Garden of Poison Lillies
By
Trevor Ravenscroft was tall, tanned, handsome and charming for a son of a bitch. A media darling, he showed up in the tabloids and newspapers regularly, often for the showy and controversial escapades that overshadowed his true agenda, and very few of the people fawning around him as any idea of his true depth. As the head of Raven Books, he made it a point to publish the most controversial, the most exotic and notorious manuscripts he could. Several had resulted in lawsuits, but most simply made him money. Millions and millions of dollars flowed in from his selections, and consequently, he made it a point never to turn a manuscript down until he'd fully considered it's potential.
And Garden of Poison Lillies had massively explosive potential.
*** *** ***
Rose kept a wary eye out. Surprises could be fatal, and MacGyver was still the best at springing exactly that sort. Ever since Aspen they'd been cat and mousing through the months, neither of them willing to acknowledge or admit to the dangerous erotic game they now played. They hadn't touched since then, hadn't so much as been seen together, but the dance went on. MacGyver had an exquisite madness to his lust, and once, Rose found herself the recipient of a stunning bouquet of roses dusted with ground glass. Another time, a passionate love letter had been pinned to her pillow with a silver and onyx dagger, mere inches from her sleeping head; it had severed a lock of her hair.
To be fair, Rose never failed to retaliate the torment, intuitively understanding the need to remind him she wasn't his plaything, but his equal. Rose sent him a framed photo of herself stretched out on Murdoc's desk at the Foundation, naked except for the glossy black mink coat that gaped open invitingly. Another time, she left a warm, poisoned garter belt peeking out of his gun holster during a HIT board meeting. The audacity of her moves would throw him off a bit--she hoped. Even if they didn't, at least she would have the satisfaction of knowing she'd kept him on the edge and hungry, even if it meant her own appetite stayed whetted too.
Her cell phone rang; Rose fished it out of her bag with a puzzled expression.
"The Pleasure Chest. Three o'clock." came the familiar voice. Rose heard the click of the disconnected line and touched her pink tongue to her upper lip thoughtfully.
She walked through the gilded doors of the Pleasure Chest holding her breath and hoping her blush would die down. The shop was discreet enough from the outside, but once a customer passed through the door, an entire world of new decadence opened. Lush scarlet carpet muffled footsteps, and the black marble walls were threaded with veins of silver. All around in polished crystal cases were erotic toys and devices lavishly displayed. She smiled at the young bare-chested man in black leather pants.
"I'm expected in the VIP lounge--" she murmured to him, checking her red lipstick in the reflection of the nearest display case. He bowed and led her across the display floor to another door, ushering her through with a knowing smile. She chose to ignore it, and lifted her chin higher, taking in the grey marble walls, the black velour carpet, the lavish fountains and huge exotic ferns. She looked up.
He was seated in a deep leather club chair, wearing an off white Armani suit with a deep grey shirt, his cufflinks small chunks of ruby. His hair was longer than last time, nearly brushing his shoulders, and silver aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes. Rose looked ran a hand over her basic black mini dress and quietly praised herself for adding the long strand of pearls.
"Rose--" he breathed in a controlled voice. She nodded once, taking a seat in the club chair opposite him. A silent waiter glided over, handing her a Dragonfly, the green liquid glinting in the rays from the skylight overhead. She sipped it, waiting for him to speak again.
"Tell me what you know about Manfred and the Garden of Poison Lillies," he demanded silkily. Rose gave a sigh, setting her drink down.
"Manfred Van de
Roche has been a major associate for HIT these past thirty years. Last year
he had a nervous breakdown and during his rehabilitation in
"Excellent. You've been keeping an ear to the ground," MacGyver praised faintly, steepling his fingers. She gave a small shrug.
"The book is in the process of being edited, and speculation is that Ravenscroft is pushing Manfred for more details--names, dates, connections. HIT will be exposed and decimated should Garden of Poison Lillies ever be published."
"Also true. As it stands, most of the governing board of HIT is in a state of panic. I have made an arrangement with Nikolai to take on the job, with certain incentives above and beyond the usual cut. I need an associate. Are you--willing?"
She stared at him with a cool she didn't feel, and thought for a long deliberate moment.
"What's the price?" she finally breathed. A dazzling white grin flashed across his face; he leaned forward, taking his sunglasses off, revealing his dark brown eyes.
