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By
MacGyver--
If you are reading this note, then you're dead--at least in the eyes of the world at large. Dalton was given an exorbitant amount of money to switch your body with another before it went to the crematorium; I wish I could have done it myself, but the board wanted to hear of your demise from my own lips.
My own lips--ironic isn't it Mac? You yourself taught me about the curare kiss, back ages ago in that seminar on poisoning. Finding the right dose to bring you to the brink of death was the second hardest thing I've ever done--kissing you with it was the first. I didn't want to do it, but Tran left me no choice: either I was to do kill you, or he would. Given that, I preferred to give you a fighting chance to beat death.
Tran paid me for the hit and I've put the money into an account for you under the name of Ernest Pratt. All the ID you need is now in your pocket and you are free to do with whatever you must.
I'll be looking over my shoulder for you--
Rose
He ached. The poison was slow in leaving his system, and for three long days he lay in the hotel room, drifting in an out of consciousness with barely enough strength to take care of his most basic needs. But by the morning of the fourth day, however, he was able to rise, Lazarus-like, and begin to plan his revenges.
*** *** ***
"Is everything all right?" came a throaty purr from the bedroom. He turned, a frown on his face. Tracking informants was always such an annoyance.
"Oh yes--" he lied smoothly, "Perfectly." He stepped out and stared at the young woman on his bed. She flashed her white teeth at him and giggled.
"I was getting warm, so I thought I'd make myself a tiny bit more comfortable--" she announced, stretching her naked body out on the dark satin sheets. MacGyver managed a wolfish grin; had the girl looked closer she would have seen how forced it was.
"And *are* you?"
"Oooohhh very--" she pouted prettily. "But it would be so much nicer if you were here too--"
"You'll end up warm again if I do that," he pointed out, leaning over her supine form. She reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He hid his grimace at her artless flirtation.
"I don't mind if you heat me up---"
"Oh good. I was hoping you'd say that, Maria. Not every woman appreciates the fine art of masochistic love--" Mac breathed in her ear as one hand fished under the pillow behind her head. Confused, the girl looked into his eyes as Mac stood up again and let the soft braided leather whipcord trail over her body.
"W-w-what are you talking about?" came her startled whisper. Mac drew the whip up, studying it closely for a moment before turning his gaze back to the woman on his bed.
"I'm talking about the perfect flush of well-laid stripes, the edges just beginning to bead with blood, Maria. Lovely lashes of stinging pink along your white skin, the repeated kiss of the whip to make you ever so receptive to the other unusual things I prefer to do--"
"WHAT?"
"Come now, you understand men such as myself can't be satisfied with anything less--pain is the ultimate aphrodisiac--" he replied impatiently.
Maria attempted to sit up, but Mac looped the whip around her neck and yanked her roughly to him, tightening the cord with a twist.
"Getting warm now, sweetheart? Feeling a little flushed?"
"You're *hurting* me--" she gurgled fearfully. Mac laughed.
"Oh Maria, I haven't even gotten *started*-" he promised. With another ruthless twist, he tightened the braided leather strands; holding on through her scratching and clawing until she finally sagged, blue eyes wide and unseeing.
Mac sighed as he looked at her body and debated simply rolling it off the balcony, but common sense prevailed and he scooped her up instead.
"Stupid little twat--" he grumbled to himself, carrying her to the living room. He dumped her on the carpet and dialed his cell phone.
"Zito," came a soft voice.
"I have a present for you, Doctor--" Mac told him. "She's still warm and quite naked--"
"Oh . . . " he could hear the delirious tremble in the other man's breathing. "And--blonde?"
Mac glanced down. "A natural, from where I'm standing. Be here in under fifteen minutes."
He hung up the phone and moved over to her purse, digging through it deftly. He found the syringe almost immediately and gave a shake of his head as he set it aside. Further in the purse Mac found a familiar phone number scrawled on a scrap of paper.
"Perfect. I *knew* you were one of his bitches--" came his bitter assessment. He picked up the purse and clothing, dropping it on the body with a careless toss as he paced towards the front door.
Zito had the wheelchair ready. He glanced at the body, and his bloodshot eyes twitched with a perverted intensity that Mac found faintly disgusting.
"No trace to be left--and tell Dalton I need to see him by tomorrow."
"He's in New York--" Zito murmured, kneeling and running a pale hand over the dead girl's thigh. Mac grabbed his wrist and squeezed.
"I don't care--tomorrow, or both of you will be thrown to the authorities," came his steely order. Zito gulped and nodded, bundling the girl's body in a blanket and setting her in the wheelchair. He rolled her out the door as Mac watched him go.
*** *** ***
"She's underground, Mr. MacGyver and I don't blame her. You know the stuff being whispered around HIT--if even half of it's true, both you and she are in serious trouble."
"What's being said?" The soft flare of the soldering gun lit the dark workroom, the smell of paste, metal and heat filling the air.
"That the two of you killed Nikolai during a ménage a troi, that she's been brainwashed, that Tran paid her a fortune to kill you--"
"And what do *you* believe, Jack?"
The tall, thin computer geek with the thick mustache and long ponytail blinked behind his glasses. He handed Mac a bundle of wires.
"You're dangerous as hell, Mr. MacGyver, and screwing with you is a death sentence. On the other hand--you've never made a promise you didn't keep, good or bad. I know right where to stand in this."
"Behind me?"
"Sidelines, but with an eye to your back--" Jack replied cagily. "HIT is full of wolves who'd eat a weasel like me alive."
"True--" MacGyver flashed a humorless smile at him. "But you have your uses *and* your vices, don't you?"
Jack flushed slightly; his posture went into a cringe that in plain body language begged not to be hit. Mac snorted disdainfully.
"Don't worry--your secrets are safe with me for the moment. Just make sure you do as I say. "
Mac looked down at his worktable and finished soldering the last link into place. Jack licked his lips nervously.
