Chapter 3

Connie

 

When my alarm went off at five-thirty, I dragged myself out of bed and threw myself under a shower. Snatches of my torrid dream came back to haunt me and I had to chase them away with bursts of cold water. By the time I dressed and reached the embassy’s ground-floor cafeteria my nerves were jangling.

Mitch was nowhere to be seen. I checked the time on my phone. I was a couple of minutes early.

The dining area was empty – apart a couple of dark-suited diplomatic types I vaguely remembered seeing at the reception the night before. Both men were hunched over the table they shared, reading newspapers and sipping coffee. I could smell the aromas of fried bacon, sausages, and eggs from a steaming stainless steel server that was lined against one wall. I scraped back a chair at the nearest table and positioned myself so I could see the elevator doors.

Mitch, I was sure, would be arriving at any minute.

“Coffee, sweetheart?” I heard the voice come from over my shoulder.

“Huh?” I turned.

There was a tall man standing behind my chair, holding a pot of hot coffee. He had a long tress of black hair, gathered and tied at the nape of his neck and there were twinkling diamond stud earrings in each of his ears. He was wearing black shirt and trousers with a white apron tied around a generous stomach. He had heavily-lidded eyes that gave him a sleepy half-awake kind of look.

“I asked if you would like coffee,” the man gestured at the pot with a flamboyant flick of a limp wrist. “Or would you rather sit there and wait for your sexy dreamboat to join you?”

I stared aghast. The man smiled down into my face with a wicked look of mocking mischief.

“I beg your pardon?” instinctive offense and outrage put a sharp edge to my voice.

The man shifted his weight and gave a hoarse, knowing chuckle. He leaned close to me. He smelled of expensive perfume. “It’s okay, dearie,” his voice was high-pitched and effeminate. “You’re secret is safe with me.”

“Secret?” I could feel my throat and cheeks flushing with color. My eyes went wide and horrified.

“He’s a real dish,” the man licked his lips lewdly. “I can understand why you fancy him, your handsome Mr. Stuyversant. In fact, all us girls have our eye on him,” he winked and filled a cup on the table with steaming coffee. As he poured, he leaned close to me and his voice lowered to a whisper.

“You shouldn’t wait too long, love,” the man muttered. “Don’t spend your whole life rubbing your thighs together, squirming in wet panties just dreaming about him. The best thing you can do – if you want my advice – is reach into his pants and grab yourself a nice hard handful of…” he opened his mouth wide and arched one eyebrow in a thinly-veiled erotic suggestion.

I sat stunned, trembling, frantic with terror and flushing with acute embarrassment.

God! Was how I felt about Mitch so obvious?

I clenched my jaw, bunched my fists and summoned every ounce of indignation I could manufacture. I felt the blood drain away from my cheeks and glared up into the man’s face.

And then suddenly I felt tired and broken and so overcome with worry and anxiety and stress and frustration that I simply shattered.

I started to cry.

The man looked crestfallen. The twinkle faded from his eyes and he dropped down with concern into the seat beside me. He had a tissue stuffed inside the sleeve of his shirt. He held it out to me.

I blew my nose, dabbed at my eyes. My lips were trembling and my whole body heaved in a shudder.

The man reached for my hand and gave it a tender pat, like he was soothing a sick puppy. “Dearie, I didn’t mean…”

I shook my head, still sobbing, but trying to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. “It’s okay,” I said. A teardrop spilled from my cheek and splashed into the coffee cup. I took a deep breath and waved my hand in front of my face to quick-dry my eyes the way we ladies do.

The man got up from his seat. One of the diplomats at the far table was looking over his shoulder at us, holding his empty cup in his hand and miming for a refill.

“I’m Julius,” he said in a quick breath as he rose. “And if you ever want to talk, honey – just us girls – I’ll be here all week.”

I nodded and sniffed, then gave him a quivering smile of gratitude, my eyes still glistening. Julius tossed back his head and flounced towards the waiting man with the mincing steps of a dancer.

 

 

I sipped at the coffee and pulled myself together. I was thankful Mitch still had not appeared, but that relief began to turn into concern. The White House would be expecting a call in less than thirty minutes and Mitch was nowhere to be seen.

When I could wait no more, I got up from the chair. I caught Julius’ eye. He was carrying plates of bacon and eggs towards the table where the two diplomats sat. He blew me a sisterly kiss and I smiled back, then headed for the elevators.

 

 

“Mr. Stuyversant?” I knocked gently on the door to his room. “It’s after six-thirty, sir.”

No answer.

Shit!

I knocked again, this time a little louder and a little longer, then pressed my ear to the door. I could hear nothing from within – no sound of footsteps, or of a shower running. Nothing.

What should I do?

I threw a furtive glance over my shoulder. The hallway was empty.

“Mr. Stuyversant?” I heard the despair and plea in my voice. “Please, sir.”

Silence.

Fuck!

I reached for the doorknob and it turned in my hand. The door was unlocked. I stood on the threshold and I could feel my heartbeat suddenly begin to stampede. My hand was shaking. I hesitated, uncertain, for long seconds and then I stepped inside the darkened room.

The room was much bigger than mine, with windows on either side of a king-size bed, and a door set into the left wall that opened onto a bathroom. The light in the bathroom was on and the door was ajar, casting a slice of pale yellow light across the bed.

Mitch was lying, sleeping on his back, his body partially covered beneath a twisted sheet.

I went forward on tiptoes, tortured by voyeuristic shame, and stood beside the bed. He was naked, with one muscled arm thrown back beneath his head. His jaw was stubbled gunmetal blue by new growth, and across his chest were dark crisp whorls of hair that trailed all the way down to his navel. I let my gaze linger with guilty fascination.