"Six million from HIT's coffers, with another four separately from various interested parties--certainly enough to keep you in diamonds and Dom Perignon for years to come, Tyro. Interested?"
"Yes," she admitted with a small smile. "But I have my stipulations too, MacGyver."
"Such as--?" He leaned back again, sunglasses dangling from one hand, his expression dark and mysterious. Rose pursed her red lips.
"A fifty fifty split."
"No."
"I didn't think so. All right, a cut above our usual thirty seventy then--"
"Thirty-five sixty-five," he countered, a small smile crossing his mouth. "And that's only because I have a vested interest in keeping you from double-crossing me."
"Done. I also want you to put my name up to Nikolai for advancement at the next board meeting."
"Ah. With Manfred out, there *will* be a shakeup in the pecking order, won't there?" MacGyver mused. He gave Rose a long appraising look, from the tips of her Malacci sandals to the top of her gleaming auburn hair and licked his lips. Rose hid her shiver as best she could. He put his sunglasses back on in one swift gesture.
"I will put your name up to Nikolai at the next board meeting--provided Nikolai *is* still head of the board--" he warned. Rose gave a little shrug, accepting the offer. Nikolai had lasted longer than any other the others, and there was a fair chance he'd weather the Garden of Lillies assignation too. It was as much as she could expect.
She rose to go; MacGyver made no move to rise from his chair, watching her.
"When this is over, Tyro, I'll be licking Crème Brule off your thighs," he murmured languidly. She leaned down, pressing her left cheek to his, whispering back,
"Dream on, Darling--"
She sauntered out, leaving him smiling his wolfish white grin.
*** *** ***
The dossiers arrived shortly after that, by private courier under armed guard. Rose poured through them at her leisure, highlighting MacGyver's handwritten notes in the margins and adding a list of her own concerns on a separate sheet. She took the time to get all six of her passports updated, to restock her supply of poisons and visit the HIT firing range and arsenal, sharpening her marksmanship on everything from the tiny wrist crossbow to the AK 47s. In the afternoons she lounged in the spa, deepening her tan and plotting strategy.
The box was ornately wrapped in lush gold foil, topped with a pink velvet ribbon. Warily Rose studied the package sitting on her bed. It was probably not a bomb, but with MacGyver one could never be sure, and assumptions were all too often deadly. She circled the bed, listening carefully. No sound. With care, she stretched out a finger to touch it, feeling no vibration, no motion from the thing. She took a corner of the ribbon and tugged; it unraveled and lay on the spread innocently. Rose sighed. She pulled the gold foil lid off, and the soft scent of Joy filled the room. Under the rustly tissue, she found the sand colored nearly transparent silk peignoir; a tiny card tumbled out as she lifted the beautiful garment out.
Put it on-- the note demanded. She glanced around her bedroom, then carefully peeled off her clothing and slipped the cool silk on against her skin. It slid along her body, molding to her curves. Rose looked up as the curtains billowing towards her and she knew he was watching her. With sang froid, she strode over to the window, closing it firmly, leaving herself in clear view.
The phone rang; she picked it up swiftly.
"Lovely--"' He breathed a deep sigh. "Pack it and be ready to leave for Nassau. Your ticket is in the box under the tissue--" a soft knowing laugh, and a click. The hairs on the back of Rose's neck prickled and she looked at the box. With two fingers she tugged on the nearest corner of tissue; a sleek black widow delicately climbed up over the edge of the box to tumble onto the bedspread. Rose bit back the urge to shriek and fished for her shoe, scooping up the spider and carrying it to the toilet.
*** *** ***
Nassau was warm and sunny; Rose marveled at the majestic palms and beautiful flowers on her taxi ride to the hotel. The faint strains of steel drum music reached her ears and she smiled, thinking back to more carefree days. After tipping the cabbie generously, she let the doorman carry her bags in and settled into her suite. Rose swiftly changed into a green lace bikini and headed for the beach, staking out a seat at the empty little bar halfway between the sand and the water.
"Ooohee! A sweet Mamacita like you deserves the biggest banana I can slip her--" came the bartender's salacious comment. Rose cocked her head and sighed as MacGyver deftly served her a chilled daiquiri, his sun bleached hair pulled back in a ponytail, a thick sandy moustache on his upper lip.
