Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 08

Chapter 8 — SATURDAY — Plusses and Minuses

Michelle Park tossed her long, glossy hair over one shoulder and stretched her toned body to the limit. Her black, sleeveless tee rose with the movement, betraying the flat band of olive-hued skin around her midriff. She smiled at Jenn Finney, well aware that the beautiful brunette couldn't help but sneak a furtive look.

The area around the hotel's rooftop pool was out of bounds to everyone other than the two of them this afternoon. Nikky Volkov had seen to that. That left her plenty of time to complete her task.

During their telephone conversation late last night, the Russian had surprised her with the news that Jennifer Finney was an undercover cop. She was a detective with the London Metropolitan Police, sent to Dubai as part of an investigation into his activities.

All he wanted, he'd rasped, was for her establish what the cop knew about him and then seduce her. The cameras hidden around the pool area would do the rest. Do that, he'd persuasively explained, and he had big plans for Michelle. He always rewarded loyalty.

The problem was that she wasn't sure if she could trust him. That meant she had to think things through very carefully.

His voice had been agitated when they'd spoken. She could tell that Boris's murder had rattled him. It had shocked her, too. What the fuck was going on? First, it was Tony Yamamura. Now, Boris. The two deaths had to be connected and that worried her, too. If Nikky Volkov ever sussed out her involvement with Tony then she could be next...

For the moment, she decided that going along with him was the best approach. The file she and Tony had complied on his illicit activities could be her way out if he tried anything, but she had to find a way of using that without being implicated.

Perhaps Volkov himself had given her the answer? The undercover cop beside her might hold the key.

She'd called Jenn Finney first thing this morning and arranged for them to meet at lunchtime. The brunette had eagerly agreed and Michelle knew why. She wanted information on Volkov. But that wasn't the only reason. The woman was attracted to her. She'd seen it in her eyes at the photoshoot and had confirmed it with the kiss.

She intended to use that attraction to her advantage.

Making sure that Jenn was watching, she grasped the bottom of her tee, crossing her arms in the process, and peeled it over her head. Her tiny, black string bikini top barely housed her perky breasts, and the skimpy matching thong left little to the imagination. She looked hot...

The young brunette did, too. The woman was adorable. Like a living doll with her big brown eyes and stunning face. And that turquoise blue, haltered bikini displayed her fabulous body to perfection. How could someone with a body made for sin be that shy? Or was that all a pretence? She intended to find out during the next few hours.

Glancing sideways at Jenn, she sauntered to the edge of the glass-still pool and winked at her before diving majestically into the water. She swam a fluid lap before returning to the lip of the pool and pulling herself up so that she could sit on the edge.

"I love the sun," she said, stretching again as the water cascaded from her fabulous body. "It always makes me feel horny.

With an exaggerated smile, she reached behind her and untied her bikini top. Her gaze found Jenn's again as she dropped the wet garment on the hot deck surface beside her.

"Come and sit here with me," she huskily told the brunette. "I think it's about time you and I bonded."

*

Jack Palmer had fingered the ghosted mobile in his pocket throughout the morning. He hadn't been able to stop. It was like a compulsion, as if it would fall out and he'd lose it if he didn't check it on a regular basis.

Sandra Wilson had agreed for the Met to fund the device and Taffy Boyd had acted instantly on receiving Jack's call confirming they were to go ahead. The Welshman had promised the mobile would be waiting for him at the front desk before breakfast, and it had been.

The whole thing felt very James Bond to Palmer. In his days there, undercover operations in Vice usually involved nothing more than growing a beard and wearing a wire. Very occasionally, they'd get a GPS tag to follow a car, but funds were always an issue. So possessing a phone that not only tapped into Nikky Volkov's personal mobile, but also behaved like his without the outgoing signal, was something else.

He had escorted Roxanne to the television studio for her appointment, satisfying himself that everything was kosher before leaving her. She wasn't sure how long the filming of her episode of Supermodel would take, but with an early afternoon start and dinner scheduled in, it was likely to be another long day. In the unlikely event of Nikky Volkov turning up— Supermodel had nothing to do with him, but who could be sure?—Roxie was to phone him immediately.

