Kiss My Assassin Read online

  “My name is Mikhail.”

  Astrid extended her hand to the scruffy man beside her and introduced herself.

  “Tyler.” Bishop nodded to the other man, pleased the two hadn’t gotten as far as social niceties. “You two just met?”

  “Yes, Mikhail just sat down.” She rose a challenging eyebrow. “He arrived just in time, unlike others I could mention.”

  Bishop ignored the bait and regarded the big man. “Mikhail? Russian?”

  “Da.”

  When the waiter arrived, Bishop ordered a whiskey sour. The other two were nursing their drinks; a tropical sweet thing in a tall glass for Astrid, and what, comically, appeared to be a Black Russian for him. If this was the sixties, Bishop’s spy senses would have been tingling. Then again, even the KGB wouldn’t be stupid enough to throw a heavily accented Russian on an undercover mission.

  When his drink arrived, Bishop knew immediately it was a sub-par beverage. A good whiskey sour took time and care. This one had arrived so quickly he doubted it would bear any resemblance to its namesake. He took a sip. It didn’t. Not wanting to make a scene, he addressed his drinking compatriots.

  “Isn’t this cosy?” His smile was so strained you could have drained pasta through it.

  “You have heard saying three’s company?” Mikhail asked with scorn.

  Astrid giggled. “I think you mean three’s a crowd?”

  With a frown, Mikhail replied, “Yes, that too. Very crowded here.” His eyes narrowed in on Bishop.

  Bishop brushed non-existent lint from his shirt. “Have you heard the saying if you can’t handle the heat get out of the kitchen?”

  Mikhail positively scowled. “Have you heard saying, После драки кулаками не машут?” When silence was the only response, he added, “Is Russian saying, may not translate well. Means do not swing fists when the fight is over.”

  “Down, boys.” Astrid raised an eyebrow at them. “We’re all friends here. I’ll decide who I spend time with. Now,” she slapped her hands together, “let’s get to know each other.”

  For the next few minutes, the “friends” exchanged the requisite boring crib notes on their lives. Bishop stuck to his mission persona of a holidaying account executive of a mid-level London advertising firm. Mikhail was on his way to a construction trade conference in Johannesburg and had convinced his employer he deserved a few extra days in Marrakech because he hadn’t taken leave in five years. Astrid was celebrating the anniversary of her divorce by taking a holiday to a destination her ex never would have gone to.

  If he were a cynical man, and he was, Bishop would have called all their stories gossamer thin to the point of incredulity. Then again, perhaps this was how regular people talked. It had been many years since he’d been able to socialise with regular people without double-thinking their every motive.

  Astrid lit up the room with every word, every gesture. The woman was dazzling. Skilled as a courtesan, she could have men hanging off her every word. She was too engaging, too beautiful, too lovely.

  That was one reason Bishop would finish his drink, graciously bow out and head back to his room alone. Astrid was too good to be true. There were few men who could evade her charms, thereby making her the perfect fit for espionage. Her flawlessness made Bishop wary. There had been missions where he hadn’t paid heed to uneasiness and it had cost him and others dearly.

  The other reason was, even if she was who she said she was, he was on a mission and that must take priority. That, and he had no desire to go head to head with Mikhail, fighting for Astrid’s affections like two dogs tussling over the last bone in the yard. He had his pride, after all, even though he knew it was a fight he would win.

  Finishing the last of his drink, Bishop placed the glass on the table. “Well, this has been lovely. I’m afraid I have an early start in the morning, so I’ll need to wish you both good night.”

  “You’re leaving?” Astrid’s pained expression almost made him waver, but he held strong.

  “Okay, bye bye.” Mikhail seemed rather keen for him to leave.

  Bishop addressed Astrid. “I am most sorry, but alas, I have to be off to Essaouira as I can’t put it off any longer. My transfer leaves at an ungodly hour.”

  “Too bad.” Mikhail scanned the bar for a waiter. “Bye bye.”

  “And here I thought I had two gents tussling for my attention.” Astrid pouted. “What does a girl have to do to have fun around here, put herself up for auction to the highest bidder?”

