Natasha entered the small, beachside bar with an air of confident indifference. Casually making her way across to the bar whilst doing a quick scan of the dimly-lit interior.

He wasn't here yet.
Why didn't that surprise her?
The man in question -- Jose Comineza, was a dislikable, slimy, adulterous asshole.
But her job was to consult with him, and then get rid of him.

Simple as that.

And he was so detestable, the dark place inside of her was actually looking forward to the part where she could get rid of him.

She had been assigned to this mission in the Dominican, having been briefed that Jose Comineza had certain information that he was willing to let seep to the U.S.
He was an agent for a man named Fidel Castro, whose suspicions had prompted him to call upon the services of the Red Room to deal with the problem. And Natasha was more than qualified to deal with such a problem, being by far the most deadly graduate of the establishment of trained spies and assassins.

So she had gone undercover as a businesswoman vacationing at the resort, and so far her target had proved to be arrogantly oblivious to her sinister intentions. After assuming the role of 'pretty-but-lacking-intelligence' she had set about subtly manipulating the man with great ease.
With polite, casual inquiry, and feigning admiration for Comineza's professional prowess, Natasha succeeded in tricking him into letting the intelligence slip. Now she had all the conformation she needed that he had the information. But she was shrewd enough to not kill the man outright.
She knew what she had to do.
Lure him into her room with the promise of sex, and then efficiently dispatch him, swiftly, cleanly and quietly.

It really should've been as easy and simple as that.

Except, she hadn't been counting on the reappearance of what was proving to be an infuriatingly thrilling distraction....

Perched on a bar stool, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slipped one between her ruby-red lips, and groped around inside her purse in search for a light.
Ordinarily, Natasha did not smoke. But Comineza did, and it was this habit that had enabled her to premeditatedly initiate their first encounter.
She had approached him in the restaurant bar the previous night and asked him for a light. So in order to keep up the pretence, it was imperative for her to be seen smoking.
Yes. Natasha was nothing if not meticulous and dedicated.

However, before she'd found her light, suddenly as if from nowhere, a long arm reached from over her shoulder, an elegant hand appearing in front of her brandishing a lighter.
Fleetingly she wondered if it was Comineza, but instinctively she knew that it wasn't. He wasn't a gentleman, and didn't possess the ability to pull off such a smooth move.

"Allow me." A velvety voice purred close to her ear, alarmingly causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

Resisting the urge to swivel around on her seat, Natasha leaned-in nonchalantly and accepted the light. Only once the cigarette was lit, did she allow herself to turn her head slightly in order to take a look at the suave individual who'd miraculously appeared so close behind her.

It was him.
The suit from the beach.

"You again." She remarked casually, her expression giving nothing away.

His mouth kicked- up slightly at the corner, his eyes resting on her with unwavering focus. "Yes. Me again. How marvellous it is for our paths to have crossed once more. One might be inclined to call it fate."

Natasha raised a deliberately sceptical eyebrow. "Well 'one' might, but I'd be more inclined to call it an eerie coincidence."

Despite her implication, to her surprise he gave a dismissive shrug of the shoulders, apparently unashamed to have been accused -- if not directly -- of orchestrating their having met again.

"I confess, I was rather hoping to see more of you." He admitted with disarming honesty, and his eyes gleamed with mirth.

Unbeknownst to Natasha, Loki was revelling in the malicious satisfaction he gleaned from having seen much, much more of her than she'd ever be aware of.
Much more in fact, than he'd initially intended to see.

"Oh really. And why would that be?" She asked in a bored voice, which suggested she wasn't actually the slightest bit interested. When really, she was. Extremely interested. For numerous reasons.

Firstly, the way he was dressed could indicate that he was an agent working for some rival organisation or government. Which meant there was a strong possibility that he'd been assigned to divert her, or even assassinate her.
If that was the case then the man's ineptitude was almost laughable. He'd made no attempt to blend-in with the other holiday makers. And although this resort was frequented, and positively teeming, with businessmen, politicians and even government officials, he still stood apart from the rest.

Dark, austere, and impeccably dressed, this guy was the perfect picture of nobility. Everything about him, from the arrogant tilt of his head, to the physical confidence of his posture, bespoke generations of aristocratic breeding. As if he possessed a longer pedigree than the Queen of England herself.

So, if he wasn't a hired-assassin then he could simply be trying to hit on her. Which was, regrettably, an all too familiar occurrence for Natasha. But, she was well adept at dealing with potential suitors. Quashing their attempts with skilful ease, she always made short-work of letting them know she wasn't interested. Because she never was interested.

Her years of training in the Red Room had prepared her for the ways of men and their sexual advances. Love was for children. Desire for the weak. Lust, the feeble-minded, because physical attraction was nothing more than a chemical reaction. A trick of the brain to fool the body into believing it craved something more than what was necessary.

The graduates of the Red Room were killing machines. That was their sole purpose in life.

So Natasha had never found it difficult, resisting temptation. Neither did she have any qualms about rejecting a man.

That is, until now.
Now, suddenly she wasn't feeling so self-assured, which threw her completely off balance. And she didn't like it one bit.