To his annoyance, Jenn had left a message on his mobile phone earlier to say she was following up a lead. She'd be back at the hotel sometime later, she'd said. That made him nervous. He'd told her not to go anywhere without letting him know, but she was desperate to make a name for herself. That spelt trouble...

Meanwhile, the absence of the two women left him with some free time. He intended to use it to the full.

*

Nikky Volkov pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair as he paced up and down the room in his spacious suite. He had no idea who had killed Boris, or why, but he wasn't going to stand for it. It had taken a long time to build up his business empire, and if anyone thought they were going to fuck with him, they were badly mistaken.

They'd end up like Tony Yamamura.

Volkov couldn't work out a motive for Boris's death. Nothing had been taken, not his credit cards or even the money in his wallet. That suggested it was either personal—it was easy to make enemies in that business—or that Boris had been targeted...

The Russian swallowed the remaining contents from his glass, feeling the bourbon burn his throat. He stopped his pacing to pour another and then took a large Havana cigar from the top drawer of the drinks cabinet. He unwrapped the cellophane slowly before snipping the end and lighting up. With each twirl of his fingers, it began to burn evenly. Only then did he take a long draw and allow the smoke to spiral upwards as it escaped from his nostrils.

His free hand slammed down on the top of the cabinet. Why now, when he was so close to pulling off the biggest business deal of his life? Everything was going so well and he was about to expand his influence into the Middle East—the most lucrative market of all.

He'd taken care of Yamamura's threat and had plans to quickly cut Roxanne and that boyfriend of hers down to size. And he'd soon be able to blackmail the undercover cop. After Michelle completed her task, she'd do exactly what she was told if she wanted to preserve her own and the London Met's reputation.

He glanced down at one of her photographs infront of him, taken at the Clinique shoot. For a cop, the woman was stacked. Oiling those fabulous tits up and fucking them was the first thing he was going to do with her. It wouldn't be the last.

He sat down on the large couch beside the huge window. Taking another long sip of bourbon from his glass, he threw his head back and savoured the taste. Okay, he needed to decide what his next steps were. The obvious action was to contact Sheikh Amir bin Khalid, but the last thing he wanted was for his new business partner to interpret that as a sign of weakness. That contact would be a last resort.

He had a couple of security people he could rely on during the rest of his time in Dubai. Neither of them was in the same league as Boris, of course, but together they would provide adequate support.

His phone rang and he grunted to himself as he picked it up. He'd instructed his new bodyguards to head straight across to his suite for a briefing and it seemed they'd arrived.

"Yes?" he snapped into the receiver as he picked it up.

"Comrade Volkov," the cold voice at the other end of the telephone said.

It instantly sent a cold shiver down the Russian's spine.

"You know who this is?" the voice continued.

"Yes."

Volkov's tone was hoarse. Vladimir Kazakov's thick Ukrainian accent was unmistakeable ... but he was supposed to be dead. In that instant, everything made sense. Fuck knows how had it happened, but that must have been Sergii's body they'd found with Yamamura's.

"It seems that you're employing the wrong people, Comrade," Kazakov told him sarcastically. "You sent Sergii to kill me and look what happened. Boris was no match for me. And yet you wanted Tony Yamamura killed and I carried out the contract perfectly."

Volkov didn't respond. He was trying to stay calm but his heart was racing. This brute of a man was more dangerous than he thought.

"And how did you pay me, Comrade?" the assassin snorted. "With counterfeit money. Sergii told me everything before I killed him."

His voice went quiet and it was only his heavy breathing down the line that confirmed he was still there.

"So, would you like to hear how I see things?" he eventually continued, without waiting for a reply. "You tried to cheat me and you tried to kill me. That is going to cost you ten million Euros."

He paused again, as if waiting for a reaction. There was none.

"I have enough information about Tony Yamamura to make sure you go to prison for a very long time,." he went on, unable to resist gloating "But you won't face prison, Comrade. Would you like to know why?"

