CHAPTER 1
Have you ever woken up with the feeling that the day somehow had something special installed for you? Hmm, well, this morning felt just like that. But unlike other occasions when the promise ended by delivering up something good, this morning the sensation had a ring of apprehension about it. Don't ask me how I knew, that's just the way it felt to me right that minute, deep in my gut. I may not have all that many years of experience tucked in my belt, but those I have have taught me to heed my 'gut feeling', my intuition.
"Bugger!," I moaned to myself as I hauled my weary body from the rumpled sheets. The show must go on, time stands still for no woman ... clichés began scrolling across my mind's window. I cast a saddened glance at the empty bed then, following a few minutes of ritualistic stretching, I padded my way into the kitchen. Reaching into the refrigerator for the carton of pulp-free orange juice, so recently squeezed and shipped to me from the sunny south as announced proudly by the all too bright lettering, I leaned back against the cool granite counter and sipped the refreshing fluid, letting it slip down my throat while gazing out at a dreary grey day filtering through the warm wooden slatted blinds. My mind began its habitual scanning of the day's schedule, noting several staff and management meetings, lunch with a new client (promising?), yet more meetings, then the arrival time of your flight from the coast. A silky smirk of a smile drew itself across my lips and I ran the tip of my tongue around them savoring the juice glistening there. "Just you wait", I murmured to myself returning the carton to its place among the fully stocked shelves in the fridge. It's been way too long since I laid hungry eyes on you and a tingle of anticipation ripples through my body at the thought of having you here at home for several weeks ... all to myself.
I moved quickly out of the kitchen, its elevated position overlooking a jungle-lush dining and living area alive with stands of bamboo, exotic tropical plants flaunting their brightly colored flowers, and the ever-jubilant waterfall tumbling into the clear rock pool. Off to one side, entirely hidden behind a screen of thick, tall bamboo is the guest shower and facilities. My naked body threw a bouncing shadow over the stones ahead of me as I followed the path to the shower enclosure.
Minutes later hot water, steamy and luxuriating courses over my body and I can sense my whole being relaxing. Subdued lighting, sifted by the bamboo surrounding me, danced and sparkled on my glistening skin; wisps of steam swirled up from around my feet and the water gurgled down through the stone floor to the hidden drain underneath. A fragrant aroma permeated the air as I lathered the soap and began massaging my supple skin. I'm so glad I inherited a golden color from my mother otherwise I, like so many people, would be subjecting myself to the tanning booths chasing after that ever-so-youthful glow. And likewise, my hair is a midnight black blue, falling in luxurious thickness to pass my waist, another gift from my mother. Oh how I miss you, mum. A tear blended with the shower.
Nostalgia gave way to a strange sense of foreboding as I towelled off. What the hell is this about? Am I becoming paranoid or something? I haven't had this kind of feeling for ages, and never this strong before. I quizzed my pensive reflection in the mirror but no answers were forthcoming. Dark green eyes stared intently back at me, gold flecks like so much glitter swam in those two quizzical pools. Shit!! I don't need this ... not today! I poked a pink tongue out at myself and hurried off to dress for my first meeting. Being predictable is one trait no one could assign to me. As a young girl growing up in the wild highlands of Papua New Guinea, what had started out as a game between myself and my parents in order for me to keep them on their toes and for myself to maintain some modicum of control over my small world, I learned the secret of being ever-changing. In exasperation my mother would exclaim at least once every day that she "could never work me out"; that she couldn't tell from one day to the next what devious new ways I would devise to surprise both her and my father; be it a new game of hide-n-seek, new imaginary friends, etc. So now, standing before my full length mirror I smiled to myself as I ran a critical eye over my attire. My staff never knew what to expect me to wear to the office from one day to the next as they all regarded me as somewhat of an enigma as far as bosses go. I even suspected someone was running an office pool on what I may turn up in, or at least what my "color for the day" may be. And today I am determined not to disappoint them.
