by Edie Bingham
Cat felt her jaw drop; whatever she’d expected from him, this wasn’t it. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘I said Belle was special. This is how: she carries the dead as well as the living. And certain people, under the right conditions, can channel them. You see what they saw, feel what they felt. As you did just now. And as you did, during the séance.’
Cat’s face tightened. ‘Nothing happened to me.’
‘Oh, so you weren’t at the séance table, bent forwards, talking to someone named Mickey?’
The memories – no, dreams – about Valentina came back to her, as vivid as her own thoughts, but Cat pushed them aside, glaring at him. ‘Besame el culo’ She rose to unsteady feet, pushing down the arousal that had grown within her, and stormed away, nearly falling at the top of the spiral staircase. It was insane, the idea of possession, of being other people.
She stopped, remembering Richard Newholme’s reaction during the séance. Who did he think Cat was?
‘My Cher.’
The old man was sitting alone in the downstairs, nursing a brandy. ‘She died in an accident onboard this train, years ago. The way you spoke at the table . . . reminded me of her.’
Cat sat opposite him, studying, trying to remain sympathetic. ‘Did Jack Wheeler tell you that her spirit was onboard?’ She frowned; if Wheeler had tricked this poor old man into paying to ride this train based on that notion, she’d personally hand him his cojones for breakfast.
Newholme’s gaze dropped to the table, as if distracted by the swirled patterns in the dark polished wood. ‘He didn’t have to. I felt her, heard her, when I first boarded, a year ago, while supplying Wheeler with authentic train memorabilia. I’ve come back as often as I could. You’re young. You don’t know what it’s like to miss someone for longer than most people around you have been alive.’ Then he added with a self-deprecating smile, ‘And yes, I have been tested for dementia. I remain sadly rational, in an utterly irrational world.’
She couldn’t help but smile back sympathetically. ‘I know the feeling.’
‘Hey, JLo!’
Cat glanced behind her, grunted at the approach of Donnie Kolchak. ‘What do you want, idiota?’
The man marched in like he owned the place. ‘I want to know where your boyfriend gets off stealing my woman!’
‘Your . . . woman?’ Then she made the connection, though she found herself strangely disquieted at the thought of Nathan with Faye, even though she had ordered him to see her. ‘You mean Faye? Muy malo, cabrón. Why are you bothering me?’
Donnie seemed to work up a swagger as he approached. ‘Well, I’m thinking that, well, if your man steals from me, then I get –’
Cat burst out laughing before he finished. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding! You expect me to put out because you’re not man enough to stand up to my partner? Veta al Infierno.’
Donnie tensed with anger. ‘Don’t cross me, bitch. You don’t know who’s behind me.’
‘Watch how you address this lady,’ Newholme suddenly warned. Around them, people had begun quickly and quietly shifting away.
Donnie responded with a smirk. ‘You should mind your own business, old man, or you’ll be going back to the home in a coffin.’
Newholme rose to his feet more quickly than anyone had expected. ‘You wanna give it a try, punk?’
But Cat stood as well, standing between them and glaring at Donnie. ‘You can stick your wounded pride up your cuckolded ass, and take a flying fuck while you’re doing it. Just stay the hell out of my way.’
It wasn’t a prime example of defusing a hostile situation as per training, but she had no patience now. Nevertheless, she made a deliberately wide circle around him as she tried to depart the carriage.
Until he suddenly made a move to grab her forearm.
Two seconds later, he was on the floor, crying out as Cat twisted his arm behind him and placed her full weight onto his lower back. She ignored his cries and curses of pain and protest.
She heard someone approaching from behind, and drew back her free hand to defend herself.
It was Wheeler, looking anxious, confused and angry. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He grabbed her first,’ Newholme explained before Cat could.
Wheeler looked to him, then back to Cat. ‘Let him go.’ When she didn’t move, he added, ‘Please.’
Finally, she complied, her heart racing despite her attempt at a cool demeanour, and stepped back, ready to take him down again.
