Milo...Necklace

      By Pattie Lawler           

 

            “How familiar are you with French history?”

            Albany shrugged, looking out the windshield as the taxi inched toward Kennedy Airport. “As well as any other opera singer.”

            “Do you know about the famed ‘affair of the necklace?’”

            “Marie Antoinette’s scandal? The massive diamond necklace?”

            He grinned at her. “The very same.”

            She nodded, hugging herself against the cold. “We hosted an all-female, Japanese revue once. They performed part of a larger piece called Rose of Versailles. The part they did was about the necklace. It was...over the top.”

            “So you have a fair idea what it looked like?” Milo glanced at the driver—who seemed absorbed in shouting at the stalled traffic—before leaning to her ear. “What would you say if I told you I have recovered over twenty percent of the stones from that necklace?”

            Open mouthed, Albany stared, glanced at the driver, then leaned back. “How could there be more than two Babe Ruth cards, in mint condition, left in the world?”

            His smile grew as he adopted her simile. “When you know what you’re looking for, even Babe Ruth can be found.”

            “I used to collect baseball cards,” the driver interjected. “Back when I was a kid.”

            “Lemme guess,” Albany laughed, “your mother threw them out.”

            “Naw. My wife.” He concluded with a chuckle. “Coulda put my kids through college with them, I’ll bet.”

            Milo grinned at Albany as he cut in. “Colleges aren’t known for taking baseball cards in lieu of money.”

            “World’d probably be a better place if they did,” the cabby groused before returning his attention to the shifting traffic pattern.

            “Can’t refute that logic,” Albany conceded, smiling back to Milo.

            “I don’t actively collect them,” he went on. “I collect them as I find. Like the night you sang Octavian.”

            Puzzled, Albany’s gaze turned inward and then she gasped. “Karl’s costume!”

            He nodded. “There was a single stone pendant off the badge.”

            “Ah,” she breathed with pleasure then lowered her voice. “How many do you need to collect?”

            “There’s no way that most of them weren’t recut. We’re talking twenty-eight hundred carats total weight, the average stone was two carats. But the four long ribbons with tassels, I’ve recovered about a hundred and thirty of those stones. They’re a particular cut and,” he leaned closer, smiling, “I’m like a truffle hound. There are baseball cards I collect for others who, for one reason or another, can’t get to card sellers, and there are cards I collect for me. Babe Ruth is my current obsession.”

            Albany was suddenly aware of his proximity, and Milo too seemed to notice at that same moment. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and his smile faded.

            “What I said before,” she whispered, “I meant. Truly. But until I don’t have to let you go, I want to wait.” Her breath matched her pounding heart, and she didn’t try to hide the fact. She could feel the warmth of his skin on her own and gently rubbed her cheek against his. Milo moaned, his hands griping her waist, steadying her. He whispered her name, his breath on her ear sending shivers over her already cold body.

            “Come here,” he softly ordered, drawing her close. He opened his coat and spread it wide, offering himself. Albany wrapped her arms around him, her head dropping to his chest with a sigh. “Why are you so cold?” he chided, hugging her.

            “Why are you in France?”

            “If I could have told you, I would have called!”

            She nodded. “That’s fair. Can you tell me when you’ll be back?”

            “Sorry to sound cryptic, but not until I’m finished.”

            “ETA?”

            He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Considering the incentive? ASAP.”

            “All acronyms, all the time. Tell me something?”

            “Hmm?”

            “When you were doing research on me,” she felt him stiffen, “to find out about the curse, did it ever occur to you that you might like me?” She drew back, smiling at him as he relaxed. “You do like me, don’t you?”

            “Yes, I do, and no, it hadn’t. It was an acquisition, nothing more. But you were so comfortable when I landed on you.” He hugged her harder as she laughed. “I thought you had to be special. And Fanny likes you.”

            She nodded. “All bets would have been off if she didn’t.”

            Milo agreed, kissing her head again. “She’s at an age that I don’t know if I can handle, and adding an unknown to the mix would have been both stupid and unkind.”

            “Well, I’m offering my services. Ask me anything.”

            “Will you wait for me?”

            “I think we’ve already established my willingness on that front.”

            “Yes, but hearing it serves to bolster my delicate male ego. I can go back with a clear conscience.” He reached into his coat pocket as the cabby leaned for the glove compartment. “Don’t.” The gun was thrust against the back of the driver’s seat so fast Albany hadn’t seen him move. “Both hands up where I can see them.”

            Slowly, the cabby complied. “You know there’s a metal plate between the backseat and me, right?”

            “You know these are armor piercing bullets, right?”

            “In a handgun?”