"Classic beach bum?" she tried not to smirk at the sight of him in his hotel uniform of tropical print shirt and khaki shorts. His nametag read MATT.
"No way, Chick--I've been employed for ten days already--" came his reply, "Pulling in my three ninety five a week and charming my way into the good graces of Ravenscroft's domestic staff."
"And how have you done that?" Rose gave a cautious sniff before she sipped the banana-flavored drink in front of her. It was excellent. Mac busied himself wiping down the bar before replying in lazy surfer drawl.
"Babe, like I saved Lavelle's ass from major bad karma by filling in for some brewslinger who didn't show for a righteously sweet gig at the mansion. I've even helped lay in supplied for the next party--Now the Major Domo has me on his 'hire as soon as possible' list for the next blowout, which should be tomorrow at the latest."
"Excellent," Rose admitted. "There's your ticket in."
"Majorly true, hot mama--Now we need to lock in that *you* jumpstart Ravenscroft's mojo within the next twelve hours so you're rockin at the next bash."
"Any suggestions?"
Mac dropped the surf talk and pointed with his chin out across the water.
"Try a boating accident just off the coast of his fortress on St. Sebastian--make sure his security sees you prior to the explosion, and let them fish you out-- flashing a little skin wouldn't hurt either. Can you do it this afternoon?"
"Yes--How much wet work so far?"
"Two--the bartender I replaced and a junior chef on Ravenscroft's staff. They won't find the bartender, and the official ruling on the chef is still pending. Once you get on St. Sebastian, any of the staff or guests is fair game except Trevor or Manfred themselves. The key is to terrorize. We want them on edge, enough to show their hand."
"Start subtle," Rose recited from the files. "Are you sure the manuscript's actually here and not in New York?"
"Positive. Trevor's got it here so Manfred can flesh out the details," MacGyver sighed. "Manfred's so old-fashioned that he still works on a typewriter--manual no less."
Rose sighed. She looked out to where the rental boat dock was and gathered up her purse while MacGyver cleared away her daiquiri glass.
"Ta ta--I'm off to ignite an Evinrude--wish you were on it --" she murmured. Mac passed something to her across the bar; she palmed it as a sunburned couple came up, calling for beer. Mac watched her go before snapping the caps off the cold drinks.
*** *** ***
"I don't like it--all these people, all this constant recreation--how am I supposed to concentrate?" came a low whine. Manfred Van de Roche fiddled with his glass of orange juice and swiftly downed another vitamin. Across from him Trevor Ravenscroft bit back an impatient reply and waved away the bikinied beauty who had been sitting on his lap.
"Manfred, it's called keeping up appearances. You and I both know that there are several factions who'd love nothing better than to see you dead and I refuse to let them intimidate us. Believe me, the tabloids are watching, the governments are watching and the only thing I want them to see is everyone at St. Sebastian's going about the normal whirl of parties and good times."
"But I can't work!"
"Lock yourself in the den and try--I've got a deadline to meet in two weeks, and by God, the book is going to press by then," Trevor muttered. Manfred nervously rubbed his temples and looked out over the veranda at the crystal blue of the water, past the two liveried men toting semi-automatics.
"I thought you said the tourists had been warned away from here--" he commented at the growl of an engine cut through the afternoon's balmy stillness. Trevor looked up as a speedboat whipped into view across the view. He frowned and picked up a set of binoculars.
"Stupid woman--probably got lost--Armstrong, have a few of your men go out--" whatever direction he was going to give was cut off at a spectacular explosion took off the back half of the boat. The woman gave a scream before being flung overboard. Everyone at the table jumped up; a few of the guards began racing for the water's edge, but one of the patrols on a Jet Ski raced ahead, reaching the burning boat within a minute. Trevor watched through the binoculars grimly.
"A bomb? Oh they're getting sloppy--" he growled to one on in particular.
Within twenty minutes, a bikini clad Rose was laid out on a thickly cushioned sofa with a doctor examining her wet gauze-wrapped ankle and shaking his head.
"Why did you even attempt to go out with a twisted ankle, Miss--"?