Volkov gritted his teeth. Anger seeped out of his pores. How could Sergii have fucked this up? The man was supposed to be a professional. Kazakov was an amateur by comparison, that's why he'd carefully selected him for the task. It should have been straightforward enough to take him out. And now the bastard was talking to him like he was a worthless piece of shit. No-one spoke to him like that.

"Because either you will pay me the money within twenty four hours, or I will kill you. It's that simple. I'll kill you and cut out your heart. Now listen carefully to me, Comrade. This is what I want you to do..."

*

Jenn gave a nervous laugh as she pushed up from her lounger. The heat in her body grew further as her brown eyes swept across Michelle's newly bared breasts. With just a skimpy thong to protect her modesty and her dark hair wet and slicked back, the young Korean American woman made a very tempting sight.

She was aware of Michelle's eyes all over her body as she walked to join her. That excited her. Her blue bikini was skimpier than anything she'd dare wear at home and her nipples had already announced their presence by pushing through the thin material. And it wasn't just her nipples that were feeling the effect of Michelle's approving gaze. Her sex was tingling in anticipation of what might lie ahead.

She tried to ignore the feeling as she sat down next to Michelle, sliding her feet and calves into the warm water.

Sandra Wilson had agreed with Jack that it would be better for her to return to England sooner rather than later, but if she could get this woman to help her, she could gain a valuable insight into the Russian's activities rather than heading home with her tail between her legs.

"There's something I've been thinking about ever since our shoot," Michelle softly told Jenn, leaning into her as she settled.

Her right hand strayed playfully along the brunette's soft thigh as she turned her head to look at her. Jenn instantly felt her pulse quicken. She'd had a few thoughts since then, too. She'd even masturbated to some of them.

"What's that?" she asked, trying to avoid that searching gaze.

But Michelle waited patiently until Jenn nervously met her glance. When she did, she batted her long lashes at her before tilting her head to one side and dipping her face forward.

"You have the most fabulous lips," she murmured, closing the distance between their mouths in what seemed like slow motion.

As their lips touched, the feeling was both sensual and erotic.

The kiss started soft but grew more demanding, and when it eventually ended Michelle's dark eyes flashed sexily at Jenn. She leant her forehead on the brunette's, their eyes finding one another's again for a few sexually charged moments. And then they were kissing again, but this time making out like rabid animals.

"You're a great kisser," Michelle huskily murmured when they eventually came up for air.

"You too," Jenn shyly confessed, panting heavily.

Every inch of her body was tingling and she pushed off the edge, her curvy body sliding into the water to cool off. She submerged herself completely and when she reappeared, she slicked her wet hair back over her scalp as their eyes found one another again.

"I love that sexy innocence of yours," Michelle sexily whispered.

She shifted position so that she could place her hands on the hot decking behind her and sit back on her palms—reclining in a way that emphasized her glistening skin and toned figure.

Jenn found it impossible to keep her gaze away from those naked breasts. They sat high and perky with all the grace of youth and her dark nipples looked like they were begging to be sucked. She began to wonder how they'd taste in her mouth.

Damn ... had she really just thought that?

"Can I ask you something?" she said, deciding that she needed to break the sexual tension.

Her mind was on fire and if she didn't move the conversation forward, she'd be in danger of following her instincts. And they were already demanding another kiss...

"Of course," Michelle answered, stretching out her long legs. She sexily rested a foot on each of Jenn's shoulders as the brunette stood in the water, facing her. "Anything. What would you like to know?"

Jenn shivered again as the woman's toes began to gently massage her hair. It would be so easy just to go with the flow...

"I want to know about Nikky Volkov," she said, taking hold of Michelle's ankles with her hands and somehow resisting the urge to lick her wet tongue along the smooth flesh. "And what to expect from him if I make it as a model..."

*

Jack Palmer decided to go for a jog along the golden beach to clear his head. It felt good to exercise, despite all the energy he'd been spending in the bedroom. Roxie had always been deliciously insatiable but running on the heavy sand was a different kind of exertion.

It also gave him a chance to catch some sun. He tanned naturally, but was paler than usual after the slow recovery from his gunshot wounds following the bloody climax to the Dominic DeVere case. The usual London winter hadn't helped, either, so a little sun was appealing.

