by Nick Carter
Nick felt deflated. The Ghanese songs were fun, but they had nothing on Mirella. Her spell still lingered over him. It was a long time since he had felt so completely captivated by any woman, so painfully drawn to such overwhelming beauty and desirability. He wondered how he could manage to meet her — send his diplomatic compliments perhaps, and would she join him in a drink? But why had she looked at him like that? If in fact she had. He thought it over. Yes, she had been looking at him. Maybe a message via a waiter would do the trick…
* * *
But the message came to him.
"Mr. Ambassador Carter, sir?"
Nick raised his eyebrows and nodded at the waiter before him.
"Miss Mirella sends her greetings, sir, and requests your kind presence in her dressing room. She would come out herself, but she prefers not to be stared at by all the people, if you don't mind, sir."
"Delighted," said Nick. "That's very kind of her. You'll show me…?" He reached for his cane and rose.
"This way, sir."
"Nick followed the man across the room and through a swinging double door to the backstage area. It was clean and cheerful and brightly lit, and he had none of the sense of foreboding that so often came when he stepped through strange doorways into back passages.
"Here, sir." The waiter stopped and tapped at a starred door.
"Come in."
Nick entered. The waiter closed the door quietly behind him and padded away.
Mirella rose from a soft settee against the wall and stretched out an arm in graceful greeting.
"Mr. Carter? I am very honored."
Nick held her hand briefly but with warmth. "The honor is mine — and all the luck. To what do I owe it? And what do I call you?"
She smiled, and a chorus of slightly fallen angels sang. Her beauty was even more striking from so near at hand, but she was no wide-eyed innocent working her way through nursing school, nor was she the usual hard-bitten bitch of the nightclub circuit. Everything was her own, from the lovely, knowing eyes to the slightly crooked teeth, from the smooth copper skin to the firm but supple flesh, and everything about her was breathtaking beauty that knew its way around but still thought the world a fine and lovely place. A place more for wild creatures than for human beings, perhaps, but still a place for joyous living and ecstatic loving.
"You call me Mirella. Please sit down." She gestured at the settee. "Perhaps you would like a drink more satisfying than our light wine?" A small cabinet came open at her touch. Nick noticed ice cubes and glasses waiting. "I almost live here, so I like to have refreshments for my friends. Cognac? Scotch? Irish whiskey? I even have some bourbon." She smiled again. Nick liked the slightly crooked teeth and the warmth that lit her eyes.
"Scotch, please," he said. "Save the bourbon and surprise some other guest."
"There'll be no other guests tonight," she answered. "And I haven't answered your first question." She paused for a moment while she poured two sturdy shots into the glasses and added just a touch of soda. "I asked you here for two reasons. One, because Rufus asked me to look out for a tall, distinguished looking American with a cane who was doing all he could to find out what's troubling Nyanga; and two, I saw you watching me. You weren't — what is the word? yes — drooling, so I liked you. I do not often like the audience, even though the management is very strict about the clientele." She handed him a glass and sat down on the settee beside him. "To your success and health, Ambassador Carter."
She raised her glass and looked deep into his eyes. His heart skipped one tiny beat and settled down to something close to normal.
"To yours," he said warmly. They drank.
Mirella… Mirella… Mirella… Was that what they called the wind? No, not quite. But they should have. She was a sultry summer breeze, a breath of spring — no, she wasn't. She was a siren on a rock, filling his ears with the music of her voice and turning his knees to jelly, a lovely Lorelei who was all woman from her dark hair to her toes.
They talked for a while, and then they stopped. He found himself staring at her face as if it were the one face in the world he'd ever wanted to be gazing at, and she looked back at him with something in her eyes that matched the pleasant tension of his body.
When they had stared for moments she lowered her eyes and turned her head away. Nick put his glass down and rose instantly.
"Don't let me outstay my welcome," he said longingly. "I'm sure you want to rest. I'll be on my way."
