As she carefully exited her cab, Donna was pleased she had bought the black cocktail dress currently flashing her thigh. It was nice. Sexy, but classy. It worked her ample cleavage, but came down to her knee with a generous slit in the skirt. It wasn't as expensive as her underwear. The latter made her feel powerful in a funny way. Maybe it was the secret of knowing it was there. Of course, sometimes the secret wasn't so well kept. Donna bit her lip, wondering if this might be one of those times. Tonight's occasion warranted her best. She hadn't been asked out to a nice dinner with a proper man in a really long time.

Donna Smoak was a self-professed loser-magnet. She wondered sometimes if the ability to attract shiftless douchbags was wired into her vagina. Princes traveled from the four corners of the earth to charm their way into her sheets before turning into frogs. The last one, Steve, cheated on her with a 19 year-old dancer, "borrowed" $750 and took her flat screen TV as a parting gift to himself. Since then she had decided she couldn't afford to be in a relationship, emotionally or financially. She had started using a nickname, "Dee," to avoid unnecessary fraternization at work. Yeah, that was working.

When the decent guy she met in the casino bar earlier called and invited her to dinner, she had considered her answer carefully. Malcolm made a point to tell her that he was only in town until the next day. She was fine with that. Ships that passed in the night worked for her. He obviously had his own money and she could keep her heart. His situation also played into her James Bond fantasy, which was not a bad thing. It was only dinner, she told herself.

She gained her footing on the pavement, expertly. In her line of work, impossibly high heels were compulsory. She was petite. Her circle of friends included dancers and chorus girls from The Strip who towered over her. They also taught her all their tricks. Heels to appear taller, more elongated. How to put on her Cleopatra wig and makeup quickly and consistently. And other things. Donna's thoughts went to her costume for a minute. When she met Malcolm she looked completely different. Gone now were the jet black wig and the kohl eye makeup. What if he didn't recognize her? Or worse. What if he was disappointed? She took a breath and slung her old tan raincoat over her arm as she walked toward the restaurant. Flash storms were threatening and she didn't want to ruin her outfit if she was caught later.

Tony's was old Vegas. Rat Pack Vegas. Big red wine and huge steaks, cooked perfectly, or else. Malcolm was enjoying the vibe as soon as her entered. It was the kind of place you would only know about through a local. He was seated at a raised booth covered in plush red velvet upholstery. He couldn't help smiling again. He was now a million miles away from anything he knew and he liked the way it quickened his pulse. His eyes darted around the room, imagining all of the bad men who had enjoyed a meal here. He knew, of course, that he was likely to be the worst.

At first, he only saw blonde hair. Full and softly framing a heart-shaped face looking up at the maître d' near the doorway. Then he saw the woman's eyes. Blue. Big, despite the distance. Even without the wig and theatrical makeup, she was unmistakable. He watched those eyes turn toward him and a big smile draw across her red lips as she approached. Malcolm scooted to a standing position and smoothed out his suit. The corners of his mouth turned up as she drew near.

"Hi," Donna said almost shyly, moving close and offering him her cheek. He responded by leaning in and brushing his lips against it. He used his proximity to whisper "Hello," into her ear. He pulled away and admired her for a moment. She felt his eyes taking her in slowly and deliberately, from her feet to the top of her head, and she clenched her lips together. She expected him to linger on her breasts, as most men did.

"I wasn't sure you would recognize me like this."

"I would know you anywhere." Ah, the Girls, she thought, swallowing hard. "You have exceptional blue eyes." Donna shifted to a stunned smile as Malcolm took her coat and bag and placed them in the booth. He gently grasped her hand and guided her to step up. As she slid into her seat, she exposed an amount of creamy thigh that was likely inappropriate, depending on whom you asked.

Once Malcolm settled in across from his dinner companion, the sommelier approached with a very good bottle of red. Donna admired how nice Malcolm looked in his dark suit.

"Your wine, Sir. Decanted twenty-five minutes ago, as you requested." The waiter poured rich plummy liquid into their Cabernet glasses. He treated these patrons with the utmost respect. The man obviously had a refined palate, given his choice in wines and his request for its preparation in advance.

Once Donna realized the effort Malcolm had taken with the wine, she considered the act a compliment and a kind of culinary foreplay. She had never been with a man who planned that far in advance. So far, he was knocking it out of the park and she kept thinking that no wine would be necessary to intoxicate her. They took a moment to choose their meals next and the waiter hustled off.

Malcolm lifted his glass toward her for a toast.

"Thank you for this, Dee. Fascinating place. Classic Vegas. I feel like I've been let in on a secret."

