AN: I can't believe I'm diving head first into another fic, but here I am swimming in the deep end. This is a bit of a departure from NOM, so I hope you'll like it.

Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang was the brain baby of a conversation I had with my fabulous beta Sunkisz. It sounded like a good idea and then we began sighing and giggling about how much we loved Daniel Craig's blue shorts (oh yeah, you know what I'm talking about), so there you have it.

Many thanks to S_Meadows who so kindly (and awesomely) made my very first banner, that just so happens to be for this story. If you haven't seen it yet, it can be found here:

http : // img42 . imageshack . us/img42/2227/kissbang . jpg (remove spaces)

The characters belong to one Ms. Charlaine Harris and one Mr. Ian Fleming. The combination of the two into what you'll read though, is all mine.

Some of the intro is his too – you can't really top it, so why even try?

Chapter 1 – A Girl Named Red

Martinique - 14 40 N, 61 00 W

The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino were nauseating at one in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling – a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension – becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.

I knew that I was tired, that my senses were dulled. I always knew when my body or my mind had enough, and I always acted on that knowledge. It helped me to avoid staleness and the sensual bluntness that breeds mistakes. I wasn't in a business where I could afford a mistake. A mistake in my career could mean that it was over; that I was over.

I shifted myself unobtrusively for a moment at the Blackjack table. It always was Blackjack. No matter where I went, or what mission I was on, I inevitably ended up at a Blackjack table, staring across at my mark and the parade of beautiful women in his entourage. I say his entourage, because nine times out of ten, my mark was a man. But not tonight.

No, tonight I sat across the table from a beautiful woman, who showed no signs of strain despite having been at the table herself for the last three hours. There was an untidy pile of flecked markers in front of her. In the shadow of her left arm, there nestled a discreet stack of the blue chips, worth a quarter of a million Euros each.

I'd been in Martinique for three days, spending my first night at Casino de la Batelière Plaza and the last two nights here at Casino des Trois. I had seen nothing of interest at the larger casino. The people that moved in Leclerq's circle were loath to attend anything where they would get much attention, nothing too public. It was not surprising that I'd located my target at the smaller, more intimate Casino des Trois.

I had very little information on who I was looking for on this mission. When R had given me my assignment, she had said that my target would be in Martinique, and that they had an affinity for Blackjack. I'd spotted Red the minute I'd stepped into the casino last night. Her body had been dripping with jewels, and she tossed money around as if it were candy. She kept mainly to herself, speaking only with the dealers and cassiers. I watched as she dismissed every man that approached her with a glare of her icy blue eyes, with one curt shake of her head.

There was something intriguing about her, something that made her different from the others I knew that worked for Leclerq. I knew Leclerq liked his women to be beautiful, and Red was undeniably so. I also knew that Leclerq used the women that worked for him inside his organization and inside his bed. This one didn't look like she was keen on sharing anyone's bed, judging from her response to the attention she was getting. She looked like she was on a mission; she looked like she was waiting for someone, and hadn't seen them yet.

I leaned back in my chair to straighten and pull at the cuffs on my tuxedo. I took great pride in looking the part, and it had never failed me. You would have thought that someone of my size and appearance would be known in the international communities; an easy target in the underworlds I tried to infiltrate – it wasn't every day that you saw a 6'4" blond man. People in my profession were expected to blend in, and I certainly did not. It was a testament to how good I was at my job that no one knew who I was. Oh, my reputation preceded me, of that there was no doubt – I'd grown a reputation known only as "The Swede" – but the men never lived to tell the tale of what I looked like, and I took care of the women in a different way entirely; a way that left them barely remembering their name, much less able to give a detailed description of my appearance.

And that is exactly what I planned to do with Red over there. I would be able to break through her barrier. I was Eric Northman, I had never failed a mission, and I wasn't about to do so now. I looked across the table and took in everything there was to know about her, from the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she got a less than satisfactory card, the way she spun her ring when she did, to the way her eyebrows didn't seem to match her long, curly red hair.

