by Noelle Mack
He had a feeling she didn’t want to be back.
Bryan let her stay where she was, feeling her hot tears trickle through her wet hair onto his skin. Her body shook with sobs.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, stroking her back. There, she was wet with the sweat of her intense orgasm. “I’m here. It’s okay.” Escaping into sex was more than okay—when life really sucked, you had to go non-verbal.
The slow pulsing of his ebbing erection reminded him to get the condom safely off before he went soft and spilled his juice.
He lifted her up and kissed her nose. “Gotta deal with that,” he said. Odette understood and scrambled a little awkwardly to one side.
Bryan pulled off the condom, then looked at the bedraggled, not very happy woman on the bed. “C’mon,” he said. “Back to the bath. Let’s wash off the sweat and then we can just cuddle.”
She nodded, getting up and padding after him without saying a word.
Bryan figured a shower would be the fastest way to the cuddling she so obviously needed, so they shared a splashy one and he got her bundled up in a huge towel, drying himself vigorously before they went back to the bedroom and got under the covers.
She burrowed under his arm and he could tell she was crying again. Then she stopped and lifted her head, resting it on his chest while she brushed her fingertips lightly over the fine hair there.
“What am I going to do?” she murmured.
“We can think about that later. For now, let’s get some sleep.”
Next to sex, it was the best non-verbal cure for everything that he could think of.
“Put on your comfy clothes,” he said when they crawled out of bed somewhere around eleven p.m. “Let’s fix something we can eat on the sofa, I’ll rub your feet for dessert, and then we can talk.”
“What about you? I have no comfy man clothes.”
“Odette, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m an all-American slob. All my clothes are comfortable.”
She made a funny little face. “But sexy, though.”
“Thanks.”
“I did notice you had no interest in fashion,” she said with a sigh. “It is one reason I have to trust you.”
Bryan stiffened and looked at her warily. “Only one? You didn’t think that I had anything to do with stealing your designs, did you?”
“No. But the investigator did ask.”
He scowled. “Has someone been following me around? I assume for a case this size he doesn’t work alone.”
“Not as far as I know. But yes, he does have a team.”
Bryan imagined them in wraparound sunglasses and well-cut suits, looking cynical and dashing around Paris, screaming at all the people they ran over to get out of the way.
“Anyway, he wanted to know if I’d met someone new, and he asked about, as he put it, other changes in my life.”
“I hope you didn’t give him the play-by-play and post-game analysis.”
“What is that?” Odette asked.
“Sports talk. I meant what we do in bed.”
“Ah, no. Certainly not. I only told him that you were the raffle ticket winner and I suppose he took it from there. There was an article on line right away and everything you told me about yourself checked out, as far as he could tell.”
“That really doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies.”
“And what are those?” Odette wanted to know.
“Good feelings. Like when you’re safe and all is right with the world. The way I’m trying to make you feel right now.”
She looked at him worriedly. “Forgive me. I am trying to be honest about the investigator and since you were right there when I was fitting Grischenka—”
“I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, believe me.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, there was a lot going on? Such as you kneeling in front of her shaved pussy and Lucie joining you on the floor? Then the petals getting plucked off Grischenka’s bare skin? The three of you made my balls turn bright blue.”
Odette seemed piqued. “Did you find her attractive?”
“Yes and no.”
“Explain, s’il vous plait.”
Bryan hesitated. It didn’t seem possible that a CEO of an international unmentionables business could get her own undies in a twist over something like that, but by the expression on her face, he guessed that she was.
“Um, you invited me to look on, Odette. Let’s keep that in mind.”
“Are you saying that I am responsible for you being attracted to Grischenka?”
“I didn’t say I was attracted to her, did I?”
“No, but—”
Bryan blew out an exasperated breath. This discussion was likely to turn into a pointless fight and he was hungry. “Grischenka is nine feet tall, spooky-looking, probably not very bright, and she has no ass.”
“You must have liked something about her.”
“That is a trick question.”
Odette sniffed. “You can answer it all the same.”
“She had perfect tits. Maybe too perfect, but—”
“I knew it!” Odette crowed. “So you think they were nicer than mine? You are a pig!” She made a Gallic gesture that he had to assume meant something like go fuck yourself or jump in the Seine or both.
“Once again, I didn’t say that. And I plead not guilty to the pig part of the accusation. I answered your question honestly and like a man.”
“Hmf.” She sulked but Bryan did detect a slight softening in her tone. “Very well, man,” she said at last. “Perhaps we should not quarrel, eh?”
He relaxed. Just a little.
“It isn’t going to get us anywhere, Odette.”
She screwed up her mouth as she deliberated that reasonable question. “I suppose not.”
“Then can we eat?”
“Bien sûr.” She headed into the kitchen, and clattered around. Wonderful smells soon emanated from the region as Bryan headed for the relative safety of the sofa.
She probably needed to eat too. With a good dinner rounding her flat belly a little and a glass of wine, he would rub her feet and get the rest of the story out of her.
Eventually she came back out with steaming bowls of chicken. New potatoes and other small vegetables kept it company.
Bryan sniffed appreciatively. “Smells great.”
“It is nothing special,” she said. “Coq au vin. And speaking of vin, you may uncork the bottle on the table.”
He jumped up with alacrity and did the honors. “Are you sure we can manage eating that on the sofa? We could light some candles and eat here.” He found two wineglasses and filled them, setting them on the table.
“How romantic,” she said flatly.
“Yeah. It is romantic. Are you crabby because you had to cook?”
Odette tried to hide a guilty smile. “I wish I could make that excuse. But this is from Bonne Femme. Peasant cooking without the peasant.”
“Is that their slogan?”
“Yes.” Odette brought the two bowls over to the table. “All right. We can eat here.”
“You still get a foot rub.”
She nodded, looking pleased as she slid into her seat.
“Got any bread?” he asked.
“You are turning into a Frenchman,” she remarked. “In the kitchen. There is a half a baguette. It is a little stale but will be good in the broth.”
He found it and tore off chunks for both of them on his way back. She tore hers into smaller pieces and floated them in her soup, and he did the same.
“Okay, no more talking. Bad for the digestion.”
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. E
ven 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?”