Nights In Black Lace (14 page)

The other man took huge, gulping breaths. “I detest exercise.”

Marc didn't look like he needed it. He was lithe and lean, but he was completely out of breath. “Sorry,” Bryan said.

Marc took a pack of Gauloises out of his pants pocket and fired one up. “Do you mind?”

“Nah. Smoke one for me.”

The assistant grinned, holding the end of his cigarette in his teeth, squinting his eyes against the smoke. “Do you believe we French are no longer allowed to smoke wherever we want?” He held the end near his lips with his fingertips and took a deep drag. “First they banned smoking in restaurants and now bars and cafés. It is an outrage.”

“It's the way the world is going.”

“Pah. Me, I believe in
liberté
,
égalité
, and tobacco.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Marc. So why were you chasing after me?”

The other man eyed a guy who looked just like him, only Latin, and didn't respond for a second. “My apologies. What a distraction.” He coughed and waved the cigarette he'd taken out of his mouth, making Bryan cough too.

“It's okay.”

“I wanted to make sure,” Marc began again, “that you were not going to disappear. Odette is crushed on you.”

“Do you mean she has a crush on me or that she is crushed by me?”

“English is a stupid language,” he sighed. “I mean that she thinks you are hot.”

“The first, then.”

Marc threw his half-smoked cigarette into the gutter. “She is not wrong. But I suspect that—ah—perhaps the subject is a delicate one.”

“Spit it out,” Bryan said, not delicately.

“You don't have a dime. Is that the right word? Dimes are the little coins, yes?”

Bryan thrust his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster. He was, in fact, dimeless. “Uh-huh. Easy to lose.”

“I thought so.”

Bryan shot him a look. “Do I look poor to you? I mean, most Americans wear jeans and tops. So do a lot of the French.”

“Do not get pissy with me,” Marc said severely. “No, it is not your clothes. You have a ragged charm that is interesting.”

Holy fuck. Never in his life had Bryan heard a line like that. He had to laugh a little. “Thanks.”

“It is the look in your eyes. That is how I know.”

Marc wasn't wrong about him having no money, so Bryan wasn't going to argue. “Whatever,” he said resignedly. “You're right, I am pretty much broke. I can't tell Odette that.”

“I understand. A man must be a man. But Odette needs you. When you left the atelier, she burst into tears and cried like a baby.”

“Oh.” Bryan gave a huge sigh and stopped. “Can we sit here by the
quai
and talk about this?”

“Of course.” Marc led the way to the stone wall and jumped down. A group of old fishermen with massive backs and flat caps sat with lines in the water, not speaking. They looked almost like statues, but trails of smoke wafted upward from the cigars wedged in the corners of their mouths.

“Catch anything?” Bryan asked.

One of the men grunted and shifted his stumpy cigar to the other side. “
Rien
.
Tant pis.
”

“Nothing. Tough luck. Right.” If he didn't figure out his money problems, he could join these guys. Mark looked at the silvery-gray river, running on to the next bridge. The Seine had a lot of them.

He sat next to Marc on a low, projecting wall some distance away from the fishermen, and gave him a rueful smile. “Look, I want to help her, I really do. But I have to have a place to stay, and I'm going to need to hit up a friend in the states for a loan to stay longer.”

“Wire transfer,” Marc said immediately.

“What, did you figure all this out while you were running after me?”

“
Oui.
”

Bryan shot him a sideways look. “You really care about Odette, don't you?”

“She is the best. She is good to her staff. But if she has the stress, we all have the stress.”

He nodded. “I can believe it. Nice of you to look after her, dude.”

Marc gave a shrug and looked out at the river. “She would be angry if she knew I asked you this.”

“I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Good. Please do. As to the question of where you can stay, the answer is with me. I have a convertible couch where you can sleep, and my boyfriend is a chef who brings home disgustingly rich food. You will be doing us a favor by eating it. And we have a Chihuahua if you get lonely. We don't get home until three in the morning, so you will have the place to yourself most of the time. Do you like dogs?”

Sure
, Bryan wanted to say,
except for the ones that fit on a Ritz cracker
. But he couldn't turn down free room and board. “Love 'em. I'll walk the little guy for you.”

“He walks inside my shoulder bag. Not on the street.”

“Nothing doing. I draw the line there, Marc,” Bryan laughed. “Paws on the pavement. A dog must be a dog.”

Marc grinned and shook another Gauloise out of the pack. He cupped his hands around the end and lit it, squinting at Marc through the smoke. “It is a deal. Settle your bill at the hotel and take a taxi over. We live in the Marais.”

“Is that in Paris?”

“
Bien sûr.
”

G
ood enough. He'd lugged his stuff over to Marc and Achille's apartment in the Marais. It looked like an interesting neighborhood, with old buildings and a variety of people.

Okay, a lot seemed to assume that he, Bryan, was gay, but since they didn't seem to care one way or the other, he decided that he didn't either.

Their apartment was spacious, with eccentric décor that looked like odd wayfarers had put their feet up on it. He'd stashed his stuff in a gigantic Moroccan trunk and been solemnly introduced to a tiny Chihuahua named Jimmy which trembled when he patted it, then licked his hand. The dog stayed on the floor, studying him with bulging eyes.

