Copyright@2015 by Celia Styles
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Resist Me
By Celia Styles
Riley Jones hadn’t expected her vacation in Paris to involve being strapped naked to a table with a handsome man standing over her with a paddle.
She had managed to save up enough money for the trip by putting a little each month into the bank. Tom, her husband, had allowed her just enough to keep the family bills under control and no more. He turned over his paycheck to her each week, but expected the finances to be handled without any problems on his end. The last thing he wanted on a business trip was to have clerk or waiter walk up to him and complain about a bill which didn’t get paid.
It was their third year of marriage in the small town of Maplewood, just outside of the St. Louis city limits. The street car would take him every day to his job downtown at the law firm where he put in his time. They had met while he was finishing law school at Washington University. His family was from the east and hers from a modest working class neighborhood in Carbondale, Illinois. At the time they could barely afford a meal at the Steak And Shake or a movie at the local cinema.
Tom went to work for the law firm and she decided to stay home working in her studio. They found a small house to buy in Maplewood, where the street car stopped. There were plenty of art shows she could enter, but he had to put in a lot of time at the firm if he ever expected to make a decent amount of money. They didn’t even have a car for the first year, an added expense not needed with the street car nearby.
Two years into the marriage, the relations between them were going sour. Tom spent all his time, even weekends, in the city of St. Louis and Riley never got to see her husband. She would spend hours in her studio, but hadn’t managed to sell many of her ceramics. Worst of all, no children were on the horizon.
With the lack of time they had together, it wasn’t a surprise. The few married couples they knew were all having babies, but not them. It was one lonely evening while watching a movie in a local theater about a bunch of hairy hippies in a place called Woodstock that Riley conceived of a plan: she would buy tickets for a vacation in Paris, France. Was it not the city of love? They would be able to tell their friends about the week in Paris where none of them had traveled!
She talked it over with Tom and he thought it was a wonderful idea. They had to plan it out far in advance; there were all kinds of things which needed to be purchased and arranged. Riley had found an ad in a magazine Tom brought home from a bookstore one day which made the trip possible. The special travel agency wasn’t cheap, but it could guarantee them an experience. And they wanted an experience in the worst way possible.
Riley was disappointed when she learned Tom wouldn’t be able to fly out with her at the same time. No problem, she would find the hotel and be ready. What could go wrong? She was an independent woman, it was already 1971 and a new decade was upon them. Peace, harmony, and understanding, right?
She took a cab, the first time ever in her life, to the airport in north St. Louis and waited for her international jet to arrive. A few of the attendants were surprised she was traveling alone, but she let them know her husband would be joining her when she reached Paris. It would be an expensive trip, but worth it in the long run. The jet she was taking even featured in-flight movies, how groovy was that? She wasn’t the least afraid of those skyjackers; her flight was heading to Europe and the city of lights.
Her flight transferred in New York City and continued straight through to Le Bourget in Paris. She was thrilled to be landing in the same airport where Charles Lindbergh had landed on his transatlantic flight. She was ushered through customs and even managed to use her high school French to find directions to the hotel.
Paris was just as beautiful as she’d ever read. The trees were blooming since it was spring and book sellers were lined along the Riverside Bouqiniste. She was tempted to have the driver stop and so she could browse, but decided to get to the hotel right away.
It was at the hotel where she received the telegram from Tom. A bellhop appeared at her door as she was unpacking and gave her the sealed message. She tipped him and he quickly left. Riley opened the envelope and read it. Tom was not going to be able to make the trip. His company had been hit with a major litigation case and he would be forced to stay in St. Louis. He begged his wife’s forgiveness, but there was nothing he could do. Perhaps they could get some money back on his ticket? He told her to enjoy the week in the capitol of France. Perhaps later they could try making a baby. They were still in their twenties and had plenty of time.
Riley sat on the edge of the bed. They were supposed to share it that weekend. She kicked off her shoes. Riley was supposed to enjoy this week by herself? At least she had expected the telegram. Disappointment was part of her life and she done what she could do to eliminate it.
She decided to take a walk down the street. Riley had no clue as to what was going to happen next. Had she known, the trip would have taken a very different turn.
Riley walked down a small street from the hotel, making sure she could keep it in sight. Her French was adequate, but she worried about asking directions. Parisians were notorious for being quick to dismiss foreigners who didn’t understand their city. She had brought a map along, but lacked a compass. The sun was behind the monuments she wanted to look at and there were some museums nearby she had wanted to see. He neighbors in Maplewood made her promise to bring back pictures of the city, but she’d left her instamatic camera at the hotel room.
She decided to cut through a small alley where the buildings interconnected. According to the map, it would save her time in reaching an art gallery. Riley had remembered to bring along her jacket for cover in case the weather turned cold. Her L’eggs stockings were helping her legs to stay warm, but she couldn’t count on them entirely.
