Black Widow (Garou 1)

Black Widow (Garou 1)
Jonathan Wright
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2010 Jonathan Wright

"You know you are hunted. And this is not the first time someone has tried to kill you."

She sipped a dark Merlot that suited the simplicity of the moment. "Yes. But I am no criminal, let me make that clear. How did you know?"

"You are very calm. You made no mention of the police."

She tilted her head slightly. "And neither did you insist, which is certainly just as intriguing, don't you think?"

Garou said nothing, swirling his wine.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Garou admired her, as she seemed to expect. She wore a pale silk blouse sheer enough to reveal her heavy tits that appeared to neither have nor require visible support, and dark slacks that accentuated her long legs. He shrugged. "An American tourist."

Her almond eyes narrowed. "I think you are being cautious. Or perhaps evasive." She smiled a little. "You find me attractive, yes?"

Lush lips and arched eyebrows accentuated her sculpted face. Thick black hair fell in a foaming cascade halfway down her back. He frankly eyed the significant cleavage exposed by the mostly unbuttoned blouse. "Yes."

"I am more than twelve hundred years old."

Garou turned his glass slowly as he met her gaze then looked at her tits, again. "You carry it well."

She smiled. "Perhaps you do not believe me?"

He liked her accent, French without being obviously so. Her body appealed to him somewhat more. He fingered the cane that leaned against their table. The sidewalk café served good espresso and croissants, along with an excellent Merlot. The dinner crowd swarmed around them as the last red-orange light sprayed through the skeletal structure of the Tour d'Eiffel.

Finally deciding how he felt, Garou replied, "I don't care."

"Yes," she admitted. "I am hunted. Given enough time, everyone makes enemies, non?"

"You do not seem concerned."

She smiled sadly. "People of my sort tend to become rather fatalistic with age."

He waited.

She started to speak, then paused and sipped her wine, looking at him.

The meeting of their eyes felt very comfortable to Garou. Not as though they were flirting -- that part was already clearly understood, and in fact had passed into the realm of foreplay. Instead, he felt a sense of peace.

After a full minute, she said, "I am impressed, monsieur. Few men are comfortable in their silence with a woman such as I." She paused again. "There is something else you should understand about me. I am very sexual. That is why I asked you to come here. I know the management."

"Indeed," he said. "And so you get the best table?"

She grinned. "No." Her long nails glimmered crimson in the low light as she casually opened her blouse in full view of the other patrons. Her tits spilled out, smooth chocolate globes against sheer white silk. Her scarlet lips curved upward in a self-satisfied smile of quiet anticipation.

In the well of immediate stillness that settled on them Garou didn't bother glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. He leaned back, once more twirling the glass. Beyond their table, the swishy Maitre'd took notice with upraised eyebrows.

She tucked in the blouse without buttoning it, so that the effect was to seem to cover her nipples without actually achieving anything of the sort.

Around them, the usual noise of people consuming caviar and paté resumed, almost as though they had been momentarily frozen in time and then the film had continued.

She licked her lips. "You are impressed by -- mon audace?" Her voice had thickened noticeably. "I am an -- une exhibitioniste..."

She rose, leaning over the small table and bracing herself with her arms. The blouse fell open again, treating him to both the sight and musky scent of her tits. He could have leaned forward slightly and engulfed each of them in his mouth.

Her low voice quivered with hunger. "Come with me to my apartment."