The Fixer by T E Woods Page B

own little party working. Point me in the direction and I’ll help myself.”
    Bastian waved to the butler’s pantry. “There’s whiskey in there, child. Fine Irish whiskey. Just the thing for a cold winter’s night of betrayal.”
    She tossed her jacket on a chair, left the room, and returned two minutes later with a tumbler of liquor. Monica lifted her gloved hands toward her host and wished him happy holidays. She took a small sip. “So what’s this about betrayal?”
    Bastian tried to focus. He moved his legs to one side and patted the open area at the foot of the chaise. “Come sit with me and I’ll tell you a story worthy of Irish tears. A tale of brilliance unappreciated. Of deception colder than the snow that falls outside those doors.”
    Monica took the seat he suggested. “You have a poet’s soul. What’s got you bummed this close to Christmas?”
    He leaned back and gazed at her. The soft light of the one table lamp gave her a candlelit glow. Bastian remembered a time when all his women were this innocent and fresh. He smiled at the delightful turn the day had taken.
    “You’re quite beautiful.” He brushed a long strand of hair away from her face. She didn’t flinch. He brought his hand lightly across her cheek and traced her full lips with his thumb. “Do you know who I am?”
    Monica bowed her head, grinned, and looked up at him with long-lashed green eyes. “Of course I know who you are, Dr. Bastian. I’ve wanted to meet you for the longest time. Ever since I read your paper in Science about opiate effects on maternal bonding.”
    Bastian tilted his head as he caressed her cheek. Her naiveté proved more intoxicating than his scotch. “You’re not a delivery person, are you?” This was his favorite perk. The academic groupies so willing to service the bodies of the illustrious minds they adored. Deluding themselves into thinking they were special because they sucked the cock of a genius.
    Monica smiled. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to introduce myself. I even drive by your house sometimes.” She giggled and shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not a crazoid stalker.” She set her glass down on the floor. “Today was fate. I drove by and saw the florist guy walking away from your door.” Monica blinked her eyes slowly. “I swung my car into your driveway and told him I was your sister. Said I’d take the flowers inside. I didn’t mean any harm.” She hung her head. “I just wanted you to have that beautiful plant. Don’t be mad, okay? I didn’t even know you were home.”
    Bastian withdrew his hand from her cheek and let it travel the length of her arm. “I’m not mad, Monica. You’re my Christmas present. All wrapped up in snow.”
    Monica smiled and ran a hand over his leg. She held his gaze as she pulled off her gloves. One finger at a time. Tugging each tip with her teeth. Tossing the gloves and beret to the floor. Running a hand through her long brown hair before returning it to his thigh.
    “I’m sorry you had a bad day.” Her voice sounded like whiskey and cigarettes as she inched closer to him. “I want to hear all about it.” She grinned a wicked tease. “But first I want to give you another present.”
    Bastian swallowed hard and repositioned his hips to accommodate the erection that strained his trousers. “It is Christmas, after all.” He reached out to her.
    “Ah, tut tut,” she whispered. “Close your eyes. Lean back. Relax.”
    Bastian smiled and did as she asked. The Fixer brought her hand up to his face and gently placed her fingers against his lips.
    “No peeking, okay?” she whispered.
    “You’re a shy one, are you? Not too inhibited, I hope.” Bastian kept his eyes shut.
    The Fixer reached down and tugged the loaded syringe free from the surgical tape that secured it to the inside of her rubber boot.
    “Not inhibited at all, Dr. Bastian.” She pulled off the orange needle guard and leaned forward. “Not one little