Persuasive Lips (6 page)

“You are looking ravishing. The change in latitude becomes you,” said the Thousand Dollar Pharaoh.

Della beamed. She handed a carpet bag to her. The operative snatched it, peeked inside to see the currency and said, “Come, I have a special treat for you.” She reached for Della’s arm and escorted her through the zig zaging corridor inside the pyramid. They stopped at a door. The exotic one slammed her fist against it twice, then three more times. It opened.

Della felt heat whoosh over her and the heady scent of incense coming from a hippopotamus pot smoking in the center of the tomb. Pallets of green and gold silk lined the candle lit room. Pillows were strewn on the earthen floor. A low table held an elaborate cut glass decanter and two snifters.

“Enjoy.” The Thousand Dollar Pharaoh left the room.

Della nervously eyed the sheik as he lowered a board across the door. He was dressed in a dishdash, the long caftan-like shirt over pants, sandals and a scarf was wrapped around his hair and covered his face. Only his eyes were exposed. Blue eyes.

As she swallowed hard and then sashayed across the tomb, her mind began reeling. Was it the surreal situation? Was she really in a pyramid about to be pleasured by the
Sheik of Arabique
or however the song went? Would she allow him? The scent from the incense pot registered in her brain. She’d been trained about drugs the first week on the job. Cannabis. Marijuana. She mustn’t let it cloud her thoughts.

Della stopped abruptly and turned toward the hippo pot, inhaling deeply. What the heck. She just wanted to chat with him and see what information she could tease from him as she would flirt. They’d taught her flirting during week two. Practicing on the other girls wasn’t very realistic, but it was the best training they had. Would it work on a real man? Could Della be a woman for her country? Week three of training was Jujitsu. She could take care of herself if he got out of hand.

He stepped up behind her and ran his moistened finger from her hairline to her jaw. She quivered.

He spun her around. As she looked into his impossibly blue eyes, she nearly fainted, but he caught her as her knees gave out. He lay her on the green silk. The room began to spin. She ripped the scarf from his face. The chamber and time came crashing into focus.

He offered her a glass of wine. She accepted and took a big gulp. “I have employment papers, a badge and training. I know I am really on a mission for the O.S.S. this time. Just what are you doing here, U. S. Secret Service Agent Ashley Jones?”

He kissed her hard, his rabid lips nearly suffocating her as all of their passion past resurfaced. She pushed him away and breathed deeply, smiling.

“I transferred to the Secret Service counterfeit division. I’m here undercover,” he said.

“Should I really believe you or is this another fairy tale?”

He took her glass and set it on the table. “Part of the mission. Play acting. Right into her own game.”

“What are you babbling about? I’m here on a case, I just made a money drop to the Thousand Dollar Pharaoh.”

“I know. She’s the leader of a counterfeiting ring.”

“They didn’t tell me that!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. Nothing should be heard from this room but the sounds of pleasure.”

Della blinked. She stood and removed her dress, letting it fall to the floor. As she stood naked in front of him, she said, “Very well. The things a girl has to do for her country.”

The End

Turn the Page for a sneak peek of

Hundred Dollar Bill

By Sherry Silver

Hundred Dollar Bill

by Sherry Silver

Washingto
n
, D.C.

February 16, 1945

Sometime
before
midnight,
freezing
ra
i
n
p
e
lted
out
a
maddening
symphony
on
t
h
e window.
Benjamin
Franklin
gaz
e
d
compass
i
o
n
ately
from
the
blo
o
dy
hundred
dollar
bill floating
near
Miss
Chloe
Lambe
r
t’s
breasts.
The
redhead
lay
soaking
in
a
claw-footed tub
at
Mrs.
Grogan’s
boarding
house
on
Nichols
Avenue
in
the
District
of
Columbi
a
. Her
skin
was
flushed
from
the
steamy
wat
e
r,
but
she
was
sure
she’d
never
feel
warm again.
With
eyes
dehydrated
from
crying,
Chloe
stared
at
her
b
l
ack,
blue,
green
and yellow bruises.

* * * * *

Earlier
that
night,
across
town,
Mrs.
Anna
Eleanor
R
oosevelt’s
footsteps
resonated army-like
as
she
stormed
the
west
wing.
A
black
Scottish
terrier
rounded
a
corner
and scrambled
toward
her.
“No,
Fala,
no!”
Dod
g
ing
his
excited
leap,
she
caught
the
fluffy sash
of
her
emerald
evening
g
o
wn
on
the
edge
of
a
marble
pedestal
displaying
the
bust of
Abraham
Lincoln.
She
twisted
and
caught
old
Abe,
but
the
taffeta
tore.
Eleanor replaced the sculpture, picked up the little
d
og and ma
r
ched to an office.

She
shov
e
d
the
d
oor
open.
S
tepping
inside,
Mrs.
Roosevelt
v
i
gorously
p
etted
the wiry-haired
pooch
while
closing
the
door
with
her
back.
It
hit
the
jamb
with
an
audible resolve.
“Vera,
I
am
well
aware
of
your…your
little
game,
and
I’ve
had
quite
enough
of you.”

Mrs.
Vera
Blandings
stopped
typing.
The
long-legged
brunette
stood,
removed
her librarian’s
glasses
and
snuffed
her
cigarette
in
an
overflowing
ashtray.
She
blew
a plume
of
smoke
at
the
first
lady
before
ru
n
n
ing
mani
c
ured
fingers
along
her
starched beige
shirtdress.
A
smirk
twitched
the
corne
r
s
of
her
scarlet
lips.
She
crossed
her
arms and turned toward the
wall.

The
first
lady
crinkl
e
d
her
nose
and
bent
down.
Fala
leapt
fr
o
m
the
cro
o
k
of
her arm. He scampered over to sniff the closed door to the Oval Office.

Eleanor
rose,
thrust
her
shoulders
back
and
stomped
to
the
rear
of
the
desk, launching
a
rolling
chair
out
of
her
way.
She
squeezed
between
her
husband’s
newest secretary and a portrait of George Washington.

Vera
took a step back, grinning.

Mrs.
Roosevelt demanded, “Just what will it take to make you disappear?” “A new job.”

“
Done.”

“
A
role in the next Alfred Hitch
c
ock movie.” Eleanor la
u
ghed.

^{Vera
glared.
“I’m
quite
serious.”
She
coc
k
ed
her
head,
retrieved
her
chair
and}
tucked
it
under
the
d
esk.
Pulling
out
the
bottom
drawer,
Vera
removed
her
reptilian pocketbook and gently shut the drawer.

Eleanor
silently
seethed
in
the
s
tale
smoky
air
while
composing
a
respon
s
e.
I
will not
allow
t
his
woman
to
slip
me
into
unsavo
r
y
ter
r
itory.
“Fine
then.
So
be
it.
Pack
your snakeskin. No more games in the interim or—”