It was fair outside, no extremes in temperature, the city lights soft and hazy on the horizon. She pulled a piece of fluff from her stockings, zigzag designs ensnaring a wayward fuzz that lived out there in the air. Burgundy acrylic flicked it away, ears perked to hiking boots on cobblestone. Heather pushed off with her foot; the wood creaked as it was set in motion.
"Good evening, Mr. Stokes. Glad you came." Heather smiled, a gentle breeze drifting around her from the rocking.
Lines appeared around the ends of his mouth when he stretched those lips, humor tingeing his face. It was a sign of someone who enjoyed life.
"Would you like to swing?" she asked.
"I'll sit here, if you don't mind," he drawled, pulling up a piece of green aluminum patio furniture.
"There's iced tea in the pitcher. Help yourself." The mistress pointed at another container waiting with two glasses, one dry, the other recently drank from, resting on a cast iron end table.
His eyebrows arched up. "You selected this for me?"
"That would be a stereotype of your soft accent. It's unsweetened, just the way I like it." Heather replied, a tip of a boot tapping the ground to continue the momentum.
The curve of his mouth broadened. "You don't know what you're missing."
"Hmmmmm," the mistress replied.
She eyed his formfitting black cotton T-shirt, and a matching pair of jeans. The tee was new, fibers stiff, unworn. She dug her heel into the ground to cease her motion, and leaned forward. It smelled of being recently store bought.
"You dress for the occasion?" Her eyelashes blinked, as his soft, thick looking ones did so twice as fast.
Nick shifted in his seat. "I wanted to blend into my surroundings."
"Really. And do they help?"
Pink tinted his cheeks, the grin bigger, overcompensating. Even in the lack of light his tanned completion worked well with the added hue.
"I'm not sure yet. Though I like to wear the color, just all my old ones needed washin'."
Heather noticed the dark circles under his eyes, also brought out by his manner of dress. "Comfort around unfamiliar environments is gained with the ease within your own skin."
He tilted his head to admit her words, the genuineness so alluring. He moistened his top lip this time before he spoke. "Been tryin' real hard on that one, though--" The younger man glanced around and back towards the house. "This place isn't exactly my type of ballgame."
Heather stood up, her necklace dangling briefly from the movement. Nick's face went to blank pallet, and then to alarmed within seconds. He matched her, rising to his feet, mouth opened. "I'm s---"
Her fingertip traced the corner of his mouth. "Do you always go right to an apology before comprehending the situation?" Her nail continued along the outer edge of that square jaw, watching his curious eyes observe her.
"Sometimes," was the thick reply.
She traced up towards his earlobe, more fingers ready to explore over a sideburn and into his dark hair. Brown eyes sizzled, almost lost in her touch, before he ducked away cautiously.
Fingers left his skin and stroked the smooth obsidian of the charm that rested on her chest. "And what would make things seem more secure for you?"
He held his head up high. "If I didn't know how to adapt, I wouldn't have remained in Vegas, ma'am."
She smiled coyly. "Indeed," and the radar blip jumped.
The chains squeaked as the mistress relaxed back in the swing, content with observing her guest as he did the same of her.
"Why did you contact me? I mean…" He rubbed at his leg absently. "We exchanged a few words at the most in the past. I would seem to be nothing more than just background noise."
Heather caught another lazy tuft of fuzz along the hem of her skirt and plucked it from the fabric. She held it delicately between her fingertips, poised in front of her mouth. "Everyone who walks in here has a presence; some more subtle than others. While your colleagues seemed amused, or intrigued, you were simply… mystified."
He bowed his head again, another affectionate trait, his bottom lip punished by biting teeth. "I wasn't mystified, just…"
"Just what?"
He cleared his throat, his eyes shifting up towards those thick brows with his head still lowered. "I read about these places, seen pictures and all." He shrugged defensively. "I just think you don't need costumes or tools for sex."
Heather blew the piece of fuzz away and followed its escape as it drifted to the ground. She drew her gaze at her visitor. "Your voice gets lower when you're embarrassed, and you grin more to cover it up." She paused, "But at least you're not trying to tell me you're sorry for how you feel."
Heather took in her domain, eyes skimming over its various windows imagining the kinds of pleasure and pain behind them. "People are complex as you know in your line of work. It's sad that something so basic a need is constantly buried in insecurity, misconstrued or twisted in definitions of morality."
Nick remained quiet.
"Even the animal kingdom recognizes its importance next to the pillars of food and water." She stilled her sway. "There is no judgment here. Passion, lust, fear. It's all free to be expressed, no matter what is needed to stimulate, or tear away the barriers to it."
She drew in a deep lungful of air, admiring the light added aroma of musk and aftershave, her mind imagining the dark bottle of cologne. Heather knew the brand; she knew them all. Exhaling slowly she sat back and waited.
