Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (12 page)

“That's the way it is.”

The Security chief walked to the door, then turned to Redwine. “I hope to hell you're a troubleshooter or a test.”

I wish to hell I was
, agreed Redwine silently, as he watched Rasputin walk out into the corridor and ordered the door to slide shut behind him.

Redwine watched the holograph as it flickered and took form.

“I was expecting you a couple of hours ago,” he said. “Is anything the matter?”

The image of the Leather Madonna looked out at him.

“Yes,” she replied. “I'm afraid I won't be able to make it tonight.”

He frowned. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “I mean, it's not as if I've got any pressing business that's keeping me here in the suite.”

'Yes, there
is
something you can do to help,” said the Madonna. “But I don't think you're going to want to.”

“Oh?”

She stared directly at him. “Tell me who you are.”

He was silent for a moment. “What do you mean by that?”

“Damn it, Harry!” she said, and he couldn't tell if she was mad or unhappy. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn't lie,” he answered her. “I'm Harry Redwine, I'm an accountant for the Entertainment and Leisure Division of the Vainmill Syndicate, and I'm here on business.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she persisted.

“Why did you sneak into the computer and change your dossier?”

“I take it you've been talking to Rasputin.”

“I have.”

“Did you find anything harmful in my original dossier?” he asked.

“That's not the point. Why did you change it?”

“That's precisely the point,” said Redwine.

“There's nothing damaging there. I'm not a murderer or a rapist or a fugitive.”

“There's
something
there or you wouldn't have changed it,” said the Madonna adamantly.

“I just didn't see why my entire personnel profile should be available to anyone on the
Velvet Comet
, so I deleted some of the details and left in the pertinent facts: who I am, who I work for, what I do.”

“How were you able to get into the computer in the first place?” she demanded. “Rasputin says you made the changes the day you arrived.”

He paused to consider his answer just a little too long before uttering it. “All the Syndicate's top accountants have pretty high security clearances.”

“Then why did you pretend you couldn't access the material without my permission?”

“I had every intention of going through normal channels unless they were closed to me—and the day I got here, everyone gave me a runaround.”

“You're lying again, Harry,” she said. “You never asked me for permission to change, or even see, your dossier.”

“ I was curious,” he answered. “And then, when I saw all the data you had on me, even my salary, I was upset. So I changed it. Maybe I shouldn't have.” He paused. “Look. You're the last person in the universe that I want mad at me. Can't you come on down here so we can discuss it?”

“No.”

“But this is silly! I want to be with you, and I know you want to be with me.”

“It's my own fault,” she said. “The first thing a prostitute learns is that you can't get involved with a patron. I broke my own rule. I'm actually more upset with myself than with you, Harry.”

“Well,
I've
got no such rule,” he lied. “Can't we get together and discuss it?”

The Madonna shook her head. “I thought you were different.” She sighed. “You put on a good act, Harry.”

“I care for you.
That's
not an act.”

“Then that's
your
misfortune,” she replied.

“What if I came up to your office?” he asked. “I mean, if you feel talking to me in my own suite puts you at a disadvantage...”

“If you come, the door will be locked.”

“That won't stop me.”

“Are you threatening to break it down, or have you some other talent you haven't told me about yet?” she asked caustically, and he realized that he had blundered again.

“Look,” he said at last. “You're the first person I've met in more years than I care to think about that I actually care for. Whether I behaved badly or not, you have your hands on the original dossier and there's nothing damaging or unsavory in it. I've offended you, and I'm deeply sorry—but how the hell can I make amends if you won't see me?”

“You can make amends by telling me who you are and why you're really here—and I don't mean your name and your damned accountant's job.”

“But that's who and what I am,” he said doggedly.

“Then we've nothing further to say, have we?” replied the Madonna, reaching for the disconnect square on her console.

“Wait!” he said with such urgency that she froze.

“You won't come here. Okay. And you won't let me come to your office. Okay. But can't we at least talk this out via our holographs?”

