is history..."

"Did you break with them?"

Nick had shrugged. "More or less. They bored me and I scared them. My sisters hated my guts. If I went back it was one long round of recriminations. So I stopped going. Calling. After a while you just forget..."

"...But your parents loved you so much!" Zoe gasped. "You must have broken their hearts!"

He shrugged. "They loved the image of me they had created. That wasn't me. The real me they didn't like one bit. That's not love. That's ownership. No one owns me. Your kids are your kids. You have to take them as they are not try and make them something they're not..."  Nick snapped out in reply.

Zoe had thought about his reply. In a sense he was right but his rejection of them still seemed cruel in the extreme. Did he not need their love? How do you go from being adored by doting parents to turning away and being alone in the world? How can you forget all the sacrifices they must have made to give you the start that you so selfishly threw back at them? How much is that the fault of overly indulgent parents or some flaw in Nick's own character that made him take and never care enough to give back? He'd never had any sustained relationships with women or many male friends either. Men generally didn't much like him beyond a drinking buddy. He was arrogant, aggressive and stole their women. Was Nick actually capable of loving anyone but himself? That had nagged at her then. Was he just a lonely man or a very selfish one? And where did she fit into all that?

The apartment was simply astounding though. It must have cost him a fortune. He was obviously a very wealthy man. Her mind strayed to this 'career' of his that seemed so ill-defined, dangerous and shady. What exactly did he do? Her father must know so it had to be something decent - but what pays this kind of money to an ex-soldier? The possible answers worried her a little.

She went upstairs to dress and wondered what to wear. She just had jeans and a few tops with her, nothing really suitable for shopping for haute couture.  Not that she had much experience of those places. Occasionally her mum treated her to something classy like a pair of shoes or a shirt from somewhere pricy but generally didn't encourage her in that way. Her mother might buy couture but told Zoe she could have it when she could afford to buy it for herself. That was the way life worked. You want the best - you earn it. Life is not about free rides. Learn the value of money.

But when had Mum ever earned enough to pay for Prada and the like? Dad had always paid her bills. Some might say she'd earned it on her back. Like most women. Like she had done with Nick. In a sense.

Aimlessly she began to open the panels that hid Nick's extensive walk-in wardrobe. He hadn't been joking about clothes. There was absolutely mountains of stuff, dozens of suits all lined up perfectly pressed and cleaned, shirts of every colour and style, leisure wear, casual, evening, sports, hordes of famous names from elegant Italian couture down to over-priced designer street clothes. Drawers and drawers full of underwear and accessories much that looked new, shelves of jumpers and T-shirts, racks of specialist clothes for all different outdoor pursuits. He had sports' equipment, dozens of baseball caps, beach attire, all-weather gear...you name it, Nick owned it.

How could anyone wear all this? Much of it still had the price tags on. He was a compulsive buyer by the looks of it. What a waste is all seemed to her. But there was some great stuff, she admitted, as she pulled out one item after another, checking the labels and trying the things against her, admiring her look in the long mirror that ran across one side of the room. Nick clearly liked to preen too.

There was something sexy about the idea of wearing men's clothes. Especially clothes than belonged to the man she loved. He loved to see her walking around in his shirt and she adored that smell that lingered on all his clothes, that indefinable Nick smell, a mixture of his cologne and some natural scent that lay beneath it. How much more of a turn on to wear his suit - even his underwear? And what would he do if he saw her dressed like that?

One suit caught her eye, a soft loose fit cream linen. She slipped off her robe and drew on the pants. Nick was very slim-waisted for a broad shouldered man but these still hung off her slender frame. She posed with her arms crossed over her breasts and pouted in a sultry fashion. Her hair was still damp and hung messily around her face. She thought she looked young but dangerously sexual. Nick would blow a fuse at her like this. She knew he got off on the fact she seemed so young. He'd never said that overtly but stray remarks he had made about her looking like a little girl and the desire he had once expressed for her to remove all her pubic hair for him had drawn attention to that prurient interest she guessed all men had in the bodies of young teenage girls. She liked the idea of pandering to that kinky side of his nature. For all that they had done together, Nick had always kept it pretty conventional so far and yet she could see his tastes were set firmly in the more far out frontiers of sexual behaviour. It occurred to her this outfit might just push some of his wilder buttons.

