There was a flutter and a piece of paper landed on Phillipa’s desk. She looked down and raised her eyebrows.

There was a fit young man, the extent of his abs visible due to his lack of t-shirt, showing the swirling black tattoos patterning his chest arching up from his right hip, meandering across his chest and swirling over his shoulder, probably continuing over and patterning his shoulder, the pattern as light as a spider’s web, and smooth and streamlined, and yet, still masculine, not a star in sight. It was black with a faint tracery of blue. Phillipa rubbed the inside of her bicep with a wince. She had to hand it to the guy. Her own little tattoo had taken over an hour to do and still stung and itched like a bitch, so this guy had guts and stamina. Although, she certainly wouldn’t’ve minded rubbing Bepanthen in for him...

She didn’t usually much care for blondes, but this guy had white blonde, reminiscent of Lucien Malfoy’s hair, definitely badass blonde, and his skin was tanned gold, complemented by his dark blue jeans... and the matching dark blue of his car.

Deep metallic Prussian blue, glittering in the sunshine, it was all smooth streamlined bodywork. Speed made corporeal, it hugged the road and she could almost hear the purr of the engine.

“That’s one lovely Aston,” Was her verdict.

Andrea, who had thrown the photo, threw her hands up in the air.

“Dear God woman, it’s a car,” She stated exasperatedly. “What I meant was the attractive piece of manflesh resting on the bonnet.”

Phillipa pulled a ‘not bad’ face, and Andrea threw herself despondently into her office chair, glaring at her co-worker in despair.

“Are you seriously telling me that you find the car more interesting?” She demanded.

A head appeared over the little pin-board barrier that separated Phillipa from Jake, who pushed up his hipster glasses. Phillipa passed him the photo.

“Aston Martin DBS V12,” Phillipa reeled off easily. “Same model that’s used in Casino Royale. Custom paint job, of course.”

Jake gave her a serious look, face deadpan, but pale grey eyes with their strange black circles around the iris glittered with good-humour.

“I think that that’s the most erotic thing that you’ve said in the months you’ve worked here,” he stated, surveying the picture.

“You want erotic?” Phillipa leant forwards, adopting a husky tone. “The interior of a DBS is a blend of carbon fibre, alcantara leather, wood, stainless steel and aluminium surfaces, and the carpet has a special lightweight weave to reduce weight. The car is started by an Emotion Control Unit, which is made from stainless steel and glass. This was initially developed especially for the DBS but as of 2008 is available for the DB9 and V8 Vantage as well. It’s engine is a 5.9 Litre 48-valve V12, with a 6-Speed Manual gearbox, although you can get automatic. It’s Rear Wheel Drive with 510 horsepower at 6500 rpm.”

“Oh my God,” Jake’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Careful, I might have to clear my desk and have you right here and now.”

Phillipa just gave a smug look and took a sip of her coffee, hiding a giggle with difficulty.

“So, is he one of your conquests Andrea?” Jake asked, handing the picture back to Phillipa.

“A possible conquest,” Andrea purred, then gave Phillipa a sideways look. “Are you seriously telling me that you’d rather have the car than the man?”

Phillipa shrugged.

“Who said that I can’t have both?” She asked mildly, sliding the picture across her desk to Andrea.

Andrea snorted.

“Don’t take me the wrong way Phillipa, but you’re not exactly...” Andrea gave a delicate cough. “His style.”

“And you are?” Phillipa fought to keep her voice mild, while biting back her irritation.

Andrea just preened and Phillipa hid her scowl with the skill of practice. Of course Andrea was. Andrea was every-one’s style. She was beautiful, you couldn’t deny it, however hard you tried. She was slender and petite. Andrea was also blessed with a shimmering bob of silken black hair that kissed her long elegant swan’s neck which led into gently sloping shoulders, caressed by the black lace straps of her dress. A black dress that skimmed delicately over her petite breasts, emphasised her slim waist and shimmered over her hips, hanging modestly around her knees, over her sheer tights. Her midnight-purple painted toes peeped out of her skyscraper heels, the mix of tights and heels giving her calf muscles to die for.

Added to her tilting black eyes, emphasised with Cleopatra-style eyeliner, and dark purple eyeshadow, delicate nose with a tiny purple nose-stud glittering as she moved her head, and the dark tone of her skin, she was an Indian Princess.