“I have nothing to talk out, Harry. When
you're
ready to tell the truth, call me back. In the meantime, who would you like me to send down to your room tonight? I understand that you met Flaming Lorelei this afternoon and had a drink with her; I can see if she's willing to stop by.”

“I don't
want
anyone else!” he said desperately. “I just want you.”

“Good night, Harry,” she said, and broke the connection.

So he spent that night alone, and the next night as well. The Leather Madonna would answer his intership calls just long enough to ascertain his identity and then break the connection. He haunted the restaurants and the casino, but she didn't come out of her office.

He tried to tell himself that he was acting like a lovesick schoolboy, or at least a very guilty one, rather than a romantic and dashing saboteur; that the last thing he needed to do was form an attachment to the woman he was out to break; that the Madonna was neither the loveliest nor, very likely, the most skilled woman aboard the
Comet
and that if he
had
to establish some kind of relationship with one of the prostitutes, any of the others would be preferable under the current circumstances. He would listen very carefully and thoughtfully to his own advice; then a memory of the Madonna, talking, laughing, or just lying in his arms, would appear somewhere in the cinema of his mind, and the advice was forgotten.

By the time he finished work the third day he was feeling so isolated and unhappy that he didn't even stop by the public rooms hoping for a glimpse of her, but instead went straight to his suite, determined to find some way to utilize his skeleton card so that she couldn't break the computer connection. He stalked into the bathroom, spent half an hour in the sauna trying to relax so that his loneliness and misery weren't quite so broadly displayed on his face, and finally showered, dressed, and returned to the parlor, still not quite sure what to do with the skeleton card but determined to make some attempt, however futile, to speak to the Madonna once again.

“Hi, Harry,” said a soft, feminine voice coming from the bedroom. “I was starting to wonder if you were
ever
coming out of that damned steambath.”

Startled, he walked to the doorway and saw Suma, wearing the sheerest and flimsiest of negligees, lying on his bed.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

She flashed him a sultry smile. “Charity work. The Madonna thinks you're feeling a little lonely, so here I am to the rescue.”

“Well, you can just go right back!” he snapped.

Suma looked puzzled, and a little irritated.

“Nobody's ever turned me down before, Harry.”

“View it as a learning experience.”

“What makes
her
so special?” demanded Suma.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” replied Redwine.

“Then you're the only person aboard the
Comet
who doesn't!” she shot back. “Everybody knows you were sleeping with the Madonna, and everyone's seen you moping around after she threw you out.”

“She didn't throw me out,” lied Redwine, wondering just how foolish he had appeared during the past few days.

“Why did you even want to get
in
?” asked Suma, honestly curious.

“You wouldn't understand.”

“I certainly don't.” She stood up and turned slowly around. “Is she as pretty as this?” she asked, striking a pose that accentuated the fullness of her breasts and the strikingly smooth curve of her hips.

“No,” he said honestly. “She isn't.”

“Well, then?” she asked.

“That's just not very important.”

“Maybe you think she's better in bed?”

Redwine shrugged. “I hadn't thought about it.”

“Well, she's not,” said Suma defensively. “There are things I can do that she's never even heard of.”

“I don't doubt it,” replied Redwine. “So what?”

“So why is she the only one on the whole ship that you want?”

“I have a feeling that it wouldn't make any sense to you.”

“Try me,” she said, smiling invitingly and looking inordinately pleased with her double entendre.

“I'd rather not.” He paused. “Why the hell do you care?” he asked her. “You don't even like me.”

“Call it professional pride. No one's ever refused me before, and no one has preferred the Madonna to me.”

“Well, it's a cross you'll just have to bear.”

A look of fury flashed across her face, and then, suddenly, she was smiling again. “You're presenting me with a challenge I can't resist, Harry.”

“Force yourself.”

She slipped out of her negligee and lay back down on the bed, undulating sensuously.

“
You
force me, Harry,” she grinned.