Donna raised her glass, but lowered her eyes. She had a secret of her own.

"Malcolm, I'm kind of embarrassed. Dee isn't my actual name. It's just..." Merlyn opened his mouth in feigned surprise. He understood at once. Using her real name while serving drinks to frisky men would expose her privacy too much. A pseudonym kept her safe. The Dark Archer understood this.

"A secret identity!" He scanned the room, then leaned forward. "I imagine something a little more Bond Girl for a mysterious woman."

Donna brightened. "Oh, I do have a Bond Girl name picked out." Her eyes flashed at him and he waited. She began to blush and shook her head. Merlyn tilted his jaw in curiosity. She looked flustered. Malcolm dug into his pocket for a pen and slid it, along with a coaster, across the table. Donna picked it up and wrote something on it before sliding the cork disk back over to him. He raised it reverentially.

IVANA GOODLEIGH. Fuck, he grinned.

"Perfect!" he gave her a little grin. She beamed at him, sitting a little taller in her seat. Malcolm leaned in again and growled. "Bond approves."

Malcolm regarded her with some real admiration. She wasn't an accomplished career woman, but she was holding her own in a rough town. And she still had a buoyancy about her. Imagination. He had never met anyone like that before. Dee also had a rather tantalizing little figure. Curvy flesh that begged to be touched. So different from the women of the League, who were muscular and lean or the praying mantis-like ladies of high society. He found himself thinking about the thigh he had spotted earlier and how nice it would be to put his mouth right... there.

"So tell me about your...latest mission," she said, leaning her chin on her hand.

Malcolm considered her a moment. Playing with her was fun. Like playing with a sweet and innocent kitten. She certainly was no threat. He also liked the idea of entertaining her and seeing her expressions. As their meals arrived, he began to relate one of his more exotic missions in the service of the League. Details were changed to protect his identity and make him seem more heroic. An occasional salacious detail or double entendre elicited a muffled squeal. She was rapt.

He's probably an accountant, or a lawyer, she thought to herself. But who cares? He is so sexy. She fixated on various body parts as he spoke. The dimple in his chin. His thick, wavy hair. She barely noticed her food. His mouth was full and devastating when he smiled. It looked a little cruel when he recounted a dangerous part of his tale, but that only turned her on more. His eyes were dark and decorated with long eyelashes. His nose, a little sharp, would feel fantastic nuzzling her ear. Finally, his voice was deep and throaty. It conveyed all of the excitement of his story, which had so much sinister detail in it, it almost seemed real.

Malcolm was careful not to dominate the conversation. At certain points, he would stop and ask…Ivana…about herself. Did she prefer the Le Meridien or the Villa Belle Epoque hotel in Cairo? Did she like trains or airplane travel? There was also a lengthy discussion of weapons. The Femme Fatale insisted she liked those shiny little pistols that dangerous ladies concealed in purses and wore strapped to their thighs. Malcolm countered that they weren't much good from more than a few feet away. There was also a lengthy discussion about how lucky women were to be able to have handbags of all sizes for carrying a range of lethal items, whereas men had to conceal pistols and knives under suit jackets or inside boots. Donna delighted in the fantasy he was weaving and played along as best she could. Malcolm was much better at making up things spontaneously. He had seen a lot of spy movies, she surmised.

Donna tried to hold her own. She recalled stories some of the girls at work had told her. Jenny Conway had gone to Singapore and worked as a companion for a tech executive. Another, Tina Tomkinson had been a Rockette in NYC before heading west and claiming a spot as a showgirl at the Jubilee show at Bally's. She liked Tina's stories the best. Donna had wanted to be a showgirl herself when she came to Vegas. But she was too short by three inches and the dream eluded her. Donna crafted a little story based on their experiences and managed to entertain Malcolm for twenty minutes with a ribald tale about seducing an important tech expert while being an undercover dancer. It was a pretty good story. She liked embellishing the details about her costumes and the dances. Malcolm knew she was making everything up on the fly, but enjoyed what her imagination was revealing to him. He saw her need to be respected and to be desired.

When the plates were cleared, Donna scooted forward in her seat, leaning closer. She placed her hand on the tablecloth, drawing shapes with her manicured index finger.

"What do you think of Las Vegas?" he asked. Donna's face turned serious. It didn't feel like a fantasy question, but an honest one that deserved an honest answer.