It can't be real, I thought as I looked at her. Her skin was too tan, too rich to belong to a natural redhead, though the color certainly looked good on her. If I had my guess, I'd say she was a blonde through and through. I wondered if I'd have a chance to prove my theory right later when I had her out of that red dress, or if she would've taken care of that area as well.

I watched as her fingers trailed down the edge of the dress, which dipped low in the front to reveal an impressive chest beneath. The woman knew her assets, and she knew exactly how to work them. If I were anyone else, I would be easily distracted by her looks. I'd been with stunning women countless times, women who could claim beauty that was far greater than the one I faced now.

This one should be easy.

By this point in the night, we were the only people left at the table. When the waitress came around to the table, I ordered a Scotch and Soda. It would be my third drink of the night. I enjoyed partaking in a cocktail, but not enough to impair my senses. I knew that not drinking in this setting would raise an alert to anyone that may be watching me, and thus complied with the standard. There were many ways to blend into a crowd, to convince watchful eyes that you were another vacationer on holiday and not a deadly weapon.

"Care for a cocktail there Miss…?" I trailed off, addressing my target for the first time. I disguised my slight accent, electing to put on a British accent. As I said, my reputation preceded me, speaking with the slightly Swedish lilt could put me in jeopardy. It also didn't hurt that I'd yet to find a woman who wasn't intrigued by the James Bond fantasy at a place like this. Little did they know how close they were to fulfilling it when they agreed to let me back to their room. It was always their room. It made it easier to sneak out without any questions after I exhausted their mind and body. It was always the same, I did my job. I left them sated, and then I left them alone.

She startled and looked up at me, her blue eyes meeting my own with shock and indignation. I suppose she did not think that anyone at the table would talk to her. The surprise was gone quickly, replaced with a calculating stare. She was measuring me; I could see it in her eyes. Perhaps she thought I was the man she was looking for.

"Lane," she said bluntly. When I raised my eyebrows, she continued. "Miss Lane. And yes, I could use another gin and tonic. Hendrick's please," she said to the waitress.

So she was an American. That was a surprise. Leclerq tended to like his women from the continent, and almost always from France. His favorite operative was a young girl of 19, Sophie-Anne. He'd found her when she was a young child, orphaned by her parents and wandering the streets alone. While he hadn't been much older, he'd raised her as his own and trained her to be exactly what he needed in order to carry out his operations. Despite her youthful and innocent appearance, she was absolutely lethal. I had no doubt this Miss Lane would be anything less.

Miss Lane turned back to face me and offered me a dimpled smile. "Thank you Mr…?"

"Reynolds," I said with a nod. "Eric Reynolds."

"Tell me, Mr. Reynolds – "

"Eric, please," I interrupted. It wasn't smart to give anything away about myself – anonymity was the chief tool of my trade – but I wanted to hear my name pass those ruby lips. My name. Not the alias I was under.

"Eric," she said dismissively, "tell me. What finds you at a casino in Martinique at this time of the year? Are you here for business, or for pleasure?"

She was blunt. I could appreciate that about her. Most operatives thought that you had to tip-toe around questions. I knew better, and so did Red.

"Can't it be both?" I asked with a smirk. It would be pleasurable business getting information out of this one. I looked forward to making it satisfying for her as well. She shook her head at me, and I continued, "Business." It wasn't an outright lie. Always best to stay as close to the truth as possible. "Yourself?"

"Business," she said curtly. "What is it you do, Mr. Rey - Eric?"

"Import-export." That was always the cover I flew under. Vague enough be real, specific enough that I wouldn't get many questions. Usually.

"Is that so?" she asked.

"Yes, quite." The waitress delivered our drinks, setting Red's down first. I watched as she took a drink and set it down. Looked like Red enjoyed nursing a cocktail as much as I did. She wasn't going to be one I could get to loosen up with a few drinks without a little more effort on my part.