Nick was the perfect one to experiment with. He would never let her be hurt and he knew his way around that world. The thought of sexual experiment with him in some nether world of perversion excited her. She wanted to taste it all. Only her fear of making a mistake held her back. With him the safety net would always be in place. She so wanted to go for this.

The jacket slipped on beautifully, its cool silk lining sensual against her naked skin. She slipped her hand into the pocket and her hand touched something. She pulled it out. A condom still wrapped in foil and a business card with a phone number scrawled on the back. She wondered at the juxtaposition of the two things and how they were connected. It brought a smile to her face. Nick. God knows what you've been up to in your time. But it didn't bother her. She even enjoyed of thinking of him as this wild untamed womanizer who did everything in life to excess. Because it made her position all the sweeter. I tamed him. He loves me with that same excess. It sent shivers through her to contemplate what that was going to mean in her life.

Pulling out a tie, she tried it on worn like a noose round her neck, a vaguely S/M sort of look, imagining him dragging her by it to where he wanted her, a sense of being tied up for him. She had never played those sorts of games before, had always thought them a bit creepy, but the suddenly thrill she felt at the thought of being dressed in some erotic leather outfit, her sex exposed, blindfolded and tied up while he marauded restlessly round her like some wild animal made her so wet. She wriggled against the seam of the pants and dropped them, embarrassed to be oozing onto his clothes, like some pervert wanking over a girl's knickers, but well aware at the same time that Nick would probably find the trace of her intimate scent on the crotch of his trousers a further turn on.

She delved into his underwear drawers, pulled out a pair of tight white boxer briefs and donned them. They were loose on her and she smiled at the baggy loose pouch at the front that Nick would have filled so well. Whirling round she liked what she saw, his underwear hanging from her narrow hips, her flat smooth belly exposed. She slipped the trousers on again and zipped up, leaving the top button open.

Her eye caught a rail with a heap of jewellery draped over it, everything from diamond crosses to leather neck thongs to ethnic and tribal kinds of art. These were the first personal items that really showed his taste that she had come across. You could discount the clothes and the expensive boy toys he surrounded himself with. They were just whatever was new. But his esoteric taste in adornment suggested a creativity he didn't always show elsewhere.

Nick always wore something round his neck. This collection showed that he was an avid acquirer of unusual and esoteric trinkets. One long pendant in neutral stone colours took her eye. It looked like a Neolithic flint bound on a rope. The shade matched the suit but had a dissonance against the suave linen - it was a touch of almost voodoo against the cool sophisticated image. She removed the tie and tried it on; it looked sensual against the naked flesh revealed through the open jacket front and hinted at a frisson of violence. It was a real flint. It could be a weapon. She knew it would be in the hands of someone like Nick.

Arranging the jacket, she pressed her breasts flat against her sides and draped the front so that just a slight roundness showed. It resembled well-developed pectorals, a beautiful young male body, much like Liam's. The androgynous vision intrigued her. She ran a hand down the fly of the pants and imagined having a penis and fondling it. Her arousal was increasing and she felt that languid flow of pleasure coursing through her. She edged her fingers down the front of the trousers and under the loose briefs. Staring at her reflection, imagining Nick watching, picturing some sort of male female version of herself, wondering if he had ever had sex with a boy, sure he probably had, while she masturbated herself lazily.

She knew her own clitoris so well that it was only moments given her mood before she felt the fluttering sign of imminent orgasm and rubbed harder, allowing the pictures in her mind to grow more graphic, more hard core: she was a naked woman with Nick and a few men fondling her, she was a young boy in their hands as they rubbed themselves against him and played with his genitals or watched him suck the other men, she was pleasuring the boy while Nick fucked her from behind....then she cried out and came, trembling with the delicious sensation.

Withdrawing her fingers she raised them to her nose and smelt the lingering scent of her own juices, licking and then wiping the residue on the lapel. She wanted to smell of sex when he saw her. She wanted to screw with his head. Playing with herself did nothing more than heighten the desire she already felt. No amount of masturbation could compensate for what it was like to be in his hands, sampling the exquisite beauty of his body and his knowledge of hers.