"Everyone comes here and thinks it's glamorous. Which it can be, for sure," her voice suggested there was more to be said. "Everybody likes shiny things, don't they? But it isn't easy to stay polished up. People come along and want to wear it off you." Malcolm watched Donna's face go off somewhere a little melancholy. But a moment later, her smile and vivacious energy welled again from some unknown place. "Of course, we Bond girls stay shiny most of the time. With our fur coats and jewels and everything!"

Malcolm thought he understood her a little bit more at that moment. Her wide-eyed smile and vivid imagination were a deliberate choice, borne out of necessity, just as his persona was carefully cultivated to instill fear in his enemies and deceive the rest of the world.

He impetuously reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. She responded to his warmth, a flash of warmth registering throughout her body. Malcolm allowed his eyes to twinkle a bit.

"You know a great deal about dazzling men all on your own…Ivana." She responded to the compliment, real heat now being generated between her thighs. Malcolm looked into her eyes and knew his comment had the desired effect. Donna's left ankle found Malcolm's leg and pressed against it, sending a silent message. Then the waiter returned.

"Can we interest you in dessert this evening?"

Malcolm studied Donna, his eyes narrowing. She thought perhaps he was reading her mind at that moment. Did he know that she was obsessed with the idea of licking the cleft in his chin? Suddenly, he sat back, still looking into her eyes.

"Two glasses of vintage Port, and…you have cheesecake?"

"The best, Sir. Made fresh on the premises."

"Two," Merlyn nodded.

"Yes, Sir." The waiter disappeared, leaving the two to continue a rather intense staring contest.

"You like Port," he stated, rather than asked. She nodded, but without assuredness.

"It's like a kiss from a beautiful woman's lips. Deep red in color. Intoxicating sweetness followed by pleasurable heat. Irresistible and decadent." He was letting his libido respond to her feminine energy. Seeing the way she was looking at him made him feel powerful and masculine. No matter how frivolous a romantic assignation might be, he told himself that the practice of passion had value.

Donna's face flushed. She had to pull her hand away and catch her breath. Malcolm sat back and studied her.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" Donna heard him say the words and they didn't really register before he was suddenly gone. She was left to sit alone in the busy restaurant and felt a bit self-conscious. She took advantage of the break to adjust her outfit, to check her lipstick and cool her jets. Jesus, she made a sincere little prayer, please let me have him just this once. I won't ask for anything else for ages. The impropriety of asking God for a one night stand with an impossibly hot man was lost on her.

After a few minutes, Donna started to feel lost. Malcolm was taking longer than she expected to return. Could it be she had read him all wrong? He wasn't a wealthy Dad out on a lark? He was just another deadbeat who left her with the check? Unfortunately, this scenario had happened to her before. She didn't want to believe it and continued to find ways to distract herself as she waited for as long as possible.

Then, Malcolm strode back to the table and leaned over her He placed one hand on the table and the other on the back of the booth, effectively surrounding her. The two exchanged an intense look as he drew close enough to inhale her.

"I could never wait for dessert," he whispered.

Then he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, finding them pillowy and warm. Lovely. It evolved into something more than just welcoming. Donna's mouth sighed open and he invaded quickly with his tongue. The kiss was incredible and Malcolm's attentions made her feel beautiful, intensifying her response. His tongue was full of surprises, but Donna accepted each new assault with gusto. She was beginning to feel wetness pooling between her thighs. Exciting and slightly uncomfortable.

When Malcolm finally pulled away, he saw Donna's lipstick was smeared and her eyes had taken on a dreamy quality. He moved back to his seat. With a smile, he wiped his own mouth with his napkin, traces of her color contrasting the white linen. Malcolm smiled approvingly and handed it to his date, who was still recovering. She accepted the cloth and proceeded to clean up her pout.

Once the Port and cheesecake arrived they enjoyed a few quiet bites.

"You like it?" he asked.

"The Port is delicious. And the cheesecake is so decadent. I feel like I could float away." Malcolm nodded. After his last sip of the delicious red wine in his small glass, he cleared his throat. The waiter produced a bill and Malcolm brought out his wallet. He paid with large bills.

"That will be all. Thank you," he told the waiter, who knew better than to stick around when he'd just received a generous tip. Malcolm turned his attention to the woman voluptuous creature across from him – the one with the heaving bosom and the sweet smile.

"This has been such a fine dinner. Good wine. Good steak. A lovely companion. Scintillating conversation." He leaned forward. "And one exceptionally nice kiss."

"Thank you for inviting me, Malcolm. I have had such a fantastic meal!"

"You know, I can't stay. And I don't imagine I'll be back again. In my line, attachments are dangerous." He chose his words deliberately. Donna took each one in and nodded, communicating that she understood him.