  Mikhail’s head snapped around, as did Bishop’s. The word “auction” was fraught.

  “That’s an unusual choice of words, I must say.”

  “I feel like I was going to be auctioned off.” Astrid shrugged at Bishop. “But if one disappears, no auction, I guess.”

  There was a knowingness to her smile, a glint in her eye. Perhaps Bishop’s wariness was right after all. The woman seemed too perfect for a reason.

  Bishop waved to the waiter, ordering another round. “Perhaps I could stay for one more.”

  It was interesting how similar Mikhail’s reaction had been to his. Were they both here for the auction? Were all three here for the same reason? Or had one or more obtained an invitation, like Demir?

  Either way, Bishop wasn’t going anywhere. He took off his jacket.

  “I’m glad you stayed. The more the merrier, given my stalker.”

  Bishop was alarmed. “Your what?”

  “I think that’s what he is.” She smiled an ethereally thin smile. “I’ve seen this bloke around, at the pool, when I was at the bazaar, about four times, maybe five. Doesn’t come close, doesn’t say or do anything, he’s just there. Super weird.”

  “Build?” Bishop’s eyes darted around the hotel bar, searching for suspicious characters.

  “Slim. Weedy. Not like you two gents.” She attempted to be bright and cheerful, but failed miserably. “Haven’t seen his face properly, he wears this grey hood. I’m not crazy to think it’s not normal, am I? That’s all pretty creepy, right?”

  “Da, creepy,” Mikhail agreed indifferently, and poked the ice in his drink.

  Bishop had seen a grey-hooded figure of his own rather recently, although his had been holding a sniper rifle. It was concerning.

  When the drinks arrived, Bishop began assessing the two with clearer eyes. Mikhail’s interest in Astrid seemed to have doubled since she uttered the word “auction”. The news of a hooded figure in Marrakech was troubling. It also complicated matters.

  He needed to talk to Astrid alone. That meant Bishop would need to follow up on his earlier theoretical confidence and win Astrid’s affections before the big Russian did. It seemed the two dogs would go head to head after all.

  The waiter took away the tray of empty shot glasses with concern in his eyes. It wasn’t concern for their wellbeing, it was because the three rowdy guests had been steadily scaring off patrons for the last three hours.

  Bishop picked up another shot glass and waved an accusatory finger at Astrid. “That is a scandalous, unmitigated thing to say! If you were a man I’d take you outside and thrash you.”

  “If I were a man,” her words slurred, “the topic wouldn’t have come up.”

  Bishop waved the glass about ponderously. “Good point.” He downed the shot and slammed the glass on the table.

  Mikhail hiccupped and contemplated the shot glass as if it contained the very meaning of existence. Mikhail and Astrid were far more inebriated than Bishop. He was feigning most of his drunkenness. The other two were either as good at concealing their sobriety as Bishop, or they really were three sheets to the wind.

  Astrid swayed her glass. “All I’m shaying—”

  “Did you just say shaying?”

  “— is in my experience it’s overrated.” Even with the volume of drink she’d consumed, there was a coyness to her comment, embarrassment. Astrid’s face flushed, spreading all the way down to her cleavage. “In my experience. Is what I meant.”<
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  Bishop was incredulous. “Cunnilingus is overrated? My dear lady, I do hope you’re not serious.”

  For the first time, Astrid was unable to meet his eyes. She placed her hands demurely in her lap. “In my experience, yes.” It didn’t seem to be an act, she actually seemed sincere. Bishop tried not to gape.

  Mikhail belched. It was unclear if it was gas or a precursor to being sick. All three had been downing drinks at an alarming rate. Despite his best intentions to steer the conversation to any kind of auction talk, the others, tactfully or otherwise, had navigated away. Bishop decided the only way to determine what Astrid knew was to take her away from Mikhail. It was time to utilise one of his main skills, and it wasn’t being a blunt instrument.

  “I think,” Mikhail raised a stately finger.

  He belched again and the finger withered. The big man slunk into his seat. He was down, and it was time for Bishop to go in for the kill.