The sheet was trapped tight across his waist so that I could clearly see the outline of his thighs and the dark bulging shadow of his crotch. I licked my lips involuntarily and then – in a moment of impetuous abandon – I remembered what Julius had urged me to do when we had spoken in the cafeteria.

The best thing you can do – if you want my advice – is reach into his pants and grab yourself a nice hard handful of…”

My breath was jagged in my throat. My heart began pounding in my chest.

Should I…?

As if it had a mind of its own that I had neither the strength nor the will to resist, my right hand slowly reached out to draw aside the edge of the sheet…

A debauched little voice in my head urged me on.

Do it! Pull the sheet slowly back, and gently stroke his cock. He’s a handsome single man. He’s gorgeous. He’s strong. He’s a leader, and he has a man’s healthy instincts, and you’re a woman who has your own needs. Just pull the sheet back and lean over the bed. Take him gently in your hand.

Do it!

I felt strangely disconnected; my vision began to swim. The beat of my heart became frantic and I could hear the sizzle of my blood as it pounded at my temples. My fingers were trembling. They felt numb and cold. I couldn’t breathe.

Do it! Do it! Do it!

The tip of my finger brushed against the cool cotton of the bedsheet. My body spasmed in a great shivering convulsion. My eyes were wide as saucers, like I was watching myself thrown into a horror film while at the same time the tide of my maddened lust for this man rose until it threatened to sweep away the last vestiges of my control, my sanity, my reason.

I hooked my finger under the hem of the sheet. I could feel the radiated warmth of Mitch’s body. I could smell the familiar musky scent of my arousal. My legs were shaking.

Do it…!

Suddenly Mitch’s breathing changed, quickening and becoming shallow. He sighed in his sleep and groaned.

I snatched my hand back like it had been scalded and choked on a gasp of fright. Waves of white mortified terror washed over me and reality came crashing in.

I was in my boss’ bedroom, staring at him while he slept naked.

What the fuck had I been thinking?

I turned on my heel and rushed to the door feeling stinging prickles of fear as though my skin crawled with insects. I pulled the door closed behind me and stood trembling like a leaf in the corridor, gasping for breath, sagged and made weak by how reckless I had almost been.

I needed this job. I needed the money it paid… and a whole lot more.

I closed my eyes, filled my lungs with a long calming breath and then hammered my fist on the door, trying to convey a sense of urgency and not my own sexual frustration.

After a moment, I heard Mitch’s voice, groggy and thick.

“Hell!” Then, more hesitant, “Come in.”

 

 

 

Mitch

 

I woke to the sound of loud knocking and the disconcerting awareness that someone was in my room with me. I jerked upright in the bed and my eyes swept the walls, my body tensed for sudden action. I was alone.

The pounding on the door persisted. I shot a dreaded look at the alarm clock on the bedside table and cursed.

“Hell!”

I untangled the sheets and draped them around my waist. I felt leaden and fatigued. My eyes were red and raw.

“Come in.”

Connie came into the room and paused in the doorway. She stood with her body stiffly erect and poised as thought standing at attention on an army parade ground… and yet there was some kind of hectic turmoil in her eyes and on her face.

“Sir, you – ”

I held up a hand and shook my head in rueful apology. “I’m sorry. I overslept. The meeting downstairs last night didn’t finish until very, very late.”

“Your call to the President, sir.”

I nodded. I was bare-chested and that was probably unprofessional of me, but circumstance had made propriety impossible. Besides, Connie was a grown woman, and I’m sure she had seen as much or more nudity at any American beach.

So long as I kept the bedsheet in place…

“It’s okay,” I said calmly. “I’ll call the President as arranged. He won’t know if I’m shaved, showered, or wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. We’ll keep it as our little secret, okay?”

She smiled a little. “Of course, sir.”

Her eyes were fixed on a painting that hung above the bedhead and again I was reminded of someone standing rigidly to attention. She had a glazed cast to her eyes now, as though she was disciplining herself not to look directly at me.

“Do you still have our Russian friend’s contact details?” I asked after a curious moment.

“Mr. Volostok, sir?”

“Yes. The calling card I passed to you at the reception.”

“Yes. It’s still in my purse.”

“Good.” I stifled a yawn. “I want you to call him this morning, Connie. Don’t use your cell phone. Use one of the phones from within the embassy. That way the call will be monitored, and a record of your conversation will be made. I want you to make arrangements to meet with him tonight. I’ll leave the details to you, but it would be best if we met him somewhere in Moscow.”

“We, sir?”

“Yes. You and I.”

“I’m going with you… sir?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want a night out in Moscow…?”

“Oh, I’m sure I would enjoy that,” Connie’s enthusiasm was natural. “I just thought it was a business meeting.”

“It is,” I said. “But there’s no reason we can’t relax a little for a few hours while we have our discussion.”

Connie’s smile spread a little further across her face. She loosened the stiffness of her stance.

“And speaking of relaxing,” I went on, feeling fully awake now, “you can have today off. I have nothing scheduled until the debriefing with the negotiating team this afternoon, and the Ambassador mentioned last night that several of the embassy’s staff and families were heading into the city to do some shopping. I thought you might like to join them.”

“A… a day off work?” Connie frowned a little.

“Yes,” I said, smiling for a moment and then becoming serious again. “Because when we meet with Volostok this evening, you’ll need to be on your guard at all times. Don’t let the informality of the setting fool you, Connie. The Russian is a hard man, and I’m not entirely sure whether he’s a friend or foe.”