"Oh, no!" She got up and lightly touched his arm. "Don't go. I was wondering — you see, my day starts late, so for me it is still early. There are friends I must see tonight, friends of the Makombes, and I thought perhaps you… might care to come with me." Her dazzlingly lovely face looked into his, and there was something pleading in it. Nothing desperate, nothing of fear; something pleasantly urgent that struck a harmonious chord with what he felt himself.
"I'd love to," he murmured happily. The back of his mind said "I wonder where the body will be buried?" and all the rest of him shivered pleasurably and said "Oh my God, what a woman, what a woman!"
He helped her into her coat. It slid on smoothly over the gauzy gown that was so much like the one she'd stripped off in filmy pieces onto the floor.
"Thank you," she said. "Do you mind if we stop off at my place for a moment? They're the sort of people who sit outdoors at night and listen to the crickets; I'd like to change into something a little warmer. It won't take long — my apartment's on the way."
"Whatever you say. But I'm afraid I don't have a car."
"Mine's outside. Perhaps you'll drive." She flashed the wonderful smile at him again and took his arm. The warmth of even that small touch spread through him like a brush fire. He longed to kiss her. But even for Carter it was a couple of minutes too soon.
Singing from the big room followed them to the street, and that was all that did. Nick slid behind the wheel of the expensive year-old car and drove according to her murmured but concise directions. The uniformed gateman at her garden-apartment house greeted them with a smile and guaranteed to take care of the car until their return.
Mirella's apartment was Cairo modern, plus piles of soft, skin rugs and huge, deep cushions that served as chairs. She latched the door behind them and Nick parked his cane to help her off with her wrap.
"Where shall I put it?"
"Just toss it on the chair — I'll be needing it again in a few minutes."
He laid it down gently and turned into the richness of her living room. Mirella touched a switch and the dim light brightened almost imperceptibly. Muted colors came to life.
"It's lovely," he said, and meant it.
"Thank you. Drinks and ice are in here…" She brushed against him very lightly as she reached for the cabinet and opened it. Sensation shivered through his veins. She touched another switch and low, blue music filled the room almost instantly, making him tingle suddenly with its tantalizing magic. At least, something was making him tingle. Perhaps it was the way she moved. Or perhaps it was the way her breasts thrust against the filmy fabric that covered them without concealing their temptations. She turned toward him and he knew that, though the music added spice, it was she who was enchanting and she who made his senses whirl, she who had the exciting beauty of a youthful, uncalculating Cleopatra.
"But you're even lovelier," he said softly, and thought his voice sounded slightly choked. "And you must hear that so often that it bores you."
"No." Her luminous eyes traced a gentle pattern over his face. "It is not something I hear often. I only see the staring, and then I run. I run into a crowd of friends, and meet only their friends, who try not to stare but talk instead about the weather, and then it is that I am bored." The slight smile on her delectable lips was yet another temptation.
Nick lowered his eyes. "I'll do my very best to stare no more, and I can say with absolute honesty that I have no desire to talk about the weather. I do want to say that you are the most beautiful and bewitching woman I have ev
er seen. And the funny thing is, you're human. And I happen to be crazy about slightly crooked teeth. Now if you don't go and change I'll start gaping at you again and you'll throw me out."
She laughed, a low and happy sound. Her hand reached over and touched him under the chin, gently raising his head so that his eyes, inevitably, looked right down into hers, and his chin was resting on the soft velvet of her fingers.
"I wouldn't think of throwing you out. You look at me in a different way, as though you also see my face. And I like it. I like it. I love to be told that I am beautiful. And human!" Her hand released his chin and dropped to his shoulder. "I think that you are beautiful, too. Is that a funny thing to say to a man? Your face is strong and your eyes… they have depth. Cruelty and laughter and determination, that is what I see in them."
"It's admiration that you're seeing now," said Nick. "Perhaps you'd better not come any closer. Admiration has a way of turning into lust."
