Southern Spirits

by Edie Bingham

  It didn’t help, she felt, that she was the only woman currently assigned there. The others had all brought women along tonight, wives and girlfriends who regarded her with varying levels of coolness. She felt alone as she stood apart, her third champagne – no, fourth – in hand, summoning up the courage to leave quietly. Maybe she’d been there long enough . . .

  ‘Hey, there, Catalina!’

  She turned, encountered a smile that had more welcome than she’d expected. ‘Cat, por favor, Agent Ames.’

  Nathan Ames sauntered up to her, clad in a handsome black and tan striped shirt, the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbows and the buttons undone to the top of his chest. He wore a baby-blue paper crown and his skin had the pinkened hue of a few friendly beers downed. ‘Hound, por favor. No need to stand on ceremony, it never stood on me.’ He grinned. ‘Where’s your crown?’

  She had been attracted to him from her first day, though she saw very little of him as he had been off on more than one field assignment. He both interested and intimidated her, usually, but it wasn’t so bad now, seeing him in his cups like this. Blindly she reached out and lifted her still-bound crown. ‘It’s pink. Pink is for little girls.’ She indicated her outfit for the night: an expensive black Melissa Massie sleeveless dress with a sharp V neckline, an indulgence from her first pay cheque with the department. ‘Do I look like a little girl?’

  ‘Nope.’ He leant in closer, swayed slightly as his voice lowered. ‘You are very much a woman.’

  It was both flattering and patronising, and as she swayed too, leaning in to catch and approve of his aftershave, she accepted it more for the former than the latter. ‘And you are very drunk.’

  He pursed those full lips of his with mock indignation. ‘Darlin’, you’d be surprised what faculties I still have.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a challenge?’

  He smiled. ‘Find out.’

  And it went from there for the next couple of hours, the music and drinks consumed blurring the specifics of the conversation, like watercolours in a heatwave. Their hands touched, more than once, sometimes with the excuse of reaching out for another drink, or more snacks. Sometimes not, and then the touch would linger, his fingertips brushing along hers.

  God, she wanted him. Wanted to feel those lips on hers and those hands on her ass and hear that voice grunt obscenities. But she was certain that he wouldn’t take it that far. A moment later, when his hand moved behind her as if for a refill of his glass, reached down and squeezed one of her cheeks, she thought differently.

  She glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, before she rose up onto her toes, tottering on the points of her new high heels, and whispered, ‘Let’s find someplace quiet.’

  He grinned, and then made a show of nonchalance as he started towards the corridor, Cat waiting a respectable minute before following him.

  The corridors were dark except for around the elevators, but Nathan waited near the door for her, leaning against the wall for support. ‘Hey, thought you’d sent me out for a joke.’

  She swayed into his arms. ‘I don’t joke about some things.’

  He seemed to tower over her, even more so as he lunged towards her and kissed her passionately, full on the lips, his hands moving up to touch her hair, which she had pinned up. A few deft moves and it tumbled free, his fingers through it. He pulled back to whisper, ‘It looks much better down.’

  ‘Si.’ Then she ripped off his crown, tossed it aside. ‘And that looks much better off.’ Then, with a rush that ran through her like a wave, making her head spin, she was kissing him back as hard as he was kissing her, tongues caressing each other. The sensations shot down to her sex; this was spontaneous, rude, forbidden – and quintessentially delicious.

  But they were still too close to the main party, and she drew back, ‘Let’s . . . let’s find a quieter place, bruto.’

  They staggered into the darkness, found and entered one office but left the lights off. Cat kicked a waste bin as she ventured further inside, then yelped as Nathan slapped her on the ass, the sound sweet and deep in the room.

  She spun around in mock indignation. ‘Agent Ames, you’re no gentleman.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he slurred, moving closer, ‘I’ve wanted to find out if your ass felt as slappable as we thought.’

  Cat stepped back until she pressed against the desk. ‘“We”?’

  ‘Did I say “we”? Oops, my bad. Adcock and I had been talking about it.’ Now he seemed to focus on her again. ‘Forget what the guys say about you.’