But when Donnie helped himself up, he avoided looking over at her, clutching his arm and making sounds of self-pity, as Wheeler turned on him, his face red. ‘Mr Kolchak, you boarded this train with the understanding that you were bound by the rules of decorum. I will not tolerate physical assaults. Is that clear?’
Donnie was dusting himself off, still avoiding looking at Cat to focus on the host. ‘When Leo hears about this, you’re gonna wake up wishing you were dead.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. As for your uncle, I will inform him of your disreputable behaviour.’
Donnie sneered. ‘Like the word of a cheap lowlife redneck hustler is gonna matter to him.’
Wheeler now looked as angry as Cat had ever seen in the normally genial man, even as he recollected his composure. ‘Why don’t you repair to the games carriage? There’s an amateur lap-dancing contest ongoing, and they could use some judges.’
Donnie sneered again, but grunted and departed, pushing past Wheeler for no good reason. Wheeler said and did nothing, until he turned to Cat. ‘I must apologise for that unprecedented incident.’ He glanced at Newholme. ‘Apologies to you both.’
Newholme just shrugged, retrieved the chair he had kicked away and sat down again, nursing his brandy. Cat absently rubbed at her knuckles, having grazed them when she’d brought Donnie to the floor.
Wheeler nodded at her hand. ‘Let me see to that.’
The kitchen was unoccupied, closed up for the night. The spotless counters smelt of disinfectant, the stainless steel doors on the freezers and refrigerators gleamed, and the huge pots and pans hanging together on the rack over the sink rocked slightly with the rhythm of the train, occasionally clanging against each other.
Wheeler walked around the stand-alone stove, then returned from the refrigerator with a dark, unmarked bottle in one hand and a bag of frozen peas in the other. He handed the latter to Cat. ‘Try this.’
Cat accepted it and pressed it against her knuckles. ‘Your bedside manner could use some improvement.’
‘Care to help me with that?’ he teased, some of the man’s good humour returning to him. He set the bottle down on the chopping board beside her, then went fishing for some glasses. ‘After that unpleasant encounter, I think we could both use some special libation.’
Cat reached out and lifted the bottle, noting the Japanese script, recognising the word sake and the high alcohol proof. ‘What, no moonshine brewed in a tin tub?’
‘Left at home, with all the other hillbilly stereotypes.’ He started up one of the stove hobs, selecting a small pot. ‘It’s Shinkansen sake, a taste for which I acquired while I was stationed at the army base in Sagamihara. Named after their bullet train, and goes through you just as quickly when it’s served hot and straight. And as it has no sugars or impurities, you don’t get hangovers.’ He smiled. ‘Well, hardly any.’
Cat grunted, believing she could handle a shot or two of it – and if it helped loosen Wheeler’s tongue a little, then so much the better. ‘Hoping to take advantage of me, Jack?’
He watched the contents of the pot heat up, but glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Maybe you’re hoping to do the same.’
‘I don’t think it’d take much to get the advantage of you.’
‘No?’ He switched off the gas and poured the liquid into two waiting glasses. ‘Of course, if you’ve had enough for the night, I might be able to make you some hot cocoa, or whatever it is that boring old accountants like to take to bed.�
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‘Besame el culo’ She took the glass from him, raised it in salute and downed her shot in one. She’d recognised the puerile challenge for what it was, but she’d be damned if she’d . . .
It struck her like a hammer as it hit her stomach. Jesus!
He grinned. ‘Shall I kiss your ass now?’
Wheeler stretched out the subsequent rounds over the following hour. Cat was perched up on the counter now and gripped the edge as though ready to fall off it at any moment, as if the train ride was bumpier than it really was. Her face felt flushed and her vision went in and out of focus on her drinking partner. ‘Twins, huh? Horndog. How many times did you have them?’
‘No, you’ve had your Truth.’ Wheeler was leaning against the stove, avoiding banging his head on the overhead exhaust vent again. ‘My turn now. Where’d you learn martial arts?’
‘Easy: paid for by my employers. Miami can be a dangerous place for accountants. You suck at this game.’
‘Oh, I’m learning everything I need to know.’