I took a sip of my Scotch and Soda, allowing the burn to travel down my throat and spread throughout my chest before turning my attention back to her. She was looking at me expectantly, almost as if she were trying to read me.

"Shall we increase our wager?" I asked.

"Can you afford it?" she asked and looked at my pile of chips speculatively. True, in comparison to the mound she had amassed, my pile was trifling. But I didn't have money in mind.

"I was thinking something else." She didn't comment, just nodded as an indication that I should continue. "If you win the next hand, regardless of your bet, you can have all the chips I have here."

Her eyes rounded. While my pile was much smaller, the chips I had were worth half a million euro. "And?" she asked.

"And if I win, you agree to have a cocktail with me. Away from this table."

She sat back and studied me. I could tell that she was gauging my motives behind such a move, but I knew that I'd given nothing away. As far as she was concerned, I was a businessman in Martinique, interested in having a drink with a woman I met.

"That hardly sounds fair to you."

"It wouldn't be, if I didn't plan to win."

I was rewarded with a laugh. Her first, genuine laugh since I'd spied her. It was enchanting. She threw her head back, revealing a long, smooth neck. Yes, I would be spending time on that neck later, exploring every inch of it with my lips and tongue. There was no reason to not enjoy the benefits of my job and get the information I was seeking.

"If you're that sure, Mr. Reynolds, I will take you up on that offer."

I nodded at the dealer for my next card. It was an Ace. Combined with my Queen of Hearts, I had 21. I looked up to see the dealer pass Red her card. Her face was expressionless when she looked at the card. For someone that hadn't studied her closely, there would be no signs, but I had. I watched as she twirled her ring, and knew she thought she had a winning hand.

"The house has 18," the dealer announced, revealing a Jack and the eight of diamonds. "Players, show your cards."

"Ladies first," I insisted. I wanted to see the triumph cross her face when she showed me what she had been dealt.

Red locked eyes with me as she turned her cards over and smiled at me. "Two kings," the dealer announced. "Twenty. Sir?"

Red's eyes gleamed with triumph as she nodded at me, taunting me to reveal my cards and lose our bet. She eyed my neat stack of chips like a starving man looks at a plate of food, or like I was used to women looking at me.

With a flick of the wrist I turned my cards over, my eyes never leaving hers. The edge of my mouth turned up in a smile and I watched as her eyes flickered down to my cards, saw the shock register in her features before she composed herself again.

"Well done Mr. Reynolds," she said.

"Eric," I insisted again.

"Yes, well done Eric. I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't ask for more than a cocktail." She waved down the cassier and discretely asked to be cashed out before turning back to face me.

With any luck, I would be getting far more than a cocktail out of her. But there was time for that. For now, getting her away from the table was my primary objective.

I offered my hand to Red when the cassier had collected both of our chips. "So, Miss Lane. Can I dare to ask your first name? Seems so formal between old friends."

"You should have made that part of the bet then," she said with a smile as she took my hand. She paused and turned to face me. "It's P- Susannah."

The stutter was hardly noticeable, but you didn't get to where I was by missing subtleties. I wondered what she would have said – if she would have given me an alias, or if she had been about to let her real name slip.

"Susannah," I said, liking the way it rolled over my tongue, but that formal of a name didn't really suit her. For as much as she was trying to project ice, I knew she was nothing but fire underneath.

"Shall we go to the bar and get our cocktail?" she asked. "A bet is a bet, and I never fail to follow through." There was a hint of suggestion in her voice, and I wasn't reading into it. This woman who had flicked away countless men had some interest in me.

"Ah, Susannah," I replied, memorizing the feel of her soft skin against my fingertips. "I'm afraid you should have asked me to be more specific. I didn't say where we'd get a drink, only that it would be away from the table. Are you staying nearby?"