“You see, he approves,” Marc said. He scooped the dog and handed it to Achille, a very tall, brawny man whose huge hands almost engulfed it.

Marc's boyfriend nodded. “We only let people stay if Jimmy likes them.” He rubbed the dog's head affectionately and the Chihuahua closed its eyes and panted.

“Where are you going?” Marc asked him.

“To the Boulevard des Batignolles for squash blossoms and whatever else catches my fancy.” Achille put the dog in one of the cavernous pockets of his canvas jacket and Jimmy settled down as if he were used to traveling there.

“I'll come with you. Do you want to go, Bryan?” Marc asked. “It is an organic farmer's market. Very good produce.”

“Ah—” he hesitated. “I was thinking of heading over to Odette's. I could give her a bunch of carrots but I don't think she'd be too thrilled.”

“No, she wouldn't,” Marc laughed. “
Bien.
There are towels in the cupboard in the bathroom. Help yourself to whatever you need and do whatever you want and we will see you when we see you.”

“Thanks, guys.”

Achille stuffed several string bags in his other pocket and the two men left, calling out good-byes as they went down the stairs.

He'd gotten cleaned up and shaved, then unfolded a map to figure out how to get back to Odette's.

It was past seven, she ought to be home by now. He'd tried her cell, nothing doing there, and left a message. There was no answer at her office number.

Bryan didn't feel like sitting here or wandering around his new neighborhood when he knew she had to be overwhelmed. He would just get there, because it would take a while, then call her again.

It took longer than he thought. He wasn't on her street until after nine. Negotiating a big, unfamiliar city was kind of a pain until you got the lay of the land, and Paris was a mix of straight, wide boulevards that went on forever, and crooked little streets that doubled back on themselves.

Anyway, he made it.

Bryan stood on the cobblestones outside her building and punched in her number. It rang as he looked up at her windows, hoping to see a glimpse of her in her apartment. He thought he did but he couldn't be sure. Very faintly, he heard her phone ring and then stop.

Huh. The lights were on.

He tried the number again and this time she answered.

“Hello, Bryan.” Her voice sounded weary.

“Oh—yes, it's me.” Why was he surprised that the French had caller ID? Her neighborhood was so old-fashioned that it seemed out of place. “Um, how are you doing?”

“I have found out nothing.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She sighed heavily. “Where are you?”

“On the street where you live.” Should he burst into the song and get all romantic? Nah. It probably wouldn't make her smile, let alone laugh.

“Okay. Then come up.”

“You sure? Maybe you're not in the mood for company.” He heard a tapping and looked up.

She was at her window, phone to her ear, gazing down at him. Her mouth was turned down in a sad frown and her hair was pinned up. Around her body was a towel that didn't conceal all of her, but it was trying.

“I was about to take a bath,” she said.

“Aha. Want your back washed?”

He saw her dash away tears with the hand that wasn't holding the phone.

“Yes. I do.”

“Be right there.” He clicked the phone shut, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and made his move. Buzzed through the door, he ran up the stairs to her apartment, taking her in his arms the second he stepped in.

She was struggling to hang on to her towel, hug him back, and rub at her swollen eyes. The towel lost.

Bryan didn't have a problem with that.

But he wasn't going to use her misery as an excuse to jump her. No, he would rot in the hell reserved for Men Who Just Didn't Care About Anyone But Themselves if he did that.

He would wash her back. Rub her feet. Wipe away her tears. Soothe her. Comfort her.

Then he would jump her. If she wanted him to.

There were trails of fragrant steam issuing from the bathroom, and she padded that way. He actually had never seen her just walking around in an everyday way. She looked fantastic.

Her beautifully shaped, strong legs weren't the only beneficiaries of her jump-for-joy lifestyle. Her butt, from the back, was just as toned and amazingly curvy too.

Do not grab, he told himself. He followed, waiting for the moment when she would turn around and kiss him again.

But she didn't, because she was sniffling and too proud to cry in front of him for long. He kept a respectful distance, even though it killed him. Odette stopped by the tub and bent down to test the water temperature with her hand.

“Smells good,” he said. “What is that?”

“Lavender essence from Provence. I was hoping to go there in June. But now, with this business of the theft, I will not.”

“Is it that bad, Odette?”

She flicked the water off her fingertips and absentmindedly took the hand he proffered to climb into her bath.

“I spoke to an investigator today. He says it will take months to resolve.”

“Why?” He watched one of her feet touch the bottom of the bath through the clear water, and then the other. She stood there unself-consciously, curling her toes as she bent down to splash lavender-scented water on her thighs. She was like a goddamn nymph. A nymph with a multimillion-dollar business empire to run.

“There is no telling where the designs and whoever paid to have them stolen will turn up. He will begin in Paris, but he is sure they have gone halfway around the world. He wants to fly to Asia and work his way through all those countries—ahhh.”

She squatted down in the water and her ass cheeks parted as she balanced on her heels. Then she got on all fours, about to turn over and loll in the enormous bathtub.