"--Ranch, Serenity Ranch," she snapped impatiently. "Because it's my vacation and I get tired of people telling me what I can't do. Hell I didn't plan on twisting my ankle! When the nice man at the rental dock gave me a great deal on the boat and suggested I head this way I thought it would be fun. I mean, God, how was *I* to know--"?
"--That there was an explosive on the boat? You didn't. That's how these people work, I'm afraid," Trevor smiled down at her as he extended his hand. Rose took it, giving a small smile in return, well aware of his gaze on her body.
"--I'm Trevor Ravenscroft and I have a few enemies."
"Trevor Ravenscroft? The one from the scandal sheets?" Rose managed to look both impressed and startled. Trevor nodded as the doctor began to unwind her wet bandages.
"Yes. I'm afraid someone's tried to use you as a pawn against me."
Rose jumped, giving a shriek of pain as the doctor touched her ankle. He pulled back and she grimaced at him apologetically.
"Still sore from my fall down the stairs at work--better just wrap it up again I guess." She pulled the ankle away before he could examine it more closely; the makeup on it was waterproof, but not infallible. " Mr. Ravenscroft, is there anyway you or our staff could give me a ride back to my hotel?"
She shifted on the sofa, all of her better features on prominent display as she checked her watch. Ravenscroft smiled in a slightly predatory fashion.
"Please call me Trevor--Actually, I know the police will want to speak to you about the accident and that might take a while--it might just be easier in the long run to have you be my guest for the night, Miss Ranch."
"But my purse, my things--" she protested faintly as the Doctor finished rewrapping her left ankle in a new Ace bandage.
"Armstrong managed to fish your purse out of the water, and we can call the hotel to assure them you're safe. Please--it would be delightful if you could stay."
Rose gave him a smile and a shrug, turning her attention to the uniformed sergeant who walked up to the assembled group, notebook at the ready.
"Well if you put it *that* way--" she murmured sweetly.
*** *** ***
Rose looked out over the dark water with a satisfied sigh of a job well done. Although Ravenscroft's security measures were excellent by any standard, they had a few exploitable flaws, and Rose was grateful for MacGyver's meticulous research. She smiled to herself as she stepped around the body of the dead guard and with one foot pushed him off the seawall into the water.
"Nice shot--"
"Yes, I know," came the satisfied answer through the tiny headset. She looked back at the house far behind her.
"A little close though."
"Believe me, if I wanted to hit you, I would have, Tyro."
"Mmmmm, " came her noncommittal response. She lit a cigarette and briefly sucked on it, looking for all the world like any other smoker banished from the house. In her ear, MacGyver laughed low, a seductive sound in the dark.
"Smoking? What a bad girl. Where is your host tonight?"
"Either harassing Van de Roche or seducing a bimbette--there seem to be about three giggly sluts in residence, drafted from Fort Lauderdale."
"A man must have his hobbies--how about the security?"
"Just as you conjectured, with one little exception--every three hours around the clock there's a surveillance sweep over the entire estate--it will make the timing just a bit trickier. When are you arriving?"
"Lavelle wants me there early to start serving up drinks by noon. Have you set up everything?"
"Yes. The tripwires are up around the estate, and a mamba in one of the guest bedrooms--" she gave a small sigh, and Mac snorted.
"Keep focused--Regrets are for poor people and in your case, three million is at stake here. By dawn there should be some noise from the direction of the main police station--terrible thing, all their phone lines going down like that. I'll see you in time for lunch--what will you be wearing?"
"Whatever the bimbettes can lend me--probably something skimpy and removable."
"Remind me to thank them--"
"Probably the pearls too--and lipstick of course--"
"Of course," he paused and the tone of his voice changed. "Make it anything but red."
She smiled out into the darkness, wondering if he was able to see her. Probably, since the riflescope was infrared.
"Oh come--I've been a good girl and done everything down to the letter--at least let me pick my own makeup!"
"Humor me," came his terse reply. "And try not to pick the bedroom with the mamba, Hmmmm?"
She dropped the cigarette and ground it out, heading back to the house, thinking. In the living room, Trevor smiled up at her from the cluster of girls playing Backgammon around him.
"Ankle feeling better?"
"A bit," Rose managed a smile. He stood and approached her, looking her over again, and she glanced up at him through her lashes. "Is there anything to drink?"
