Nights In Black Lace (16 page)

She sipped at a spoonful of broth. Just that little taste seemed to do her good. He dug in and they ate heartily. Bryan took care of the dishes, since the takeout place didn't provide a peasant to wash them, and then joined her on the sofa.

She was covered up in a blanket by the time he got there. But her toes were sticking out.

“Ready for me, Madame Gaillard?” he asked.

Odette gave him a morose look. “Must you call me Madame? It sounds old.”

“Sorry. I won't. We never did swap life stories,” he said, getting settled and lifting one of her bare feet into his lap. “But I guess you got most of mine from the article. I don't even know how old you are. And I don't care.”

“Twenty-nine,” she said gloomily.

“I'm twenty-five.”

“Marc thought at first that you were too young for me.”

Bryan began to make slow circles into her arch with the pad of his thumb. “He's protective of you, Odette.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you two been talking about me?”

“Uh, we ran into each other. Yeah, your name came up.”

“Hmm. I'm not sure I like that.”

Bryan went a little deeper, intensifying the sensation. He gave killer foot rubs. She might as well get used to them for the time they had together.

“But I do like that—I mean what you are doing,” she was saying. “Ahhmmm—ohh. There. Very good. Anyway, what did he say and what did you say?”

“That's between us guys. Is talking about Your You-ness not allowed, oh queen?”

Odette raised her foot to give him a little kick but he got a grip on her ankle.

“Let's change the subject. What does the investigator think happened? And what is the guy's name, anyway?”

“Herman Goffre. He believes that it was an inside job.”

“Why?” He moved his caressing thumb to the ball of her foot and stayed there for a while.

“Because corporate espionage usually is. Someone is paid to provide secrets, often someone who holds a grudge against the company for some reason, or thinks they are underpaid and that they deserve the extra money. Or that's how Goffre explained it.”

“Which is another reason he decided not to suspect me, I guess. I'm just your boy toy.”

Odette shook her head. “He did want to know how long you were staying in Paris.”

“Oh yeah. I was wondering when we would get around to that.”

“And what is the answer?” She sighed while she was waiting to hear it. “I wish I had four feet. Or six. Or eight. You could massage them all and I could die of pleasure.”

“Isn't that what the French call an orgasm? The little death?”

“Yes, that is the expression.” She gave him a slightly embarrassed grin. “I experienced one this afternoon. You seem to know exactly what I want.”

“You give very clear instructions, Odette.”

She sighed and arched her foot as he moved to her heel, rubbing a little harder there. Then she jerked and giggled. “A reflex. Continue.”

“Like I said. You know what you want.”

“Perhaps, Bryan. But you do seem to have an instinctive understanding of women.”

He gave an unconcerned shrug. “I have a degree in biology. Sex is next to breathing for most species.”

“But you are a marine biologist.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Fish—cannot be passionate.”

“You'd be surprised. Even the invertebrates get crazy.” He moved his thumb in swooping motions from her heel to just under her toes, gathering up the tension and pressing it out. “There are sea slugs who can switch genders.”

“How ingenious of them.”

“They have to be ingenious. Have you ever seen one?”

“Only once,” she murmured. “In the Chinese market. Dead. Dried. It was revolting.”

“Well, if it was living and rolling around seductively on the ocean floor, another sea slug would think it was hot. Anyway, they double their chances by being hermaphroditic.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, laughing. “Do you know, Marc once took me to a club where—” She obeyed her own command and pressed her lips together like she knew a secret she wasn't going to tell. “Never mind.”

Bryan put down the foot he'd been working on and picked up the other. “I take it you didn't go to see naked slugs.”

Her eyes danced. “Ask him to bring you there.”

He nodded. “Okay, I will. While we're on the subject, I guess I should tell you I checked out of the hotel. I happened to meet Marc when I left the atelier—” He caught her dubious look and added, “True story. He's really concerned about you, thought it would be a good idea if I stuck around, since I don't have to return to the U.S., and he invited me to stay at his place.”

“I see.”

“It'll save a little money.” He still didn't feel like explaining his finances to her. “I can change the date on my ticket.”

“I will cover that,” Odette said.

“No. But thanks. Anyway, they live in the Marais—I guess you know that. And I met Achille and Jimmy.”

“
Zut.
Who is Jimmy? Marc believes in fidelity and romance. I cannot imagine him in a
ménage a trois.
”

“Jimmy is a Chihuahua. The smallest one I've ever seen but he knows how to throw his weight around. He fits in the pocket of Achille's coat.”

“Ah, he must be a new acquisition.” Her face lit up with a fond smile. “Marc and Achille are like a married couple.”

“I got that impression.”

She surrendered to his stroking for a little while. “Well, so you have a temporary home. You could have stayed with me.”

“Best to give each other room to breathe, don't you think? Especially when we get each other as hot as we do.”

“You are probably right. But I would have invited you had I known—”

“It worked out fine. Let's leave things as they are.”

Odette gave him a mischievous look. “Marc will keep an eye on you for more reasons than one.”

“I don't even want to know.”

“First, because you and I are lovers,” Odette went on, disregarding his protest, “and second, because you are handsome.”

“Aw, shucks.”