Halfway down the alley, Riley encountered two men blocking her way. Frightened, she turned and started to go back the way she’d come. As she turned around, she found that way blocked by three more men. She was trapped; there was no door in the alley, merely piles of trash. What was she going to do and what did they want?
The five men had her surrounded in seconds. They wore long coats and slouched hats, not the sort of styles one expects to find in the Paris spring.
“What do you want?” she demanded. “I don’t have a lot of money on me, but you are welcome to all I have.”
One man behind spoke in a slurred Slavic language which she didn’t understand.
“She pretends not to understand you,” a man she assumed to be their leader said. “I guess she wants us to believe we have a scared tourist from America.”
“It won’t work this time, my dear,” he continued. “There is no escape and no one to help you.”
His hand began moving out of his coat pocket with something metal when a cough was heard down the alley. All of them turned to see a newcomer standing at one end of the alley causally lighting a cigarette.
“You have the wrong person,
muchak,” he said from his vantage point. “When is Moscow Central going to hire some better operatives?”
The newcomer was easily six foot tall and dressed in an immaculate Botany 500 suit. He appeared to be Caucasian, but it was hard to tell in the alley’s faint light. His wore a bow tie and had withdrawn the cigarette from a gold plated case. He put the case back into his suit pocket and continued to look at the group before him. The cigarette lighter followed into another pocket.
“Dare,” the man who was the ringleader of the group of assailants said. “Alan Dare. I should have expected they would send you.”
“I had hoped for someone more talented on your side, Melovich,” he responded. “You should know that my afternoon was rather dull until I saw you duck into this alley. Now why don’t you let the nice lady go? You have the wrong woman and your boss will be very angry with you if he finds out what happened.”
One of the other men said something to the man called Melovich in the Slavic language. He turned to him and responded, seeming to agree.
“Taking you down will get us all a bonus,” Melovich told the man known as Dare. “I might even be able to retire on a decent pension after today.”
She watched Dare walk up to them slowly. On instinct the first two thugs went after him. In three moves they were on the ground. The next two went at him with drawn knives. Without breaking a sweat he sent the knives flying from their hands. They joined their comrades howling on the alley ground, squirming in the trash.
Now Alan Dare and his opponent was fact-to-face. Riley hadn’t moved one bit, not expecting any of this to happen. They glared in each other’s eyes, beams of pure hatred going back and forth. The two men were motionless, neither making a move the other could use as an advantage.
“This time, Dare,” Melovich snarled at his opponent. “This time, but we will meet another time. And I will be ready.”
“I’ve heard you say it before,” Dare laughed at him. “It always ends the same way. Haven’t you read the book?”
The man who was still upright slowly backed down the alley, the way he had come. He never once took his eyes from them, being careful to step over his fallen men, whom he helped to get up. When the group was standing, they all backed out and were soon gone.
“Are you okay?” Dare asked Riley. “They almost had you.”
“I’m fine,” she responded. “Who were those men?”
“Very bad people,” he said, still holding the smoldering cigarette. “They mistook you for someone else. Let me call you a cab.”
He walked out of the other end of the alley with her and hailed a cab. As it was pulling up to the curb he held opened his golden cigarette case and offered her one.
“I don’t smoke,” she told him.
“I quit last month,” he responded, tossing away the one he’d lit. “I just keep it around for friends who still do. Old habits die hard.”
Dare opened the door for her when the car pulled up and joined her in the back. Riley started to tell him the name of the hotel, but Dare stopped her.
“We’re going someplace else. They still think you are Lady Keaton and might come after you again.”
“What are you talking about?” Riley asked, confused. “Who is Lady Keaton? Who were those men? Who are you with?”
“Do you always ask questions in threes?”
“Only when I’m scared. I nearly get attacked by some thugs on the first day of my vacation and you show up to save me. What the hell is going on?”
“You have attracted the right sort of attention from the wrong people. I don’t know a better way to put it.”
“You still haven’t told me anything.”
“There is only so much I am allowed to tell.”
“Allowed to tell by whom?”
“Allowed by the same government you voted in during the last election. I’m with a branch of the Department Of Defense. Those men mistook you for a woman we hire out for special jobs, Lady Keaton. She’s not even in Paris right now, but they saw you, your descriptions matched and those idiots almost grabbed you.”
Riley stared at the floor. She was wearing her good shoes today, was she going to need them?
“So you are telling me my life might be in danger?”
“Not if you listen and come with me. I need to get you to someplace safe. Those men will eventually report back to their boss who won’t be happy to hear they let their target slip by. In their situation, I might make something up. But they don’t strike me as the smartest operatives the Moscow branch has sent out here.”