Smiling seductively at her reflection and the glazed post-orgasmic expression in her eyes, pouting Lolita-like and lowering her eyelashes coquettishly, she primped herself until she was pleased with the look and then went into the bathroom where she had dumped a bag full of cosmetics. They were splayed out all over the white marble that surrounded the sink, a garish gash of colour and clutter amongst the pristine order. Rummaging about she found the lipstick she wanted and applied it liberally, then earth brown eye shadow to give her eyes that smudgy look that made them look more blue and made Nick go all weak kneed. He loved her eyes. She loved his. Those dark brown chocolate eyes with the long lashes, the way he hooded them when he was aroused and the smoky intense expression that showed when he was coming, when he really let go.

She was obsessed with him. Totally obsessed. Hadn't been to a class in days. Didn't give a damn. Hadn't called Mum since Nick had walked back into her life. Didn't particularly want to. She'd rung Liam and told him she was with someone and that he had to cover for her if they got too curious. Say she was busy and buried in her work somewhere. Act vague. Like that was hard for Liam?

It was almost twelve. Buttoning up the jacket, she slipped her feet into some stilettos and gave the esoteric ensemble a twirl. It looked expensive, quirky and very sexy. She liked the image of raunchy unconventional sex kitten. Now she was ready to hit the shops.

Down on the street, she strutted along, aware that she was drawing stares from passers by. Someone took a snap of her; she wondered if he thought she was a celebrity or a model or something like that. It made her strut even more, shaking back her hair and walking along like she knew she was the fantasy most men had;  they could look all they liked - but she was strictly out of their league. A cab stopped in seconds. The guy drove along watching her in the mirror, drooling. It gave her a sense of power. Her sexuality had never felt like this before. It was a thrill. She could take on the world with Nick as her partner - and they would always be at the top of the heap.

It was a very long way away from the plans she had had for herself just weeks ago.

"Is it just me or are we stuck in some Spook Groundhog Day? I could swear I'd been here before...many times...." Terry leaned to the side and muttered to Dino as they sat round a long conference table at yet another interminable policy meeting. There were the usual faces all present and correct, representatives from various aligned governments, heads of agencies, a few senior military men from the major NATO nations, politicians with security briefs and other invited experts in the field such as themselves, not to mention the CIA division heads who were, as usual, trying to lord it over the rest, warring with the Pentagon supremos who hated their guts.

He wasn't making light of the subject matter but these meetings were trying to say the least. They had just spent the entire morning listening to debriefs from a variety of senior field agents, all droning on drowning in the usual military euphemisms and platitudes. They could make the sinking of the Titanic into a cure for insomnia.

"Well, at least it ain't us out there anymore, boy...Christ, I wouldn't want to be in it now..."

Terry nodded his agreement. The reports might have been as dry as dust but no one was fooled; they could all read between the lines. Intel from every source was pointing at a major international threat imminent; a fatal breach in security had only just been averted last week. One of their agents had had an affair with a woman who had compromised the safety of an entire network of undercover agents. Only the extreme action of having the woman eliminated had stopped potentially the most serious purge of their best people, agents already out on a limb in almost unbearably dangerous circumstances.

"I could kill a beer..." Terry muttered.

Dino suppressed a smirk as he wrote something down on his note pad. "Beer? Man, I'm so fucking horny I could hump the table leg...does this shit have that effect on you too?"

Terry winced. "Grow up."

"Don't lie. Everyone round the table's got a fucking tent in their pants. You know why? 'Cos guys fantasise when they're bored. I mean we still listen but our dicks go on a little journey..."

"Shut the fuck up!" Terry whispered behind his hand. "She hasn't..." he gave a slight nod of his head in the direction of an elegantly dressed young woman further down the table who was listening to the speaker and making brief notes on her pad. "...Got a hard on, I mean..."

"Yeah, I kind of got the point," Dino retorted drily. "But her panties are wet... I can tell..." he added with a smug grin.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...she's never taken her eyes off you all morning...bet she's writing love notes to you on that there pad..."

"Fuck off, you dickhead..." he laughed. 

The meeting was drawing to a close for lunch break. Dino pushed his notepad over. It was covered with crude drawings of sexual body parts in various graphic poses. Terry groaned. "You are one sick bastard, mate..."