Bryan swallowed hard when Odette looked up at him. Her pinned-up hair had a few tendrils coming down, curling over her shoulders and down the nape of her neck. “Do we have to talk about it now?”

“No. Hell, no.”

“Good.” She went down into the water, and did a tuck and roll that gave him a glimpse of pink pussy, then sat with her knees folded and sticking up out of the bath.

She rested her back against the smooth porcelain, taking a minute to pull out her hairpins, which she handed to him. Bryan didn't say anything, just watched her slide down until only her face and the points of her breasts were above the water.

Her hair slowly unfurled into mermaid locks that waved softly. She stared straight up at the ceiling and he looked down at her. He used a hand to adjust his cock, which was responding in a big, big way to the beautiful sight of Odette in her bath.

Eventually she rose, sleeking her hair back over her head and shivering a little.

“Please close the door,” she asked him. “There is a draft.”

“What? Oh, sure,” he said.

“You can sit down.”

He found a stool and sat, then just looked at her with awe. Just like this, with no makeup and dripping wet, she looked more beautiful than ever.

Bryan was hot and beginning to sweat. “Mind if I strip down some?” he asked.

“No.”

He pulled off his top, then resumed his position on the stool. “This is great. I like my new job as goddess washer. What do you want done first?”

That got a teeny smile from her. It was a start.

“My back.”

She sat up and turned around, presenting her glistening back to him. Bryan sighed and got his hands wet, then reached for the soap, lathering it up in his hands.

Odette took her hair and twisted the water out of it, then let the long twist drip over her breasts, sighing when his soaped-up hands stroked her back.

Down and down, then around in sensual circles. The soap foam dissolved in the water that lapped at her waist. Too bad he couldn't see her ass as well as before.

She enjoyed what he was doing and murmured appreciatively under her breath.

Bryan found a washcloth, soaked it, and scrubbed every sweet inch of her that he could reach. His cloth-covered hand moved under her arms and gave each breast a stimulating, sloppy rubdown.

He gritted his teeth when he saw the foam he'd created drip from one erect nipple as she leaned forward. Then her own hand came up out of the water and she twirled the soapy nipple in her fingertips. Then the other.

She closed her eyes. “It feel so good,” she said softly. “It is all right to forget for a while,
n'est-ce pas?
”

“Hell fucking yes,” he muttered. “Best thing you could do.”

Self-serving advice, but it happened to be right. He shifted position on the stool so his straining cock wouldn't die trapped.

Odette turned toward him, raising her arms. “Do both at once,” she said.

He soaped up his hands and the dripping cloth, and washed both her breasts in slow circles, mesmerized by the foam moving over them and dissolving in the bathwater.

Then she rose to her knees and slid her fingers into her pussy, masturbating for him while he attended to her breasts. She used both hands after a little while, and the pressure of her arms made her breasts squeeze together and stick out.

If her nipples hadn't been covered in soap, he would have fastened his mouth on them and sucked her hard. He just kept rubbing. After a minute, he dropped the washcloth in the bath and sluiced her down with it when he found it again.

The fragrance of lavender and aroused woman mingled with the steam, making him giddy with desire.

He wondered if she was going to come. He wanted to watch every second of it. He'd get his chance sooner or later.

Bryan loved her like this. Purely emotional, totally sensual. Her eyes closed, the last trace of the tears she'd shed washed away, her lips parted, her face a little flushed.

The thick twist of hair over her shoulder still trickled clear water and it ran down right between her breasts and into her bellybutton.

Impulsively, Bryan bent forward and licked it up, rimming the pretty hole to nowhere with the tip of his tongue.

Odette trembled and stopped what she was doing, running her fingers into his hair instead.

“Keep masturbating,” he said, rising up to catch a half kiss. “I like watching you.”

“Mmm,” she protested. “I will, in a moment.”

She bent to pull the plug and the soapy water quickly drained. On all fours, she fiddled with the taps until she got the water going again, hotter this time, and she jammed the plug back in.

“Now that I am clean, I want to soak for a little longer.”

“Whatever.” He wasn't going to argue.

She rolled around like a seal, then got comfortable with a folded towel behind her neck. And spread her legs.

Under the shimmering surface of the water, Bryan watched her fingers slide into her pussy, then pull out to pinch her clit.

Odette sighed with satisfaction. “I like to know you're watching.”

Watching wasn't a strong enough word. His eyes were riveted to her semi-private pleasure. He'd picked the right time to come over, that was for sure.

“But I don't want to come just yet,” she was saying.

“Whatever you want, however you want it, is fine with me.”

“
Bien,
” she whispered. “Now that I am very clean, I want your finger in my anus. A bit of submissiveness is good for a woman.”

“If you say so.”

The provocative look in her dark eyes was anything but submissive. Odette turned and got on all fours, showing him her wet behind. There were two red spots where she'd been sitting on it, and between, nestled snugly and swollen, were her labia.

Yes, he'd seen all that before, but not quite like this.

She rested her face on the folded towel and closed her eyes. He looked around for lube and found some in a basket by the bath. “Got it,” he said. “You like to play like this in the bath, I take it.”