"So it has," she murmured. "Yes, perhaps you're right. I must go and change at once." But the move she made was still toward him, and then her other arm was resting on his shoulder. "And there is such strength about your mouth," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "I wonder if that can be cruel, too." Tall though she was for a woman, she had to raise herself on her toes to do what she wanted. Her lips brushed his and lingered lightly. Then the tip of her tongue ran lightly over his lips. Her eyes were half-closed as she said, "Not cruel at all. Too firm, perhaps. Unyielding. But flesh, not stone. Is it ever any softer?"
This time his lips found hers and his arms encircled her. His kiss was light at first, a soft caress and gentle savoring, but when he felt her mouth open under his and her tongue probe his tongue, he allowed himself to yield to his own need. His kiss became passionate and searching, and his mouth fused with hers. Yet he could not get enough, nor could she, and as they held the long, molten kiss their bodies moved closer until they clung as close together as two clothed bodies can.
She bent the spell at last, but did not break it, by turning away her head and sighing deeply. Nick fingered the loose knot of her rich dark hair.
"You shouldn't have let me do that," he breathed. "You've made me want too much. I want to kiss you all over… I want to take the clothes off you myself…"
Mirella raised her lovely head. "I want it, too," she whispered. "Kiss me again, and take them off."
His kiss was less lingering and more urgent than before. Then he slid the gossamer gown down past her shoulders and caught his breath again at the marvelous beauty of her.
"Please, you too," she said softly. "Undress with me — let me help you." Her graceful fingers plucked gently at his jacket and took it from him. The luminous eyes narrowed slightly when she saw Wilhelmina resting at the waistband of Nick's trousers. "You carry a gun?"
"Standard procedure," Nick said lightly. "In case of enemy action. I'm not always in the company of friends." He expertly removed one of her filmy undergarments.
"You are safe with me," she said quietly, and he believed her.
Strange, how wonderful the simple act of undressing could be, when Man undressed Woman and Woman undressed Man.
They did it gently, courteously, exploringly, until they stood before each other like Adam and Eve before the fall. She gazed at him and gave a little sigh, drinking in the splendor of his lean, lithe body and the perfectly shaped limbs marred only by the scars of earlier encounters with the enemy.
"You are beautiful all over," she said simply. "Come. Please, not the bed. That is for sleeping." She took him by the hand and led him across the room to where the soft rugs and cushions made a thick, luxurious pile, and they lay down together like a pair of splendid savages in a cave carpeted with fleecy hides and fur.
In the near darkness of their embrace Nick caught sight of the tiny tattooed AXE symbol on his inner elbow. It glowed faintly, a permanent and graphic reminder that he was Spy, not Savage, and the most beautiful and desirable women he had known had not always been the ones deserving of his trust. And so, even when he believed in them and loved them, he held back a fragment of his trust to stand guard and keep reminding him — along with the AXE tattoo — that he was more Killmaster than lover and that a spy had few real friends.
But it was not always easy to remember. Mirella's subtle touch electrified him. He stroked her softly and touched her in all the lovely places his eyes had shared with all those others, and then he touched the secret places that others had not seen. She trembled a little, and began the pulsating movement of her provocative dance. Only now it was real, and it found a response that gave it meaning and added vitality. Their thighs came together and rotated voluptuously until Nick's senses reeled and he felt all control slipping from him. He gently disengaged their clinging bodies and changed position so that he could start again, knowing that his every muscular movement and gently stimulating touch were giving her exquisite pleasure. And she knew the art of love as well as he; she was volatile and languorous, now lazy as a cat and then agile as an acrobat; and she gave him all the ecstatic variations her womanly knowledge and her supple body had to offer.