            Milo laughed. “With money, all things are possible. Care to test your theory?”

            The cabby shook his head.

            “Excellent. Both hands behind your head. Good.” He nodded toward Albany. “Out your door please, my dear, walk three cars forward,” he held up five fingers, “and wait for me.”

            Without a word, Albany reached for the door handle and slid out into the stopped traffic. She didn’t look back, trusting Milo to know what he was doing.

            The only thing she could think of to keep the man from following them was to wound him, and she didn’t want to be a witness. So she counted five cars, ignoring the puzzled onlookers, and moved to stand beside an eighteen-wheeler that declared its contents to be mushrooms, fresh from Monterey.   

            Two agonizing minutes later, she saw the flash of a scarlet greatcoat, and she moved further along the truck, into the shadow of the box, ready to dive below the tires if the cabby had somehow gotten away.

            “Albany?”

            She sagged with relief. “I’m here.”

            Milo came around the box, a wide grin on his face. “You’re all right?”

            “More cold than scared, if that helps.”

            He took her hand and began walking for the shoulder. “This is so going to ruin my chances of getting back unnoticed.”

            “You’re not going to be in trouble, are you?”

            “I doubt it. They still don’t know I’m gone.”

            “Did you have to hurt him?”

            “The cabby?”

            “Yes.”

            “No. I offered him an option that he was happy to accept.”

            “Don’t tell me.”

            “I wouldn’t dream of it.” They arrived on the shoulder, and Milo reached for his phone. The conversation that followed was in French, and Albany listened with astonishment. The sounds of sirens filled the air before Milo slid the phone closed and pointed toward the approaching red lights. “Our ride.”                      

<0> 

            “I’m sorry,” he said as they sped along the shoulder past the creeping traffic.

            “Sorry?”

            “Yes. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to insist that you come with me.”

            Confusion deepened, and she frowned at him. “With you? Why?”

            “When common cabbies can be bought, I’m afraid to leave you alone.”

            “Milo,” she laughed, “it had nothing to do with me! You walk around in a scarlet coat...you stand out!”

            His eyes closed as he shook his head. “His orders were to get you, Albany. I was just a lucky happenstance.”

            “Me? Why?” But even as she said it, she knew.

            Leverage against him.

            They could never get to Fanny, but Albany wasn’t a member of the household. She had no bodyguards, no driver. She couldn’t eschew the train in favor of a taxi between work and home if cabbies could be bought so easily. What was even more oppressive was the thought that there was no going back. They would take her, threaten Milo, and if they weren’t involved—if he expressed disinterest—she would become nothing more than a federal offense. Was this what she wanted? Was Milo enough? Her gaze rose to his face, but she didn’t see him.

            He touched her cheek and she jerked with surprise.

            “It can’t be that bad,” he whispered, concern robbing his eyes of their usual light.          

            Their dimness snapped her out of her stupor. She smiled and caught his hand, kissing his gloved palm. “I don’t ever want to see you like that again,” she commanded. “A Milo without smiling eyes is no Milo at all.”

            He looked abashed, as if struggling for words, then caught the back of her head and drew her forward, his mouth closing on hers.

            Two thoughts flashed through her mind as surprised muscles melted with pleasure; he smelled of fresh air and he was far stronger than he appeared. His warm lips greedily stroked hers as his hand fisted in her hair. She matched him; tasting, exploring, and breathing in the fragrance of his skin. His free hand snaked around her waist, drawing her further into his sphere. All thought ceased as she parted her lips and allowed his questing tongue access. His warmth flooded her body and she moaned as her internal organs pooled at her feet.

            “Alright, you two, knock it off,” the officer driving the car laughed. “This isn’t a joy ride, ya know.”

            Milo drew away, his forehead pressed to hers. “You were right. I should have waited.”

            She laughed, kissing his nose before sitting back.

            “We’ll be on the runway in five minutes,” the policeman went on. “You’d better call Palmer and let him know there’ll be two of you.”

            Albany gasped, turning wide eyes on Milo. “I don’t have my passport!”

            He laughed at her fears, and reached for his phone. “Welcome to my world, Albany Wendel.”

 <0> 

            Albany gaped at the plane as she was shepherded down the aisle. The main cabin appeared to be private rooms on either side with a common aisle.

            “You’ll be in Suite Three” the stewardess said as she opened a door on the right. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. We will be leaving in an hour.”

            “We’re waiting for someone?” Milo asked upon the threshold.

            The stewardess smiled and reiterated that they should call if they needed anything.

            Milo grinned as he closed and locked the door. “Cagey, as always. Bet you’ve never seen a plane like this before. It’s mostly a diplomatic clientele, so it uber private.”