Mid morning was interrupted by a scream from the direction of the kitchen. Rose woke instantly, reaching the hallway at the same time as Manfred and several of the guards. Everyone milled around until Trevor emerged from the kitchen, face grim.
"We've had a little accident, nothing to worry about--" he tried to soothe things over. Behind him, Rose could see the broken-necked corpse of a maid on the floor. One of the bimbettes began blubbering, but Trevor had a guard lead her off.
Manfred looked pale but calm.
"It's them--we can't avoid it much longer, Trevor. I know the tactics well. You had better call off the party today."
"Nonsense--The stupid girl fell, Manfred--a simple accident." He paused and added, "We'll make it the last bit party before the book comes out, but I can't believe that anyone will try anything further with most of the media here--All the major television networks and several celebrities will be coming."
Manfred studied Trevor's face doubtfully. He shot a glance at the doorway to the Master bedroom, a glance that Rose understood and filed away. She broke in hurriedly.
"Look, if there's some kind of trouble, just drop me back at the hotel, okay?"
Her distraction worked; Trevor tried to smile reassuringly at her and shook his head, moving forward and herding everyone away from the kitchen.
"Oh really, Miss Ranch--and what sort of host would I be if I shooed you away before a party? Dorrie, Lisa--let's see if we can find something nice for Miss Ranch to wear and then all have brunch on the veranda-- did you girls know Wally Dayton is coming to the party?"
By late afternoon the party was in full swing; guests rubbed elbows, laughing and chattering as they roamed throughout the house, carefully kept within the confines of the estate by the unsmiling guards. Rose made her way to the bar and managed a smile at Mac/Matt, who was busy mixing up Zombies with practiced ease. He looked at her pink and green sundress with approval.
"What kind of trouble can I make for you, Sweet Cheeks?" he asked with a waggle of his brows. She shot him an arch look and leaned forward.
"Master bedroom, probably behind the headboard or under the Matisse on the wall--"
"Excellent. Do you have your mask?" he replied, pushing a sparkling glass in front of her. She nodded, patting a pocket as she sipping her drink, and he continued.
"All right--once lit, we have only twenty minutes until they all go off. Go dump the mix when I give you the signal, and meet me in the bedroom. Don't get sidetracked."
"Right."
She looked at him again and slid her hand across the cool surface of the bar; he briefly let his fingers trace a pattern on her palm before taking another drink order. Rose waited.
Twilight started to fall; two maids moved throughout the party, lighting the tiki torches and citronella candles on the tables. Rose shifted. She walked over past the elegant pool to the hot tub, where Manfred was sitting between two famous television anchors and a minor pop ingénue.
"Come join us, Miss Ranch--there's plenty of room!" He smiled blearily up at her. She leaned down to touch the water, checking the temperature then looked at Mac across the crowd. He nodded, and she carelessly allowed her purse to slip off her shoulder into the water.
"Oh shit!" Rose moved to fish it out, opening it under the water, letting the huge packet of benzethonium dissolve into the bubbling Jacuzzi.
"Stupid me--" she sighed apologetically. "I better go get this dried off again--"
She slipped away towards the kitchen, throwing the purse into the garbage before heading for the Master bedroom. It was locked. Swiftly she picked it, slipping inside, waiting in a tension so thick she could hear her heart beat. Long moments later--
"Here. Search--" A small penlight was pressed into her palm; swiftly she flashed it behind the headboard while across the room another one danced over the Matisse.
"It's here--" she began to shift the bed.
"--*And* here. Ravenscroft has the typewriter locked up as well. We take the ribbon, the carbons--" Mac muttered from behind the hinged painting. Something gave a small click and he chuckled.
"I love egotists who use their birthdays as combinations--"
Rose listened. Outside a distant explosion rumbled and she tensed.
"I think one of the bombs went off early," she hissed. Mac pocketed something and dodged under the painting to come to her side. They pulled the king-sized bed away from the wall; he looked at the safe and frowned.
"Letters and numbers--crack or blow?"
"No time--blow," she advised. He nodded, fishing out a wad of Semtex and rolling thin logs of it to press against the hinges of the safe. He jammed a pair of wires into it and pulled her under the bed before hitting the detonation button; the minor 'thunk' of the smoky explosion was felt rather than heard. She scrambled up and yanked on the door.