"Ah, sir--"
"Jack, you never knew that I was alive. Maybe you and Zito ought to get out of town yourselves for a while. Try Mexico or Thailand--lots of pretty little boys and girls there--" Mac murmured with a cold smile.
The evening news carried the dramatic footage and ran it during their five o'clock, six o'clock and ten o'clock broadcasts, replaying the Bay Bridge car bomb explosion repeatedly. The fact that the driver could be seen handcuffed to the steering wheel screaming for help only seemed to magnify the horror of the tragedy. Network anchors dutifully reported that the victims were Thuy Tran, a well-known Asian commodities importer with ties to various crime cartels, and his nephew Xau Xiong, who was chauffeuring him.
Rose bided her time. Mac knew her well, and would check in all her usual haunts, but she hoped she'd covered her tracks enough to outlast his anger. There would be anger. Rose *knew* Mac would be enraged that she toyed with his life without his consent or knowledge; knew he would come looking for her.
Pausing at the columbarium, Rose ran a gloved hand over the neatly chiseled letters spelling out the name of her mentor and gave a sigh. Inside was an urn with the ashes of a stranger, and she couldn't help feeling sorry for the unwitting victim of the switch. Lightly she placed the red rose into the bud holder by the name, sweeping away the dying one with a flick of her hand.
The sudden cold press of a knife at her throat made her suck in a quick breath. She felt the press of him behind her, a familiar yet frightening sensation.
"I've warned you about sentiment, faithless Rose--" came the almost conversational tone. "Never return to the scene of the kill or the victim's grave. Careless of you."
"I needed you to catch me," came her low murmur. He tsked tsked under his breath.
"And why would you do that, Miss Bitch? Hoping for a show of mercy if you roll over for me?" The tone was as bitter as salt water.
"No," she replied flatly, "Never that." Her hair was blowing around her face. The sun was beginning to set, and the cemetery gravestones looked white against the green of the hills.
He waited, coldly patient until she professed with a whimper,
"I know there's a price to be paid."
"*Do* you?" He hissed, spinning her around and locking his gaze on her pale face. She tried not to react, but his grip on her elbow was painful enough to leave a bruise, even through the coat.
He looked ashen and cold and furious, his long hair drifting about the planes of his strong face. The black sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew they would be empty of anything remotely kind or gentle. An involuntary shudder ran through her frame, and in response, an icy smile crossed his chiseled lips.
"I think you *do*, my little pet, I think you do--"
Swiftly he thrust the inhaler to her face; Rose coughed against the green mist, but after a second her eyes glazed over and she crumpled against him, unconscious. Mac scooped her up over one shoulder and gave a satisfied grunt as he began the long walk back to the car.
*** *** ***
She coughed as the water splashed on her face, regaining her senses slowly and painfully. Moving her head was difficult, and Rose felt the clink of metal around her throat when she sat up on the carpet.
The room was dim, but she could see MacGyver in the corner, arms crossed, watching her. He stepped forward, and she found herself admiring the cut of his black suit.
"Awake, my arrogant princess? Good. Now let us have a full understanding of the way things are going to be--"
He dropped to his haunches, resting his forearms on his thighs as he studied Rose. She looked down at herself and a cold shiver ran through her.
She was naked. Almost.
A heavy polished metal collar of sterling silver encircled her throat and another her slender waist. There were thin silver shackles on both wrists and each ankle. With a sense of panic Rose realized they had been padlocked onto her limbs with tiny titanium locks no bigger than a dime. MacGyver gave a low gloating laugh.
"I always wanted a pet, and now I have one to tame and train. A bit of a wild thing, prone to thinking she's cleverer than she really is--but we can change that, can't we?"
Rose opened her mouth, and instantly an electric shock made her spasm. MacGyver shook his head.
"Technology is so marvelous--collars that keep the yowling of a hellcat under control. I'd advise you not to speak Puss, unless you want to lose a fair amount of brain cells."
She kept her eyes on him as he reached out a hand to her cheek, caressing it.
"See? Aversion training is quite effective. Listen carefully. The only reason you're not dead is because I survived. Your method was ingenious and your intentions noted. However, the distasteful fact remains that you betrayed me, and cost me three days of agony. That is unacceptable, kitten. No one turns on me and gets away with it. Not even a luscious bed toy like you."
Rose stared at him; Mac rubbed his thumb along her lower lip.
"So I'm going to make sure you remember now and always who's on top."
She shivered when he bent forward and took her lower lip in his teeth, nipping hard. A drop of blood welled up and slowly, MacGyver licked it away.
*** *** ***
Rose pressed her lips together, keeping her expression neutral, but seethed inwardly. The pet bed was bad enough, a plush green cushion with high foam walls covered in matching green velour, and the porcelain food bowls with her name lovingly inscribed on them made her blood boil, but the crowning insult was the catsuit.
She decided it would be better to be naked than to wear the gossamer thin tabby print catsuit. It was transparent, and even though it clung to her tightly, it was enough of a humiliation that she considered taking it off. The sleeves ended in fingerless gloves, leaving her fingers free, and the legs left her toes free--giving the cat claws, she observed sourly to herself. It had a square cut neckline, one low enough to make bending over dangerous, and discreet Velcro openings to allow normal body functioning as it were. It would have been comfortable--if it weren't a reminder of her reduced status.
The collar, too was more than annoying, it was a constant weight on her. She'd tried to dismantle it and received enough shocks to stop after a few minutes. Mac had watched her and laughed.
Struggle and I'll increase the voltage, Pet," he murmured softly, "I don't want to do that and neither do you. We have errands to run today, and I intend to show you off--"
Rose stared at him curiously; he gave her a frosty smile.