‘My turn. What the hell’s the business with Kolchak? What’s a nice guy like you mixing with the Mob?’ She smiled teasingly, proud of how well she was coping with the alcohol in her system and, despite herself, excited by his reaction to her. ‘Well?’
‘When I found Belle, I had only three hundred dollars to my name. I needed money to get her and the carriages fixed up and furnished, not to mention the various licences, staff hire, etc. The banks were less than charitable. Mr Kolchak’s uncle helped out.’
‘Sounds dangerous.’
‘Not really; Leo’s a businessman. I make my payments on time, he treats some of his wise guys to free weekends.’
‘So you’re not a captive business, then? You don’t launder money?’
He smiled back. ‘My turn again. Have you experienced any other hotspots onboard?’
Mention of the hotspots again made her frown. She pushed her feelings down and shook her head, immediately regretting it. ‘Sorry, not answering that one.’
Wheeler’s smile lifted the corners of his beard. ‘Fine, then, a Dare: a kiss.’
Cat felt her face on fire, with a similar heat between her legs. Despite her attempts to remain casual, in control, she could feel her breathing grow heavier. She could handle this easily. ‘That’s it? All you want?’
‘For now.’
She smiled, motioning him to her with her finger. ‘Right, let’s get it over with.’
Wheeler set aside his glass and approached her. She swallowed, fought and failed to control her pulse as he reached up, gently touched her face, placing the palm flat against her hot cheek. His other hand cupped her other cheek, his eyes staring into hers.
Cat felt her head spinning despite his touch. ‘Well? Aren’t you gonna go ahead?’
‘One doesn’t just jump into these things,’ he replied softly. ‘It’s the journey, not the destination.’ The thumb of one hand swivelled out, brushing against her full lips. She parted them slightly, feeling the moistness and breath escape. Her pussy called to her, and she gripped his forearms for support.
He pushed his thumb in slightly, barely penetrating Cat’s mouth, as she let the tip of her tongue brush against the tip of the digit. It was insane, an insane desire that she had to keep under control.
Seconds later, her thoughts were lost as he pulled her in, found her mouth with his lips and kissed her, hard and hot and with an unleashed hunger. Cat responded, moaning into his mouth . . .
. . . as Mickey slipped his tongue into her, then making him moan in return as Val slid her tongue over his, mixing their saliva. Sweet God, this was heavenly!
Val pulled back, perched on the stool, her feet resting on the first rung, her thighs parted and her hands resting between them. She watched him unwrap the cellophane from the tray he’d retrieved from the icebox. ‘How’d you manage this?’
‘You asked for a late-night dessert, I deliver. I can be persuasive.’ He set a tray on the counter beside her: the feast of the world before her eyes, selections of a dozen chocolate desserts from tonight’s meal. ‘Nothing’s too good for my new wife.’
Wife. Val had struggled enough to come to terms with that, to meet with Mickey’s request to be at least outwardly happy, though to his credit he acknowledged how difficult it was for her.
Now Val’s mouth was shamelessly watering in classic Pavlovian style at the desserts. ‘Where do we start?’
He sectioned a gooey piece of pudding with a fork and lifted it up invitingly towards her mouth. ‘We start with you opening your mouth.’
She did. And it was scrumptious, the rush through her body as she tasted and swallowed like a leap from a cliff. She crooned to herself, licking her lips, realising that her situation could have been far less palatable with any other man than Mickey, who proved devoted and at times even gentle. It didn’t take away her guilt, especially when she thought of Enrique, who had stopped writing and calling following a terrible longdistance argument she’d had with him when she broke the news of her marriage.
But Mickey, and the life he led, was at least distracting. ‘Feed me some more.’
Mickey laughed, then continued with another sample, and then another, each taste satisfying her, and yet leaving her wanting more.
At some point he’d moved behind her – she could smell his cologne, feel the hairs on her neck rise at his proximity – and he reached around to continue feeding her, his other hand warm on her shoulder. There was a hard, tight knot in her stomach.
He started licking and nibbling on her ear, and she could feel his cock, pressing into her lower back. A wave of heat washed over her and she felt faint. She gripped the stool until she thought her nails would pierce the seat, her inner protests aborted.