He stopped for a moment and she took the opportunity to pull her feet back under the blanket. “It feels wonderful but I cannot think when you do that. And I have to think.”

“Right. Let's get back to that.”

“But first tell me where you learned to give such sexy massages.”

“Foot rubs are more therapeutic than sexy.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You are dodging my question.”

“Okay, okay.” He threw up his hands, now that he had nothing to do with them. “An ex-girlfriend taught me. She was a masseuse. Ayurvedic oils, hot stones, shiatsu—she did it all. She was an expert.”

“A loving one?”

“She practiced on me.” He gave her the short version of the rest of it. “Nice girl. She fell in love with her guru, an old guy—talk about sea slugs.” He grinned when Odette laughed. “Anyway, he told me that she needed to move on. You learn.”

Odette shook her head. “I wonder who taught whom. Your touch has a special quality. Perhaps the secret is emotional rapport—” She stopped and giggled when he picked up her foot and pretended to snack on her toes.

“The secret is not stopping. I like having you literally in the palm of my hand, Odette.”

“Do you?”

Her voice was so wistful that he turned to her in surprise. “It's just an expression. But yeah—I do.”

She moved the blanket and crawled over to get next to him, pulling it over both of them. “I feel so peaceful with you. Like we could just shut out the world and be together.”

“Yeah?” He stroked her hair, looking around her apartment. “We're from really different worlds, though.”

“But—”

“Let's not talk about it.”

“Sorry.” She gave him a playful bite. “I am in a sentimental mood and I let my guard down. I am never going to let you touch my feet again.”

“So long as I can get my hands on the rest of you—” he broke off to slide his hands around whatever curve was nearest and gave her a long, deep kiss. Even in the middle of it, he told himself not to get used to this.

He was kissing a beautiful Frenchwoman who made the best takeout food in the world. He was caught up in a mystery he might be able to help solve that involved naked models and no dead bodies. Given a chance to be a hero for Odette, he'd take it. By sheer chance, he was staying in Paris longer than he'd expected and not as a tourist, but with interesting, sophisticated people who weren't snooty to him, even though he dressed like a hang-ten jock and ate BLTs. The sunny state of California seemed hella far away.

This won't last, he told himself. He stopped the endless smooch by mixing in a bunch of little ones, kissing her ear, her cheek, her hair, her neck, until she begged happily for mercy.

“Okay, Mademoiselle Velcro,” he said with mock sternness. “We do have to finish talking about the design theft. When we walk out of here tomorrow, you'll still have to deal with it. And I don't want to be accused of distracting you.”

She sat up. “All right then. I am meeting again with the investigator tomorrow, so you are right. You are a distraction. Never in my life have I been so distracted.”

Bryan waved that away. “Not your fault. Women all over the globe beg for my company.”

“Pah.”

“Getting back to the investigator, does he have a plan or anything?”

Odette nodded. “He intends to check out everyone who works for me, within the limits of the law. I told him to start with the people who were there that day.”

“Me, for one. I was taking pictures.”

“Yes, I remember. I borrowed your camera and took some myself. Of Grischenka.”

He hadn't thought of it since. “Is Goffre going to think that I stole your designs?”

“Of course not. I will explain. I know it stayed in your possession until Lucie told me to come look at what she found.”

He thought it over. “Hey, I could do a download and you could forward them to the guy from here.”

“Really?”

Bryan shook his head. “Wait a minute. I forgot I left the camera at Marc's apartment and it's miles away. Besides, it's late.”

“I will text him tomorrow morning and tell him to bring it with him.”

“Sounds like a plan. Or I can call him, if you have to leave early. You don't want to show up at work with me, do you?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It is not a big secret that we met at the show and people can think whatever they want.”

“Yeah, but under the circumstances, your staff is going to wonder why I'm not being investigated.”

“They won't hear it from me.”

“Even so,” he said firmly. “I don't really want to walk in like I own the place all of a sudden.”

Bryan tried to remember where he'd left the camera—it was small and a little too easy to lose. “My stuff's in the Moroccan chest. If you reach Marc before I do, you can tell him it's okay to look through it.”

“Okay. I took notes while Goffre was talking. Do you want to see them?”

“Sure.”

She got up and went to fetch her purse, pulling out a notebook bound in vinyl, which she opened as she settled back down, reading through them. “Blah blah…and blah blah blah. I think I have told you all this already.”

Bryan nodded and came to sit by her. “I remember who I saw there, but if you want to know their names, it's going to be a short list: Lucie, Delphine, and Marc. All the people in the cubicles smiled and waved—I took a few shots of some of them.”

“Not of the designs, of course.”

“No. You told me not to. I even asked a couple of people to move things like sketches so I wouldn't snap 'em by accident.”

“It will be interesting to see those photos.”

Bryan hemmed and hawed a little. “I guess. But it's not like anyone's going to have a little sign over their head that says GUILTY.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“How much is this investigator guy charging you?”

She told him and he whistled. “No kidding. He'd better come up with something.”

“Yes. Before I lose my Japanese client. That account alone is worth millions.”

“So you said.” He drew in his breath, then let it out again. “Maybe talking about it isn't such a great idea. You won't be able to fall asleep.”

“Ah, Bryan. You can help me with that.”