They were standing in what looked like a berth on a train, only there were no windows. A pair of bunk beds were folded against the wall; there was a table and chairs with an open laptop on the table; a TV screen on the forward wall; a small kitchen area beside a door that Albany assumed led to the bathroom.

            “Is there a shower in there?” she asked, pointing to the closed door.

            “Nope. An Olympic-size pool.”

            She laughed as she continued to survey her surroundings. Milo shucked his coat, dropped it over the back of a chair which he then sat on and pulled the laptop toward him. “I’m going to have to work,” he murmured in the white light of the monitor.

            “Do you mind if I sleep?”

            “If you don’t mind that I join you later.”

            She smiled as she hugged herself. “I must be getting a cold. I’m freezing.”

            Milo stopped what he was doing to look up at her. “Why don’t you take a hot shower before you turn in?”

            Her shoulders dropped as she gazed at him and a slow smile split her lips. “Since I’ve met you, Mr. Scarlet, I have spent more time in dirty clothes than I care to think about. If I shower, what will I wear to bed?”

            “Nothing.”

            That brought her up short, and she blinked at him. 

            He pushed the cover of the laptop down and took her hand. “Come shower with me, Albany. Let me take care of you.”

<0>             

            With infinite care, he undressed her. He kept up a running monologue as he worked, telling her of past exploits in hushed tones. All was meant to put her at ease, and his tender regard threatened to bring tears to her eyes. 

            “Now comes the admission that may well end our unusual, but delightful romance,” he announced as he hastily removed his clothing and reached into the stall shower to turn on the water.

            Albany, in a haze of warmth and sleep, giggled at his sudden gravity.

            He returned to her side and, taking her hands, raised them to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Releasing them, he held up his still gloved hands.

            “Albany, I’m serious. I am never without gloves, as you’ve doubtless noticed and have been too kind to comment on.”

            She cocked her head at him.

            “The choice now lies with you. Continue as we are, or witness my horrific scaring.”

            She gasped, reaching for him. “Milo!”

            He nodded. “I was burned by acid at the tender age of eight. It was my fault entirely. And now, countless operations later, I hide my mistake so society is spared the sight.”

            Her gaze dropped to his hands. “They work alright?”

            “I have no sensation in certain areas, but other than their elephant-man appearance, they’re perfectly fine.”

            The previous minutes of gentleness filled her mind as she took one hand, turned it palm up, and began to draw off the white leather.

            “Albany,” he cautioned.

            But she shook her head and dropped her lips onto his emerging wrist. “You’re beautiful, Milo.”

<0>  

            He came to her almost like a dog that expected to be beaten. His customary confidence thinned to a diaphanous veil that she might have shattered with a word. That he had been with other women was assumed. But that they had not been positive experiences was made clear by each advance being echoed by a whispered appeal for approval. Had he been ridiculed, she wondered, for a lack of talent, or for the condition of his hands?

            It was true, he was not the most skilled lover she had ever had, but where he fell short in experience, he more than compensated with sincerity. His scarred hands, though surprising, were not the horrors he proclaimed. They moved over her with hesitation, as if fearful of rejection. Had other women seen them and been repulsed?

            In the narrow confines of the shower, Albany placed her back to his chest, caught his hands and used them to cup her breasts. For a full minute she directed him, her hands using his like gloves, before she released him, reaching back around his neck to pull at the knotted leather that held his hair in place.

Her guidance gave him greater confidence and he greedily gnawed her shoulder, up her neck to her ear. A wondering awe filled his voice as she raked her fingers through his loose hair. He whispered her name, over and over, like a man wandering in the dark, and she cursed his previous lovers.

Turning to face him, she caught a hand and slid it down across her stomach. He eagerly leaned forward, even as she rose onto her toes to shorten his trip.

“Is it all right here?” she asked, then gasped as his fingers slipped into the wet tangle of hair. “Do you want to…to…bed…Milo!” Internal muscles clamped onto his fingers. She was powerless to stop her hips as they swayed against him.

The mischievous grin returned as he kissed her. She surrendered then, all thought condensing to his body against hers, his hands, mouth and tongue. The heat of the water became as nothing to his hard body. He pushed her back, using the wall for support as his whispers of desire became animalistic growls.

Albany shared the mounting tension. She clung to him, begging with her body, and when at long last he lifted and pierced her, she threw her head back, screaming his name. In that second she felt him falter, but she added to his recovery by praising and pleading aloud. 

He grew bold then, and with this certainty, his true self shone through. Buried deep within her, he caught her face in both hands and kissed her senseless.

 

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