She wasn't accustomed to finding someone so aesthetically pleasing. The mysterious stranger was not like any other man she had ever seen.

His long mane of black hair was ruthlessly brushed back from his forehead and layered so it flicked out where it rested at his shoulders. His features could be described as being somewhere between sharp and delicate. He had been blessed with high-arched cheekbones, a long imperial nose and a razor-sharp jawline.
His eyes....his eyes were fathomless. Neither fully one shade nor the other, the lighting in the bar seemed to pick out intense filaments of topaz blue within the pale green irises.

"Am I to assume you're not adverse to us becoming better aquatinted?" He spoke again, shattering her thoughts, and she realised then to her annoyance that she'd been staring at him in silence for an inordinate length of time.

"I wouldn't go that far." She replied tersely. "I'd say that would be a bit presumptuous of you, mister....?" She rotated a hand at him in a prompting gesture, encouraging him to disclose his name.

He gave her a slow, deliberate look with a hint of arched eyebrow, which unsettlingly did peculiar things to her stomach. "You can call me Loki."

"Loki? And is that what everyone calls you, or is it just an alias you're giving me?" She challenged, which elicited a controlled burst of soft laughter from him.

"I'm sure anyone who knows me calls me a great many things, most of which are no doubt derogatory and very unflattering. But no. In actual fact, my name is Loki. And if I were going to pick an alias for myself, I would hardly have chosen a name so unique and unheard of."

Natasha regarded him with a look of unwilling, resentful admiration.
He had made a valid point.
Smart ass.

"Well then, Loki no-last-name, I'm flattered that you want to get to know me better, but men like you--"

"There are no men like me." He interjected coolly, flashing a devastating smile.

Natasha almost laughed out loud. It seemed almost absurdly believable. Already she'd noted the stark difference between other men of her acquaintance, and this close confrontation to sheer intriguing masculinity.
But nevertheless she played it down, as she did with all things.

"Is that a fact?" She took another slow drag of her cigarette in a decadent manner, causing a plume of smoke to spiral upwards and hang between them like a fog, creating an almost sultry ambience. "That's quite a bold statement. I bet you say that to all the girls."

"On the contrary, I don't make a habit of it."

"I bet you say that too." She smirked, swivelling on the stool so that she could rest an elbow on the bar. "And it might be enough to make most women swoon. But you see, Loki, I'm not most women."

"And don't I know it." He riposted ominously, mirroring her actions by leaning against the bar. "Now might I buy you that drink now? Miss....?"

Natasha resisted the urge to decline his offer. Her curiosity overriding her keen instincts.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that." She said evenly, with a wry smile. "And it's Miss Rushman. Natalie Rushman."

"Is it indeed?" Reaching into his inside pocket, Loki hastily conjured a leather wallet containing a significant number of fresh banknotes. "And may I call you....Natalie?"

Watching him carefully, Natasha noted the substantial amount of cash he was carrying with curious interest.
"Why not? Everyone else does." She responded dismissively.

"Do they?" He retorted quizzically, with a spark of insight. "They don't refer to you as Nat?"

Her eyes skittered from his wallet and back to his face. He seemed to register her questioning look, and feigned innocence.

"It is short for Natalie is it not? As well as...hm, Natasha?"

She nodded mechanically, whilst internally alarm-bells were ringing in her head.
It should have been a harmless question, but it seemed multilayered. As if he was insinuating that he knew of her real identity. Which should have been impossible. In fact, it was highly improbable. But the small hairs at the nape of her neck had stood to attention. Alerting her to danger.

There was far more to this anomaly of a man than she'd anticipated. Perhaps her initial suspicions had been correct. She couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he knew her. Which could surely only mean that he'd been sent to either spy, or kill her.

This man, Loki, possessed an exotic masculine beauty which she found most disconcerting. His fine mouth seemed to be edged with cruelty, even when he smiled.
Natasha had a knack for being a good judge of character, and her swift, initial assessment of him had been right.
She could not, would not, and did not trust him.
He exuded the air of a man who was motivated solely by self-interest.
His enigmatic smile could've been offered to a friend or an enemy with equal ease.

But in spite of her reservations, there was an interesting complexity in his eyes. He seemed like a man who was capable of anything, and he evoked in her a certain recklessness, making her feel like that is exactly what she wanted.

A barman had now come over to take their order, and a short conversation ensued regarding their choice of drink.

Once Natasha was in possession of her cocktail, she sipped from her straw and eyed Loki steadily over the rim of her glass, as he took a swig of his expensive whiskey. The atmosphere between them was silent, but volatile. Fraught with a simmering tension that bubbled away beneath the surface.

"So, what brings you to this part of the world?" She levelled a challenging look at him, surveying him closely. "Business or pleasure?"

He gave a slow smile. "My business is my pleasure." The smile transformed the stern contours of his face, banishing his natural reserve, which gave him an appeal that was a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness.

Smooth bastard, she thought, sourly.
But in spite of herself, she felt an odd, pleasant little chill race over her skin at his words.

The sudden sound of the door swinging open forced her to return her attention back to the bar, and she realised then with some alarm, that whilst in his company, her surroundings almost faded into non-existence. As if they were somehow the only two people in the entire world.

