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eager you dumb-arse little fool if
you’re too eager she’ll run a mile like they all do. Play it cool. No. Super
cool. Sophisticated. Charming. Like James Bond, that most eternal of action
heroes, 578 films and counting. Yeah. That’s it. A ginger James Bond. You want
ice with that sir? Ye-arse. Shaken. Not stirred.
     
    “What is that smell? It’s
sumptuous?”
     
    “Chilli. Homemade. I nicked... borrowed all the ingredients fresh from the market. My mom used to make it.” Franco
beamed. “An old family recipe. You want to eat now?”
     
    “Sounds good.”
     
    Franco disappeared in the
kitchen, and when he returned with two plates of chilli, rice and tortillas,
Mel had switched off the lights and lit two candles. Flames crackled. Soft
yellow light cast pastel shadows over the walls. And, despite its designation
as shit-hole, in the softening ambience of candlelight, Franco’s apt was
transformed into something quite romantic.
     
    Franco sat down, a little closer
this time. The plates steamed on the table.
     
    Mel took a small, dainty
mouthful.
     
    Franco waited... if he’d made it
too hot, it’d blow her damn head off! And bang would go his chance of a...
well, he frowned. Not just a shag. No. This was... something more. Something different. Something special. His heart thudded in his chest. He felt
different. This woman was... divine. Franco’s face broadened into an almost
relaxed smile. For once, sex didn’t matter. There was no urgency. Franco— and
he hated to admit this—well, he liked Mel too much.
     
    They ate.
     
    “So how did you find me?”
said Franco.
     
    “Quad-Gal External Revenue work
closely with all other Government Agencies. I’m used to tracking people down. I’m
efficient. I’m good at my job.”
     
    Franco placed down his fork. “Can
I ask you something?”
     
    “Be my guest.”
     
    “This isn’t a wind-up, is it?”
     
    Mel stared at him from behind
long dark eyelashes. “Why would you say that?”
     
    “Well, I’m only a little fella,
but I’ve got a big heart. I don’t like being messed about. And I’m not
exactly...” he wrestled... “what some would consider a good catch. I’m not
wealthy. I drink too much. I can be crude, or so my friends tell me.” He
sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, well, look, well, the thing is, just look
at you.”
     
    Mel laughed. “You think I’m such
a great catch myself? Franco, I’m a tax inspector. We’re like the toilet
bacteria of the Quad-Galaxy. I’ve known war criminals get a better reception at
a party-than I do. The minute people hear where I’m from they usually run a
marathon... but not you. You... you showed me kindness. You invited me back
here, and despite it being a sixty-nine floor climb, I appreciated that.” She
shuffled a little closer on the couch. “And... I do like a man in
uniform.”
     
    “Ahh.” Franco himself shuffled a
little closer.
     
    Mel reached out. Put a hand on
his knee.
     
    “Ooh.” Franco put his hand on her
knee.
     
    Again, they shuffled a little bit
closer... until they were inches apart.
     
    In a husky whisper, Franco said, “I
really, really want to kiss you.”
     
    “Why don’t you, then?” breathed
Mel.
     
    Franco leaned close, and their
lips brushed. Franco’s heart soared. It popped and crackled in his chest like
an open exhaust on a 5000cc Harley.
     
    They kissed in candlelight for
long, long minutes. A gentle caressing of tongues and lips. A merging of
inquisitiveness and building lust. A soft and sensual connection.
     
    Mel’s hand stroked Franco’s leg,
working its gradual way to his groin. Franco groaned. His own hand traced a
delicate trail down Mel’s arm, then came to rest on her flank. It was marble
smooth. The dress was soft as fur under his fingers. He groaned again. Their
kissing increased a notch. Mel’s hand came to rest on his ramrod erection.
Franco’s hand found her leg... then worked down to the hem of her dress and