Appleby Blush Ch. 07

Chapter 7: Paris in the springtime

Kirsten glanced around her, marvelling at the hustle and bustle. The two kilometres Avenue des Champs-Élysées was one of the most famous streets in the world. The two women had finished their shopping and were enjoying coffee and a slice of cake in the open air, outside of the Restaurant Le Fouquet's Parisian brasserie.

On their journey by private jet over the English Channel, Carmella explained that Paris cafes were more than a place to sip coffee. They were an institution, a cultural phenomenon. She was pleased she'd worn her favourite coral halterneck dress with its bust ruching. The top displayed just enough of her tanned cleavage to be classically sexy, while the floaty skirt showed her long legs to perfection. She felt it matched the vibrancy around her.

"It's a dream," she softly breathed.

Carmella smiled warmly. "A wonderful one?"

"More than I could ever have imagined," the young cop answered, her deep brown eyes glowing with excitement.

"La plus belle avenue du monde."

Kirsten felt a shiver run up her spine. The Columbian woman's accent was delicious enough anyway, but when the mature beauty spoke in French it elevated her sexiness to another level.

"The most beautiful avenue in the world," Carmella added by way of explanation as she reached across to push a loose strand of dark hair away from the brunette's eye. "And this is one of the most famous restaurant and hotels. It's such a wonderful venue to relax after a heavy morning shopping, don't you think?"

Kirsten nodded. Carmella had outlined the role of an Appleby model on their journey to Paris and while it clearly involved hard work, it was every bit as glamorous as she'd imagined. There hadn't been a single thing to raise suspicion of anything untoward and it was already clear to her that the investigation was a wild goose chase. Sandra Wilson didn't get much wrong but she was way off beam with this one...

"What is it?" Carmella asked, noticing the change in expression.

Kirsten's faraway eyes returned to her companion. She'd felt a pang of guilt at investigating someone who had been so good to her. Carmella had even invited her to a gala party at Appleby's house in a couple of days. "Sorry, I was just marveling at everything." It wasn't exactly a lie, after all.

Her beautiful companion leant forward across the table and patted her hand. "You've enjoyed our day so far?"

The cop laughed aloud, pulling her long brown hair across one shoulder. "I've enjoyed everything, Carmella—the flight, the shopping, the city, the experience." She paused and then laughed again at her own exuberance. "Thank you," she murmured, giving the Columbian woman a grateful look. "I appreciate it."

Carmella's hand squeezed hers. "The life of an Appleby model is never dull," she chuckled, playing a finger over her red lips as if in contemplation. "Here we are in Paris. I was in Barcelona last week and I flew to Monte Carlo a couple of weeks before that. Next week it's New York. You won't get much rest, Kirsten, but it's a life I can recommend. And believe me, you wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate that," she said, licking a finger and picking up some crumbs from her plate. That cake had been so light! When she caught Carmella's eye, they both laughed again.

"The pastry was a rare treat. We have to watch our figures," Carmella smiled, loving her young friend's enthusiasm. "Today, I'm showing you what's possible if you work hard enough, follow my guidance and are prepared to make sacrifices. After that, it's up to you."

"I won't let you down," Kirsten quickly replied, sitting forward. The excitement was back in her brown eyes. She paused for a few seconds to try and gather her wits. She was acting as if she'd morphed from a cop on an undercover investigation to an aspiring model overnight. Was she seriously thinking about this?

Carmella's voice brought her back to the present. "It's a dream we all should have," she said, her sexy eyes gleaming. "But there are those who dream, and those who make it happen. How do you feel about your assessment with Pierre Laroche?"

"I feel nervous."

Carmella laughed out loud again, tossing a hand through her perfect hair. "Oh, darling, you have no need to be. Laroche is an expert in his field and his techniques are the most advanced of anyone I know. And I've already told you—after all my years in the fashion industry, I'm a very good judge of these things. You'll pass with flying colours, believe me."

"I hope so."

The Columbian beauty smiled confidently as she delved into her bag and produced what looked like to be two miniature bottles of wine. Reaching for the two empty glasses on the table beside them, she poured the drinks and passed one to Kirsten.

"I stole them from the plane," she laughed, picking up the other glass. "Pink for you and white for me. We'll do it the French way and drink them in one go."