Sparks flew between them. They came together in a dozen different ways and lit a hundred little fires until suddenly she gasped and began to jerk beside him. He rolled over on to her and attacked as he sensed she wanted to be attacked — rhythmically, with vigor, and yet with controlled subtlety. Then she moved convulsively and held him to her and would not let him go, raising her body to bring his even closer, and he felt her tightening around him until the exquisite pleasure was too much to hold back. Wild exhilaration swept them both as one, and kept them together in their intimacy for incredibly long, impassioned moments. They parted then, first to draw breath and then to kiss, and then they made more love until the glowing embers died down to a faint, relaxing glow. Sighing, they stretched out with their bodies barely touching, and were silent.
At last she said drowsily, "I really did promise I'd go out. Do you still want to come with me? Or perhaps you have had enough of me." She eyed him pleadingly in the soft light.
Nick raised himself on one elbow and looked at her with surprise.
"Mirella! How could I have had enough of you? Of course I want to come!" He drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, feeling passion stir in him again.
She returned his kiss with something like gratitude mixed with gentle urgency, and then she pulled back with a laugh.
"No, we must not start again, or people will be bound to think it strange when we arrive together so late. But — shall we shower together?"
Nick agreed enthusiastically.
They laughed and fondled each other under the warm water like children discovering each other, and when they found the children growing up too rapidly and beginning to act like very experienced adults, they turned on the cold water and cooled off.
They both dressed rapidly, in separate rooms, and when they stepped out of her apartment they looked as cool and decorous as if they'd spent the evening discussing the respective climates of Washington and West Africa… both of which are very warm in summer.
Things That Go Bump in the Night
"No, you drive this time," he said, when she suggested that he take the wheel. "I take it that it's some distance out of town?" Mirella nodded. Nick opened the driver's door for her and helped her in. "I don't know my way around; we'll make better time if you do all the work."
He walked around the car and got in next to her, hoping that whoever might try to kill him tonight would not have done anything so nasty as mine the car to blow him up together with Mirella. The thought was not purely selfish, nor was it entirely altruistic. He sincerely hoped that she did not share his danger, and at the same time he felt that her company was something of a safeguard. Death was not of great concern to him, yet he saw no reason to be unnecessarily careless of his life — and certainly not before the job was done.
She guided the car smoothly out of the long driveway and into the broad street that led to the yet b
roader avenue that would take them out of town.
"You are safe with me…" Had she meant anything by that, beyond a reassurance that the doors were locked and no killers were lurking in the closets? Probably not. But possibly her unconscious mind had formed the words that could mean his life was safe as long as he was with her — and no longer than that.
They threaded their way through the late night traffic and joined the thin stream of cars heading southeast, out of the city. Mirella drove in silence and with care until she passed beyond the city limits and turned into a subsidiary route lined with tall, drooping trees that creaked with the sound of tiny frogs and hoarse-voiced birds. She slowed down to negotiate a tricky curve and let the big car pick up speed as the road straightened into a long dark ribbon.
Nick put his arm lightly on her shoulders, and she smiled.
"You haven't even asked me where we're going," she said.
"Well, we haven't had much time for idle talk. And wherever we're going, we're going. But now that you mention it — where are we going?"
"To a place without a name," she answered lightly, "to visit some nightbirds named Baako. I told you they are friends of Julian and Rufus? Yes, I remember that I did. They have a small farm where I often go to — what shall I say? please do not laugh — unwind after I have been working. They let me come and go as I please, and it is most relaxing. Tonight, though, they are having a special party of some sort; I do not know what the occasion is, but they were most anxious for me to come."
"And they won't mind that you've brought a stranger with you?" Nick waited for her reaction in the dashboard light.
"Oh, no, I know they will be glad to meet you. Rufus said…" she stopped and sought for words.
"What did Rufus say?" Nick probed gently.
She turned a slightly embarrassed look upon him. "You understand, he mentioned you before I met you. He wanted you to meet people whom he knew would interest you, and he suggested that I take you to see the Baakos. But believe me, no matter what he said, I would have come alone tonight if I had not wanted you to be with me. And I know that you will like them."