Her eyes widened as she realized her error, but she soon shrugged, the silk of her dress playing across her delicate skin, offering a glimpse of what treasure lay beneath. "That depends on what you consider nearby," she responded. "I am at Cap Est."

Convenient. And I said as much.

"Do you think I'd be quite that easy, Eric? That I'd agree to take you back to my hotel?" Her eyes revealed a glimmer of humor, as if she were testing me. I had no doubt I would pass. I always did.

"My hotel as well," I pointed out.

She looked at me thoughtfully before inclining her head in the slightest nod, her eyes never breaking contact with mine. It was a confident woman who could parlay with the likes of me, and I looked forward to seeing how far she would take our charade.

I supplied the valet with the ticket for my car – an Aston Martin. It may be a cliché car in my circles, but it did the job. In the life of a secret agent, there were moments of great luxury, and moments of great hardship. This moment was the former. My assignment was to act the part of a very wealthy man, something I was able to do with little effort. I had grown up in these circles, had experienced every luxury known to man by the time I was 15. There was little that could faze me in this set, and it was exactly what made me better at my job. The best at my job.

Agents that entered this world with no experience could too easily be swayed by the glamour and sheen of the elite. This set sparkled and shone brightly, too easily blinding and distracting those that were not ready for it; not accustomed to the pace.

I watched Red as we stood waiting for the valet to return with my car – she had been delivered to the casino by the hotel's car service; there was no unnecessary conversation of how we would return. Her skin flushed with goose pimples as the cool breeze swept across the terrace, her body responding with the slightest shiver.

"Eric," she said, her voice interrupting the stillness of the night, "I do not think that my Mother would approve of me going home with a man I just met."

"Then it's a good thing your Mother isn't here."

Her laughter spilled out of her lips, across the distance that separated us, pouring through the very pores of my skin until I felt it was a part of me.

"Yes, it's a very good thing. I do think that she would advise me to stay away from you."

The valet pulled the car in front of us, handing the keys to me in exchange for the handful of chips I provided as payment.

"Why is that, Susannah?" I asked, opening the passenger door for her, inhaling her scent as she stepped close to me, as close as she'd been all evening. She smelled of jasmine and the faintest hint of… sunlight?

"Because she warned me to stay away from bad men, Mr. Reynolds," she said with a smirk as she climbed into the car, reaching down to tuck the long train of her dress inside.

"And are you quite certain I'm a bad man, Susannah?"

"Most definitely," she responded, looking up to meet my eyes.

"If that's the case," I said, leaning against the open doorway, taking in the advantageous view I had down her dress. Yes, this was going to be a very pleasurable assignment, "then what is a nice girl doing getting into my car?"

"Who said I was a nice girl?" she quipped.

I looked forward to finding out.

*

One drink turned into three, then four. Red's lips loosened as she sipped on her gin and tonics, but she never let anything essential slip. She stayed in control of her senses, the situation, the entire time. I should have known that she wouldn't give up any information this easily. Either that, or she wasn't the man (or woman in this case – and oh, what a woman) I was looking for. But, no, there was something off about her, something that gave me the impression that she was playing a role as much as I was.

Tonight she was playing the role of the seductress, and doing a damn good job of it. As a man who had experienced and performed seduction in its various forms, I could say without a doubt that Susannah Lane was a master of her art. The subtle tilt of her head; the fluttering of her lashes; the way she gently bit and released her bottom lip when she was asked a question; they were all tricks employed to reel in a man and cloud his vision until he couldn't see straight.

I signaled to the waitress to bring another round of drinks to our table, trying to distract myself from the tractor beam that I felt pulling me closer to her. If I wasn't careful, I would lose my edge with this one.

"So Red," I said as the waitress set down the drinks in front of us. Her eyes widened at the use of my nickname for her – I couldn't be bothered with her real name. It was too formal for what was surely to happen between us later. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Red?" she asked with a laugh.

I smirked at her and nodded. "It suits you."