She'd finished her drink before Kirsten had time to react. The brunette giggled and then immediately followed suit, lightly coughing as it her drink hit the back of her throat. "There," she told Carmella, holding up her empty glass.

"A good sign," her host told her, before turning to her left. She pointed a finger at each of the shopping bags tucked away beside them in their small enclosure. "Eight in all," she said, laughing heartily. "Such a shame, I usually return home with twenty."

Kirsten joined in with the laughter. She could easily believe that. The Columbian woman had shown an extraordinary aptitude for finding and purchasing 'bargains'.

"Now," Carmella said, glancing at her watch. She smiled sweetly. "It's time for your meeting with Pierre. Just be true to yourself and go with what feels right. Trust your instincts and see where it takes you. What can go wrong?"

***

Sandra Wilson threw the buff coloured file down on her desk and tossed her small, rectangular, black-framed glasses on top of it. How could she concentrate? The Appleby case was going nowhere. Turner was applying more and more pressure. And then there was Alex Goodwin...

She'd tried to avoid spent the barrel chested cop most of yesterday and knew he was puzzled by her attitude. So was she. Her analytical mind had gone over it a thousand times and she'd come to the same conclusion. It wasn't the sex with Alex that was worrying her, it was the emotional attachment. He'd expect far more from her than she'd be able to give.

Casual sex was one thing, but another relationship was something else...

The frustrating aspect was that her body's burning need remained. It might not be as all consuming as after her session at the Appleby studios, but it was definitely there.

She'd spent the whole of the last thirty six hours—other than when she was masturbating—trying to come to terms with what had happened. There was only one conclusion. Exposing her body in a skimpy bikini during the photo shoot had brought alive the sexual yearnings she'd bottled up in the last eighteen months. It was that simple.

But if the happenings at the agency had lit the fire, her sexual encounter with Goodwin had really fanned the flames. She'd almost forgotten how good sex could be!

And now she'd had a taste again, she wanted more. Therein lay another problem.

Fucking Alex Goodwin might have been the safe option the other night, but the full ramifications of her decision to seek him out had come back to haunt her now. Re-establishing a connection she'd ended a year and a half ago was a backward step and she could see simply by looking at his body language that her fears were justified.

She wearily took to her feet and headed across the office towards the coffee machine in the far corner. Two of the younger guys were talking there as she approached and she saw them glance at her body before hurrying off. Laughter trailed in the air behind them and she knew what they were thinking. She knew what they were all thinking.

Leaning against the machine for a few moments, she glanced around the floor. Most of the eyes on her immediately diverted. They respected her because of her position and because she was good at her job. But most of them would fuck her in a second. She'd heard the whispers, how hot she was for someone 'of her age'. How she kept herself in good shape. How she must be gagging for it because she didn't have a boyfriend...

Usually she ignored the ever present sexual nuances. Today, they sent a tingle to her sex.

Turning back to the machine, she checked the small menu. What was the difference, they all tasted the same. She pressed for cappuccino, but pulled a face as the discoloured water spilt into the plastic white cup. For a few seconds, she stared at the murky liquid and then, holding the cup high, allowed the drink to splash down into the slop shoot.

Maybe she needed something stronger than coffee?

Turning back to her office, she took her time sauntering back across the floor, aware that she was putting an extra swing in her hips as she walked. God, even her thoughts made her feel horny. Let them look, she told herself, feeling her body react to all the eyes that would be staring at her ass. If you're man enough, come and get it boys...

***

Pierre Laroche's deep voice resonated around his large office. "So, Kirsten, has Carmella explained the process?"

The brunette uncertainly shook her head. "No... not exactly."

"But you know it's an assessment."

She nodded. "Yes."

"My methods are unusual but very rewarding," he explained, pouring a drink and handing it to her. Giving her another glass of Blush after the one Carmella had fed her was a calculated risk, but after the session she was unlikely to have much of a recollection of anything outside of the sex. And he wanted her body to guide her reactions, not her mind.

"Passing the assessment means you're officially eligible to become an Appleby model," he continued. "Carmella will take care of the contract details, of course."