"A quick board meeting, fittings for new suits, a trip to the armory . . Go groom yourself to perfection and be ready to leave in twenty minutes."
The leash was a long black silk cord, and Rose watched him loop in carefully around his wrist. Planting her feet, she braced herself, ready to defy him. She jutted her chin out.
He shot her a look, and walked over. One pale hand slid around the curve of her shoulder to gently rub her spine in a knowing touch. Rose flinched, waiting for the blow that didn’t come. MacGyver continued stroking gently, and she fought, but slowly, ever so slowly she relaxed. He gave a tug on the leash, and she reluctantly stepped forward, looking at him sideways. He chuckled.
"Still got your guard up?
Rose quivered, unsure of which response to go with; seeing her face, Mac let out a very soft sigh.
"On the razor's edge is a delicate balance, but you can't stay there long. Fight me or submit, kitten."
She lashed a foot out, nearly grazing his chin; he stepped back, catching her bare heel with his hand and shot it into the air. Rose lost her balance and fell heavily, hip slamming into the ground. He let go of her foot and raised his own, the boot coming to rest on the middle of her back.
"You can do better, Kitten. I expect a *real* fight next time."
By the end of the day, Rose was exhausted. The pace Mac set for himself was brutal, and he moved constantly, barely stopping long enough to eat or speak. Rose remembered her training days and even *they* had never been this intense.
At the armory, Mac had put her through her paces with the Uzi, the .38, the dart gun and the grenade launcher, impatiently correcting her stance and chiding her grip. At the haberdashery he'd forced her to take point in the store doorway while he patiently stood through his fittings.
The board meeting however had been the worst. To walk in sullenly on the end of a leash, to feel all those eyes upon her nearly transparent costume made Rose bristle even in memory. Mac never said a word about her to them; he simply sat, expecting her to curl up next to his left knee like a good little pet--
And she'd done it, to her burning shame. There had been little choice, since she knew he would activate the collar if he needed to, and she refused to fight him and lose in front of the board. With ill grace, she dropped herself at his feet, refusing to meet the shocked and contemptuous glances of HIT as they stared.
The meeting had been mercifully brief, with MacGyver calmly accepting the reports and accounting. He suggested reviewing the contract procedures, and advised limiting recruitment until the current terrorism fears died down. The board agreed, and after a last few business items, disbanded. Watching them leave, Mac had smiled down at her.
"All in the palm of my hand, now Pet. Every chair in here except mine has been coated with a mild dose of a highly addictive substance--they'll come to crave these meetings, need to sit in my presence--and by doing that, they won't have much opportunity to plot against me."
She'd been impressed, but not shocked. It was Mac's way.
Now she sat in the ridiculous pet bed next to the nightstand, listening to the man shower, and wondering why she felt no real urge to escape. The door was unlocked, the penthouse empty except for the two of them. A cool breeze blew in from the open window, and Rose shivered.
The sound of water ceased, and moments later Mac emerged, wrapped in a robe. He gave her a tired smile.
"The curare seriously sapped my system. I have no strength to fight you tonight, pet, so--"
He reached for her chin, forcing her to rise and spun her around over the edge of his bed. She struggled, but he managed to snap a length of chain between her cuffs behind her back. It was long enough to be moderately comfortable, but short enough to prevent her from doing anything but wriggle. Mac laughed, pressing his lean body down on hers to whisper in her ear.
"How warm and soft you are . . ."
"You--!" she barely got the word out before the collar sent an electric surge through her and she gasped in pain. Mac sighed heavily, rolling off of her.
"When will you learn that I have your tongue, literally and figuratively? Don't speak!"
The tears slipped down her face as she slowly nodded, hair hanging tousled. He turned her over, tugging her up into his arms.
"I need your heat, little thing. Stay close--" So saying, he dropped the robe off the edge of the bed and slipped under the covers, dragging her in beside him. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but it was difficult with her arms chained behind her back. Mac had no trouble burrowing his head against her chest, instinctively seeking warmth as he wrapped around her and slowly dropped off.
Rose lay awake for a while, trembling and thinking. She had never slept with MacGyver before--had sex, yes of course, and dozed for a while afterwards, but never in their association had they actually stayed together for longer than a few hours. It was a slightly sad thought, and without thinking, she kissed the top of his head before closing her eyes and resting her cheek against his crown.
*** *** ***
The faint dull light of early morning gave the bedroom the comfort of a grey shawl. Rose wondered what had woken her up; she shifted, opening her eyes carefully to discover that she was half-draped over MacGyver, one leg wrapped over the top of his body, the other pinned under him. He was shuddering. Concerned, she realized he was clammy and sweating, moaning in his sleep. Rose drew in a breath, and scooted closer still, pressing against the bare flesh as another shudder wracked him.
"No . . . No!" he mumbled frantically. Rose, struggling slid herself on top of his body, trying to balance on his moving chest, using herself to keep him immobile. It was difficult; even weakened as he was, MacGyver still had more strength, and it was fueled by the demons in his slumbering mind.
She risked a soothing sound, hoping the vibration from her throat wouldn't set off the collar. It didn't, and she repeated the soft noise, rubbing her cheek against the side of his wet face.
Tears were leaking from his closed eyes, and Rose was so startled by this unseen development that she nearly slid off his chest. He rolled his head from side to side, his agitation increasing.
"Nononoooo--!" came Mac's tortured moan. Rose felt her heart jump in her chest at the plaintive sound of his pain. She kissed his face, hoping to wake him, and something of her must have reached his consciousness. His dark eyes opened swiftly, full of hurt and unsoothed anger. He shoved her away; Rose faltered. Mac swung a hard hand; palm striking her cheek and the crack of it was as loud as an explosion. Rose tumbled to the carpet, landing painfully since she was unable to brace herself with her hands. She lay on the rug for a moment, the breath knocked out of her, the left side of her face on fire.