Mickey set aside the fork now, and let the freed hand reach around and knead her left breast through her tight black silk blouse, making her gasp and shudder, even as his right hand, promising more, snaked down boldly beneath the waistbands of her slacks and panties. Still silent, he cupped her pubic mound, hot, wet and puffy, gently squeezing, feeling her curls press back.
Val gasped aloud and shivered in place, pressing her head against his as his middle finger extended, tracing the groove of her outer lips down, then back again, lubricating with her dew.
His finger pierced her, diving and withdrawing, his thumb massaged her stiffened clitoris with a circular motion which drove her mad with pleasure. She drank in her own strong musk from between her legs, letting the pressure build further and further, as Mickey drew her to the inevitable, drew her . . .
And took her there, her pussy clamping onto Mickey’s fingers, refusing release – how lovely! Waves of dizzying heat ran through her like lightning, and she clutched her face, as if fighting to tame her breathing, her fingertips gathering sweat from her brow. She leant back onto the counter . . .
. . . Cat leant back onto the counter, staring up as she felt the mouth travel higher and higher between her parted legs; her clit throbbed as it reached her upper thighs. Come on, come on, Cat silently urged, even as a part of her acknowledged what had gone on in the here and now, how their game had progressed to this, with her panties on the floor and her shirt opened to reveal her full breasts inside her frilly black bra.
This was a dream, she decided, as the bearded face gently nibbled away, teasingly, tantalisingly close to Cat’s aching pussy, knowing what Cat was waiting for. Cat pushed her pussy up against the face. Hurry, she urged, before she returned to her senses. She was so close, so close.
Wheeler parted Cat’s thighs further, dropping a brief kiss on her bush, before trailing his tongue along her clitoris. Cat sighed with immense satisfaction. Dios! Wheeler’s tongue continued its long, teasing course, painting the outline of Cat’s open, throbbing sex.
Cat was very aware of the heat radiating from her pussy onto his face. She imagined the taste of herself on Wheeler’s lips, and felt giddy from the sheer pleasure. The world beyond Wheeler’s tongue and her own sen
sations seemed both a distant, ignorable thing, yet also acutely perceptible, her senses charged.
Then suddenly Wheeler’s tongue teased no longer, entering Cat’s slippery, receptive sex, the penetration making Cat bite her lip to keep from crying out. Wheeler’s nose nuzzled at Cat’s clitoris, tormenting it simultaneously.
Cat’s mouth had dried, and her breathing grew ragged, staccato through her nostrils, punctuated with muffled gasps, as Wheeler’s tongue expertly moved in time to the throbs its ministrations produced. On and on, unrelenting, Cat’s buttocks rising from the hard countertop, rising and falling to the rhythm of the thrusting tongue. Fuck, how sweet!
The man brought her to a shuddering climax, making Cat tighten her sweaty thighs around his head, refusing release, wanting to keep him there forever.
7
‘Mr Ames?’
Nathan had returned to the berth, changed his shirt, texted Gordy and waited for Cat to follow. And waited. He shouldn’t have gone out looking for her, but he had, and searched the public portions of the train, trying not to interrupt anyone. There was no sign of her, and his concern grew, especially after finding Newholme and hearing about the incident with Donnie Kolchak.
Now he froze at the voice, heard over the raunchy blues music from the speakers above, and turned. ‘Where’s Cat?’
A flushed-looking Wheeler drew up to him, looking thoroughly embarrassed. ‘I was hoping you might wish to collect her from the kitchens. I fear that, like me, she’s somewhat in her cups.’
Nathan started to reply, but didn’t trust himself to remain civil, forcing his anger down as he followed Wheeler out of the carriage, his ire returning however as he found Cat in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with her back against one of the chrome refrigerator doors, her clothes dishevelled. She looked up with a broad, silly grin. ‘Hound! Oué tal, mi grande pajiero?’
Nathan knelt and examined her, noting the buttons done up wrong on her blouse as he opened her eyes and checked her pupils. His voice was tight as he addressed Wheeler. ‘You make a habit of getting your female passengers drunk and vulnerable?’