“What about my hotel room?”
“Did you pay in advance?”
“Yes I did.”
“Good. The hotel management won’t care if no one shows up at the room, less work for the staff to do. You can come with me; I have an apartment overlooking the river. You’re free to stay at my place until I can figure out what to do with you.”
Riley watched the buildings spin by as the cab continued on its course. Her vacation was now over, Tom or not. She had other things to think about. How well did he play his part?
“Alright. I’ll come with you. But I want to know exactly who you work for.”
“Mate.”
“Yes, I am married, but he wasn’t able to make the trip,” Riley said. She put her face in her hands and began to cry. “Oh Tom, why didn’t you come with me?”
“No,” Dare said, “Mate is who I work for; it’s the name of the DOD branch few people know about. Mate. Mutual Attack and Tactical Expertise. M.A.T.E..”
“And those men who tried to abduct me, they were with the KGB?” Riley asked.
“No, another branch out of Moscow. I don’t know who they report to, but they are making my life miserable. They recruit idiots who can’t even read the script. They are known as Shipilka, it’s Russian for “Stud”. I don’t know what the word represents or means. Other than the obvious interpretation.”
The cab let them off at a beautiful apartment in the better part of the city. Dare offered his arm to her and she took it as they entered the building. He tipped the doorman and went directly to the elevator. They were let out on the topmost floor and Dare took her to his apartment, stopping to unlock the door with a key he’d hidden in the ceiling.
His apartment was exquisitely furnished and didn’t look like anyone lived in it at all. The walls had erotic paintings and the latest stereo sat by a large television in front of a couch. The furniture all matched and looked top rate. A kitchenette was off to one side, separated from the living area by a full service bar. A shower and bath unit completed the suite.
“You must have a big expense account,” she observed as Dare took her jacket and hung it in the closet.
“I make out okay. It’s a small compensation to pay for putting my life on the line every day for our country. Each day can be my last. Might as well enjoy what I have.”
She went over to the album rack and thumbed through his collection while he poured a drink. The albums were all jazz themes and from labels she’d never heard of. Some, like ones from the ESP label, featured acts she knew about, just had never had the opportunity to hear.
“What do you like? I’m making myself a Black Russian, it seems appropriate.”
“I’ll take a sloe gin fizz.”
He looked at the bottles on the rack. “I might have enough to make one. Give me a second.”
Dare rapidly mixed the drink and brought it to her. Riley was still standing, looking at the paintings on the wall.
“You have some nice tastes. I didn’t know you could hold these positions long enough for an artist to paint.”
“I don’t know where he finds his models,” Dare told her handing Riley the drink. “They seem to have some gymnastic training.”
It was getting late and the sun was fading over the river. Riley walked to the window which overlooked it. The window was floor length. It could slide open to a balcony. She noted the expensive patio furniture on the balcony. Riley doubted he gri
lled as they did back in Maplewood.
Alan excused himself and said he had to make a private call in the bedroom. His control officer would want to know about today and what happened. He would also ask them what to do about her. Then he vanished into his bedroom and told Riley to make herself at home in his apartment.
Riley continued to check it out, without trying to be too prying. She had no idea where they kept the real weapons and didn’t want to know.
He emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later.
“I talked with control,” he told her, “they are aware of your situation. They told me to keep you here until they can figure out what to do next.”
“But what about my husband in the US?” Riley asked. “He was expecting a telegram from me tomorrow.”
“Let us deal with it. We have people all over the world who can cover. Someone will put together a ‘wish you were here’ message and send it to him.”
He looked at her cheap tourist dress and hose.
“You are free to use the shower. There is a robe in there which should fit you. Drop your clothes in the basket, I’ll have someone clean them tomorrow. Your luggage we can have sent over from the hotel, no one will ask questions. American tourists in Paris are always ending up in places they hadn’t thought about.”
Riley didn’t argue. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but the couch didn’t look too inviting. Maybe he had some kind of fold out bed. He was a fit and good looking man; she doubted he had to sleep alone if he didn’t want to.
The shower had everything she needed. Obviously, a woman used it from time to time; she would ask Dare about it later. He must have some stories; ones he could tell. As the water rinsed the grime of travel off her body, she thought even more about him. It was time to make a little plan herself. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass.
Riley emerged from the shower in a long white robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She had dumped her travel clothes in the basket as instructed.
Alan Dare had changed too. He was wearing a smoking jacket and had set the table for both of them; the food was already on the table. He had even remembered to pour the right kind of wine to go with it.
ROMANCE: Resist Me (Taboo Romance, BDSM, New Adult, Pregnancy, Contemporary, Short Story) Page 1