"Don't *touch* me," he bellowed weakly. "I don't need you--"
She huddled on the carpet in pain, her fury hot in the pit of her stomach, waiting for him to climb out of the bed and hit her again. It didn't come. Long tense moments passed.
Gradually Rose lifted her head and listened. She realized that Mac never really woke up at all and that he was deeper in sleep now. She tried to concentrate on the bedroom doorway--if she was quiet, she could slip out . . . Rose hesitated, weighing her options. Handcuffs would make things more difficult . . . Gradually she relaxed, drowsing a little, and bit by bit, sleep began to claim her before she could slip away.
Hours later she awoke to the hard feel of a foot on her shoulder. Flinching, she looked up to meet Mac's puzzled glance.
"Fall out of bed?"
Rose warily kept her face averted, realizing he didn't remember the early morning incident at all. She gave a cautious shrug as he reached for her, pulling her to a stand with one powerfully smooth move. Rose licked her lips. He gave a small chuckle.
"I thought cats landed on their feet--" he murmured as he undid the chain behind her back and began to peel the suit off. Mistrustfully, Rose let him, and her eyes flickered to the open door once more. Mac suddenly caught sight of her face. He drew his brows together and lightly touched the bruise on her cheek. Rose flinched.
"What the *hell*--" came his grim question. Rose pulled away from him, but he gripped her face firmly, seeing how his fingers matched the marks perfectly.
He met her eyes squarely, and his own were dark and still.
"Oh pet--that was *never* a part of my game--" he breathed, but she jerked away from his touch and he flinched.
"I was having a nightmare, wasn't I? That hasn't happened in a long time . . ." he began softly. Rose shot a quick sideways glance at him, nodding slowly.
"Did I scream at you? Push you away? Call you names?" Wearily Mac sighed, running his hands up her arms and seeing his answer in her expression. He touched the collar for a moment, as if debating something, then wrapped his fingers tightly around it, lifting it clear from the touch of her skin.
"If you speak now, *I* get shocked, not you--tell me what happened--" he ordered. Rose licked her upper lip, slightly confused, but Mac nodded and she took a breath.
"You were very clammy and delirious, yelling at someone. I tried to keep you warm and still, but you lashed out. You never even woke up, not even when you hit me. You were crying--" she half-whispered in a rush of words.
Mac gritted his teeth, and the smell of ozone wafted up between his fingers, a faint sizzling noise just under the sound of her words. She could see his pallor grow, and for the first time she saw him tremble, visibly. He let go of the collar and nodded, sagging against her; Rose wrapped her arms around him without hesitation. He held her for a moment, then stepped away, calling,
"Come--"
Rose slowly followed him to the bathroom, where he turned on the taps of a large corner tub. The warm water gushed out, and Rose made a small wistful sound.
"I have things to tell you--but time is short. Let's bathe," he intoned, dropping lavender oil into the waves. Rose felt him unlock the chain from the cuffs and motion for her to peel off the catsuit, which she did. She waited until he slid into the steaming water with a sigh, and then timidly dipped her foot in, waiting for his approval.
He nodded.
With a sigh, she sank into the fragrant bubbles, letting the warm heat of the water soothe her. MacGyver too, sighed, stretching out his lanky length and resting his back against the corner of the triangle shaped tub. For a long while they simply sat in each other's company soaking in silence. Finally Mac spoke in a low tone.
"Your body is very beautiful, Rose. You have a natural grace to much of what you do."
Surprised, Rose glimpsed at the enigmatic expression on his face. MacGyver let his head drop back so he was looking up at the ceiling.
"When I recruited you, I knew you had the speed and strength to make a good assassin." Warming to his subject, he continued.
"Women are better killers, Rose--they have a level of cunning no man will ever match; they put a degree of passion into murder. My mother was a prime example."
Shocked, Rose looked over at MacGyver, her blue eyes wide. He nodded, a grim little smile on his mouth, bracketed by pain.
"Oh yes--before I was eight years old, she'd murdered my father, my grandparents and two neighbors. An exceedingly clever and ruthless killer was she--never the same method twice, never the same circumstances or times. I watched her, not knowing I was in the presence of a master until I was in second grade."
Rose shifted closer, fascinated but wary. She absently took the soap and began to wash her shoulders as she listened.
"My paternal grandparents died in a house fire that had suspicious origins. A neighbor was poisoned with a gift of herbal tea, another was electrocuted by a faulty toaster--all unexplained, but all fatal and of benefit to my mother."
She gave a shudder, and Mac slowly nodded.
“Harry saw her for what she was and tried to help me, but he was incarcerated most of the time. I kept my head low and stayed a good boy, not wanting to make her angry, not wanting to draw her attention at all. I succeeded until I was thirteen.”
He paused, and the lines of his mouth tightened, bracketing in fresh agitation. He look begged him to go on; he took the soap from her and rolled it in his hands, working up a froth of lather for a moment before he continued.
“ After I started to mature, she wanted . . . me,” he admitted in a low shaky voice.
Shocked, Rose stared at him, her mouth opening in disbelief. MacGyver gave the soap a savage squeeze and it pulped between his artistic fingers.
“Disgusting, isn’t it? I was trapped, with no one to tell, no one to save me, Rose. Back then no one would have believed the word of a boy over that of a pillar of the community. And in Mission City, MacGyver men always had the reputation of being hell raisers anyway—“ His words trailed away in a whisper and he dropped his head. Rose shivered, despite the heat of the water, not sure what to do. Finally, tentatively, she reached over and pressed her fingertips to his shoulder.
As quick as a snake strike his hand came up to pin hers there. Rose refused to flinch. She slid herself closer, sensing his conflicted response. With infinite gentleness she reached over with her free hand and stroked his hair.