Black is my color for today. From head to toe I am clad in black semi-aniline leather. My preferred choice of clothing fabric, leather doesn't itch and it doesn't scratch when you put it on. Leather is first cool to the touch and then warms to your body temperature, forming to your shape, much like your favorite pair of jeans. However, nothing smells quite like leather. All leather has its own aroma that is unmistakable. The smell of new expensive shoes or boots ... the interior of a luxury car ... I love it. The pants were tucked into knee-high boots with stiletto heels, the jacket with collar turned up in anticipation of the outside cold accentuates my wide shoulder frame and is cinched in at the waist by a 3 inch-wide studded belt. Apart from the leather thong, I wore nothing else under my outer shell. To enhance the diabolic look my lips sported a glossy fire-red. Then to finish off my apparel I slipped my Glock 28 subcompact pistol into its concealed holster inside the jacket. After all, a girl can never be sure when a dinner date may become overly amorous and not want to accept 'no' as a directive. Satisfied with the overall look I turned on my heel and headed down to the subterranean garage.
The spiral staircase between the main bedroom and the kitchen delivered me into the garage. Sensors detected my decent and illuminated the spacious area with incandescent lighting. The focal point of the garage is the sleek black Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren. My new pet is a sports car and supercar automobile codevelop by DaimlerChrysler and McLaren Cars. It is one of the fastest automatic transmission cars in the world. Most people presume "SLR" to stand for "Sportlich, Leicht, Rennsport" (German for "Sport; Light; Racing"), while it actually means "super-leicht, Rennsport" (super-light, racing). My 722 Edition refers to the victory by Stirling Moss and his co-driver Denis Jenkinson in a Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR with the starting number 722 (indicating a start time of 7:22 a.m.) at the Mille Miglia in 1955. The "722 Edition" creates 650 bhp, with a top speed of 210 mph and 0-60mph in 3.6 seconds. All in all a good match for my life-style ... besides, I just love the gull-wing doors. The inside of the SLR is as exotic as the Batmobile exterior, with carbon-fiber seat shells covered in fine leather and a cockpit built of contrasting colors and textures. Slipping on my leather driving gloves, I turned the stubby key, flipped a cover at the top of the gear selector, and thumbed the button that hid there to bring the 5.4-liter V-8 rumbling to life.
The whisper-quiet garage door cycled open and the sleek sports car, emerging like some black panther from its lair, slid out onto the cobblestone street now slick from a light drizzle and roared off into the misty grey morning. A shadow detached itself from an adjacent dark doorway and slit eyes watched as the car disappeared around a far corner then shifted their intent gaze to the recently vacated brownstone building.
CHAPTER 2
Despite the dreary weather and the pall of weariness it had leveled on everyone shuffling about the city, I was most content with the day's business. All the meetings had started on time for a change and all attendees had been keen to have the proceedings done with as quickly as possible. It was Friday after all. The luncheon, too, had been more than fruitful, bearing a new 10-year contract for the company and a rain-check for a future dinner date for myself. I smiled wickedly. And I hadn't had to use any undue force to secure that either, just a surreptitious touch of the guy's inner thigh. I glanced up at a leaden evening sky.
Through the windshield the street lights and headlights of passing traffic appeared as a glossy oil painting, colors leaking into one another as pools of water tentatively touched each other then raced to form into larger palettes of shimmering rainbows. The tires of my car hissed as they swished through puddles stretching across the road. Up ahead the city loomed as a sparkling crystal citadel rising from the swirling tendrils of fog hugging the wet earth. I'm excited to see you again after so long a break, and my breath fogged the glass forcing me to turn on the air to clear it. The rush of cold air swirled around me, reached under my coat, and teased my nipples into hard, excited nubs of sensitivity. They rubbed on the inside of my coat and the pleasurable tingle coursing down my back made me let out a soft moan and I squirmed in my seat. I had time after work to dash home and change into my thigh-length leather jacket. The night was full of promises.
I pulled up in front of your apartment and you were already waiting for me. At first you didn't notice my car and I took the opportunity to run my eyes over your lithe body as you stood chatting with the burly doorman. He said something to cause you to throw your head back and laugh generously and my eyes followed the sensuous curve of your neck till it met the plunging vee of your black shirt. My breath caught and my pulse quickened. It was all I could do not to call your name and you turned at the sound of the huskiness emanating from a strange car. You pecked the doorman on the cheek causing him to blush, then you glided over to my car.
"New wheels, I see ... I like very much." For a few seconds nothing else was said...hot silence sat between us as we both drank in each other. Then the spell was broken. You let out a soft laugh, leaned over and kissed me softly, full on the lips and settled back into your seat. I laughed, tossing my thick hair, and gunned the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren out into the flowing traffic. " ... and the car's not too bad either." You smiled wickedly as I cast a smoky glance your way.