Whereas Phillipa was very definitely an English Rose. Her skin was milky-pale despite everything, only a slight flush of pink on her cheeks. She hadn’t bothered, as she seldom did when she was coming to work, with make-up, and so her blonde lashes were barely visible around her washout blue eyes, her cupid’s bow chewed slightly at the top. Her nails bitten stubs, her thatch of blonde hair thrown into a tail and out of her way, she was very definitely not as well maintained, or as together as Andrea. Added to her somewhat geeky nature, only emphasised by the glass replica of Arwen’s Evenstar hanging around her neck, she was pretty, but only if you bothered to do a double-take.

She turned easily on her office chair, sliding the photograph back across to Andrea.

“If I wanted him, I could,” Phillipa said flatly.

Andrea tactful didn’t reply, but she could sense the disbelief.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” Andrea asked Jake, changing the topic.

“Oh just going out for drinks,” Jake shrugged. “You’re welcome to come, there’s a few guys there who might talk cars with you.”

Phillipa smiled.

“No, thanks.”

“Why?” Andrea asked, gliding her chair across to survey Phillipa. “Got other plans?”

Phillipa raised her pale blue eyes to meet Andrea’s regal black ones and gave a mysterious smile.

“Maybe,” She said cheerily. “Just maybe.”



Jason Wylde gave a yawn as he crossed the carpark, ruffling his pale blonde hair, leather jacket over one arm as he left the casino. The scent of alcohol hung from him, but he was painfully sober as he crossed the street and entered the multi-storey carpark with his familiar languid prowling stride. It had been a pleasant enough night, playing with friends and acquaintances, but he’d left early when the bets had got stupid and people had gained entirely too much Dutch Courage. He had money to play with, but gambling...

He smiled. It was like smoking behind the bike-sheds. Something you did with the in-crowd, even though you had little interest. Sure poker was fascinating, but that was you and your skills against the other players, there was the thrill of betting what you’d got, staking it on your gut and on how well you could read the man opposite you, but dice, roulette? That was luck and probability. No skill in that.

He found the pillar he’d parked his car next to and was reaching for the handle, when he heard a slight ‘click’ from behind him. He straightened up, began to turn, but an arm wrapped around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides and a pad of material was pressed against his face. He struggled, holding his breath as he flailed out. He tried to hit them with the back of his head, but his assailant was shorter than him, and he didn’t make contact, the arm around his waist just holding tighter, nails biting into his sides as they clung tenaciously on. There was movement behind him and a heel dragged down his leg. He gave a cry of pain and sucked in air. The world swam as he inhaled, a sickly sweet stench clogging his nose, choking him, poisoning his lungs as he panted from holding his breath and exertion.

He yelled through the pad, trying to attract attention, any-one’s, but no-one was in sight and his voice was so muffled and far away. His vision began to spin and he felt his knees go soft, all his limbs feeling like a scarecrow’s, floppy and so far away... He felt the pad being removed, and he was half-walked, half carried over to the passenger seat. The door opened and he was pushed in. Jason caught sight of a curvy female form as it leant over him, clicking open a little blue silk purse on a golden chain at her side, withdrawing...

A roll of shimmering silver duct-tape.

That just added an extra spike of desperation to his fight, but the drug was a cushioned wall between him and his limbs and he could only sprawl, eyes half-lidded as she set to work. She carefully arranged his legs, duct taping his ankles tightly together, smoothing over the edges carefully as she ripped the pieces off with her teeth, leaving golden lipstick marks on the tape.

She then taped his thighs, just above his knees with the same thoroughness, then gazed at him, tapping her short fingernails against the roll, clearly speculating, then pressed his hands together, starting at the wrists, working down over the hands, then back up and over to the wrists again, insuring that his hands were little more than useless stubs, then clambered into the car, straddling him.

She sat back, blowing hair of her face and gave a small satisfied sound, reaching back into her purse and withdrew a handkerchief. She wadded it up and hooked open his mouth. She deftly poked it into his mouth, then held his jaw shut with a fingertip as she stuck an X of tape over his mouth, smoothing the edges sensuously with her fingertips, then gazed into his eyes, her hands gliding over his face and neck...

She leant forwards and gently kissed him on the tape over his mouth. With the supreme coolness of a supervillianess, she reapplied her lipstick, then dropped the capsule back into the bag, caressed his face again, then retrieved his keys from his pocket and swung her leg back off him, straightening up outside and shutting the door after him with a solid thump.