He shook, and she recognized the silent sob. Without hesitation Rose climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his wet shoulders, comforting him with the strength of her embrace. She rocked him, the water sloshing unseen and unfelt around them for a long time.
He raised his head, not meeting her eyes, but his breath was slightly choked.
“You know I killed her. It’s in my file, a matter of public record both at HIT and with the authorities. The courts called it self-defense, and given the amount of preludin in her system, no one blamed me for her death.”
Rose squeezed him, pressing her face to the side of his neck. He shook.
“But they should have. I knew she would never stop until she’d slept with me. She’d already kissed me, stripped me, stroked me—I couldn’t stop her, Rose. She was my mother! At that age, I wasn’t ready for what she was doing to my body or my mind. I wanted her to love me, but not that way. My mother! I was almost ready to give in—“
Rose gasped. Mac rushed on, as if trying to get the poisonous memories out from his mouth as quickly as he could.
“So I said yes. I lured her up to my room, and hit her with the lamp. The old glass lamp with the painted roses on it. She rocked back, and the windowpane shattered behind her. I heard her hit the ground outside, and I waited. After two hours I called the police.”
He stopped speaking; Rose waited, her hold on him tight and reassuring. MacGyver drew in a breath.
“I was sent to Tildon for half a year. I never told them about what she really wanted, and let the psychiatrists fill my file with their projected crap about my stoic nature. Went to a foster home, but couldn’t stay, not really. I left. I did things . . . things I don’t want to remember, Rose. Things that stripped a lot of good out of me. Lost my virginity to a man, ate garbage, stole from the dying, sold drugs . . . things that still rankle my soul. And through it all, I realized that my mother had already shown me how to deal with life’s problems. You kill them. Simple and elegant, and God I was already good at it. I climbed to the top over the corpses I’d made and never looked down—“
Rose raised her wet face to look at him; slightly stunned her gave her a twisted smile, and in it she could see faint traces of the boy he once had been a hundred years ago.
“—Until I ran into you. God you were so foolish! So trusting and innocent!” He raised a wet hand to touch her face in the gentle stroke along her bruise.
“All you ever wanted to do was please me, and I couldn’t take that, so I worked you harder than any agent before you. All those training sessions, all the testing and tutoring and nagging, just to break you, Rose. Even this—“
Mac grabbed the collar and lifted it for a moment, dropping it again until it thumped against her throat.
“—Was just my way of pushing you—“
Rose shook her head impatiently.
“—No. Keeping me clos—“ With a jolt, the collar prevented her from finishing her words, but it was enough. With an oath, he reached for it, twisted the metal lock until it broke in his hands. With finality he pulled the collar from her throat and tossed it over the side of the tub, where it made a clinking noise as it hit the tiled floor.
“What’s the point? “ he growled at himself, “You’ll never submit anyway, you’re too stubborn and unreasonable—“
Before he could say more, Rose impatiently reached up and cupped his long face in her hands. She forced him to meet her blue eyes, to look into a patiently angry expression.
“God you’re nearly impossible, MacGyver! Shut up a minute and listen to me, will you!” She rose up on her knees to straddle his lap.
“You don’t need me to submit, you dumb bastard. I already HAVE. I was yours; body and soul from the minute you spoke my name, and don’t think I haven’t fought that for the past two years. What YOU want is to keep me with you.”
Seeing his expression, she laughed softly.
“Think about it, Mac! I can’t date anyone; I have to be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. That damned collar was just the final attempt to own me. Face it, my love—you need me. Maybe even more than that, you---“
“---Love you.” He finished bitterly. “Oh God, the last complication either of us needs. Rose, no.”
“Mac—“ she warned, “Yes. What does it take to convince you?” Rising higher, she pulled his head to her wet soapy chest, cradling it there. He resisted for a fraction of a moment, then his arms slid around her hungrily. She hummed softly, holding him for a long time. Mac turned his face and nuzzled her chest.
“Rose . . .” whisper of desperate lonely desire. She melted. With gentle grace, she coaxed him out of the tub and dried him off, then led him back to the bed. Dim sunlight streamed in as she tucked him into the thick eiderdown and climbed in beside him.
He slid into her arms, and tried to kiss her, but he shook, and Rose knew what was coming. Carefully, tightly she held him as he shuddered with the force of his emotion. His tears soaked her face, her shoulders. She wrapped around him tightly, crooning sounds of comfort, and stroking his shivering body. Gradually the tension left his lanky frame, and he relaxed against her, face buried in the warmth of her neck, arms locked around her back.
“How did you know . . ?” Came his wondering whisper. She brought her mouth close to his warm ear.
“Because I love YOU, you dumb bastard,” she replied. Rose felt him shake with silent laughter at this; her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
“This is insane, you understand. Love is NOT something assassins are supposed to indulge in,” he chided, a hint of the old cynical amusement coming back into his voice. Rose let a hand trail down the length of his stomach to curl possessively around his erection. She smiled against his ear.
“MacGyver, right now, we are not assassins. We are a man and a woman, naked in a bed. The woman definitely loves the man. The man most likely loves the woman—at least parts of the man are interested in the woman. Can we just stop talking an----Mmmmmmmmmmmm,”
His kiss cut her off effectively, and Rose luxuriated in the tender lust that fueled it. She let him slide over her, chest pinning her down and Rose wrapped her bare legs around his lean hips, one hand eagerly guiding him between her thighs.
Mac pushed. Rose gave a crooning sound and wrapped her arms tightly around the back of his neck, her fingers sliding through his long hair, her lips dancing over his face. He planted his forearms on either side of her shoulders, a desperate low groan erupting out of him as he thrust slickly between her open thighs. Rose sighed urgently, and sent a fresh frenzy of kisses across his face as he pumped, settling into a deliberate rhythm of such urgent power that she felt herself bounced on the bed with each thrust.