Her eyes shifted to the side, as if she were determining what the appropriate response would be. "Thank you, I suppose. And, it depends what you mean by personal."

"What's a beautiful woman doing on Martinique by herself? Surely you must have someone, somewhere."

I watched her closely, looking for the telltale signs – the stiffening of her posture, a twirl of her hair – but she provided nothing. She returned my stare with an assessing gaze before finishing off her drink.

"I may. I may not. Does that concern you?"

"It never has before."

"Why does that not surprise me? Tell me, do you like women that are taken Eric?"

"It keeps things simple," I said with a shrug.

"What if I weren't taken? Would you still be interested?"

"In you?" My eyes drifted down to her bare neck, to the steady pulse I could see beating there, then further down to the deep V of her dress and the skin that was hidden below. "Yes. I think I could make an exception in your case."

She sat back in her chair, the tension and pretense slipping from her form as she truly relaxed. Bingo. I had her exactly where I wanted her.

"Then what are you waiting for?" she asked.

I arched my eyebrow in response, never one to assume anything. Take advantage of situations? Most definitely. But to assume anything could be dangerous.

"I'm assuming this has all been a ploy to get me to invite you back to my room. Yes?"

The laughter erupted before I could stifle it. The woman had balls, I could give her that.

"You could say that, Red."

"Then," she said, standing up and grabbing her wrap. I was frozen in place as she began to walk away, mesmerized by the sway in her hips, the way her waist curved and the silk clung to her body. "I will reiterate. What are you waiting for?"

*

She stayed three steps ahead of me as we left the bar and walked through the open courtyard; far enough away that she was out of my reach, but close enough that I could smell her, sense the heat radiating off of her body. She wound down a dark and narrow path, lit only by the decorative torches hung every fifteen feet, never looking back to see if I was following. She knew I was. I would be a fool not to. Even if I didn't get any information out of her tonight, there was nothing in this world that would stop me from following the siren wherever she led me.

She veered off the path, stopping at a secluded villa to dig her key out of the excuse of a handbag she had been carrying all night. I couldn't resist myself – couldn't resist her – any longer. I stepped close to her, reaching out to brace myself against the wall of her villa, so close that the rise and fall of my breath brought my chest into contact with the bare skin of her back.

"Red," I whispered, centimeters away from her ear. I felt her body shiver in response to my words, to the breath that traveled across her ear and down her neck, before I leaned down and tasted her skin for the first time. It was intoxicating: sunshine and honey, encased up in a red silk dress, ready for me to unwrap and enjoy.

She inhaled sharply as my lips touched her skin, her fingers stilling on the key she'd pulled out of her bag, her hand frozen in mid air. She leaned into me, the movement so slight that one with dull senses may not have caught it.

My hands, idle at my side, moved to clasp her waist and pull her tightly against me. I groaned at the sensation of her body pressed into mine, how the curve of her back hugged my groin, how her shoulder blades pressed against my ribs and the top of her head brushed my chin. She fit me perfectly.

"You're going to be the death of me, Red." And she very well could be if I couldn't get it together. Though, at this point, I wasn't sure if I cared. All logic, all reasoning had disappeared hours ago. I may be making a mistake, but it was a mistake I wouldn't regret, no matter how this ended.

She pressed back against me with a sigh, tilting her head to the side to give me better access to the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders; access I took advantage of. My lips and tongue danced across the tan softness, eliciting groans of appreciation from her barely parted lips.

"Eric," she whimpered, her breathing ragged as she called my name into the darkness.

I smiled against her skin, trailing up to take her earlobe into my mouth. "Yes Red?"

"I think we should take this inside," she said, pulling out of my grip to put the key in the door. "No use in having a bed if it's not put to use." The look she gave me was filled with the promise of what was to come, brimming over with passion and lust I hadn't seen in any of the women I'd been with, and a part of me snapped.