It suddenly went very quiet, his ragged breathing suddenly very loud in the confined face, and as his mind started to extract itself from the mists of the drug, it started to run in little circles. He was being kidnapped? Sure he was worth some, but kidnapped? He didn’t have any family to pay the ransom, they all lived in the States.

He didn’t think he had any enemies either, there were relatively few skeletons in his closet. There were a few people that he’d bested on deals, people he’d taken money from, but surely they wouldn’t pay for a hit? And this felt entirely too personal. The whole manner of the thing freaked him out. She hadn’t knocked him out, she had given him just enough to make him tractable, but not enough to make him unconscious. If it was a kidnapping, surely she would have knocked him out and stuffed him in the boot... if there was room, which there probably wasn’t, he had to admit.

There was the click of her heels as she walked around the front of the car. How hadn’t he heard her before? In those heels it should have been dead obvious that she was behind him, but he hadn’t heard a thing, what was she, some kind of blonde ninja abductress?

There was a click and the girl swung herself into the low seat beside him, settling back into the leather and shutting the door behind her, and turned to look at him, and he had time to take a proper look at her. A tall blonde woman, her hair a loose tumble of golden waves around her shoulders, her pale blue eyes picked out with black eyeliner and mascara, her full lips glimmering seductively in a soft brown-gold. Her curvy frame was sheathed in dark royal blue, the same colour as his car, a lacey blue shrug covering her long pale arms, and black tights leading down to Mary-Jane style 4-inch heels in teal suede.

He debated whether to yell at her through the gag, but decided against it. He was, literally, in this bind now, he might as well see where she wanted to go with it. He almost felt her gaze sweep over him, and saw her lips quirk up into an amused smile. He flinched as she moved towards him, but she just leant across him and buckled the seatbelt, doing up her own, then slid the seat forwards a few notches, heels playing over the pedals.

“I must say, you do have a stunning car,” she remarked, running a hand over the dash sensuously. “I’ve always wanted to drive an Aston.”

He made a soft growl at her, hating the almost possessive manner of her touch, giving a short bark of protest through the gag as she squeezed his knee lightly.

“Relax sugar, I’ll take good care of her,” She assured him, feeding the glass control into the hole in the dash and ran a hand over the steering wheel, then spoke, seemingly to the car; “Hello baby. Let’s go for a drive.”

The car purred, almost in response, and she coaxed it lightly forwards heels playing over the pedals, pulling out smoothly. He took her advice despite himself and settled back, she clearly knew how to drive, he barely felt the gear changes, her touch light and smooth behind the wheel. She kept to the speed limit, and she knew the area, driving them out of the town through the backstreets, avoiding traffic lights and the areas likely to be clogged at this time of the night. He tried to keep track of the way they were coming, but they were on unfamiliar territory as she drove him out of the town and up to the crest of a nearby hill.

It was clearly a beauty spot during the day, and right now the thousands jewel-like lights glittered beneath the star-lit sky as she killed the lights, but left the car purring. She unclipped her seat belt and settled back, gazing out.

For a long moment, she stayed like that, and it was almost like she’d forgotten that he was there, and then she turned her head to him, her eyes full of forbidden fire, pale blue eyes looking up at him between her lashes. She wasn’t classically handsome, her face ivory pale, face slightly too broad with a stubborn chin, softened by her waves of hair the same golden brown as her arching blonde brows. One of those brows lifted, quirking up with the corner of her mouth in a devastating combination, and despite himself, he felt his heart skip a beat and his skin warm.

She leant over and unclicked his seatbelt, gently unbuttoning his shirt one-handed, her finger-tips playing over his abs, then slowly beginning to trace his tattoo. His breath hitched, becoming rapidly more ragged. She leant closer, making him squirm as her breath played over his skin, suddenly more sensitive than it had ever been in his life, and kissed the top of his shoulder. He leant back in his seat, closing his eyes, his heart racing, bonds seeming to tighten... and his jeans even more so.

He could not be enjoying this, he told himself firmly. She’d just kidnapped him, driven his car and holy fuck! He gave a low groan as she kissed the top of his tattoo, then gently trailed her lips up to the corner of his neck, and bit it very gently. His body went into overdrive, and he started to struggle again, desperately, not to escape now, but to touch her back.