"Okay--three copies, and a pile of other papers--"
"Take them all--" he advised. Rose nodded. She grabbed one of the pillows, pulling the case off and filling it with the papers. Outside, two more explosions echoed, these louder. Mac grabbed Rose's free hand and towed her out of the room; they headed down the hall towards the veranda, bumping into crowds of anxious people. It was dark now.
"What's going on?" Rose called, letting Mac take the pillowcase from behind her. A thin man in a green bathing suit yelled to her as he dashed by.
"A couple of the tiki torches blew up--I think somebody's hurt--"
"Has anyone called the police?"
"Phone lines are out--some folks are using their cell phones," came the nervous reply. Before either of them could say anything further, another explosion rocked the house, this one just outside on the veranda. Screams filled the air, and one of the big windows shattered. Rose glanced at Mac and nodded. He slipped away as she pushed through panicking partiers back towards the Jacuzzi. The air was filled with smoke now, and much of the furniture was knocked over. Rose glanced in the water. Manfred's body was there just below the surface, trapped under a fallen chair, his eyes wide and unseeing. The young starlet drifted in the swirl of the water, the last faint trail of bloody bubbles floating out of her mouth. Rose yanked out a tiny camera and took two photos of him, then grimly turned, heading for the seawall as yet another phosphorous bomb went off somewhere behind her.
She reached the water, tucked the camera away and shoved the tiny rebreather into her mouth and nose. She dove down into the depths, swimming steadily due east. After twenty long minutes, she saw the soft glow of a magnesium flare under the water and headed towards it.
The sailboat was dark; she climbed aboard and listened for a moment. From Exhuma, she could still hear the explosions as the rest of the torches and Citronella candle bombs continued to detonate. Helicopters were beginning to fill the skies, and she ducked down as one passed overhead.
"You're late," came Mac's amused voice. Rose nearly jumped, but she turned her head and glared at him in the dark.
"Not by much. I have the verification photos."
"And I have the manuscript. Nikolai owes us a great deal of money."
They both smiled.
*** *** ***
She studied her reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore MacGyver's impatient scowl over her shoulder. He checked his Rolex once more.
"There's fashionably late, and then there's openly *arrogant*, Tyro. Nikolai is not the sort to be kept . . . waiting . . ." he trailed off. Rose glanced up at him in his impeccably cut Christian Dior tux and Cartier emerald cufflinks. He was mesmerized, and she shifted her gaze to her hands, wondering what had him so enthralled.
The lipstick.
She held the tube of brilliant red in her long fingers, her nails already a matching shade. Rose leaned forward, slowly twisting the tube, letting the slim bullet of scarlet rise up in the lights of the vanity. She could see Mac's dark eyes widen slightly.
"Let him wait . . . I'm not done with my makeup," she murmured seductively. For a moment, Mac said nothing, watching her hungrily as she brought the glossy color against her pouting lower lip.
"*What* is that color . . . called?" he breathlessly demanded, leaning closer. Rose's eyes met his in the mirror. She dragged the tube slowly across her lip, coating it thickly in a layer of scarlet.
"Blow Job Red," she whispered, letting her tongue flick against her white teeth and generously applying the vivid shade to her upper lip. The lights of the vanity made her mouth gleam, the scarlet as vivid as fresh blood.
"Don’t--" he warned, his eyes dark, furious, hungry.
"--Don't what? Turn you on? You knew I was a naughty girl with you *met* me . . ." she whispered back with a pout. Swiftly he grabbed her wrists, yanking her from the stool and against him, forcing Rose to look up into his stern face. The tube of lipstick went flying; her hands gripped his starched shirt.
"Oh there's a thin little line between safe and naughty, Rose --are you *sure* you're ready to cross it?" came his rough whisper.
"Yes . . ." she breathed, her eyes half closed. Tip-toeing, Rose leaned forward and let her lips press the galloping pulse just under his left ear, the red of her mouth sliding in a smear down the side of his throat. MacGyver quivered, his entire frame in a hard taut tension. He sucked in a breath as she let her fingers tug on his velvet bowtie, unraveling it, letting it go as her mouth slid down to the hollow under his chin. Out of the corner of her eye she could see their reflections in the vanity, could see Mac struggle to control his breathing. Emboldened, she worked her fingers along the seam of his dress shirt and yanked it open, baring his strong brown chest.