The door swung open, hitting the wall behind it with force as I pushed her against it, finally capturing her lips with my own. Her legs flew up to wrap around my waist, the red silk bunching between us as I pressed against her. My hands moved to her hips and thighs, brushing against the exposed skin as I held her in place, not wanting to leave this moment as our tongues danced against one another's.

The sound of voices drifted across the stillness of the night, alerting me of oncoming foot traffic. Even in this lust-induced haze, I knew that I was safer inside her villa than out of it. Pulling my mouth away from hers, I wrapped my arms around her tightly and carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind me with a loud bang that rattled the frame, sending the "do not disturb" sign fluttering to the floor. I'd worry about being disturbed later. For now, I only had one focus.

In five long strides, I found a counter at the mini-bar and set her down on it. My hands would miss the feel of her full hips and thighs, but there was more to explore, more to touch; I could – and planned to – return once I'd conquered the rest. I turned my mouth back to her ear, her neck, savoring the flavor and the response.

Her small hands danced up the front of my shirt and tugged on the ends of my bow tie until it was nothing but a strip of black cloth hanging around my neck. "Mmmm," she practically purred, "I love a man who wears a real bow tie."

"How about a man who wears nothing at all?" I asked against her neck, underscoring the last word with a nip at her pulse point.

"Even better."

In a blind frenzy, we tugged and pulled at the fabric that covered each others bodies. Her hands snaked into the arms of my jacket, pushing it down my arms until it was a forgotten memory. My fingers latched onto the thin straps of her dress, drawing it down the silky skin of her arms until it came to rest at her waist and revealed the strapless, lacy red bra underneath. It was the kind of lingerie that was designed to drive a man crazy – the kind that barely covered anything, yet made a man salivate to see the rest.

"Red," I groaned, trailing my fingers down her legs, which wrapped around my waist, her ankles hooking behind the small of my back. When I captured her feet in my hands, I gently pulled them apart and guided them to the floor. As much as I enjoyed having her pretzel around me, I wanted nothing more than to get her out of the rest of her dress.

Her feet hit the floor while her hands busied themselves on my glaringly bright white shirt – jerking the fabric out of the waistband of my pants and impatiently unbuttoning the tiny hidden buttons. She pressed her mouth against my chest, leaving a wet kiss in place of every button she undid. My knees gave way to the sensation, and I thought I was going to lose my balance when that mouth I'd been fantasizing over all night reached my naval, her tongue darting out to swirl around it before she moved back up my chest and pushed at the arms of my shirt until it joined my jacket on the floor.

I groaned when she ducked under my outstretched arm, reaching out to grip my waist and spin me around until I was facing her once again, my back against the counter as our positions changed, and the power changed. She reached up and pressed one finger to my lips, ordering my silence as she stepped out of my reach and slowly peeled the red silk from her body, revealing miles of tan skin and a scrap of red lace that had been hidden beneath the fabric that now pooled at her feet.

I kicked out of my shoes and socks, and lunged at her like a man on a mission, which is exactly what I was. She gasped and giggled as I swept her up in my arms, her bare skin contacting mine for the first time of the night. I inhaled sharply as my fingers brushed across her bare hips, their roughness in stark contrast to the delicate skin stretched across her abdomen.

I blindly moved forward, stopping only when I had her back against the opposite wall, our collision causing a framed picture of a rooster to go crashing to the floor, shattering the glass inside.

"Eric!" she gasped, struggling to free herself from my grip as she looked at the broken frame on the ground. "Stop. We can't leave it there like that."

I tightened my grip, unwilling to release her for anything; not until I finished what I started. "It's not important Red," I murmured against her temple, and stepped backwards, away from the mess we'd created. I carried her to the bed, brushing my lips across her temple. "We'll be safer over here. I wouldn't want that glass to be near this pretty skin."

