Silhouettes: A James Bond Story

Silhouettes Part 8

The cool, blue evening dress slid to the floor easily, becoming a silken puddle, which Liyani Fazura stepped out of with a deliberate movement intended to show off the curving musculature of her legs, the taper of her ankles and the elegant straps of her stiletto pumps. "Is there anything we can do to keep you as a loyal customer?" She asked primly. Bond took in the sight of her; the lean, brown body striated with muscles, her full, high breasts, and the vivid blue wedge of her expensive thong. Her eyes held his gaze, daring him to look away from her nudity.

"I have a number of suggestions," Bond said, pulling her to him and kissing her hard on the mouth. Liyana returned the kiss, lashed out at his tongue with her own. He carried her to the bed, and she allowed herself to be carried and dropped into the cloudbank of covers. Bond watched her roll around in them as he undressed. She didn't offer to help him. When he joined her in the bed, the sex was much the same as everything else about her: practiced and proficient, but less for him than for herself. She might have been competing for points on poise and style. It was a satisfying session, but hardly the most memorable he'd ever had.

"I do so hope, we've managed to win back your business, Mister Bond," Liyani smiled as she draped her arm over his chest and nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. Her skin was still cool, despite the exertion, but she breathed deeply, her breasts pressing against him.

"I think you can call me James now."

She giggled. "Yes, I suppose so." She reached across him, her breasts brushing across his naked chest, and lifted his watch up so she could see it. Her nipples were hard once again, and Bond instinctively tensed. "Is that the time? Damn! I have to be in a conference call with Geneva in a half hour." She slid out of bed and dressed almost as quickly as she had undressed.

"I don't suppose they'll understand if you call them tomorrow and say that you were managing an important account."

She laughed again as she rifled through her purse. "I'm afraid not, but for what it's worth, this really was the best possible way this evening could have concluded. For me anyway."

And then the tiny, silver gun made its appearance, but Bond hand already flung one of the heavy, down pillows at her gun hand. Liyani managed to squeeze off a shot that was muffled by the pillow hitting her wrist, blasting a cloud of feathers and sending a small-caliber cracking into the headboard next to Bond's left ear.

Bond launched himself at her, covered the distance, and had a grip on her wrist before she could reacquire him as a target. Liyani's eyes narrowed and she hissed like a feral cat. Her free hand lashed out at him, and bond felt a sharp across his chest. Startled he leapt back. Liyani's ornate bracelet was tinged red, and he was aware of blood trickling down his torso. In the lamplight he could see that the bracelet was a series of small, scalloped blades.

Liyani took advantage of his moment of confusion and bolted for the door. Bond let her go-there was no way he could get into his clothes quickly enough to catch up with her, and he couldn't very well chase her through the hotel naked. Besides, he reasoned, if she was the professional he thought she was, then she had her exit route already mapped out.

Bond poured himself another brandy and set about bandaging the long, shallow cut that arced above his breast in a slim crimson comma. Not the best possible ending to the day, he mulled. But not the worst either.