Briony was longer that she expected in the meeting. She wondered if Terry was still in the pub. Pulling out her mobile phone, she called his number but it was on message. 'Damn! He's got the bloody keys. Where the hell is he?' She thought. Exiting the police HQ, she ran down the steps and crossed the road to the Duke of York pub where he had been heading.

"Excuse me?"

Briony turned her head and saw a car had slowed down beside her.

"Yes?" A man got out to speak to her.

"I'm looking for a road near here. Are you familiar with the area?" The speaker was a middle-aged man, hair receding and a pocked marked face. He had rather goggly eyes.

"I work across the road. Where do you want?" Briony answered.

The man got out and opened the rear car door reaching in for something. "I have an address in my briefcase on the back seat. One moment." It happened so quickly that not even the passers by noticed it. The man leaned in, took something from his case and turned back to Briony. He must have placed a cloth over her face. She must have been pushed onto the back seat. Whatever happened, she was out cold by then.

Briony awoke. She was lying on a small camp bed in a tiny stone floored room. It was dark outside and gloomy in the room; there was a dim low wattage bare bulb hanging from a wire. Shaking the muzziness from her head, she forced herself to sit up and tried to compose her thoughts. The goggly-eyed man in the car. That's the last thing she remembered. She checked her watch - it was six p.m. Her meeting had closed at four, only two hours ago. He couldn't have taken her far in that time.

What did that mean? It meant that she wasn't far from central London and hadn't been unconscious for long. Stumbling to the small window, she peered out. It was thick with grime and covered in vegetation, probably ivy. She couldn't see out.

Shaking her aching head, Briony staggered to the door and tried it - bolted, naturally. The room looked like some kind of outhouse. It was cold and damp. There was straw on the stone flagged floor. Maybe it was part of a stable block or a mews. She just couldn't gather her thoughts sufficiently to think any clearer than that.

The door was solid with a large old-fashioned lock. Putting her eye to the key hole, she saw into the room beyond. It was lit by a lamp and had a similarly stone-flagged floor. The only furniture she could make out was a long oak table and some chairs; it might have been a farmhouse kitchen. There was no sign of movement, no noise at all. Then she heard a door open and Goggle Eyes came back into view, sitting himself down at the table with a mug and a newspaper. Briony put her mouth to the lock, rattled the door and shouted.

"Who are you?" 

"Call me Mr Smith," he replied, without looking up.

"I'm CID. You want trouble?"

The man smiled. "I know who you are."

Briony thought. "Is this Terry's doing? Has Terry cooked this up? Because if he has it's not funny." She shouted again, "OK Thorne. Joke's over! You've made your point. Let me go!" Briony kicked the door but only succeeded on stubbing her toe against the solid oak panels.

"Who's this Terry Thorne?" Mr. Smith asked. Briony suddenly felt afraid.

"You mean this is not about Terry?"

The man shook his head.

Briony bridled. Fear always made her mad. She hated to give into it. "Terry Thorne will kill you if you lay a finger on me."

The man laughed. "Must be some bloke your Mr. Thorne..."

"He is. He could rip your head off with his bare hands."

"Then I'm glad he hasn't a clue where we are." Mr. Smith retorted tartly. He returned to reading his newspaper and to sipping the mug of tea.

Briony observed him. She had had no lunch; she was starving and very thirsty. She also wanted to go for a wee.

"Can't you let me out? It's cold in here. And I want to go to the toilet."

"Pity."

"You want me to wet myself?"

"Up to you, love."

There was no shifting him. He went on drinking and reading as if she were not there. Half an hour passed.

"Look. I'm getting desperate. What do you want from me?"

At that moment the phone beside him rang. He answered it, nodded a few times, said ' OK, boss," and hung up. Then he walked out of the lockup and slammed the door. Briony was left alone. She was beginning to feel very worried and rather spooked. None of this made sense. She began to think about Terry waiting for her somewhere and she wondered if he had called her phone by now. Surely he would realise something was amiss?

Briony sat back on the bed and waited. Not much else she could do. Then she smiled and lay back, hands behind her head. It had to be Terry. What was he going to do? He had said he would get her back big time. This was it - whatever - she'd be ready for him.

A faint noise sounded, like an animal scratching. A shudder ran through Briony. She hated rodents. Don't let it be a rat - or even a field mouse!" she thought. But the scratching persisted and then "Psst! You there, Bri?" It came from the window.

Briony ran over, rubbing the dirt away with her hand to try and see out. "Terry? Is that you?"

"Yeah, love. Listen, I'm coming in. Stay away from the door. You'll be fine, babes. Just get down low. Under something if you can."

