|
Copyright 2005 by Rod Harden All rights reserved |
||
|
In the twilit alleyway on the outskirts of Zurich a light snow fell. The young woman stared into the stranger's eyes. "You say you don't remember anything at all?"
"Nothing," said the stranger. "Not even your name?" "Well..." He rummaged through the red backpack he carried. "I had the number for a safe deposit box on me when I came to on the beach. I tracked down the box and found these..." He held out a half dozen passports from various countries. Marie looked through them. They all appeared genuine, each bearing a picture of the stranger and identifying him as Jason Hourney. "And," Jason continued, "even though I can't remember anything, I seem to know all kinds of things." "What kinds of things?" "Thing things. Like how to fight off the embassy's entire contingent of guards single-handed." Marie didn't know what to make of his tale, but his offer to pay her ten thousand dollars to drive him to Paris was tempting. She was going there anyway, had an important meeting to attend. Not to mention this Jason was... hot! "All right," she said at last, hoping the sudden wantonness she felt hadn't found its way into her voice. Hours later, as she drove along, she talked nonstop from nervousness, while he sat in the passenger's seat, silent and pensive. Now and then he'd glance her way, then turn away quickly when she noticed. What was she to make of him? After all, he'd been left to die on the beach, and the embassy guards had tried to capture him. What had she gotten herself into? "Do you ever talk?" she asked at last. "I've been babbling for hours." "Sure, I talk," he answered. "But it's hard to think of anything to say in the presence of such a beautiful woman." Blushing, she said, "Don't be ridiculous." But it was just what she needed to hear. "No, it's true," he insisted. "You leave me utterly speechless." A tiny moan, like a whimper sounded in her throat. She stared fiercely ahead and resumed her defensive rambling. He grinned at her. After they crossed into France, as they approached a partially hidden unmarked road, he said, "Turn here." Puzzled, she did as he told her. It seemed an odd request from someone in such a hurry to get to Paris, but she felt unable somehow to resist. The Hourney Identity
She drove along for about half a kilometer, when he raised hand. "This is fine. Stop here."
Pulling off the trail-like road, she said, "Fine for wh-?"
His hand was on her thigh before she had the engine turned off.
"I think you know what, Marie."
"I- But-" The look in his eyes. Piercing. She felt herself melt under its spell. She tried to turn away, but...
"I want you, Marie."
"Here? Now?"
His hands answered for him. They roamed with uncanny certainty. As though he'd known her intimately for years. He traced her breasts exactly the way she craved. He pulled her to him and found the precise spot at the nape of her neck to nibble.
Her breathing became rapid and shallow. "I- I don't know..."
"But I do," he whispered in her ear. "You are what every man dreams of, Marie."
His lips brushed against her lobe. His hands caressed her hair and possessed her hips. They seemed to be everywhere at once. His mouth found hers. She accepted his kiss and returned it with passion.
Somehow her buttons, zippers, every closure on every piece of clothing she wore became undone. She lay back on the reclined seat, legs open, inviting him, arms pulling him to her.
His erection was firm as an oak bough and beautiful as a June sunrise. How he managed to slip on the condom without lifting his hands from her, she didn't even think about. He was magic.
She gasped as he nudged her gently open and slowly filled her. Expertly, he brought her to the very brink of orgasm again and again, only to taper off and then lift her once more. She clutched him, shouting, screaming, writhing. Soon she was begging him, pleading for him to complete her. And after eons of pleasure he finally did.
Sobbing with untold ecstasy, she closed her eyes and wished the feeling could last forever. To die like this, she thought.
"Marie?"
She opened her eyes and looked for him. He was back in the passenger seat, tidying up his clothing. She could only marvel at how he had loved her with such intensity in the confines of a reclined driver's seat.
"What is it, my love?" she breathed.
"I have a confession."
Oh no, she thought. His memory's returned. He's married. He has herpes.
She nodded for him to go on.
"I never lost my memory."
"I don't understand."
"You see, I'm a highly trained CIA seductionist."
"A- A CI-"
"Yes. A tool - a weapon, if you will - of the U.S. government."
"What does all this mean?"
"It means you were only my latest assignment. By now I've delayed you from your meeting in Paris long enough. My mission is accomplished and I must be leaving."
Overhead, she heard the flup-flup-flup of an approaching helicopter.
"Don't you want my number or something?"
"I'm sorry, Marie, but no. It's a dirty job, but..." His voice trailed off as he got out of the car and climbed aboard the chopper.
Clutching her clothes against her nakedness, she watched the black helicopter take off. To herself she finished his statement for him. It's a dirty job, she thought, but, boy, they sure found the right man to do it!
The Hourney Identity |