Which of course wasn't the case, as she was reminded with unforgiving crystal clarity, upon seeing several more guests entering, and the familiar sight of Jose Comineza among them. He immediately located her, and wasted no time in lumbering towards the bar. Swathed in ugly beige chino trousers and a badly-fitting Hawaiian shirt, the contrasts between himself and her present drinking companion couldn't possibly have been more striking.

"Listen, it's been great, but I've got to go now." She said quickly, her tone heavily laced with sarcasm, even though she found herself reluctant to leave.

"Must you?" He ventured, with a hint of disappointment. "It seems such a pity, just as we were beginning to make some interesting developments."

"We were?" She quipped, as she slid off the stool gracefully. "Well, be that as it may, I still have to go. I guess I should've mentioned I was waiting for someone. But perhaps you already knew that. Right?"

The soft lighting played lovingly over the clever angles of his face, and his eyes glittered, as if he relished her audacity.

"Perhaps I did." His voice was gilded with amusement. "And perhaps I was hoping you might find my company more favourable than that of a witless oaf."

She tried, but failed, to suppress her laughter. "There you go being presumptuous again. You've no way of knowing that he's witless. Do you?"

"My intuition is more often than not, correct." He said, reaching out to take her small hand in his, claiming it in an almost possessive, yet surprisingly tender, grasp.

She swallowed down a sudden thickness that seemed to be clogging up her throat. His touch caused a spark of excitement to ignite low in her belly, which sent a little configuration off to all her nerve-endings. She fought to keep from perceptibly shivering as a result of the strange sensations.

"Y-yeah, well....Some of us have to work. And we're not all fortunate enough to find our business a pleasure." She riposted, with an uncharacteristic stammer.

With that she turned to walk away, when all at once his arm snaked around her waist, his hand coming to rest at her hip, and she felt his solid torso pressing against her back.

"Should you find you tire of that dullard, and wish to become more intimately aquatinted, Natalie, then you know where to find me." He had dipped his head, so that his raspy voice tickled her ear.

"Do I? Where might that be then?" She strained to steady the quiver in her voice as she hastily pulled away from him.

He extricated her from his hold, and as she threw a threatening look at him over her shoulder, he grinned at her wolfishly. "Right here."

Caught in the velvet snare of his gaze she became aware of their apparent perpetual discord evolving. What had begun as a kind of friendly challenge was now tempered with something almost erotic.

She shot him an apologetic, almost pitying, look. As if to let him know that whatever he was hoping might happen, most definitely wouldn't happen, and he'd have to go on hoping.

But worryingly, she wasn't so sure anymore. She didn't feel as if she could trust herself to be around him.

"I'll bear that in mind." She said, in her most scathing voice. "Thanks for the drink. It's been a pleasure."

She regretted her choice of words the moment they'd left her mouth, so she didn't dare cast a glance back as she made her way through the throng of people now lining the bar.

"The pleasure will be all mine, Miss Romanoff." Loki muttered to himself, as he watched her greet her unlikely companion. And the bubble of resentment that had lodged in his chest began to dissolve a little at the thought of his sadistically sensual revenge.

As Natasha took a seat with Comineza at one of the small tables that was tucked into the far corner of the bar, she was blissfully ignorant to Loki's sinful schemes.
But she wasn't oblivious to his looming presence, or the silent, potential threat that he posed.

It took enormous effort on her part, to converse with the boorish Jose. To her utter annoyance, Loki had been the most engaging man she had ever met.
She wasn't able to refrain from darting another look in his direction. Sure enough he remained true to his word, and stood leaning with one shoulder against the wall in a relaxed pose.
He cut a commanding figure. Cultivating a manner of indolence, he would've been terrifying to the more faint-hearted.
But Natasha was made of much sterner stuff.

His head turned and his gaze swept the bar with judgemental interest. No one was exempt from his derision. And Natasha detected that beneath the layers of silken gentility, there was a hardness. An impenetrability that could only belong to a very cold man.

Or perhaps, a very guarded one.

Either way, she knew intuitively that whatever kind of soul lurked inside that elegant, almost other-worldly, creature, she would never find out.
He was as mystical, beautiful, and inscrutable as a sphinx.
As slippery as a snake, as sly as a fox, and as wicked as the devil but no doubt twice as pretty.

But it wasn't her business to be concerned with the likes of a man like him, no matter how intriguing he was.
Her business wasn't pleasure.
And the only interest she would take in him, would be if she sensed she may be at risk from him. If he had been sent to assassinate her, or somehow foil her plans and compromise her mission.

She wouldn't permit that.

Once he'd grown bored of seemingly looking down his regal nose at the other customers, Natasha noticed his gaze settle on her again.
Defiantly, this time she dared to hold his intrusive gaze, staring back at him with calm enquiry, and the look in his eyes became far less polite and the interest took on a vaguely predatory quality, that almost made her breath catch.

Remembering the feel of the hard, muscular body that was concealed beneath his impeccably-tailored suit, made her own body heat up against her wishes. And an elicit thought crept into her mind, and disturbingly made itself comfortable there.

If ever she were to be compromised, then this would be the man capable of it.