The voice stopped and she heard a slight rustle as if he was moving through undergrowth. Briony ran to the camp bed and slipped beneath it, wondering what came next. First she heard a noise of a door being kicked in followed by muffled voices, a thud and then nothing. Silence. Suddenly there was a small explosive bang - loud enough to make her jump - and the door swung back. Briony choked back a sob.

As the air cleared, someone was kneeling by the bed and she felt arms reach for her. 

"It's me!" She wriggled out from under the bed and threw herself into his arms, burrowing down against his neck and burst into tears.

"Hey, hey, hey! You're safe now." Terry held her and patted her on the head like a child.

Briony gasped and panted, trying to stop sobbing. "I'm so glad to see you! I can't stand confined spaces. I'm claustrophobic. Sometimes I get an asthma attack....I don't have my inhaler..." she began to wheeze and seemed to have difficulty breathing.

Terry reacted, swinging her up in his arms and taking her into the other room, " Jesus, Bri! I didn't know. Christ, I wouldn't have done it if I'd known..."

Briony's head shot up and she grinned. "Bastard! I knew you set me up!"

Terry frowned. "Then you are not claustrophobic?" She shook her head.

"Or asthmatic?" She giggled and shook her head again, putting her finger in her mouth like a naughty child.

"Am I buggery! But I was ready for you. Got you- again!"

Terry groaned and dropped her; she fell on to the floor at his feet. "Shit!"

She sat back and looked up at him. Suddenly she realised what he was wearing. Her breath caught in her throat. An asthma attack did indeed appear imminent.

Before her, stood Terry in commando mode. Face darkened, wearing a flack jacket, camouflage pants and black Army boots. Round his waist he had an ammo belt and there was a rather large knife in a sheath hanging from it. Briony felt a surge of instant lust. She should have played along. "Damn! Sometimes I'm too clever for my own good," she thought.

Terry said nothing at first but then suddenly pulled her to her feet and roughly pushed her into a chair. Reaching for something on the table, he yanked her arms behind the spindly chair back and snapped on her own cuffs - he must have gone through her briefcase and found them.

"Hope you've got the key!" Briony warned.

"Your problem, sarge, not mine!" He answered sharply.

He was behind her back now and she sensed him crouching down, could feel his breath near her ear. "You think that was the surprise, Briony? It hasn't even started yet!" He whispered.

Briony shot her head round, "What happens next then, Terry?"

He stood up and leaned against her back; she could feel that he was already pleasantly hard. Randy bastard, she thought with an inward grin.

"Your fantasy, Briony. You work it out," he replied cryptically.

"I need to pee," Briony announced.

Terry jerked her to her feet and dragged her backwards to a small bathroom off the kitchen. "Need any help?" he grinned coldly.

She shook her head. He backed out and left her to struggle but didn't close the door, merely sitting on a stool in full view and lighting up a cigarette.

"Close the door!" Briony demanded.

"Nope. Got to keep the enemy in sight at all times. Orders."

Briony hitched up her skirt from the back with her cuffed hands and squirmed out of her knickers, pulling them down to her knees. He carried on smoking and watching, an amused expression on his face. As she finished and struggled to her feet again, he suddenly walked forward and put his foot on the white panties and pulled them down to the floor.

"Step out of them. You won't be needing those. Fucking passion killers," he snarled.

Taking her arm he returned her to the chair and yanked her cuffed arms roughly over the back. Meanwhile he sat on a chair facing her, legs apart, hands folded between them. He looked like he meant business.

"OK. This is an official interrogation. I need to extract some vital information from you. My superiors have given me a Code G. Know what that means?"

Briony shook her head. Terry grinned.

"All measures acceptable. The information is more important than the well being of the target. Do you get my drift, little lady?" He rested his head to the side and viewed her through narrowed eyes, his tongue resting on his upper lip as if contemplating something.

Briony stared him out. She sniffed. "Not a proper interrogation. No tape."

Terry grinned. "Rules of war, love. Not in the local nick now, sweetheart."

"Geneva Convention," Briony riposted.

"Fucking long way from Geneva. Any way, I gave you toilet privileges." Another smirk.

Briony laughed. "OK Terry. So you're a tough guy. You look great by the way. But what information can you possibly want out of me that I won't cough up straight away? Why go to all this trouble? You could have just dressed up as Commando Man in your bedroom at home and we would have been at it all ready."

Terry stood up and walked around her, returning to her right ear. He whispered something and Briony looked up at him startled. Her face set and she turned away. Terry smiled.