Her right hand played lower, trailing over his abs again and resting at his waist band as her left hand slid into his hair, trapping the blonde hair and lightly holding his head back as she nuzzled into his neck... and his trousers popped open. He opened his eyes as she pulled back, gazing straight into his eyes, the fingertips of her right hand still playing with the button of his trousers. She tilted her head to the side, eyes dancing with amusement, then ran her hands firmly up his torso, cupping his neck between both hands... and kissed him on the tape again.

“I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you to behave,” She purred and gently teased the tape from his face, the toe of her heel playing over his lower leg in little strokes.

He pushed the handkerchief out of his mouth as quickly as he could, but didn’t say anything for a moment, surveying her as she blinked languidly at him.

“Jason Wylde, right?” She asked him lightly, caressing his neck, knuckle gliding into the hollow of his throat, making his breath catch.

“Right,” he met her gaze. “But I don’t think we’ve met.”

She looked up at him, almost shyly.

“Phillipa,” She informed him. “But friends call me Pip or Pippin. And I’m sure we’ll get to know each other a whole lot better before the end of tonight.”

He almost squirmed underneath her at the smouldering look she sent him and the low husky tone of her voice, red-hot sparks running through him.

“Why are you doing this?” He demanded, the question almost bursting out of him.

Pip shrugged with a coquettish smile, tucking a strand of his hair lightly behind his ear.

“To prove a point,” She stated tilted her head. “My co-worker appeared with your picture and asked me whether I wanted you, or the car,” She leant closer, toying with the collar of his shirt. “I’m proving that I can have both.”

He chuckled despite himself at that, watching her carefully.

“Careful, you know what they say about too much of a good thing,” he reminded her lightly.

She raised an eyebrow dangerously, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“So you want me to stop?” Pip demanded, sitting up.

Pip laughed as his eyes narrowed coolly.

“No,” He tilted his head. “But I would like to kiss you.”

“You seem to be misunderstanding the situation,” She told him mock severely, lightly tapping his nose. “I’m in control here.”

“Really?” He demanded.

She gave an adorable squeak of surprise as he suddenly reached forwards, looping his arms around her waist, trapping him in the circle of his arms between his taped wrists and his chest, almost falling forwards. Her hand splayed on his chest, stopping her fall, and she gazed at him as he gave another light chuckle, broken off with a sharp gasp as she tweaked his nipple.

“I suppose you think that that was terribly clever?” She breathed, leaning in so her lips were inches from his neck again, toying with his nipple still, tracing the circle of his areolas.

“Fairly,” He managed to gasp out, barely able to think straight.

Pip gave a low laugh, then stroked some errant strands of hair off his face and leant close, staring into his eyes, then pressed her lips firmly against his. He closed his eyes, savouring the taste of her, deepening the kiss, then jumped at the sound of a siren from behind them. Pip started up, catching sight of the blues and twos and winced.

“Oh bollocks...” She breathed.

“Please tell me you’ve got a knife in your bag,” Jason whispered, a blush and a grin racing across his face simultaneously.

She ducked out of the circle of his arms and a little blade flashed quickly in the night.



The policeman tapped the window and it rolled down... for him to see a pale blonde guy... with a leggy blonde sat on his lap. The girl gave him a stunning golden-lipped smile, the guy’s hand running up and down her arm lightly.

“Problem officer?” she demanded cheerily.



Jake glanced up at the clock as Phillipa almost bounced in.

“You’re late...” He stared at her.

It was the same Phillipa, she wasn’t wearing make-up, face still pale, but her eyes were dancing, and there was a slight smudge of gold on her lips. Her blonde hair was still thrown into a tail, wearing a smart silk shirt and black trousers as always, but... she looked stunning. In fact, she almost seemed to glow.

“What the hell happened to you?” He demanded.

She grinned and sank into her seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Phillipa said cheerily. “My lift kept me waiting. So how was your weekend?”

“It was fine thanks,” Jake replied. “And yours?”

The office door opened and Andrea clattered in on her heels.

“There’s an Aston in the car-park...” Her black eyes narrowed at Phillipa.

Phillipa gave a nonchalant grin and winked.

“My weekend was pretty damn amazing actually,” She stated, then turned nonchalantly on her office chair. “Told you that I could have both.”