"Oh Mac . . ." came her laughing sob. He kissed her sweetly as his tempo increased, but the demand of his powerful body within hers brought the heated ache they had shared to the boiling point. Rose clung to him. He arched into her deeply; she felt the hot surge of his wet lust filling her and with a sigh of pure pleasure closed her eyes. Her climax rippled over her, and she felt his throat open, the words come out like released birds.
“Oh God I love you---“ he admitted in a hoarse broken whisper, face buried in her long hair.
*** *** ***
By late afternoon, they managed to pull themselves out of bed. Mac was livelier, his expressive face a bit more animated than before. He led her to the back of his closet, showing off three dresses hanging there.
“For you, not me—“ he admitted with a short laugh. “My feminine wardrobe is much more limited, and wouldn’t fit you anyway.”
“So—you’ve had these here for . . . “ she looked at him curiously. He dropped his gaze, embarrassed.
“ . . . For a while. I’m not blind—I have a fairly good idea what you look good in, Rose.”
She was busy studying the dresses, her mouth agape.
“Chio? You bought a Chio for me? On my God!”
The dress was a velvet cocktail number in burgundy, off the shoulder with a square cut neckline and a sleek look. Rose spun with it, smiling as MacGyver shook his head, amused at her delight.
“It’s just a dress—“
“Sure—and Cristal is just a champagne—“ she shot back caressing the fabric and humming happily. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“The heels and wrap are in the big box on the shelf—“ he told her as he began to hunt for his own outfit. Rose squeaked, coming back to the doorway of the closet.
“You bought stuff to go with it?”
Mac gave a noisy sigh and looked at her wearily, but under it was a note of affection that she finally heard.
“Tyro, haven’t I taught you that accessories are everything? Malacca heels size seven, and a nice black sable wrap. Wear the pearls if you like, but I want the hair down tonight.”
Rose took in the sight of him and licked her lips. It was hard not to, given the black Yves Ste. Lauren suit, the burgundy tie, and the light grey shirt. He tugged at his cuffs, revealing the chunks of ruby links that he favored.
“I pass inspection?”
“In spades, darling,” Rose nodded, spinning herself for his quick scrutiny. He pursed his mouth and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.
“The hemline’s longer than I like—“ he muttered. “First stop, Trinio’s.”
“Mac! The dress is a Chio, it’s fine, and we don’t need to have it redone!”
“Yes we do—“ he argued with a faint smile. “Humor me.”
Shrugging she did. They stopped at the shop, and within minutes two tailors were efficiently pinning the skirt three inches higher. Rose protested.
“MacGyver! It’s a dress, not a slip!”
“Hush, woman, you’re keeping us from our table at Alioto’s.”
Within minutes the dress was altered and they were on their way. Rose sat across from Mac in the limo, suddenly shy. He was hiding behind his shades again, fingers tapping nervously on his knee. He didn’t speak during the drive, and Rose felt a flush of disappointment, wondering if he was having second thoughts about the two of them.
She sighed, turning her face to the window, looking out over the glittering lights of the San Francisco skyline, thinking back over the warm intimacy they’d shared in the big bed; Mac’s smiles and her blushes, the shared secrets and kisses. She sighed.
Mac cleared his throat.
“Rose—“
“Yes?” she looked up at him, and burst out laughing, the giggles rolling out of her in waves. Mac gave her a lofty look, which was difficult behind the big red clown nose he now wore.
“I thought it went with the suit—“
“Oh God, you look . . . adorable, frankly,” she spluttered, wiping her eyes. “MacGyver, clown prince of assassins—“
He reached up and squeezed it; it gave a honk and she launched into a fresh wave of hysteria, gripping her ribs in a tight hug. When she finally recovered, he looked over the top of his shades and winked at her. The clown nose was gone and there was a sudden lightness to the evening. She reached out a hand to stroke the side of his face.
“That was priceless, love. Never, never in a million years would I ever have imagined you doing that.”
“Doing what?” he demanded with mock-seriousness. She only shook her head, fighting off giggles as they climbed out of the car.
Alioto’s was crowded, but the maitre de recognized one of his privileged customers; Rose and MacGyver were whisked to one of the tables in the alcove overlooking the bay. The sun had set, and the sparkling lights of the boats in the harbor made a scenic sight below.
Settling in, Rose looked from the scenery to her companion. He was ordering the wine.
“I hope you don’t mind—we’re having a nice vintage Yoohoo with our meal—“
“Mac--!” she spluttered again, shoulders shaking. He gave the waiter a look.
“Honestly I can’t take this woman anywhere—no sense of humor. We’ll take the St Claire, seventy four.”
After the smiling waiter left, Mac leaned back and looked at Rose. She met his luminous gaze with one of her own. He hand slid across the linen tablecloth to capture hers, fingers dancing over her palm.
“I’m actually very wary right now . . .” he confessed in a low voice. “This is the most bizarre sensation, Tyro, this strange desire to let the night take its course without once thinking of the consequences. Very risky.”
“Isn’t it? You can’t plan this out, Mac. It’s not something that can be directed or organized,” she replied steadily. “I’m quite petrified myself, to tell you the truth.”
She was, she realized. The giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach was both good and frightening in it’s intensity. She let her gaze wander over his face, studying it in the glow of the tablelamp.
He was still pale, but there was a brightness to his eyes that she had only seen glimpses of over the years. His long lashes and strong brows framed his gaze. She swallowed hard, and seeing that, he smiled.
“You’re no better at this than I am,” he accused. She nodded shyly.
“Two absolute emotional virgins when it comes down to it—“ Rose acknowledged. Mac’s fine mouth twitched.
“Then I guess we must start at the beginning—do you like me?”
“Very much.”
“I like you too,” He would have said more but the wine sommelier returned, carrying a bottle reverently. He bowed to Mac.