"You bitch--" came his gritted accusation. Rose pressed scarlet kisses across the hard pectorals, letting her teeth nip hard at the erect nipples. Mac shuddered, his grip on her wrists squeezing harder. The long red smears of lipstick looked like slashes across his torso, and Rose smiled to herself.
"Mmmmm . . . Not just red lipstick, darling, but hot red lipstick, sinfully dangerously sexy red lipstick . . . " She taunted him. "As red as my nails, as red as my wicked high heels . . ." she laughed as he stared down at her face, his expression somewhere between fury and lust.
For one pulse beat, Rose stiffened as an icy sliver of fear shot through her as he shifted her two wrists behind her back, gripping them in one of his hands. Then MacGyver dropped his mouth hungrily on hers and under the hot slick onslaught of his tongue, Rose forgot everything, even her own name.
Brazenly Mac's free hand slid up the back of her thigh under her tiny skirt, bunching it high in the process of determined exploration. Rose shifted her hips, and struggled, but MacGyver pulled back for a moment and shook his head, dark eyes glittering.
"Anxious?" his harsh mocking tone demanded. It was still his voice, but darker, with smoky desire. "Not so sure about this, Tyro?"
She frowned. Putting herself entirely at his mercy--
"I can take it--" she found herself pouting. "I'm not afraid of *you*" She pushed slick lips against his chest again, waggling her fanny for good measure. Her reward was a greedy groan.
"Wicked, wicked little Rose . . ." his talented fingers worked their way under the bunched skirt and slid along the thin satin thong. Rose shivered at his deliberate touch, watching their reflections in the mirror. Lipstick was smeared everywhere.
"That's going to cost you--" he tugged.
The underwear wafted down her long legs to rest on the tops her scarlet high-heeled pumps. Before she could object, Mac spun her around. Rose bit back a moan, feeling a rush of heat between her thighs. She writhed, but MacGyver kept her wrists pinned hard on the small of her back, kept his stroke light, and gathered the hem of her skirt, pulling it higher, carelessly ripping it.
"Oh my, that's quite a hot pair of red stilettos you have on--" he breathed into her ear followed by a tongue flick. Rose swallowed hard, her mouth dry. Quickly Mac's hands let go of hers and snaked down around either side her hips, coming together, fingers lightly teasing the downy triangle of her sex. She wriggled, tightening her stomach in an uncontrollable shiver of excitement. Mac bent her over the vanity and slowly levered her thighs apart while they both looked up at their erotically savage reflections inches from themselves in the mirror: half dressed, stained with scarlet streaks, breathing hard. MacGyver's elegant hands rested on the round perfection of her rear; slowly, he let his straining cock plunge into the slick wetness between Rose's lean thighs.
She pushed back against him eagerly, a low almost musical moan rising from her smeared red mouth. Mac groaned, and began to thrust himself into her, his strength rocking them both against the frail table. Rose gave a grinding wriggle under him, panting as he arched over her, his pace quickening. The muscles running the length of his hard stomach tightened as Rose suddenly tossed her long hair back and cried out. Her entire body tensed rhythmically, and growling, MacGyver followed her a moment later, his spasms dying away as she slackened under him.
EPILOG
Dateline Exhuma, the Bahamas--
Today the body of Manfred Van de Roche was found at the estate of millionaire publisher Trevor Ravenscroft. Van de Roche, 53 was Ravenscroft's guest at the beach house where he was said to be working on a major expose of his years with an international cartel of assassins known as Homicide International Trust. The body was discovered a few hours after a series of explosions occurred during a party at the estate. Coroners have yet to determine the cause of death, but suspect that both he and a young unidentified woman both drowned in the Jacuzzi from which they were pulled. Ravenscroft could not be reached for comment, but insiders speculate that the loss of potential revenue from Van de Roche's book could bankrupt the publisher before the end of the fiscal year.
Dateline New York NY
Today in an unexpected move, Nautica Cosmetics announced the end of production for one of their most popular lipstick colors, Blow Job Red, citing that the manufacturing rights and product license had been bought in full by a private investor. All supplies of the color have been pulled from the market and shipped to a private warehouse in an undisclosed location, spokesperson for the cosmetics company revealed today.