"That got you didn't it? Won't talk. Good. I was hoping you wouldn't. But you will. Eventually. They always do."

Terry hovered around her ear for a while longer, allowing his breath to blow gently on her sensitive lobes; he could see her neck flex instinctively although she was trying to ignore him. Time to turn up the heat, he thought.

Coming closer, he put his mouth to her ear and began to lick; first her outer lobe, tracing the outline shape and then, darting into the ear itself and lapping round its whorls to tickle the passageway. He pulled his tongue in and out repeatedly. Briony was breathing in short little gasps, trying to pull away but he caught her head and held it firm. She began to whimper and her neck lolled backwards, suddenly all resistance gone and then he sat back and repeated the question again.

Briony took a deep breath and shook her head. Her ear was wet and warm and she could still feel his tongue working its magic. She felt him move to the other side and repeat the action, this time massaging the damp right ear with his finger as he fucked the other with his tongue. She could feel cold beads of sweat break out between her breasts and trickle down. She knew this was a game but it was both disturbing and delighting her.

He pulled away. The question again. She shook her head.

Terry lowered his head to the back of her neck and licked her from ear to ear, lifting up her hair to follow the hairline and lingering on that spot behind each lobe to suck gently on it. Her clitoris contracted and she began to feel damp between her legs. He was kneeling now and she felt him take her cuffed hands and place them cupped over his groin. His cock was hard and he humped against her hands as he continued to suck and bite her neck. She tried to unzip him but he jerked away; she heard him chuckle and whisper, "When I am ready. Only then."

Rising up, he suddenly swivelled the chair around so that she was facing him. Her face was level with his groin. He stepped forward and stood close in, his legs on either side of her face. She felt him grind himself against her mouth, holding the back of her head. She could smell his musky aroused smell; she could imagine his cock weeping at the sensation.

Then he dropped to a crouch before her and he took the knife from his belt. He stroked the blade sensuously with his left hand and then pointed it in her direction. Using it to push aside her jacket, he sat back and looked at her chest, a smile playing on his lips, his tongue tip showing. Terry placed the blade lightly on her throat and then traced it down her cleavage turning it to the flat broad side and curving round under her breasts pressing through the soft cotton of her formal blouse. Then starting at the top, he sliced through each button one by one until her blouse was open to the waist. With the knife he peeled the shirt back and then he touched her breastbone centre with the tip of the dagger. With a sudden flick, he cut through the fastener of her bra and watched it ping away, her breasts escaping and falling free before him. Despite himself he let out an involuntary moan. But he did not touch her flesh.

Hands on her shoulders, he slid her jacket and shirt off until they were at her elbows, secured by her cuffed arms. She could not move and had to sit there, her breasts slightly pushed forward by the position of her arms. It was an exposed and vulnerable position. Terry seemed to like it.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he placed the knife under the hem of her skirt and lifted it slightly. Then he looked at her and asked the question again. She stared straight ahead and refused to make eye contact with him. Another deep laugh from him and he lifted the skirt still further, his eyes smoky as he found what he was looking for. Dropping the hem of the skirt, he placed the knife down on the floor and put his hands on her knees to widen her legs, hooking her ankles around the back of each front chair leg. Then he picked up the knife again and returned to lifting up her skirt.

"Much better," he muttered as he took a second look at the view; she was naked apart from her stockings and suspenders.

Pushing the skirt up to the top of her thighs, he got up from the floor and returned to the table. For a few moments he wandered around with his back to her and then he turned round and she saw he had a drink in his hand. He had calmly helped himself to a coffee from the pot on a warmer by the sink. He took a drink and swallowed, rubbed his chin as if in thought, and watched her with a sideways glance that was rather intimidating, Briony had to admit that he was good at this. He knew how to scare people. She imagined how terrifying he could be when he was not playing games.

Shrugging off his flak jacket, he flung it on to another chair and strode around the room, pacing and smoking a cigarette while drinking the coffee. Briony was beginning to feel tense; her heart was beating faster. She was aroused and wet; her cunt was itching but there was an element of uncertainty, which was raising the stakes. She had no idea what he was going to do next.

Watching him as he walked around was making her even more horny. Underneath the jacket he was wearing a black sleeveless vest, one of those wifebeaters - it was tight and showed off his muscles, especially his powerful biceps and his big hairy forearms. It seemed to accentuate the bulk of his upper back and the comparative narrowness of his hips. His long legs encased in camouflage and booted threateningly in steel capped army issue completed the image of dangerous predatory male. Briony blew air out slowly. God, she wanted him so bad, it was beginning to hurt. And she knew he knew. Her nipples were erect just looking at him and she was oozing fluid from her exposed sex. Briony realised she was rocking in her seat, unconsciously rubbing herself against the wood.