Kirsten took a sip from the glass, her gleaming brown eyes covering Laroche. The feeling of arousal that had begun to consume her during the short taxi ride after leaving Carmella was now at a fevered pitch. He wasn't anything like she'd visualised. It wasn't that he was much older than she'd thought—she had no real expectation. Nor was it the fact that he was handsome in a mature sort of way, despite the thin, salt and pepper hair.

She just hadn't anticipated that he'd be black...

"What I'm interested in is your mental attitude, your aptitude to be a successful model. Believe me, Kirsten, many young women like you have aspirations but few have what it takes." He walked across to the padded table beside her chair and rested his hands on the rail at the top. "You're willing to put yourself in my hands?"

It was the opening line to all of his weekly shows on the Eurotica French TV cable channel. What made today's show out of the ordinary was that the young women were usually primed to act the part. The seduction of an innocent was always special and he'd watched the recordings of this woman in action on the Solomon Sloane show. That performance—aided by the advanced publicity—guaranteed a huge pay per view audience.

He'd ensure they weren't disappointed.

"Yes," Kirsten replied, gulping down more of the drink. It eased the nervous dryness in her throat. "Whatever it takes..."

"Indeed," Laroche smiled, pulling a chair across to the table and resting his hands on the back of it. "I think we need to understand a few things first. Please lie down here on the table." His face was a picture of calm as he watched her comply. "Comfortable?"

"Yes thanks," she hesitantly said, smoothing the floaty skirt across her thighs as she settled herself. She was and she wasn't. Her position reminded her of lying on a therapist's couch. She felt vulnerable, too, and that thought sent little bolts of excitement through her.

When he stood to remove his suit jacket, she couldn't prevent herself from checking out his package. The bulge suggested that he was at least as big as Tony Daly.

Her nipples hardened at the thought...

"Fashion and pornography have one thing in common," he rasped, pushing his rimless glasses up his forehead as he stood beside her. "Do you know what?"

The brunette's eyes widened. Pornography?

"Sex," he continued, watching her reaction. "A pornographic actress indulges her body and a fashion model indulges her mind. Both are essential in order to produce the highest quality of performance in their respective spheres. You understand?"

She nodded slowly, even though she wasn't sure what he was getting at.

He smiled at her as he circled behind the table. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he leant forward and kept his voice low. "For this session, Kirsten, I need you to do two things. I want you to indulge your mind and I need you to think of yourself as a pornographic actress. Your ability to demonstrate that will determine the outcome of the assessment. Understand?"

She hadn't thought of it that way. Feeling sexy had helped during her audition with Daly and the subsequent shoot afterwards. It would help her through this. And the feeling of the fingers gently stroking her shoulders was already making her feel sexy...

"Yes," she said. Her voice was little more than a whisper. Fixing her gaze on the ceiling, she wondered why anyone would place a mirror there. Staring at her reflection, she realised that her prone body presented a sexy image. The sight, and Laroche's rhetoric, was definitely affecting her. So were the fingers he was digging into her shoulders.

"What I want you to do," he continued, walking around the table and casually sitting in the chair, "is to coordinate the thoughts in your mind with the feelings inside your body." His voice was low and soothing. "I'll guide you with a series of questions. I hope that's clear?"

She nodded, more in an attempt to move things forward rather than confirmation of any understanding. Her palms were clammy and her body was practically screaming for attention. Whatever he had in mind was okay by her...

***

Alex Goodwin took a sip from his mug of coffee and pushed forward in his chair. The Met canteen seemed to have become the norm for his brief meetings with Brendan Kaminski. Two colleagues sharing a break together...

"Well?" the swarthy Homicide cop asked, shuffling in his seat opposite Goodwin.

"I don't know," Goodwin said for the second time, this time accompanied by a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I told you, I didn't get the chance to talk to her yesterday."

The acute feeling of frustration still burned strongly in his body. Sandra had deliberately kept out of his way yesterday, though to be fair she was heavily involved in some more of the shit that Turner was piling on her. He could tell the signs. Turner had decided he wanted her out and was now placing unreasonable demands so that he'd have some evidence to prove she wasn't satisfactorily doing her job.

"Why not?" Kaminski snapped out the question.

The barrel chested cop almost reacted, but choked back the annoyance he was feeling. Okay, it was natural that Brendan should want feedback on Wilson's open night—he'd supplied the lead after all. But what could he tell him? Sandra hadn't even confided in him yet.