“Forget it,” he said, trying to sound uninterested while wondering if he had ever seen such a perfect body.

“You don't know what you're missing, Harry,” she whispered, running her tongue over her moist lips. “Would you like me to tell you?”

“What I'd like is for you to leave,” he said, knowing that he should walk out of the suite, or at least go back to the parlor, but unable to take his eyes off of her.

“
She's
never coming back. You'd better take what you can get.” She turned onto her belly and stretched languorously. She noticed him staring at her, and arched her back and raised her buttocks provocatively.

“Do you
really
want to be faithful to a whore who doesn't want any part of you?”

“She told you that?” demanded Redwine.

Suma smiled like a kitten. “
I
want a part of you, Harry. Want me to show you which part?”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“That as soon as I had a couple of spare hours I should stop by here.” She paused. “That was almost two days ago, Harry. You really don't know how generous she's being to you. I don't have many spare hours.”

“She knew I'd tell you to leave,” said Redwine.

“But I don't have to,” replied Suma, turning onto her back again. “Just say the word and Sesame will open so wide you can see all the way through to next month.”

Suddenly Redwine felt himself getting mad. “She
knew
I'd tell you to leave!” he repeated. “That's the only reason you're here.”

“I've got about twenty other reasons,” purred Suma. “Would you like me to whisper them all in your ear?”

“She counted on it!” he continued, feeling a growing sense of outrage building within him. “Well, screw her!”

“Oh, no, Harry,” said Suma. “Screw me.”

“'You bet I will!” he said savagely. “This is supposed to be a whorehouse, isn't it?”

He began unfastening his tunic, but Suma was at his side an instant later, pulling his hand away.

“Let me do it,” she whispered. “Your job is just to relax and let me do all the work.”

“Fine,” he aid. “But let me do one thing first.”

“Will I like it?” she asked with a sly smile.

“
I
will,” he replied, walking into the parlor. He got our his skeleton card and re-activated the security system. “I hope to hell you're watching!” he muttered under his breath, too softly for Suma to hear.

Then he returned to the bedroom.

“I'm all yours,” he said, still staring at the computer in the next room. “I've got just one request.”

“You just name it, Harry,” she said, starting to unfasten his tunic and kissing each new section of his torso as it was revealed.

“I don't want you just to be good,” he said savagely.

“I want you to be
great!
You got that?”

“Oh, I will be, Harry,” she promised him. “I'll be the best you ever had, the best you ever dreamed of having.”

“I want this to be memorable, damn it!” he continued.

He walked over to the bed and ripped the satin covers off, throwing them into a corner of the room. “And leave the goddamned lights on!”

“That's the spirit, Harry,” she grinned. “I'll show you things you never thought you'd see.”

And a moment later, after she had finished undressing him, she pulled him down onto the bed and began keeping her promise. Not a single orifice went unused, not a position remained unattempted, not a variation went untried, and with surprising suddenness Redwine felt his anger and outrage seep away from him, to be replaced by a hitherto unsuspected animal lust.

As he lay on the bed, alternately watching Suma and her mirrored reflection on the ceiling going to work with a vengeance, he found himself wondering how she could throw herself into her sexual encounters like this day in and day out. And even as his body responded to her kisses and caresses, her natural inclinations and her unnatural ones, a section of his mind seemed to hover dispassionately above their intertwining bodies, coldly surveying the situation, cataloging what was happening for the ease of his future recollection.

It puzzled and disturbed him. He had never found himself doing this with the Madonna. He couldn't even remember who did what to whom, let alone what order they did it in.

He forced himself to concentrate on the sensations he was feeling again. Nothing in his experience had ever felt this strange and unique and wickedly exciting—not with the Madonna, not with his ex-wife, not with any of the other women he had known. If there was a sexual heaven, this
had
to be it. There was no greater pleasure to be had anywhere in the universe, and if there
was
, the human body wouldn't stand it: it would go stark raving mad.