I set her down gently on the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of her and unbuckling the straps on her sparkling high heels, pulling them off her feet to toss them into the abyss behind me. My lips traveled up her calves, her groans of approval spurring on my attentions. When my lips reached the inside of her knee, I looked up to find her staring back, resting on her elbows as she took in every moment.

"Eric," she whimpered, pushing herself to sit upright as she wound her hands through my blond hair before gripping my shoulders and pulling me to stand up in front of her. When I was on my feet, my impossibly hard erection at her eye level, she looked up at me with an impetuous grin and began to unbutton my pants. I groaned and shut my eyes as she tugged at the zipper, her fingers barely brushing over the part of me that was desperate to be released. My pants fell to the floor and I quickly kicked out of them before I pulled her up to meet me toe to toe.

I leaned down and used my teeth, dragging her bottom lip into my mouth for one quick, impatient bite that had her gasping in surprise or retort. I wasn't in the mood to care which, not when my tongue found hers, not when the taste of her satisfied the hunger inside of me.

My hands roamed her body, memorizing the plains and curves she presented, cupping her lace covered breasts with my hands, as she reached behind herself to fumble with the hook of her bra.

"Let me-" I said, unhooking the thing with one flick of my fingers and catapulting the red lace behind me.

When we stood, face-to-face, only covered by her excuse of underwear and my boxer briefs, I took her face in my hands and looked her in the eyes.

"I guess I was wrong," I said.

"About what?" she panted, looking up at me with a question in her eyes.

"You definitely are not a good girl."

Her laughter filled the air, sending shivers down my spine as I nudged her gently back onto the bed and eased down with her.

The two scraps of fabric soon became none, as we explored each other with a frenzied deprivation, our movements, our bodies, traveling in synchronization. We moved against each other with purpose, petting and probing every exposed inch. I brought her to release once with my hands, her spine curving as she called out my name, pressing her breasts into my questing mouth.

With no words, she pulled me down to her, urging me to continue. And when I finally slipped into her, I let out a groan of immense satisfaction. Her body writhed beneath mine, arching up to meet my movements with her own, our joining reaching a harried pace before I felt her tremble beneath me and followed her over the edge.

We fell back against the pillow, exhausted, her head tucked into the crook of my arm as she traced lazy circles across my chest. I could feel the vibrations of her chest against my side as she hummed a slow and languid tune.

The cool air hit my hot and sticky skin as she pushed away from me, excusing herself to go take care of her more human needs. I watched as she walked away from me, doing nothing to hide her nudity from my view. I appreciated a woman who was comfortable in her own skin.

I waited for her to return, unsure of what I wanted to do next. The smart thing would be to quietly gather my belongings and leave her behind. I wasn't going to get any information out of her tonight. Like the rest of the women before her, the best path was to love and leave before any questions could be asked of me. But I wanted more; I wanted a chance to see exactly how bad of a girl Red could be.

Before I could make my decision, she rounded the corner wearing my discarded shirt and bowtie; the shirt hung open, revealing glimpses of the skin beneath. As much as I'd like seeing her naked, seeing her wearing my shirt aroused me immediately. Her red hair was tousled, her lips bee stung from my attentions. She paused at the foot of the bed, the light from the moon pouring across the room and reflecting off of her exposed skin.

"Are you trying to kill me Red?" I whispered, all too aware of the double meaning behind my words.

"Maybe," she said simply, my heart racing as she paused and appeared to be contemplating her next move. I saw her smirk in the dim light as she kneeled onto the bed and crawled towards me. "What are you going to do about it, Mr. Reynolds?"

I went about showing her exactly how I'd take care of her, and take care of her I did. But this time, when our bodies were sated and she hummed herself to sleep, I knew what I needed to do. She purred and reached out to the space I'd occupied when I slipped out from her grip, but remained asleep.

I gathered up my clothes, pulling on my shirt and pants with an efficiency and quietness I'd acquired for such situations over the years. I looked over my shoulder once, allowing myself to memorize how she looked at this moment, her red hair spilling across the rumpled white sheets, bathed in moonlight.