  She smiled, relishing the notion of his lack of inhibition almost as much as the thought of getting him alone. ‘Oh? And what have they been saying about me?’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, I’m batting a thousand here. Cat, I . . . I couldn’t possibly say.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ She smiled at him, her hands dancing lightly, casually, up along her front, over her breasts, lingering along her bare skin deep in her cleavage. ‘Anyone say anything about my breasts?’

  Nathan’s breath was husky as he replied, as if mesmerised. ‘Yeah. Chaney thinks they’re your best feature. But Leewood loves your lips. Can’t stop talking about them.’

  ‘Oh.’ Outwardly she maintained an insouciance, but inwardly she thrilled to learn things that none of them would dare raise openly. ‘But . . . But no one’s ever even approached me.’

  He chuckled. ‘They wouldn’t dare. They all think you’re way out of their league.’

  She parted her legs, slightly, letting the hem of her dress rise just above her knees. ‘And what about you, Hound? Am I way out of your league, too? Maybe you shouldn’t even bother trying.’

  Now he stepped forwards, placed his hands on her hips. ‘Honey, the one thing you can know about me is that if I go to hell, it won’t be for not trying.’ And they were kissing again, this time with his hand sliding up between them, gently but insistently cupping one of her breasts through the material of her dress, his moans into her mouth confirming his delight.

  He helped set her ass on the edge of the desk, her head dipping back as she stared upwards. His lips moved down along her smooth olive skin, as he reached up and skilfully slipped one shoulder strap down. His mouth worked on the soft flesh above her lacy bra, then licked and sucking on it, biting it so softly and growling. Cat’s body shook as he slipped her breast from her bra, then licked around the sensitive nipple, and she rode the sheer sensation of pleasure she was feeling through her body. Still kissing her, Nathan moved his hands to her hips and slid them down along the soft fabric of her dress, then dipped them beneath the hem to touch her stockinged thighs.

  Cat moaned aloud, gasping, but still asked him, ‘And what part of me do you think is my best feature?’

  Almost before she realised it, he was easing her back, onto her elbows, raising and parting her legs while still supporting them, and drawing up the hem of her dress. His voice was a whiskey purr. ‘When I’ve sampled them all, I’ll tell you.’

  Cat leant back further as he disappeared under her dress, and she felt his hands, his head, moving up between her thighs. Her breath quickened as she felt his breath through her silk thong on her pussy, and her pulse skipped a beat when she felt his fingers draw aside the strip of fabric barely covering her sex.

  He murmured with mild surprise, enough to distract her into asking, ‘What’s . . . What’s wrong?’

  His head rose from under her dress, but his hands remained where they were, his fingers slipping under her thong. ‘Hampton thought you might have a Brazilian.’

  She giggled, then yelped again as his thumb found her clit, seemingly making her heart accelerate more. ‘R– Really?’

  He teased her clit, his other fingers holding aside her thong, or brushing along her pussy lips, never entering her fully, while the sounds of their breathing filled the room. Her arms spread out once or twice, knocking things over, but she didn’t care, so caught up was she in the frantic rush of body and ego.

  T
hen suddenly – ‘Puta!’ She bit her lip, wondering how loud she’d been, though inebriated enough not to care too much. The climax washed through her, and her hand reached up behind her to grasp the edge of the desk near her head. ‘Get . . . Get it in me.’

  She set her head back fully, staring upwards as she listened to him undo his trousers, unzip and lower them. She felt his hairy thighs, his hands gripping her by the hips again and sliding her closer. She felt the hot silky head of his cock, a thick staff, brush against her inner thigh, and she licked her lips, gasping again as he ripped her thong. ‘Hey!’

  ‘I’ll buy you more.’

  ‘Fucking right you will.’

  Then he guided himself into her, supporting her legs easily, and she gasped at how wet she felt as he slid in, with so little resistance.

  Nathan quickly entered a rhythm, pumping his cock into her, with an urgent hunger. Cat yelped and cursed again, in Spanish and English, her voice resounding, the sheer animal nature of what they were doing taking hold of her. Something nearby crashed as she came again.