“Sir—“
Mac waved for him to decant the wine. Normally his interest would be focused on the entire elaborate ceremony; this evening he barely glanced at the label and gave the glass a perfunctory sip. Rose took the proffered glass and tasted it. She smiled.
“Got anything that comes with a screw cap?” she demanded sweetly. Mac smothered his laugh in his napkin as the wine captain sniffed haughtily and stalked away.
“Oh God that took balls—“ he groaned at her with a brilliant grin. Rose giggled, tossing her head back.
The meal was full of pauses, interrupted rushes of conversation, speculative looks. Rose was aware of Mac’s discomfort; the thought that the head of Homicide International Trust was at a complete loss at how to be in love amused her. How MacGyver could ever have managed to make it this long without it saddened her.
Neither one of them ate much; She looked down at her plate an hour later and flinched.
“I’m sorry—I guess I’m not really very hungry,” she admitted with a wry smile. MacGyver nodded, looking at his own plate.
“Me neither. Would you like to get some dessert we could both stare at for a while?”
It took her a minute to realize he was making a joke, and she cast a glance at the dessert cart.
“We could study the Chocolate Sin Cake or gaze at the Gelato Pie . . .” he offered, a faint smile on his fine mouth. Rose drummed her fingers on the table.
“How about a cone at PollyAnne’s instead?”
Mac brightened up. He slid his hand over hers across the table, fingers strong against her wrist.
“Oh yes—Infamous PollyAnne’s—“ he mused thoughtfully. “Where we met. I haven’t thought of it in ages. I wonder if Boomer, Ace and Mr. Bones are still in the neighborhood?”
“Probably still hunting for their canines and molars,” Rose pointed out. “You did scatter their dental work like chiclets across the sidewalk.”
“All in the interest of peace and a single scoop cone,” Mac defended as he handed a sleek black credit card to the waiter. “Of all the mundane material things in San Francisco, I am devoted to PollyAnne’s vanilla, Rose. If I have to go through three Hell’s Angels to get it, I will.”
“I know—I had been taking your order for several weeks, Mac,” she chided softly, rising from the table and reaching for the black sable wrap. He grinned, helping her into it, lightly pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.
“The girl behind the counter. Older than the average runaway, certainly prettier, but with a mouth that could make a longshoreman weep with envy. What did I ever see in you?”
“My cleavage and my speed,” Rose countered with a smirk. Mac coughed, and retrieved his card, following her out to the cool night air.
“You say that as if it was a bad thing,” he laughed.
PollyAnne’s was open but empty; the cold wind blowing off the Pacific kept most but the diehard fans away. Mac held the door for Rose; amused, she looked fondly over the counter where she’d worked for so many months.
“Hey Teresa!” she beamed at the round black woman behind the counter, receiving a gold-toothed smile back.
“Rose! Lookin’ fine, girl! Lawd, you movin up de world honey!”
“Something like that. Still have American Beauty?”
“Still do—and what can I get for you, sir?” Teresa beamed at MacGyver.
“Vanilla.”
“Va-nilla? Oh come on, mistah! There’s a whole world a flavors jest waitin to be tasted—don’t be wasting it all on plain ol’ va-nilla!” she chortled. MacGyver gave a shrug, accepting the cone she handed him and giving her a bill. Rose lapped at her ice cream greedily, sighing over the exquisitely heady sweet flavor of her namesake. Mac watched her with a bemused expression.
“Oh Gawd! I’m sorry, I cain’ make change for a bill this big, Mistah—“ Teresa apologized. Mac shook his head as she tried to hand it back.
“Keep it.”
Teresa’s eyes widened; she gave Mac a stare, her lips moving softly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” He led Rose out into the cool night air, leaving the shop owner to shake her head at the customer who’d just paid five hundred dollars for two cones.
They walked down the street, working on the ice cream in companionable silence. Rose wiped a dribble from the side of hers.
“Want a taste?” She held out a pink covered finger. He sucked it into his warm mouth, making a hot little jolt run through her entire body as his tongue swirled around the sensitive tip.
“It DOES taste the way a rose smells—“ he marveled, a little breathlessly. She nodded, fighting the urge to wriggle. Out of the shadows, someone lurched into their path.
“Gimmee your wallet—“
MacGyver sighed.
“Do you want me to handle it?” Rose murmured sweetly, still lapping at her cone. Mac shook his head, handing her his half-finished single scoop of vanilla.
“No, it’s quite all right—I don’t mind,” he murmured. The mugger watched this with hazy scorn.
“Just shut up and Gimmee your damn money, asshole!” To make good an unspoken threat, he waved a glittering knife. Mac stepped forward, shaking his head.
“Never show the knife until you’re close enough to use it,” he advised mildly. Rose leaned against the wall, watching with bright eyes.
“What?”
“The weapon. If you show it when you’re too far away to use it, your victim can run—“ Mac stepped closer, looking at the thin dirty mugger with an expression of mild amusement. Nonplussed by the lack of fear, the mugger swung the knife in the direction of Mac’s stomach. Swiftly, MacGyver clapped the blade in his two hands, twisting it out of the attacker’s grip.
A fancy toss, and he caught it expertly, waving it back under the mugger’s nose.
“Want to try again?”
“What the hell--?” the mugger’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. Mac handed him back the knife.
“Go on—give it another try—“ he encouraged kindly. Bewildered, the mugger lashed out again, this time an aggressive thrust upward. Mac leaned out of the way and brought a hard knee up into the man’s crotch; the mugger folded up like a lawn chair, falling to the sidewalk. The knife dropped into Mac’s hand. He tossed it down, pinning the mugger’s hand.
“Work on it—“ came the advice as he and Rose strolled past his limp form. They made their way to the street without further incident. Rose shivered from the ice cream and the weather—or so she told herself. Mac seemed unaffected by any of it.