"What do you want of me?" His voice was throaty this time, eyes darker.
"Someone is blackmailing my clients. Threatening to expose their business here...in detail." Her last word was as anger-filled as she would get.
"Lady---"
She rewarded him with a sharp stare and he never finished his thought. "These clients receive written letters of extortion, citing details of their activities here, and then a demand of money in exchange for pictures of their time here. All correspondence is sent to their place of work."
"How is the money to be sent?" he asked, face a mask of pure focus.
"I'm not told, as every customer thus far has paid the blackmail, and didn't want to give me any details. Afterwards, I lost their business and this is just from the three that have stepped forward; there could be others."
"You haven't seen any of these supposed pictures?"
"No."
"So there might not be any," the criminalist thought out loud as he fiddled with a silver ring around his finger. A plain, simple piece of jewelry; masculine, eloquent, with the tiniest engraved design.
"I can't be sure," Heather replied.
"You have any of the written notes?"
"No."
Nick's mouth thinned in thought. "The details are accurate, correct?"
"Yes, I know that much," the mistress replied, containing the fire that burned deep.
Outwardly she continued the conversation as a matter of business. Her threshold for keeping feelings under control a well-trained discipline. Her fingers passed over smooth skin, ghosting over the stone on her choker. She adjusted the left strap of her corset, placing it back along the center of a bare shoulder, keeping it in its proper place.
His eyes stayed attentive to her face, to what she had to say. Never did they drift over to her breasts, or undress her outfit, even though it was carefully chosen for drawing attention. Even the slight patch of skin exposed between skirt and top had not garnered quick little looks.
Heather would normally associate this lack of normal male behavior and curiosity as a negative. However, as the object of her musing mulled over the information she found it an interesting trait. Quite...old fashioned.
She wondered.
He finally spoke, though she was pretty sure of what he would say.
"Lady Heather, this is really a matter for the police. A real investigation backed by warrants, legal ways to arrest and prosecute. I'm just a civilian, one that's…" Her guest cursed, jaw clamped tightly. "I don't think even if you ...I'm not the right person to help you."
He even used some of the words she had thought he would, turning down her offer. "I'm not interested in a trial. I just want facts undisputed and, as I said, things will resolve themselves. You are good at finding clues, are you not?"
"It's not that simple," he grunted.
"No, you're making it complicated." She raised her head, eyes daring him to refute things.
The tendons along his neck tensed, the muscles flexing under the newly purchased shirt enough to be noticeable.
"I know it's an inside job," she said easily.
Nick sized her up. Heather wondered what he was trying to examine, what he racked his brain over that he might have missed.
Seems they shared one thing in common.
"You're right, it has to be one of your employees, or...er... servants. You prepared to face betrayal?"
"In this life you have to be prepared to face adversity at every corner." She eyed the V-neck of his tee; another piece of fuzz took root on what should be pristine.
Nick murmured under his breath. "I can't go to the lab with anything. I can't--"
Heather leaned over, bending down to snatch the fuzz with her fingertips. His scent was stronger, oil glands, endorphins, all mixing together to create a distinct memory. The dark hairs of five o'clock shadow poked through perfect skin, accenting his cheeks, and other admirable traits. She showed him the troublesome lint.
His eyes went to her cleavage like an insect to flame and they dilated with wild admiration.
"Do you approve?" she asked, completely candid about her actions and his.
He drank her in, then locked eyes with her, "Kind of hard not to, though it won't help me with your problem," Nick joked, able to roll with the innuendo
Heather relaxed back into her rocking, a smile on her lips. "Great detectives in their day didn't need million dollar equipment to find their culprits. I trust your abilities and I know you would do what you could to protect people's privacy, even if you didn't understand it."
Silence again, her back against curved wooden beams.
Nick looked at her and took a deep breath. "I'll look into things, all right? See what I can find out, then we'll take things a few steps at a time."
She had been right again. "Thank you. Taking things slow is always a smart choice."
The criminalist relaxed, shoulders more at ease. Heather scooted over and patted next to her. "When's the last time you were on a swing?"
There was a brief flash behind brown eyes, and he laughed.
"I won't bite, Mr. Stokes. Unless you ask me to that is."
His face flushed, and he shook his head again...but he stood. Awkwardly at first, which he quickly tried to hide. Of course she knew about that too, but..…
He walked over, still chuckling; it was a sight so rare in her line of work, so openly modest. This fine-looking man sat next to her, not too close, and she planted the toe of her boot into the cobblestone and pushed off, beginning the momentum once again.
She kept her hands to herself and her guest even relaxed a little as the wind kicked up from their sway. "Enjoying simple things is the spice of life, Mr.---"
He held up his hand to cut her off. "If I'm going to be working for you, call me Nick."
Lady Heather nodded. "Sit back and enjoy the swing, Nick. You're not on the clock yet."
tbc... Notes always at my bio.