CHAPTER 4: "Rules are rules, Major Steed."
Unsure what to think, Tara turned again to the mirror. The mist from the bedside orchids still lingered on her, and she breathed it in again. From somewhere she heard a distant glissando of a harp. Her vision went double for a moment, splitting into two Tara Kings before her. Then they re-converged. And now a single, sirenic figure gazed back at her. An image of herself more vivid, more alluring, than any she had ever seen. As if the woman in the painting had taken possession of her reflection.
As she looked at the image, slowly up and down, the arousal from before began welling again. Her hands drifted to her hips, in the snug-fitting skirt. She caressed their convex curves on either side, up and down. Then she moved around behind, and caressed there. All the while watching the figure in the mirror, like a sort of dual identity, or second self. As if a tentative lover was plying her... testing her receptiveness. Then she reared slightly backwards, and slowly drew her hands up the concave of her waist. And from there, upwards further, and outward, as her torso flared. Over the smooth blouse, gently crushing the silk as they passed. Gliding up, and towards her bountiful...
She stopped at that point, and blinked twice – becoming aware of what she was doing. What am I doing, she asked herself. She lifted her hands away. But just then the chandelier jingled gently, as if a door somewhere had opened, and stirred the air. She scarcely noticed the sound. However, the jostling caused the light to waver, and the mirror to shimmer accordingly... and somehow made her image all the more lustrous. Flecks of light from the chandelier danced in the figure's dark eyes. And in her own.
There was the time, on a previous case, when a microchipped book had caused her to fall instantly, helplessly, in love with next person she set eyes on. She soon recovered – but she never forgot the experience. The total, overwhelming passion. How she completely let go of her will, even her will to live, in her utter devotion to the man (though he was a ruthless enemy agent)
The memory was chilling... yet secretly exciting. To be so carried away; so lost. Sacrificing her whole career, even her life, for love of a scoundrel. Freely giving her heart, and soul, and body, to him. Yearning for his hands on her flesh; for his flesh in hers. Betraying her closest friends, her oath, her country; even herself. Nothing had mattered to her, but doing whatever he wanted – and offering herself, for him to do whatever he wanted with her.
The experience awakened something within Tara... deep within... that she hadn't known was there. Something she tried the rest of her life to deny – but could not.
She looked deep within the mirror now, at the figure so familiar and so strange. It was herself, and yet a bewitching, desirable Other. Yes, touch me. Feel me, the image whispered without speaking. Keep going, Tara. You so want to. Tara yielded, and placed her hands again on her side. Sliding them higher now, up from her waist, to nestle her large, womanly breasts through the silk blouse. As the shimmer continued, she fondled herself lovingly; never taking her eyes off her reflection. Her mind began veering into odd reflections itself. What a gorgeous body, the errant thought came to her. What a gorgeous, sensuous body. It could drive Steed out of his mind. It could drive any man mad.
Her hands eased their caressing, and her fingertips tickled the buttons of the blouse. Running up and down the pearly column, as if toying with a flute. Her eyes glittered, even as an impish, devilish smile flickered to the lips of her mirror twin. Yes, came the whisper again, drive them mad. You know how. She murmured said "Yes..." and undid the top button; then another. Drive them mad. It's what you want... it's what they want. She wasn't sure if the words were her own, or from her image, or both.
Down her fingers moved. Her twin smiled the more. That's right, Tara. Keep going. Another... another. She undid the third, revealing more of her smooth skin, and the upper reaches of her breasts and bra. The brooch sparkled hypnotically in the crisscrossing light. All the way, the mirror coaxed. It's what you always wanted... always dreamed of. To go all the way. Then the fourth, as Tara's smile widened, at the ever more delectable image. And then parting the last. But with the final undoing, a glimmer of rational thought returned. Causing her hands to pause, as her critical self – Tara King, trained and trusted agent – came back to the fore. Mad? What am I doing? What's going on here? Her fingers drew away. She tried to think; to sort out this strange fancy.
Then the muse Erato, darkest tressed of the Nine Sisters, took the bow into her own expert hand, and stroked it across the most intimate part of her earthly sister. Tara shivered at the vibrato... as Erato smiled, and stroked yet again. Keep going, trilled the mythic seductress. Your body is so beautiful, and sensual. Don't think. Just feel... just be. And at the third stroke of the bow, the keenest of all – the very tone itself seemed to arch Tara's back – she grasped the parted bodice, and drew it open. Her arms stretched back, pulling the blouse from her chest, as the silk glided over and off her smooth shoulders. She freed the hem from her beltline, and the garment slid down to her wrists behind her, and dropped. The brooch clicked on the parquet floor. She held the pose, like a ship's figurehead, and looked upon her sumptuous breasts in her scarlet, lace-edged brassiere. Then she gathered them in her hands again, to fondle them anew.
A sly smile appeared. And the mirror, somehow, seemed to read her thoughts. Reflecting them, even as it did her image. Yes... they're wondrous. So enticing; so full. Then it seemed to keep whispering, into her mind, Keep feeling them, Tara. That's right. Keep feeling them... And Tara did so, never taking her eyes from the glass. Relishing their curvature... their size... the wonderful sensations quickening in them. Take off your bra, was the next whisper. Take off your bra, so you can feel them more.
A part of her shied. Although alone, and the door locked from the world, an instinct of modesty flickered. But her hands wouldn't stop their gentle, insidious assault. She could sense the breasts yearning for her direct touch. She massaged them more boldly, to assuage their desire – but only aroused it further. "Feel them more..." she finally repeated, with a catch in her voice. She reached behind her back, with both hands, to the hasp. And unsnapped it. Then she brought her arms around, and crossed the hands to each shoulder. Bundling her chest into a gorgeous, deep cleavage. Never taking her eyes from her reflection.
With her thumbs, she nudged the scarlet straps off, left and right. Then hooked them, and opened her arms downward. With a lithe sway of her torso, the well-filled brassiere fell to her fingertips, and to the floor, where it lay beside the blouse. Tara gazed down at the discarded garments. "Mad..." she said softly, to no one. The ticking of the bracket clock seemed to fade away. She drew erect, and presented her full, unclothed bosom to the glistening mirror.
Steed was livid. "What the devil do you mean that Stanhope has to accompany us?" He paced the Chief Constable's office in frustration. He had told Tara, when she called from the rover phone in her Lotus, that they would set out within 30 minutes. Now this preposterous delay!
The official coolly regarded the irate visitor to his domain. "Rules are rules, Major Steed. Without Stanhope, the scoundrel might walk scot-free in the Assizes, or whatever they're calling it now. And all the Yard's work, not to mention your Ministry's, would be for naught." At Steed's glare, he added, "I am sure your Miss King can hold her own for a short while. Stanhope will be arriving, I dare say, at any moment."
Steed gripped and ungripped his brolly. "I certainly Stan'hope so!" he rejoined. Then he strode to the window, and looked outside.
He had sometimes worried about Tara. Never about her professional skills, which had proven themselves far beyond the doubters after Emma left. His worries were of a different hue. Tara had depths... depths of passion, unplumbed, unsatisfied. Things a mere man could barely understand, but ways a wicked man could take her. And during their search for Lord Lucan, Steed had seen her eyes; heard her voice. Perceived her heart beating.
Yet he had to believe she could, indeed, hold her own. Yes, she can, he told himself firmly, as he leaned on his trusty accoutrement. Tara can handle herself.
Coming next...
CHAPTER FIVE: A chilled coupe of champagne