He returned to her and sat down, placing a hand on her thigh and sweeping north. Resting his right wrist high on her upper left thigh, he stroked his thumb down her slit. Just one lazy movement and then he raised his thumb to his nose, smelt and licked the wetness, his eyes fixed on her.

The question again. Briony closed her eyes. He grunted.

She heard a slight metal sound and opened her eyes. Terry had unzipped himself and was rubbing his hand against the bulge in his open crotch. She could not see him, just his hand and the open flaps.

"You want this?" He retrieved his cock and laid it bare before her, pushing the pants down his thighs- he really was commando in those camos. His big hand was holding his prick and jerking slowly. She could see he was oozing too, his head was purple and swollen and his change in breathing revealed how far he was along the road.

"You can't have it. Not until I have my answer. I am going to sit here looking at your naked body and wank myself and you are going to squirm. I can smell you from here. I can see all you've got. That'll do me. How itchy are you, honey? I know you're wet. You can't even sit still. You are nearly begging for it..." he talked on and on, his voice husky and low, one hand working himself, the other stroking his balls.

"Christ, Terry, please. Touch me. Let me lick you. I can't stand it. I want to touch you..."

Terry's head was beginning to roll back, his eyes were glazing, his steady rhythm was building up faster and faster. "You know what it feels like, Bri? When you're just on the fucking edge? Jesus, I'm close. Yeah... I'm going to come just looking at you, baby. Just smelling you. Ohhhh..."

"NO! Don't come! I'll tell you! I'll tell you! I'll tell you! Just stop and touch me..."

Briony was squealing and rocking in the chair, biting on her lip, her breathing laboured. He stopped with a deep grunt and squeezed hard on his cock and balls.

Through gritted teeth he said "Go on. TELL ME!!"

Briony went very quiet and a tear trickled down her cheek. Her lip trembled and a blush formed on her cheeks.

"I'm in love with you, Terry. I can't help myself."

He moved so quickly that she didn't even see him until he was on her. Pulling her arms from off the chair, he laid her back upon the table and he was in her and on her in seconds. She wrapped her legs around him and moaned as he took her. But he was not rough. He was not fast. He was not brutal. Terry loved her as gently as it was possible to do so when you are lying on a hard oak surface on top of all the contents of your briefcase and your hands are cuffed above your head. They writhed there, his head lowered to her face as he kissed her as deeply as he fucked her. They came in a desperate cry, both at the same time. Suddenly the room fell silent, apart from the sound of their gasping breaths.

"Briony.... I had to know."

"Terry... I didn't even know myself."

"Briony... Me neither."

"Terry? What do you mean?"

A long pause. She felt him sigh as he stroked her hair and stared into her eyes.

"I love you, Briony Evans."

Briony let out a little gasp. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped. She swallowed hard. 

"Just let me up. My back is hurting." He stood up and pulled her gently to her feet, rubbing the base of her spine with a sweet pressure. "I don't know what to say, Terry."

"Got you!" He answered but he wasn't laughing. "Some surprise, hey?"

"You can say that again," she replied, all misty-eyed and tearful.

"What are we going to do?" He wondered out loud.

"First. Sort out our clothing. Hope they taught you to sew in the army because, boy, do you have a lot of mending to do here. Secondly, get out of this cold damp place and into a nice hot bath. Thirdly, food. I am starving. And then, you and I are going to sit down and work this out. You got that?" Briony lectured him in her best ma'amish voice.

"Yes, sarge. Just one request. Will you wear the top bit and the over thingy with the shoes and stockings while you're talking?" Terry inquired hopefully.

"If you promise to listen and not get distracted."

He saluted.

"But when we have finished talking....promise me you will get distracted then..."

Another salute.

"And I want extensive and protracted lingus in all the places that I name. I want complete and utter service from you. I want you to do every single thing I say until I say otherwise. You got that, soldier boy?"

"Yessir!"

"Ma'am!"

"Yes Ma'am!" 

They sorted out their clothing and cleared up the mess on the table.

"Where are we, Terry?" She looked around.

"Friend's place."

"Some friend."

'"You met him."

"What? Goggle eyes?"

Terry laughed. "Yes, Bill Wyatt. Mate of mine. Wife and kids are away. He's gone to the rugby for the weekend. Says we can have the place to ourselves."

"You mean we have to fuck on this table all weekend?" Briony laughed.