But, like every time before, and inevitably what I would do in the future, I slipped out before anymore could be said. I checked my room, ensuring that everything was clear before I fell into my bed and allowed myself to sleep.

*

My phone beeped early the next morning, the message from my superior informing me that I was due at an address by 9 am. That gave me exactly 40 minutes to recover from the previous night. I washed the scent of Red off my skin, attempting to burn the memory of her away with the hot water that poured over my skin. There was nothing that made her different from the scores of other women. She'd been beautiful, we'd pleasured each other immensely; it was time to move forward. I had to move forward.

The address R gave me was three miles away from the hotel, and I made short time of getting there in my Aston Martin. I appreciated the feel of the car, the way it hugged the windy roads and gave me freedom. It was like driving a beautiful woman; put it in the hands of the right man, and it would never be steered wrong.

I pulled up to an abandoned building and hopped out of the car. I remained alert as I walked towards the open doorway, only relaxing when I saw R's assistant Clancy waiting for me in the doorway. "Northman," he said with a nod, gesturing for me to follow him in. He led me down a series of hallways before stopping at a closed door. "R wants to speak with you in private." He opened the door, revealing the tall blonde I reported to sitting behind a desk. It wasn't everyday that the mountain came to Moses; something big must have happened.

"Northman," she barked, "you're late."

I chuckled at her brisk manner and sat down across from her. She was the type of woman that could make a man quiver in his boots. Well, a lesser man than me. She had her career as an agent, had earned a reputation as the 'black widow' of the UNDK, before rising among the ranks faster than any of her peers. Her appointment to her current position had caused quite a shock among the ranks, but she was ruthless, and damned good at her job.

"Two minutes. That's hardly late Pa-"

"Utter another syllable and I will have you killed," she retorted. I laughed, even though I knew that she had the authority to do it. I reported to her. My life was literally in her hands.

"Right. We'll R, pray tell me what was important enough for you to fly to Martinique?"

"We've learned additional intel about Leclerq." Well, that certainly piqued my interest. I leaned forward, my senses alert for what I was about to learn. "It appears that he has his hands in multiple pots. Pots that would make charges stick very easily."

"Is that so?"

"That's so. And, we have agreed to work with the CIA to catch him."

That was a surprise. The UNDK tended to like to work on its own, only engaging other international units when necessary.

She continued. "It appears that one of Monsieur Leclerq's new associate has an affinity for young American women." She raised her eyebrows. Ah yes, well after last night, I could say I had an affinity for young American women myself, though I imagined my intentions were far simpler than Leclerq's, knowing his tendencies.

"How does that relate to the CIA?"

"They've sent their top agent to Martinique, chasing the same lead that you came here on. We have agreed to have you work with her. You're both the best that your country has to offer. If you can't track him down, no one can." She? It wasn't that I didn't think that women could be agents, R was proof, but my style of interrogation might be hindered by working with a female partner.

I nodded. While I was sure that I could catch him on my own, I wouldn't contradict R, not on something as important as this.

"When do I get to meet this Agent…?"

"Stackhouse."

"Stackhouse?" What kind of name was that?

"Yes. Agent Stackhouse," R responded. "She is to be here shortly. Her superior told her to meet her here as well. She is being debriefed in another room."

As if on cue, there was a rap on the door.

R looked down at her watch. "Excellent. At least one of you will be prompt."

Without another word, she stood up and brushed past me to open the door. She paused with her hand on the handle, turning back to face me. "And Northman?"

"Yes R?"

"Don't sleep with this one. We can't afford for your arrogance to get in the way on this. It's too important." And with that, she pulled the door open.

Too late for that R.

She may have been dressed in a prim button up and dark jeans; her ruby red lips may have been touched only with gloss; her hair may be blonde, but there was no question who this woman was.

There, on the other side of the door, stood Red.