"There's a team meeting this morning," he responded, taking another gulp of coffee. "I'll know more after that."

Kaminski grimaced. "Hell, Alex—"

Goodwin leant forward aggressively and tapped his fingers on the rectangular table. "Look, what else can I tell you, Brendan? You'll have to be patient like the rest of us. This is a delicate fucking operation, you know."

The Homicide cop backed off. "Okay, Alex. I hear ya."

Goodwin thought back to Turner and Wilson's broken relationship. Why the fuck had he allowed himself to get drawn into telling Brendan Kaminski about everything? If this got out, there'll be hell to pay. "Good. Just chill out and I'll update you later, okay?"

Kaminski twisted his face into a smile. "Okay... okay, Alex, it seems to me like I'm not the only one who needs a couple of chill pills..."

Goodwin's grey eyes hardened. The Homicide cop's words had really hit the spot. What the hell was wrong with Sandra Wilson She'd called out unexpectedly at his apartment, fucked his brains out in the lift, and then left without a word. And she hadn't said a thing to him in the day and a half that had passed since then. What was he to think?

He realised Brendan was tapping the back of his hand.

"What?" he snapped.

"Geez, Alex," Kaminski said, lowering his voice and glancing around the room. "I've never seen you this uptight. I just said I was out this afternoon but I'd call you later. Okay?"

Goodwin's frustration dropped to simmering point. He leant back in his chair again and shot Brendan a half apologetic look. There wasn't any point in taking it out on him.

"Okay," he wearily conceded. The sooner he and Sandra talked things through the better.

***

Kirsten had been vaguely aware that Pierre Laroche's soft tone had helped her descend into a meditative state. Maybe she should have resisted, but she'd felt better as her mind sank deeper. Her body remained on fire but now she was in her own world.

And it felt reassuring to listen to that voice in the distance.

"You like black men?" the voice suddenly asked.

She felt the surge of heat between her thighs. How did it know?

"And you like Tony Daly. You showered with him, didn't you? Think about that, Kirsten."

Within a few seconds, she returned to the moment. The heady aroma of the scented shower gel filled her nostrils. She'd rubbed it across his skin, taking her time as she covered his chest, back and hard buttocks. His muscular body had felt so smooth under her hands.

"You liked the feel of his body, Kirsten," the voice said.

She couldn't understand how it knew. She hadn't spoken, had she? These were just thoughts passing through her mind...

"Why don't you touch his body again," the voice said. "Remember how it feels."

A hand was taking hers and placing it on a naked chest. Someone was standing to the side of her. It couldn't be Laroche—he was wearing a shirt—it must be Tony Daly.

She stroked her fingers across the chest, seeking those nipples again. For a few silent moments she caressed one, tweaking it between her thumb and forefinger. Did a man experience the same sensations as a woman when having his nipples pleasured, she wondered? Would he moan like she did when having them sucked?

"Why don't you see?" the voice asked. "Go ahead."

A body was bending over her and his skin was against her face. It was Daly's ebony skin. Her tongue reached up, tracing a path to his right nipple. Yesss...

He did moan as she sucked on it!

"That's nice, Kirsten," the voice confirmed. "Now the other."

She left a wet trail as she slid across to his left nipple. Her movements were rougher now, flicking it with her tongue, worrying it between her teeth, just the way she liked Matt to do with her. Daly's hand slid to the back of her head, holding it up from the padded table. Her fingernails trailed lightly across his hard stomach as she licked around the hard bud.

God, she was so horny...

"So good," the voice growled. It must be enjoying watching what she was doing to Daly. "How does that feel?"

"Incredible," she grunted, beginning to float on a bubble of arousal. She had to widen her legs to allow the heat to escape. They brushed against Daly's thighs.

"Remember when Tony Daly oiled your breasts, Kirsten? He can't do it now because you're wearing a dress. Why don't you pull it down your body? That would make you feel better..."

Her hands were on her straps as soon as the words left his mouth. As soon as she'd dragged the dress down to her waist, she was fumbling with her bra. The feeling of the cool air on her breasts was breathtaking, but nothing like the sensations of the hands that immediately covered them. Tony Daly's hands. She gasped at the touch. They were rubbing something into her flesh and across her hard nipples.