"I hardly know you, really, but I can tell you are special. And I want our evening to end in the best possible way." Donna looked a little sad. Malcolm picked up the pen and scribbled on the coaster.

"We have just met and I don't want to be presumptuous or insult you in any way." He slid the disk across the table. "This is where I'll be tonight. If you would like to keep me company, I would certainly like that. Please consider it. There will be a car outside. It will take you anywhere you want to go."

Donna accepted the coaster. Malcolm snagged her other wrist and slowly pressed his lips into her palm. He could feel her pulse throbbing. He smiled, rose up, and exited the restaurant.

Donna sat quietly for a moment, processing what had just happened.

LATER

The Montmartre Suite at the Paris hotel was quite nice, even with the lights off. Opulently decorated in the French style, it had a bohemian edge that made it a little sexier. It wasn't really Malcolm Merlyn's style – he preferred the zen simplicity of Asian décor – but it was the nicest thing he could arrange on short notice. A quick call had initiated a change in venue for his bags. Now, here he was, resting in a chair, staring out a window at a facsimile of the Eiffel Tower and waiting. Subtle ambient music played through a sound system.

Malcolm looked comfortable now in dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was barefoot. During dinner, Malcolm had decided that he wanted to take…Ivana to bed and he wanted the setting to be nice. She obviously couldn't afford luxuries in her life, but she sincerely appreciated them. It might have been a little presumptuous to make the arrangement without getting her agreement first, but he was feeling pretty confident. He wasn't usually wrong when it came to these things.

A quiet knock roused him from his chair. Malcolm took one more sip from his glass of neat scotch and placed it on a table. He moved to the door, opened it and leaned in the entry.

Donna stood in the hallway wearing a Mona Lisa smile, heels and her tan trench coat. The coat was short, covering her torso completely, but its hem ended a few heart-stopping inches above her knees. Her hair was wrapped in sloppy bun. Donna had managed to become very turned on in the car on the way over, just thinking about what the night might bring. She licked her lips expectantly.

Malcolm regarded her with lust. His eyes were drawn to her legs, which seemed to go on forever. She, in turn, admired how good he looked in a simple white shirt. So classy. His lips turned upward and his breathing sped up.

"Miss Goodleigh, you look like fucking Christmas." Malcolm moved fast, at once grabbing her and pushing her straight back against the wall in the public hallway. She stifled a cry as he pressed hard against her. His mouth covered hers and found her just as eager as she had been at dinner. His hands roamed and kneaded her breasts over her coat. His leg pressed between hers. She gasped at the pressure and only managed to whimper "Yes," when he moved to lavish her neck with hot open kisses.

The nearby ding of an elevator moved Malcolm to action. He swept her into his room and slammed the door. Now that things were private, he kissed her again, this time more slowly. Donna wrapped her arms around Malcolm's neck and ran her fingers up into his hair. The Dark Archer responded by running his hands down her back, her waist and to her hips. Massaging the tops of her thighs over her coat elicited something akin to purring. She strained to press against him, seeking something strong and hard to nestle between her legs.

Malcolm finally pulled away. He took her palm and kissed it as he had in the restaurant. Donna smiled warmly and moved into the beautiful room as he held her hand.

"What a gorgeous place!"

"I thought you would appreciate it. Now, may I pour you a drink?"

"Okay. A glass of white wine would be nice…if you have it."

"I do." Malcolm moved toward the bar while Donna headed further into the room. A tactile person, she enjoyed touching all of the fabrics and surfaces surrounding her. A few minutes later, when Malcolm emerged with two glasses of wine, Donna was fiddling with the music system, looking for something with a better beat. She settled on a station that played rock.

Malcolm placed the beverages on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. He silently willed Donna to join him. She didn't disappoint. Instead of sitting down next to him, Donna moved close, spread her legs and straddled his lap. She leaned in for another languid kiss that tangled her tongue with his.

Eventually Malcolm needed more and began running his hands up her thighs. His exploration was deemed worthy almost immediately as he slipped his fingers under the thick fabric of her trench and moved to grab her ass. Skin and panties. Warm and soft. She felt incredible and the position she had taken gave her a kind of power that made her even sexier. Meanwhile, she felt his hardness and sought out optimal contact.

When they broke from their kiss, Malcolm stroked her face gently.

"If I don't remember to say it later, thank you for coming, Miss Goodleigh."

Donna started to smile and took a beat. She cocked her head to the side.

"Oh, I haven't come yet, but when I do, I'll let you know."

x-x

x-x

Thanks so much for reading this second chapter. It was long, but I enjoyed writing it and showing this side to Malcolm Merlyn.