"No. The main house. Wait until you see it. Baronial pile. Roaring fires. Four- poster beds. Antique furniture. Big Victorian porcelain bath. Just the right setting for a French courtesan to pleasure her lover..."

They strolled out of the kitchen towards the hallway.

"What about food, Terry?" Briony asked as they walked through the house, arms wrapped around each other.

"Ordered out. When I plan a sting, woman, I plan it properly. 'Manoir Aux Quatre Saisons' will deliver at nine."

"Marco Pierre White's place?" She gasped.

He nodded.

"How did you arrange that?"

"One of the partners is a mate of mine..." Briony shook her head. How did he pick these contacts up?

He led her to a large comfortable bedroom, full of heavy mahogany furniture and resplendent in dark red velvet and heavy fabrics. Centre stage was an enormous four-poster bed hung in white. On the opposite wall was a roaring log fire. He settled her down there on a huge armchair and poured them both a brandy.

"For shock," he said with a soft smile and he sat at her feet, clinked her glass and laying his head back on her lap, watching the fire crackle and jump. Outside it was blowing a gale and Briony felt that she was wrapped up in some warm safe place where all your wishes come true.

"What do we do, Briony?" Terry spoke as if thinking aloud.

She sipped the smooth fine Cognac, enjoying the warm glow as it slipped down her throat. 

"Same as we always do, Terry." She stroked his hair as he warmed the glass between his hands. "With one difference."

"Difference?"

"You want to play white knight. I want to play avenging angel. We would both be fooling ourselves if we tried to play happy families. You go away and I stay here. Both of us are busy, busy, busy. But when we get back together - then it's time for us."

"We've been doing that for eight months. What's the difference now?" He asked but she knew he knew.

"No one else. I don't want anyone else and ... I don't want to share you either. Can you hack that, Terry?"

He drained his glass. "I already have."

He knelt before her and rested his hands on the arm of her chair. "You're a woman. You may want more in time."

"You're a man. Maybe you will too. Who knows? For now this much would be heaven." Briony responded.

He smiled and reached for her lips, the brandy on his lips mingling with that on hers. Holding her neck, he gave her one of his heart-stopping kisses. As he pulled away, he whispered in her ear, "Tomorrow. I buy you a ring."

"A ring? What for?"

He shrugged. "So the other bastards know you're taken," he said with a cocky grin.

"I could simply tell them 'no, thanks, mate'. I don't need hog-tying, you know. And what about you? How can I stop all those maneaters out there getting their nails into you, hey? What do I do to claim you?"

Terry smiled and gently kissed her ear. He whispered, "I only have one heart. It already has your name on it."

What could any woman say in answer to that?

Suddenly changing the subject, Terry broke into her dreamy reverie. "By the way, we've got a little problem."

"Problem?"

"Yeah. Cocky Little Bastard Clayton saw me driving your car. He'll probably try to shaft you over the Heathrow fiasco. Could look a little dodgy. So I plan a caper. Next week. I promise he'll be so shit scared by the time I've done with him that he'll never dare open his mouth. I've got some mates in MI6.... They owe me one. Got your permission to go seriously fucking loud on him?"

"Maximum decibels, lover. He's a little coward too so bring him a couple of changes of undies!" Briony giggled.

Terry stood up. "Let me run a bath. Let's get out of these clothes. Time to do it to you properly. There's one thing we haven't tried yet and that four poster was built for it."

Briony lay back and stretched like a sleepy kitten. "And that is?"

"Making love."

She watched him go, pulling his T-shirt over his head and ripping at his bootlaces as he went, hopping like a little boy to undo them. He was so fine. Half of her wished he would keep those soldier's clothes on - his body was built to wear them - but she was equally eager to climb naked into a warm bath in his arms. Briony's heart fluttered at the thought of being his girl. For the first time she allowed herself to admit that it was all she had really wanted ever since the first day she had clapped eyes on him. And he felt the same about her!

Slipping out of the chair and shrugging off her jacket, she made to follow him into the bathroom when she noticed his laptop flickering on a table at the side of the room. She looked back and saw him yanking off his camo pants and mooching round the bathroom sampling different bath essences and whistling to himself. She smiled. Typical of him. Such a tough guy but he had a real soft romantic side too. Wanted everything to be perfect. Sometimes he was even a little fussy about things. Hated anything to be out of place or not running smoothly. Briony realised that she loved those things about him just as much as his beautiful body and his breathtaking virility. But she looked back to the laptop. She was tempted. She wondered if she had time to send a quick e-mail. She was going to write a new story - it would be a first. Something she had never tried before. A romance.