  “Look, I know what this is going to sound like, believe me, but my dear woman if you genuinely believe that, you’ve been dating the wrong people your entire adult life. This ex-husband of yours was a fool, and an incompetent one at that.”

  Astrid shifted in her chair. When he’d first sat down, she had held court, dominated the table and conversation. Now there was a subtle change in her demeanour. He’d managed to pique her interest. Shifting her shapely behind in the chair, she relaxed her shoulders, leaned slightly closer and stroked her hair. Tiny moves, individually indicating nothing. But combined, they sent signal flares into the chilly Moroccan night air.

  For a moment, Bishop remained silent, allowing her to plunge into her thoughts for a while. The faraway expression in her eyes told him she was enjoying the exercise.

  When her gaze returned to his, he decided to push his luck. Ignoring Mikhail, he subtly moved his fingers to gently caress the bare flesh of her leg, finding it as smooth and warm as it appeared. She didn’t recoil, she didn’t scream, she didn’t slap his hand away. Mikhail had his eyes closed and swayed from side to side.

  Astrid stared at him for the longest time and bit her lip.

  Silence would no longer cut it. If this encounter was to progress, he needed to utilise the advantage.

  “Let me tell you something,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

  He bent forward, and she mirrored his move. He didn’t look away from her bright blue eyes. Mere inches from each other, Bishop tilted his head ever so slightly, his one-day stubble gently brushing her cheek, lips tantalisingly close to her delicate skin. Her breath hitched and her soft cheek nuzzled his.

  In a husky voice he whispered, “The tongue is a sometimes-neglected muscle, often disregarded at the expense of its lumbering, more stupid, harder brother.” It was a statement she was sure to associate with the big Russian beside them. “A powerful implement, but capable of such delicate feather-light caresses, it is quite remarkable. And versatile. Did I mention versatile? Capable of lapping, swirling and penetrating, it’s more than qualified to taste all the succulent delights afforded to it. It is multitalented, and having no immediate end goal, the tongue can linger for as long as required and relentlessly pursue its goal again and again and again, until it’s begged to stop.” Straightening his back, Bishop resumed his normal speaking voice. “Like I said, versatile.”

  What could only be described as a slow, throaty purr emanated from Astrid. Gone was the plastic shell of an unattainable goddess. It had been replaced by a woman consumed by one thing.

  Pure lust.

  She stood and picked up her handbag. Her legs wobbled slightly. Bishop was unsure if it was the drink or his words that had made her unsteady. He did his best to keep his expression neutral, to avoid giving away the pleasure of victory. Bishop prepared himself for the next few hours with Astrid. Sometimes his job did offer the most tantalising perks.

  “Mikhail.” Astrid shook the big Russian’s shoulder to wake him. “Tyler and I are heading up to my room.” She turned to Bishop with a wicked grin. “You’re coming too.”

  The floor seemed to drop from beneath Bishop’s feet. “What? Him too? I thought…”

  “You thought after your nice little speech you were going to have me all to yourself?” She tutted and gave a playful shake of her head. “You forget, Mr Langford, as I mentioned earlier, I choose whoever I wish to spend my time with. Right now, I want you both. It’s very simple, really. That is, unless you don’t want to know my secrets?”

  My god, this woman is good. Bishop shook his head. “Do you always get what you want?”

  “Yes. Always.” She lifted a challenging eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t think you’ll measure up?”

  Bishop couldn’t stifle the chuckle that escaped his lips. “I think you’ll find, my good lady, I don’t have any fears in that department.”

  “Cocky.”

  “Exactly.”

  The trip up to Astrid’s floor was conducted in silence, each party lost in their own thoughts. Perhaps Mikhail was right? Three could be company.

  Bishop eyed the Russian. The MI6 agent had been in a respectable number of threesomes, but always with two women, sometimes more. But never a devil’s threesome. The thought didn’t disgust or intimidate him; it was the thought of Mikhail’s involvement that irked him.

  Bishop had to accept Astrid’s invitation. Refusing to include the Russian may have caused Astrid to change her mind, or worse, to leave with Mikhail instead. The fact that she was in Marrakech and had used the word auction so freely piqued his interest. There was far more going on than she let on. It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t have her to himself, but being a spy meant being adaptive. That’s what he intended to do.