  She couldn’t remember when he’d come, but knew he had, felt his hot seed deep inside her. She remembered her head spinning as they had detached themselves from each other and did their best to clean up. They leant together, drunk and satisfied, kissing again, before she felt Nathan fumble with something in his hand. ‘If . . . If that’s a condom, I think you’re a little late.’

  It wasn’t. He unfurled her pink paper hat, having picked it up when she hadn’t noticed, and fumbled a little as he fitted it on her head. ‘There, your crown. You’re definitely royalty.’

  She wore it proudly – for a second, before tearing it off. ‘Besame el culo!

  His apartment was in one of the higher, newer buildings in the Pebble District, overlooking the Atlantic. She arrived on time, and was pleased at his reaction to her outfit – the same black Melissa Massie she’d worn the night of the Christmas Incident, with her hair pinned up again. ‘Ah . . . oh. My. Yes. Lovely.’

  ‘Gracias. Am I allowed in then?’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled and stepped aside. To her mild surprise, the living room turned out to be tastefully decorated: a minimalist approach with muted colours and furnishings, low leather chairs and reproductions of French expressionist paintings. A small square table with white linen, polished silver and crystal ware sat near the open doors to a balcony overlooking the ocean, as classical music played in the background.

  He wore a plain black shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and charcoal trousers. ‘Not what you expected?’

  She glanced back suddenly, catching him staring at her rear. ‘I expected buffalo heads and Confederate flags.’

  ‘I’m from Texas; they weren’t part of the Confederacy. And my ex-wife got the buffalo heads in the divorce.’ He reached out and tentatively touched her arm. ‘Want to take a seat? Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

  Cat had brought the Wheeler file with her, but she set it down on a desk and sat down at the table, smirking at what was on offer. ‘Oysters?’

  He sat down and reached for a bottle of Merlot. ‘Scalloped oysters in cream sauce.’ At her expression, he asked, ‘Don’t tell me you had it for lunch?’

  ‘No, but . . . oysters? Not very subtle. I’m surprised you don’t have avocado slices and truffles, if you wanted to stuff me with aphrodisiacs.’

  He smiled. ‘Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I remember you hogging this dish when we all went out to the tapas bar for Adcock’s farewell.’ He leant in conspiratorially. ‘You know, they’re made for sharing.’

  ‘Not when I’m around.’

  Nathan poured the wine. ‘Tell me about yourself, Catalina.’ At her expression, he explained, ‘We’ll need to know about each other for our cover.’

  That made sense; much of their individual cover stories were better based on truth, to avoid slip-ups. Still . . . ‘For a start, people only call me Catalina when they’re trying to scold me or bed me. Don’t try either.’

  ‘Heaven forfend.’

  ‘Besides, I told you everything about me on the night of the Christmas Incident. How soon they forget, once they’ve had their fuck.’

  ‘Refresh my memory.’

  ‘OK. I was born in Orlando. My mother’s a soap actress and my father works in the local DA’s office, but mostly my grandfather, who missed being a fisherman in Cuba, raised me. He taught me to swear, the best thing he ever did. I graduated from Florida U, spent six years in the accounting department of Petrox Chemicals, then two more with Miami PD. From there I enrolled in the CI division of the IRS. And the rest, as they say . . .’

  ‘There must be more to you than your parents and career. Any siblings? Pets? Hobbies? Boyfriends? Girlfriends?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘No siblings. No pets. No hobbies. As for boyfriends or girlfriends . . . there’s just you now.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s our cover, but what about in real life?’

  She looked away, stared out at the ocean, darkening with the encroaching night, lit with salmon streaks. ‘There was a boyfriend. We split up a week ago.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’

  She looked back. ‘Don’t be. He was a serial fraudster who used my details. I found out about it, had a last decent fuck with him and then dumped him.’ At his expression she elaborated, ‘Hey, Cliff was good at it. Just bad at everything else.’

