The Bonk Squad (20 page)

He pressed himself against
the wall, hiding his face against his up-flung arm, as he imagined
the surrender of her innocence—and despaired in case he was
mistaken. Had another man beaten him to that delicious body? Was
she already initiated into the ways of love?

Carlo dragged in a deep
breath and drew himself up to his full height. He squared his broad
shoulders and strode to the head of the grand staircase. He
stopped. This was preposterous! Besotted by a slip of a girl who
was in his employ. He must rise above such base
feelings.

Elizavetta scrambled up
the marble steps towards him.

“
Where’s Nanny Angela?”
she asked. “We were having fun with the squirting
water.”

Carlo scooped her up in
his arms and settled her against his firm chest. “She’s gone to put
dry clothes on,
cara
. And you must do the same.”

“
No, Papa...” the little
girl wailed.

Carlo turned and found
himself face to face with the nanny, now clad in her customary
black skirt and neat white blouse. His fingers itched to slip the
chaste garment off her to expose her pretty breasts again. The
blood rose in his cheeks, and in his loins.

“
Take her,” he snapped,
pushing his daughter into Angela’s arms. But the four buttons on
his sleeve became entangled in the nanny’s tousled curls and they
were trapped together.

“
We must put Elizavetta
down,” he grated. They managed a strange dancing bob until the
little girl was set on her feet.

Face to face again, Angela
stood pressed against his telltale body as he tried to untangle her
corn-gold curls from the sleeve of his impeccable dark
jacket.

“
Grazie
,” she said. The corners of her mouth turned up in the
slightest of smiles.

Carlo had no luck with his
cat’s cradle of fine soft knots. Working one-handed was difficult,
and up close the nanny was fragrant and tantalizing. He glimpsed
her dainty breasts where the blouse opened against her neck.
Imagined their tender pink peaks again. Tasted her still on his
tongue.

With an exclamation of
frustrated longing he somehow shrugged off his jacket and thrust it
into her arms. “I need two hands to do this for you.” His fingers
returned to her hair where the sleeve was still comically
snagged.

“
But of course,” she
agreed. “Two are always so much better than one.”

Meg leaned back. “Too much?” she
asked.

Romy and Liz shook their
heads.

“
Very inventive,” Romy
said.

“
Great little scene,” Liz
agreed. “He’s got a lot to answer for, hasn’t he?” she said,
glancing toward the tall, tanned and toned young man who’d just
pushed himself away from the tree where he’d been
leaning.

The three of them watched in disbelief
as a beefy bearded man approached, kissed him wetly on the mouth,
and tucked an arm around him. Hip-to-hip they wandered off down the
street.

“
Jee-sus!” Liz
exclaimed.

Meg choked on her wine, and Romy
banged her forehead down on the table top with a whoop of
laughter.

The waiter chose that moment to return
for their orders, and found three women with watering eyes,
helpless giggles, and no idea of what they wanted for
lunch.

The after-work appointments suited him
well. He’d had five of them now, and was used to the routine. He’d
be there again this evening, just as soon as he locked up
Haroldson’s Plant Center and drove across town in the
van.

The first time had scared him silly,
although it was a real buzz walking into the place with
Liz.

Going anywhere with Liz was a
pleasure. People looked at her all the time, and then at
him.

He’d held the ground floor door open
for her and she’d led him up a seedy staircase.

“
They do all sorts here,”
she said. “Manicures and seaweed wraps and waxing and facials. They
have the new stand-up suntan tubes, but the old beds are fine, and
that’s what they do the cheap deals on. It’s nice, having a little
lie down.”

Ian nodded, having no idea what he was
in for.

Liz pushed open a swing door, and he
nearly bolted. “Hi, Herbie,” she said.

Herbie wore a red T-shirt, a tartan
kilt and ankle length brown boots. He had beautifully shaped and
colored fingernails.

“
Gidday gorgeous,” he said
to Liz, and then looked at Ian.

“
New sun-bed client,
Herbie. This is Ian.”

Herbie stretched a huge hand across
the faux marble counter-top with its bounty of beauty products. He
gave Ian a hearty handshake and led them both out of the reception
area.

“
You’re in number four, Liz
.”

She disappeared, and Ian flinched at
her easy desertion.

“
And we’ll give you number
six, mate.” He stood aside so Ian could enter the cubicle. “First
time?”

He nodded, speechless.

“
Right—put the UV shields
on your eyes and the rest is up to you. Change position a bit so
you’re evenly exposed.” He twisted a dial and the sun-bed flickered
into humming life. “Tissues there, if you want to cover the old
bloke. And this button here—” he made sure Ian could see—”lowers
the lid. Auto-stop, so don’t panic.” He left.

Ian pushed the bolt across to ensure
privacy, and shot a look of extreme suspicion toward the brilliant
buzzing monster he was expected to lie on.

He took a deep breath, stripped to his
briefs, and lowered himself with caution onto its creaking plastic
surface. He adjusted the evil looking black eye shields and the
world went away. Where the hell was the control button
now?

He prodded one shield up and fumbled
for the switch. The lid shuddered down. He held his breath until it
stopped, then relaxed a little and nudged the small pillow into a
more comfortable position. Closed his eyes. And began to enjoy the
warmth.

Herbie had set a small fan going on an
adjacent chair, and Ian soon imagined he was in Honolulu or
Singapore or somewhere else where a suitably tropical breeze might
be wafting. Quiet music with birdsong surged out of the ceiling.
After a few minutes he tilted onto his left side to even up the
exposure. Another little time went by and he wriggled further onto
his right.