  He also intended to do something else; avoid eye contact with Mikhail.

  The three entered the dimly lit room quietly. A single Moroccan lamp in the corner of the large suite gave the room an otherworldly feel. As expected, it wasn’t long before Astrid took charge and had both men in hand. There was an audible gasp when Bishop presented his credentials, and not just from Astrid.

  For the next two hours the three writhed on the bed in one sweaty, lustful mass. They pushed one another beyond their known boundaries, then collapsed, sated and exhausted.

  Mikhail tapped out the earliest, and lay at the far end of the king-sized bed, snoring loudly. Astrid rested her head on Bishop’s chest, finally able to catch her breath.

  “I take back what I said before. Not,” she ran her fingers through his chest hair, “overrated.”

  “The gentleman in me prevents me from saying I told you so.”

  The dimples came out in her face when she smiled. “Just as well.” She kissed his chest.

  They lay there for some time. Bishop walked through the night’s actions in his mind. It was a pleasant stroll. It wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

  “You seemed to handle the situation well.” She quietly chuckled. “The additional presence, I mean. I’m glad I wasn’t auctioned off. I think it’s far better to share, don’t you?”

  “There’s that word again.” He kept his voice low, so as not to wake their companion.

  “Share?”

  “No. Auction. It’s like you’re teasing me with it.”

  “You’re rather adept at teasing yourself, Mr Langford.” Her finger traced a path on his chest. “You had me on a string there, I must say. You… you know how to hold a woman’s attention. That’s quite a talent.”

  “Excellent evasion there.” Bishop tried to keep his tone playful. “But you avoided my point about an auction. Seems to be on your mind. I’m wondering why?”

  Astrid pulled at his chest hair, eliciting a roguish yelp. “A woman pays a man a compliment, possibly the best compliment she could, and you change the subject?”

  “I changed nothing,” Bishop protested. “Seems you’re the one avoiding the question.”

  Astrid propped herself up on one elbow, her left breast resting on his chest. She gazed into his eyes. “Careful,
Mr Langford. A regular woman could become concerned she was being interrogated.”

  “Lucky you’re an extraordinary woman then, isn’t it?” He lifted his hand to caress her cheek.

  “I… it’s dangerous for me to talk about…” She turned away, uncomfortable. It was a rare sign of vulnerability in a woman usually so confident. “I shouldn’t keep saying… I wondered if you were here for… it’s just scary to be part of… things.” Her eyes contained genuine fear.

  “Perhaps I can help? If you’re in danger…”

  “Please… I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it. Please forget it. Forget me.”

  Bishop did his best to stifle his laugh. “I assure you, unless I’m hit in the head with a rather large mallet, it is not humanly possible to forget you.”

  Her fingers brushed his lips. “You’re sweet. But please, drop it for now. For me.”

  “I can help.”

  “What could a humble advertising executive do?”

  “My dear lady, I think we both know I’m not… humble.” That elicited a smile. Bishop ran his thumb across her chin. “I think we also both know I’m more than an executive. If you’re in over your head, I want you to know I can help.”

  She nodded, her brow furrowed. Astrid rested her head on his chest. “Drop it, please. For your sake.” She sighed. “We should sleep.”

  Not wanting to push it and risk scaring her off, Bishop decided to drop it, for now. He would question her again as soon as he was able. He closed his eyes. That was when Bishop realised Mikhail had stopped snoring.

  In the early morning light, Bishop rolled over and sighed. The gentle rise and fall of Astrid’s chest and her serene face as she slept filled him with a yearning he had scarcely known. Not for a long time. Not since Tessa. Astrid was an exception, and an exceptional one at that. He studied her face. Even in its imperfections he found perfection. This woman.

  The tranquil scene was ripped apart by the shrill sound of the hotel telephone. Astrid sat up with a start. Bishop’s exquisite view was abruptly replaced by Mikhail’s ugly face staring right back at him. Both men rolled over to face the other way.