"Just occupying my mind...harmless fun. Get the stick out of your ass, Thorne. You're no different from the rest of us, pal..."

Terry shook his head and gathered together his papers. "Let's go get a drink..."

As they sauntered out the young women sashayed in front of them, her walk rather more pronounced than one would expect in such a setting; she was the only woman in a high level summit meeting at Langley. Both men - and a lot of others besides- found themselves staring at the hypnotic sway of her fine buttocks clad in her severe grey tailored suit.

"Deborah Maynard Stavin," Dino whispered in conspiratorial glee. "Rising star in the White House. Degrees up to her eyeballs, a formidable linguist and has written several well received academic books on the subject of international terrorism.  Part of a think tank attached to the Pentagon. Brilliant mind and totally career focused. Got the president's ear. Expect her to move up the ranks to some personal advisor role any time now. Being groomed. Aggressively political. Single. Thirty. 34 B I'd guess..."

"Someone's been doing his homework. So? You got a bit of extra curricular in mind, Lapenti? If so, don't tell me. I'd rather not be an accomplice..."

Dino grinned. "Well, I wouldn't mind a piece of that ass but she's got the hots for you. Asked me who you were yesterday. When I mentioned your name she was quite impressed. Seems she already knew your background. That's got to put you ahead of the field, friend..."

Terry gave him a disapproving pout. "You are one crazy hoon. I'm old enough to be her Dad and I'm very happy with my wife, thank you very much. Keep me out of your lurid fantasies. You worry me sometimes..." But his eyes still followed the alluring posterior of Ms. Stavin.

They browsed through the usual buffet spread and helped themselves to beers. "How's life? Mel said Annie seemed a bit down when they had lunch yesterday..."

He was rewarded with another of Terry's glances. "You know Annie. Who the hell knows?"

"She said Liam's been playing up..."

"You know Liam. He's always playing up..."

"Well, you sure are in a great conversational mood. I think I'll just go talk to myself..."

Terry rolled his eyes. "I don't particularly want to talk about it. That's one of the few advantages of this week. Getting the fuck away from a few things. Give me a break...I mean I don't ask you about Nate's grades or Mol's fucking ballet class... "

Dino held up his hand. "Chill, Terry. I hear you, man. Excuse me...I need to have a word with someone..." Dino walked off and Terry grimaced. He had been rude in the extreme and wasn't sure why. But he didn't want to talk about it. Simple as that.

"...Mr. Thorne? I'm Deborah Maynard Stavin, advisor to AGORA..."

"AGORA? That a Greek beer? Or a cosmetic house?" he asked with a smile, giving her a surreptitious once over, his eyes sweeping down her body discreetly as he held out his hand to shake hers.

"Advisory Group on Risk Assessment - as if you didn't know. But score one, Mr. Thorne. You recognised the classical reference..."

"The pretentious classical reference, you mean? You could say I've got someone on the inside..." he smiled smugly back. Deborah Stavin forced herself to concentrate. It had been a while since a man had almost knocked her off her stride merely by smiling at her.

Deborah gave him a wry glance. "Your famous facility for diplomacy just took a tumble, I'm afraid. I came up with the 'pretentious' acronym," she added. He put his hand on his heart flamboyantly.

"Well, what do you know? I gave my own opinion for once. I must be losing it, Ms. Stavin." But he didn't look the least repentant nor did he take his comment back. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this introduction?"

Terry waited for her answer as she toyed with the fresh juice in her hand. He wasn't fooled. This woman was a political predator first class and he imagined her rise to fame had not been entirely unaided by her delicate sophisticated beauty that smacked of privileged families and selected breeding from the narrow gene pool of wealth and influence. She would have used her back when all other doors were closed. He doubted her personal feelings ever drove her behaviour. She wasn't talking to him because she had developed a crush. But she was a fine looking girl all the same and crossing swords with her appealed to some restless edge rising in him.

Deborah smiled professionally. "I've heard so much about you. Always wanted to put a face to a name. You're a very intriguing man, Mr. Thorne. I've read your dossier."

"Then you must have seen my picture already. They rarely forget something so elementary - even the CIA can get that much right. So why don't you really tell me why you've been sniffing around me and Lapenti, Mizz Stavin...?"