They got into the limo, and after giving directions to the driver, Mac turned to her.
“Cold?” Without waiting for a reply, he pulled her over onto his lap, wrapping his long arms around her. Rose could smell the faintly spicy scent of his aftershave, and under it, Mac’s clean skin. Happily she burrowed down against his neck, reaching up to loosen his tie while he gently stroked her back.
“You were showing off—“ she accused in a giggling whisper. He snorted.
“Me? Never. I just detest sloppy work. Even a common street mugger can take pride in the job, you know.”
“Speaking of jobs—“ Rose lifted her face to his. Outside the windows, the sparkling lights of the city were falling away as they drove out of San Francisco. Mac searched her expression.
“Tran. Don’t worry, the last loose end will be the highlight of the evening.”
“Mac, not that, although I’d be delighted to see it happen. I mean my next assignment. I’m due in Atlanta tomorrow, and then I have two jobs in Boston.”
MacGyver sighed again, this time a frustrated sound. Rose brushed his bangs from his forehead in a tenderly possessive gesture. He tightened his grip on her.
“You’ll get the late connection to Atlanta.” Once it would have been an order. Now, she heard the wistful tone and nodded.
“Yes. Boston will take me two weeks, and then I go off rotation. I was thinking about a beach house in the Carolinas.”
The unasked question hung in the air; Mac looked at her with a sidelong glance.
“If it’s what you want,” he murmured. She tipped her face up, ever so lightly brushing her lips on his, feeling the tremble of anticipation run through his lean frame.
“I want you,” she sighed in a breath. He slid a hand up through the back of her hair and pulled her into a kiss, gently invading her mouth with his warm tongue. They let the soft rocking of the car carry the kiss along until Rose broke off for breath, slightly dizzy. The car climbed higher, up to a scenic lookout on Mount Tamalpias. They climbed out, and Mac turned to the driver, dismissing him.
Rose was about to protest when she saw Mac’s dark Miata parked in the shadows of the eucalyptus grove on one side of the stone overlook. Mac pointed out over the stunning vista of the San Francisco skyline below them and smiled.
“In the mood for fireworks, love?”
“Around you, how can I avoid them?” Rose teased back. Smiling broadly at her reply, MacGyver fished in his pocket for a small metallic box. He pulled the antenna out, set a small series of buttons and handed it to Rose.
“All yours—“
Delighted, she pushed the red button. Down below, in the Chinatown district, a huge fireball erupted, engulfing a warehouse in one enormous blast. She jumped at the unexpectedness of it, but Mac took the remote from her and hit the button a second time. Another warehouse on the Sausalito side went up in a vortex of flame. He shook his head.
“I’m sure the insurance companies will have trouble paying the claims on Tran’s businesses, especially when all three go up in the same night—“
One more button jab, and out at Fisherman’s Wharf, a freighter exploded, sending a column of smoke up to join the other two drifting into the night sky. Rose bit her lip, exhilarated and frightened at the same time. She sighed as Mac’s hands came up on her bare shoulders, caressing them.
“So that puts paid to him, and it should be enough of a warning to anyone else with delusions of grandeur, “ Mac whispered as he bent to kiss her neck. She squirmed.
“God, when you do a job, MacGyver, you certainly finish it with a bang—“ Rose admitted breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around her and laughed, deep in his throat.
“Funny you should say that . . . “ came his reply. She felt the short hem of her dress rise up and gasped happily as his hands slid up the outside of her hips. She wriggled against him; Mac’s hands slid forward across her hipbones to meet in the soft tangle of her fur just under the thin ribbon of her thong.
“Ahhhhh---“
“Spread your legs, Rose—“ he whispered into her ear, his fingers ever so gently toying with her. She gulped, doing as he asked, widening her high-heeled stance in the moonlight. He gave a deep sigh, his talented hands caressing her inner thighs and warm mound of Venus.
“Not a bad first date . . . dinner, dessert, fireworks at Make Out point . . .” he mused happily, resting his chin on her shoulder. Rose shivered as he let a fingertip spin lightly on the sensitive bud between her legs. Down below, sirens cut through the stillness of the mountain. She wriggled.
“Mac—“ came her breathy voice, “Oh God, that feels wonderful—“
“Shhhhh—“ he replied in amusement. With unlimited tenderness he brought her to the brink twice, chuckling at her whimpers, pulling away from the impatient thrust of her hips. She was writhing now, her entire body one searing electric nerve.
“Stop teasing me!” Rose cried softly, her hands reaching back for him. “I want you—“
“I know—“ came his hoarse reply. He spun her around, tugging the skirt up, exposing her sleek hips in the shadowy light. Rose fumbled with his fly, scrabbling with his slacks and boxers until he was free and throbbing in her grasp.
“Can you—“
“—Yes.” Mac picked her up, sliding himself into her in one deep thrust. Rose gave a cry, arching up, grabbing his shoulders for support as he lifted and dropped her onto his straining cock, the power in his long arms evident through the wool jacket. With a sob, Rose locked her legs around him, lost in the searing heated pleasure between them. She was out of her mind in the lust of the moment, knowing they were properly dressed to the waist and nakedly fucking below. It was too much, and she wailed her sensual delight in a cry that echoed through the deserted overlook. Mac groaned, emptying himself deeply into her, pressing a wet kiss into her mouth at the same time.
He trembled, but didn’t drop her; didn’t fall as he held her close. Gradually, Rose let her thighs ungrip, and slide down to the ground, steadying Mac. He was still in her, heavy and wet, and she looked up at him in awe.
“Oh that was AMAZING!” she squeaked. He broke into a smile, shy, proud, vulnerable.
“And on the first date too—I think this means we have to go steady—“
Their combined laughter echoed down the side of the mountain towards the city.
END