It was becoming ever hotter. Fiery as
the streets of Cairo where he’d set part of his spy novel. Career
diplomat Curtis and belly dancer Anouska had travelled there from
New York to meet a contact, and had been ushered at gunpoint into a
small baking-hot outhouse. Their hands had been tied, their mouths
covered with silver duct tape, and they were left alone in their
unpleasant little prison.

Curtis edged closer to
her, trying to position his hands so they aligned with hers. Could
he get enough purchase to loosen the knots that bound her wrists
together? His own hands, invisible behind his back, felt
increasingly numb. He needed to act now, while he had some vestige
of feeling left.

A high barred window
opened onto the street, but the constant din out there meant their
muffled moans were unlikely to be heard.

Music blared somewhere
close by—haunting Arabic quarter-tones and rhythmic drumming. Palm
leaves fluttered and clattered above. Their spiked shadows played
on the wall. Engines revved. Brakes squealed.

A diesel truck had been
parked for several minutes, motor thrumming, before roaring away
into the distance. And raucous shouts sometimes pierced the
constant background noise.

Curtis’s legs were killing
him. He’d folded himself against the wall, trying to give Anouska
all possible comfort. Now his muscles were cramped and shot through
with red-hot knives of pain. He gritted his teeth to withstand it,
attempting to hide his suffering. Anouska’s trusting velvet eyes
held his above her gag of shining tape.

He wagged his head
sideways to indicate she should move. Her brow creased with
questions. He shuffled inch by inch across the filthy floor, trying
not to think of the inevitable damage to his cream linen
trousers.

She closed her eyes in
acknowledgement, and pushed her feet against the wall to gain some
traction. Curtis grunted as his joints unbent a little and the pain
intensified. Slowly, like deep-sea monsters mating in swirling dark
currents, they repositioned themselves.

He hoped to achieve the
ultimate comfort of untying her. But if all he could manage was a
touch, a recognition of her beauty and humanity, that would be
better than nothing. He leaned toward her and pressed his cheek
against hers. She sighed and gave a small husky moan.

Her long straight hair
brushed over his skin. Her lush lips were an inch away, and might
as well have been a mile. His parched mouth ached to kiss hers, but
the adhesive on the silver tape held firm.

He leaned away and resumed
his agonizing shuffle, groping behind himself to make contact with
her hands. The rough rope bit tightly against her tender skin, but
he felt a frayed end, a place to begin worrying at. With infinite
slowness and patience, he proceeded.

Twenty minutes later, one
hand was free. She knelt up and prized at his knots in turn. They
loosened a fraction. The relief was maddening. He wanted to rip the
rope away so he could embrace her.

At that instant they heard
footsteps close to the door, and the rattle of a key in the lock.
They froze. Anouska clenched her hands in their expected position
behind her back. Their filthy jailor wrenched the door
open.

“
Water!” he
barked.

He set down an old metal
bucket and plastic cup, then reached towards Anouska’s gag. He tore
the tape from her face.

Curtis shuddered.
Anouska’s pain must be intense.

She knelt, moaning, hands
still appearing confined as he dipped the cup in the bucket and
raised it to her lips.

At last Curtis slipped his
hands free. He would bide his time...see what the fellow had in
mind for them before he revealed they were unbound.

A dirty hand travelled
down Anouska’s neck and caressed one of her breasts, sliding
insolently over to her nipple and pinching it. She gasped, still
recovering from the pain of the tape before registering this new
indignity.

But Curtis’s nerves were
stretched to breaking point by this last horrible insult. He flexed
his fingers several times behind his back and reared up onto his
knees. Their jailor turned and gave an evil cackle, pulled the cup
from Anouska’s mouth and flung the last of her water in Curtis’s
face.

At least that had taken
the fiend’s mind off Anouska’s body for a few seconds. Curtis’s
brain blazed with fury.

There was no longer any
sign of a gun. He ripped the tape from his mouth.

“
Back, darling!” he
snarled, hoping she’d understand and obey. He lunged at their
tormentor’s legs, managing to topple the scum so that his head
cracked against the hard stone wall. While their jailer lay
stunned, Anouska dipped out a cupful of water for Curtis, then
staggered up and poured the rest out in a rushing silver cascade.
She brought the bucket down with a mighty clang. Curtis winced. Two
blows on the head like that should keep the bastard quiet for long
enough—maybe forever.

He tilted her face up to
his and pressed a passionate kiss onto her inflamed lips. “More
later,” he promised, draining half the water from the plastic cup
and insisting she finish the rest.

They slipped from their
prison, locked the door and made their cautious way—

There was a loud clunk and a whirr.
Absolute darkness. Ian came awake with a jolt. His sun-bed session
was over, and the lid had set him free. Disoriented and dozy he
lurched to his feet, knocking the fan off the chair and making a
lucky grab for it before it hit the floor.

That night, is his distorted bedroom
mirror, he saw his white skin was now the softest pink—except for
the outline of his briefs. Herbie’s comment about ‘covering the old
bloke’ swam through his brain. An all-over tan, eh? Well, it was
private enough inside the little cubicle. Why not?

And that’s why, at subsequent
sessions, Ian lay down with a paper tissue tucked neatly around his
willy, and his gardening gloves on to let his arms catch up with
his hands.

“
Well, I don’t know what to
make of him,” Romy said to Liz as they walked back to their cars
together after the birthday lunch. “He’s always been so straight
with me. Anything I’ve ever asked for has been done just about
instantly.”

“
He’s a honey, your
Neill.”

“
Well, not this time. He’s
really digging his heels in. And I don’t think it’s a big deal at
all. I’ve worked long hours for thirteen years. Including the whole
seven I’ve known him.”

“
It’s time you had a
break,” Liz agreed.

“
I know he works hard, and
he’s great with the kids. But they’re all at school now. He could
get a proper job and let me try writing full-time. I’d be there for
them if they needed me.”