"...Please call me Deborah...and may I call you...?"

"...Mr. Thorne, Deborah..." Terry answered impassively, clearly waiting for her reply to his question.

She opened her mouth, a slight flush of annoyance colouring her pale cheeks and giving away her sense of losing the momentum in the conversation. She was obviously unused to finding herself at a disadvantage. "I do have something I would like to discuss with you, Mr. Thorne. But this is not a suitable place. Perhaps we could meet somewhere private later?"

He raised an eyebrow and made her wait for her answer. This time he allowed his glance down her slender body to be obvious. "How private you want it, love? But I warn you, the only one crying into the pillow would be you, darlin'..."

"I think you misunderstand..." she spluttered.

He smiled lazily. "...Then enlighten me."

"I meant dinner. The two of us. Somewhere we could talk. It isn't unusual for colleagues to meet for discussions after conferences like this. Many side issues lead to private dialogue..."

"So they do. You know Washington better than me, Ms. Stavin. Where do you recommend? And I hope this is worth my while. I don't even get out of bed usually unless the fee is right...." He gave his curt assent accompanying it with a veiled sexual innuendo but his eyes were hard to read. She was unsure whether he was still playing games or whether he was back working. Terrence Thorne unsettled her. He also excited her. It was a long time since she had met a man who could keep up with her - in bed or out. Something told her she might have just met her equal - or perhaps her match?

"The Beau Rive. At eight."

"It's a date," he raised his glass and finished off the beer, placing it down on a nearby table and giving her a hooded glance before strolling off in the direction of the men's room. Deborah swallowed hard and tried not to think about the contents of his well cut Italian wool pants but all she succeeded in doing was noticing the broad swell of his shoulders straining against the material of the jacket. Tonight was going to be an interesting contest.

Nick loosened his tie as he leaned back in the elevator. That had gone pretty well. They weren't happy but had grudgingly accepted his new terms. No more field operations. He would consider an advisory capacity - a euphemism for mentor with some of the new kids. There was a training camp. He would be prepared to do a few freelance sessions with them and maybe play spy games out and about with the rookies for kicks. But only when he wished and until he found something that interested him more. Take it or leave it.

They had to take it. He knew that they wouldn't be happy with cutting the ties and this way he was still 'in' the system. For now, anyway. It gave him a breathing space.

The elevator doors parted and he strolled out, his eyes scanning the foyer. She wasn't there. There were just a few people crossing the hallway and one guy reading a newspaper on a leather couch...

Then Zoe lowered the paper and he saw her. She stood up and posed for a moment, her expression a mixture of aggressive sexuality and coy little girl. His heart lurched in his chest as he felt the heat build in his groin. Then she sauntered over. Jesus Christ, she was wearing his suit. Fuck. It was like some dream fantasy come to life as she covered the space between them.

"Where?"

It was all she said. He took her hand and pulled her towards the restrooms. A cleaner was just exiting the powder room. Nick pulled a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet. "Give me the key. Ten minutes. Put up an 'Out of Order' sign."

The women snatched the money and handed him her keys with a shrug, already looking on her trolley for the sign. Nick dragged Zoe inside and fumbled with the bunch of keys until he found the right one and turned it in the lock. She was standing a few feet away with the jacket now opened, the hint of her naked breasts revealed covered by the rudely fashioned flint on its rope necklace.

"You're wearing my suit..." he muttered.

"And your undies...and I already wanked all over them..." she hissed as she lifted the lapel and sniffed, extending it to him. 

"Aw...Christ...!" He took her hands roughly and parted the front of the jacket, pulling her by the waist and running his left hand down the crotch of the pants, ripping open the zip and putting his hand inside. He felt the Lycra cotton, so different from the feel of the silk or lace underwear he usually found. It gave him a confusing set of signals as he cupped the pouch and slipped his fingers into the slit. A hint of slash. A memory of trying it the other way. And enjoying the variety. Coupled with this aggressive come on from a woman who already drove him insane. A public place. His desire was on overload.

