cover to conceal what lay beneath? As for his past: B.J. had questioned him about that; about some of it, anyway. Indeed, he hadn’t really needed to be questioned. Only start him off about his lost wife and child and he would tell it all, or almost all. But there was always something in there that he kept back, kept to himself despite the spell of obedience—those post-hypnotic commands—which she had lodged in the deepest recesses of his subconscious or semiconscious mind.
Harry had mentioned in passing certain powerful friends in London: members of a secret security organization with which he had once been connected. But while B.J. had tried to dig deeper he would mention it only in passing, and immediately change the subject. Obviously his loyalty came uppermost; some deep-seated sense of moral integrity—some vow he’d made which he couldn’t revoke or renege upon—caused Harry always to avoid or obscure the issue, denying B.J. access. While this was frustrating, however, still she admired his mental tenacity and high principles. It wasn’t just anyone who could hide even his innermost secrets from such as Bonnie Jean Mirlu! If her “wee man” could be faithful to some old vow, pact, sentiment, or agency from years gone by, how then to a girl, woman, moon-child who he took to his or her bed each night?
Thus she was reassured, for there could be little doubt but that his love, not to mention his lust—or for that matter her own—were very real. And indeed B.J. sensed that Harry’s feelings for her might well last for ever; certainly for as long as he himself lasted. As for her fondness for him, if that was all it was…well, that was a different matter entirely. For B.J. had certain loyalties of her own which hadn’t weakened down all the decades. Or perhaps they had. For knowing that the time was coming when she must, or should, let Harry go—and where, and to whom he would be going—knowing these things disturbed her greatly. And despite that she had known men before and that her Master in his high place knew and accepted it, this time Bonnie Jean felt guilty…
These were her thoughts as she looked at Harry where just a moment ago his eyelashes had flickered and his breathing quickened. Downstairs B.J.’s girls worked the wine bar, and here she lay naked with her lover, wondering at his most unusual nature. And oh, what an irony in that! When her own nature was anything but usual! A low purr, or more properly a growl, escaped Bonnie Jean’s throat as she went to kiss his neck…but only a kiss, never a bite. No, for his blood might be as sweet as Harry himself, and that would never do. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist it!
Harry’s eyelashes fluttered again, and with a mumbled, “Uh? What?” he rolled onto his side, more surely facing her. And now she got down from the bed, to begin dressing herself as quickly and quietly as possible. He had been sleeping for a little less than two hours since they’d made love; but B.J. had experienced his apparently boundless energy before, and she didn’t want him to wake up and see her naked. Not just now, anyway.
She felt hot, flustered; she had work to do downstairs, her girls to supervise, her guilty wayward thoughts to pull together into some semblance of order! And she knew she could do none of these things with his eyes and then his hands upon her.
Huh! But wasn’t she supposed to be the great beguiler!
Harry yawned, stretched, propped himself on one elbow, and said, “Uh! B.J.? Where are you going?”
“Where there’s work for a body,” she answered. “Downstairs, mah wee man. It’s late, aye, but there’s two hours yet till the midnight hour, and I like tae do mah share. Ye can stay here if ye so desire, or come down and have a wee dram. The one thing I ask ye tae remember: There’ll be the usual bunch o’ likely lads in the bar, and ye mustn’t let it be seen that we’re—”
“—Lovers?” Harry finished it for her,
Harry had mentioned in passing certain powerful friends in London: members of a secret security organization with which he had once been connected. But while B.J. had tried to dig deeper he would mention it only in passing, and immediately change the subject. Obviously his loyalty came uppermost; some deep-seated sense of moral integrity—some vow he’d made which he couldn’t revoke or renege upon—caused Harry always to avoid or obscure the issue, denying B.J. access. While this was frustrating, however, still she admired his mental tenacity and high principles. It wasn’t just anyone who could hide even his innermost secrets from such as Bonnie Jean Mirlu! If her “wee man” could be faithful to some old vow, pact, sentiment, or agency from years gone by, how then to a girl, woman, moon-child who he took to his or her bed each night?
Thus she was reassured, for there could be little doubt but that his love, not to mention his lust—or for that matter her own—were very real. And indeed B.J. sensed that Harry’s feelings for her might well last for ever; certainly for as long as he himself lasted. As for her fondness for him, if that was all it was…well, that was a different matter entirely. For B.J. had certain loyalties of her own which hadn’t weakened down all the decades. Or perhaps they had. For knowing that the time was coming when she must, or should, let Harry go—and where, and to whom he would be going—knowing these things disturbed her greatly. And despite that she had known men before and that her Master in his high place knew and accepted it, this time Bonnie Jean felt guilty…
These were her thoughts as she looked at Harry where just a moment ago his eyelashes had flickered and his breathing quickened. Downstairs B.J.’s girls worked the wine bar, and here she lay naked with her lover, wondering at his most unusual nature. And oh, what an irony in that! When her own nature was anything but usual! A low purr, or more properly a growl, escaped Bonnie Jean’s throat as she went to kiss his neck…but only a kiss, never a bite. No, for his blood might be as sweet as Harry himself, and that would never do. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist it!
Harry’s eyelashes fluttered again, and with a mumbled, “Uh? What?” he rolled onto his side, more surely facing her. And now she got down from the bed, to begin dressing herself as quickly and quietly as possible. He had been sleeping for a little less than two hours since they’d made love; but B.J. had experienced his apparently boundless energy before, and she didn’t want him to wake up and see her naked. Not just now, anyway.
She felt hot, flustered; she had work to do downstairs, her girls to supervise, her guilty wayward thoughts to pull together into some semblance of order! And she knew she could do none of these things with his eyes and then his hands upon her.
Huh! But wasn’t she supposed to be the great beguiler!
Harry yawned, stretched, propped himself on one elbow, and said, “Uh! B.J.? Where are you going?”
“Where there’s work for a body,” she answered. “Downstairs, mah wee man. It’s late, aye, but there’s two hours yet till the midnight hour, and I like tae do mah share. Ye can stay here if ye so desire, or come down and have a wee dram. The one thing I ask ye tae remember: There’ll be the usual bunch o’ likely lads in the bar, and ye mustn’t let it be seen that we’re—”
“—Lovers?” Harry finished it for her,