  He pursed his lips and nodded, ate some more food and, after another moment’s silence between them, announced dryly, ‘Thanks for asking about me. I grew up in –’

  ‘Madisonville, Texas,’ she finished. ‘You have four sisters, all older than yourself, all of whom used to pick on you mercilessly, but you feel it was worth it as you ended up learning a lot about women, although you still ended up divorced two years ago. After college, you worked with the FBI for four years before moving into Internal Revenue. People think you got the nickname “Hound” from your prowess in the bedroom, but in fact it came from your allegedly uncanny dog impressions . . .’

  ‘Whoa,’ he breathed out, looking stunned. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’

  ‘Well . . . any girlfriends? Boyfriends?’

  ‘Oh, hundreds. How the hell do you know all that about me?’

  ‘You told me the night of the Christmas Incident.’

  ‘But we were both drunk to the point of staggering!’

  ‘I never have any loss of memory. No matter how much I drink.’

  ‘See? Looks like we were destined to work together.’

  She snorted. ‘Destiny’s bullshit. Destiny, fate, kismet, Hand of God. All of it.’

  ‘That’s cold. Don’t you believe in a higher power that guides us?’

  ‘No. It’s all crap designed to abrogate us of responsibility for our actions, or for changing what can be changed.’

  He leant in, smiling teasingly. ‘But what about when two people who are made for each other seem to beat insurmountable odds and get together to live happily ever after? Surely there’s a case to be made for destiny there?’

  ‘Odds are never insurmountable where people are concerned; the Six Degrees of Separation phenomenon is a proven fact. And besides, where’s the triumph of two people meeting and not growing or developing for each other? That’s why so many relationships break up, no one wants to work at it.’

  He sat there, still looking pensive. ‘So . . . you remember everything that happened that night?’

  ‘All the gory details.’

  For a few heartbeats, there was just the music and the gentle clink of their cutlery on the plates. Then he asked, ‘Did I . . . Did I embarrass myself?’

  Cat had expected such a question. She set down her cutlery and gazed at him. ‘You were charming. You were honest. You were considerate. You were driven with lust for me. And we had a fun, drunken fuck. And except for how loud I was – and for our choosing Hausmann’s office – I don’t regret one bit of it.’

  Nathan set down his own knife and fork, r
ested his chin on his hand. ‘You seemed regretful enough the next morning, when you came to me and practically threatened me into silence about it. I understood why, you didn’t want a bad reputation.’

  ‘Well, there was that,’ she conceded. ‘But my primary concern was because you told me things about the others, things that I didn’t want them to know that I knew. It gave me an advantage. And built up my confidence.’

  ‘Well, glad I could help.’

  She smiled.

  The evening progressed through the main course and a light dessert of tiramisu. They discussed very little of the background to the case, but Cat ignored that, expecting they could talk again later, or she could leave him what she’d brought.

  After the meal, they sat on his couch, a space apart, facing each other, Cat cradling her wine glass.

  Finally, Nathan set his untouched glass aside. ‘Cat, about that boyfriend . . .’

  ‘Ex-boyfriend, Agent Ames. What about him?’

  ‘It’s Nathan, please. And I . . .’ His gaze dropped for a moment. ‘After the Christmas Incident, I kept my distance, didn’t want to remind you of what happened, or make you believe I was after you again. Now I think maybe I took it too far. And that maybe I could have been there, if you needed a friend to talk to, about anything.’

  The look in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice moved her to overcome her embarrassment about the matter. She shrugged, though her flippant attitude seemed forced, even to her. ‘Gracias. But I’m fine. If I believed in a higher power, it’d just be telling me to avoid any more complications in my life.’ She swirled the contents of her glass with her hand, watching the dark liquid whirl and eddy, surprising herself with her own candour, before looking up again. ‘And what about you? How’s your love life? Little black book onto its tenth volume?’

  He finished his drink, set the glass aside. ‘Let’s just say I’m between women. And not in the way I’d prefer. Maybe I should be avoiding any more complications in my life as well?’

  ‘It’s easier,’ she found herself concurring as she set her own glass aside and reached for the Wheeler file. ‘So, we’re agreed: don’t trust each other’s genders, just each other.’