Ramming her against the door, he pulled off her pants, the loose underwear coming away with them. Hoisting her up, her legs pulled obscenely around his waist, he dragged his cock out and plunged into her with barely a thought for her level of arousal. He needn't have worried - she was slick and already moaning, jerking against him lewdly and begging him to fuck her hard. He grasped her buttock with his good hand and took the flint necklace with the other, winding the rope round his fist until he grasped the rough blade in his palm, dragging it along her neck, pressing against the skin enough to leave a faint path but not to mark. She groaned as he thrust harder into her. He tightened the cord and held the blade against her throat.

She caught his eyes in hers. "You want to make me bleed?"

He blinked and felt a sudden anger at her comment. Dropping the flint he rammed harder into her. She groaned, her head falling back and her fingernails clawing deep into his upper arms. "Hurt me, Nick...it feels so fucking good...!"

Hurt her? So easy. Part of him knew she didn't really know what she was asking, so far gone in her orgasm was she. Part of him wanted to. Why does it excite a man to feel that he can do that?

"Don't make me do that...Zoe...don't make me do that..." he gasped as he thudded harder and harder into her, his brain beginning to cloud over as he felt the white heat of orgasm grip him. He bucked into her erratically and then dropped his head against her neck, panting and struggling to recover himself.

Gently he lowered her to the floor and she slithered around his neck, kissing him as he stood head hanging down, still overcome by the moment. "That was so fine, Nick...I just wanted to give you a treat..."

He forced a smile. "Baby, it was something else. You are something else." He wasn't sure what else to say as he stroked her face and kissed her deeply. Her behaviour had scared him. Not because of what she had done but what it had unleashed in him. She didn't understand what he was capable of.

But then, Nick wondered, did he?

"Let's get you cleaned up," he found his cocky smile again as he zipped up and straightened his tie in the mirror, flicking water over his face and breathing deeply. "...Then we'll go eat and spend some money. Fucking always makes me hungry..."

He checked his watch. It was almost seven. Walking through to his room, he poured a finger of Scotch and took the glass to the window, staring out on the night sky and the view of the Potomac. He hadn't stayed at Langley. He wasn't sure why he had preferred relative anonymity in a hotel room. Picking up his cell phone he paused before hitting the number, wincing slightly and aware he was steeling himself. The phone rang for a long time and then just as he was about to hang up, it was answered.

"Mmmmm....?"

"Annie?"

"Yeah...sorry...I was asleep..." He could picture her all soft and drowsy, her hair hanging in wild profusion as she dragged herself back to clarity.

"Asleep? It's seven o'clock..."

"Is it? I must have dozed off. Mel took me to some charity function at an Art Gallery. Drank a few too many glasses of cheap wine...you know how it makes me sleepy in the afternoon..."

He smiled. "I know what else makes you sleepy in the afternoon..."

Her soft laughter touched him; he closed his eyes and let the sense of peace wash over him. "Don't get me started. Unless you want to get me started...?" her voice fell to that husky seductive tone she used just for him. He checked his watch. He had to be going.

"Babes, I would love nothing better but...I've got a dinner meeting. Start without me and I'll finish off when I get back...miss you...take care....you doing anything tonight?"

"No. A book and a sandwich here. Probably an orgasm now that I've heard your voice. You know that's all it takes..."

"Enjoy. But not too much. Real thing gets back in a few days..."

She giggled and then as an afterthought. "Oh, Terry...I'm going to Boston the day after tomorrow. Zoe is driving me crazy. I just can't get her to call. I want to just put my mind at rest and check she's okay. I think there's a guy on the scene but still..."

"...Do not turn up unannounced. She will not thank you for walking in on her and the boyfriend..." he pointed out.

"...I'm not stupid! I already mailed her and left a message with Jana as well. Everything okay your end?"

"Fine. Mostly tedious. Nothing to worry about. Heard from Liam?"

"A quick call. Seems to be having the time of his life..."

"Good...hope it keeps fine for him. I have to go. I'll call tomorrow. Have a good night, baby...love you..."

He closed the cell and sighed. Should he have mentioned he was meeting a woman? Why? It was strictly business. But Annie was no different from any other wife. She wouldn't like the idea of him dining alone with a female whatever the reason, and if she knew what Deborah Stavin looked like... - so why worry her?

Terry turned to his laptop and opened up the file. Deborah Maynard Stavin...okay, love...let's find out a little bit about you, shall we...?