But more than anything, it gave him the opportunity to think straight, to work things through in his mind. Now that he had the ghost mobile, he was drawing himself into Sandra Wilson's investigation. Part of him—the cop part—was happy with that. He was buzzing again. Yet at the same time, another part would be happy when he and Roxie had all returned to England. This case was nothing to do with him.

His long run helped him realize just how appealing the surroundings were. The crystal clear water was blue and transparent as he ran along beside it.. He could make out the shells and pebbles around his toes. The sand was fine, golden and warm.

And for those holidaymakers who were swimming just off the beach, they were basking in hotter waters that they'd find anywhere else.

The natural surroundings weren't the only things that caught his eye. They'd created a paradise here. The beach was perfect, with small, lazy waves, like it was almost too much effort to swell and recede in the heat. Couples walked hand-in-hand in the gentle surf and waiters ferried drinks and checks to the women occupying the loungers.

They were hot, young and beautiful; and were mainly attired in bikinis that wouldn't be legal on most beaches back home. To his surprise, others were topless and there was the occasional nudes. He was happy that he'd worn sunglasses. It made it less obvious when he found himself staring more at the tanned flesh covered in oil.

Perspiration was dripping from his forehead and he glanced down the hotel-lined crescent of the beach as he stopped to regain his breath. How had life led him here? How did he get lucky enough to meet Roxanne, even if the circumstances left a lot to be desired? To not only date her, but to get her to fall in love with him?

He'd had similar thoughts when he first met his ex-wife, but even after three years of marriage, he'd never felt the same deep connection that he had with Roxie. They were united on a profound level.

And as an added bonus, she fucked like a goddess...

He finished his exercise by joining the swimmers, enjoying the way the lukewarm water counteracted the heat of the sun. Cooled off, he made his way back to his beach towel before heading back to the hotel. But just before he could leave the beach, he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Jack?"

Pausing, he pushed his damp hair back over his scalp and found Isobel smiling at him. It was the first time he'd seen her since they'd met at Nikky Volkov's party at the Smoke Stack.

"Izzy!"

The Spanish photographer was standing about ten feet away, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she smiled at him.

Unlike the majority of the sun-worshipers, she was dressed in tight, athletic exercise gear. The racer back top was nothing more than a sports bra and he'd seen Roxanne wear boy-shorts that covered more than the matching exercise shorts this woman had on. Together they emphasized her large breasts and wide hips, which made all of the exposed skin seem even more slender than possible.

When a smirk formed beneath Isobel's dark Ray Bans, he realised he'd pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head when he finished his swim. He'd been caught out fair and square as he took in her appearance, openly staring at her hour-glass body.

She made a show of lowering her shades along her nose, her dark eyes glimmering above the brim. They flicked up and down his own dripping body. Her coral lips curled in approval.

"If you get to look, so do I," she teased. "Not bad yourself."

He blushed deep red and then they both laughed.

"I'm sorry, you just caught me by surprise," he apologised, jamming his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

He felt safer that way, especially as he was wondering how someone could be so slim and yet have such wonderfully large breasts.

"Out for a run?" he quickly asked, changing the subject. "No shoots or runway shows or anything today?"

"Just finished my run," she told him, running one hand through her dark hair. "No, I have a free day. So, want to go for a drink? I need a shower, but can be ready in thirty minutes or so."

He nodded. The relentless sun was drying him off and he was once again feeling overheated. A drink in a beachside café sounded perfect.

"Sure, I'd enjoy that," he said, glancing at that ridiculous body again.

She was a photographer? How could she not be a supermodel when she looked that good?

"Great," she answered, shooting him a wide smile. "Meet you at the hotel café in thirty minutes."

*

Roxanne didn't know what to expect. She'd done commercials and a few spots on various talk shows, but nothing as involved as a full production television show. And running a few minutes behind seemed to have thrown the staff into a fit of activity. The set was some kind of runway-television show hybrid, with large cameras on booms and more staff that she'd typically see at a fashion show.

Within a few minutes of entering the studio, the make-up assistant had taken her by the elbow. She coaxed her into her dressing room as a nerdy looking production manager barked out advice and instructions she barely heard.