Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 02

"Clinique are paying all the costs?"

Yamamura nodded. The crisis was over.

"The contract with them is watertight?"

"Absolutely," Yamamura replied, smiling inwardly.

Volkov had no way of knowing what he'd arranged. Who was the clever one now? This time the glance he gave Boris was a self-satisfied one.

"I negotiated it personally," he added.

"Indeed you did," the Russian observed, blowing a smoke ring into the air. "Okay, let's go ahead with it. But if the girl is no good, she can pay for her own flight back to England."

Yamamura nodded respectfully. This was getting even better. He'd tell Volkov she had underperformed and that would be that.

"As you wish, Nikky."

The Russian allowed a second smoke ring to curl upwards as he strolled back to his large black leather chair.

"Who else are you using at the shoot?"

Dammit. He'd wanted to keep that part to himself. He almost lied, but his brief hesitation had already given the game away.

"Michelle Park," he softly replied. "She won season two of Supermodel. I thought she'd compliment Jennifer Finney's looks perfectly."

"You did?" Volkov said.

There was a subtle edge to his voice that made Yamamura wonder if their secret was out. And yet he couldn't know that she was Tony's girlfriend, could he? No, they'd always been careful to protect their connection.

"I don't think I've met her yet," Volkov went on. "Arrange that for me, would you, Tony. I'd like to assess her capabilities personally."

It wasn't a request. It was an instruction. And it meant one thing. He'd go through his 'initiation ceremony' with her at the meeting, and sometime afterwards he would fuck her. Just as he did with all of his models. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing? After one encounter with Michelle, he'd want more. Tony had never known anyone quite so persuasive as his girlfriend. That would give her the opportunity to get closer to him.

Keep your friends close and your enemies' closer...

"Of course," he softly answered, with a sly smile. "That will be my pleasure, Nikky."

*

As soon as they were back in their hotel room, Roxie reached for the zipper of Palmer's jeans and yanked it downwards before he could stop her.

"Let me make it up to you," she urged, knocking his hand away as he tried to grab her wrist.

Popping open the waistline, she guided her hand inside. To her delight, he instantly began to grow in her hand. What had she been thinking to let Jade share this? It was hers. All hers.

God, she'd been so stupid. And right now she wanted him so badly!

She momentarily relinquished her grip on his manhood so that she could drag her tee shirt over her head. Her breasts bounced playfully as she shook her wavy red hair and then she was releasing her skirt and leaning back against the door behind her. She was so giddy with need that she almost fell over as she slid her thong down her shapely legs.

"Well?" she asked, raising her hands above her head and arching her naked body for his inspection. "Can you think of any way I can make amends, Jack?"

His hypnotised eyes followed her movements as she slid her fingers across the impossibly smooth skin of her clean-shaven mound. Then he was stepping closer, revelling in her arousal. Last night was forgotten.

"I love you, Roxie," he grunted, jamming his lips over hers.

He began to undress as they kissed, but she stilled him by taking his still-hard length in her palm again.

"You don't have time to take your clothes off, Jack Palmer," she rasped. "If you don't put this thing inside me right now, I think I'm going to scream."

Her ass pushed backwards against the door as she guided his cockhead to her wet opening. Wrapping one leg around his waist, she eased half his shaft inside her. When she raised her other leg, her heels finding purchase in the swell of his ass, it slid the rest of the way inside.

"Oh, fuck," Palmer gasped.

He had to stiffen his legs to maintain his balance, his large palms cupping her smooth asscheeks and holding her in position.

"You better believe it," Roxanne gasped. She was so turned on that she was already moving on him. "It's just you and me this time. You and me forever, Jack. Now you'd better fuck me like you mean it."

When her teeth found his earlobe, it was as if she'd pulled the trigger. They both needed this time alone and the way they quickly got to the heart of the fuck began to erase all of the doubts they'd discussed after breakfast.

"Yes, like that, Jack," Roxie encouraged, tightening her legs around his body. "Just like that..."

It was as if they were exorcising last night from their minds and bodies as the fuck quickly turned frantic. All of a sudden they were going at it like two rabid animals, each quenching their thirst by giving to the other.

The sound of her asscheeks banging against the wooden door was almost erotic, and their breathing became more laboured as they both gained a second wind. Roxie tightened her slender arms around his neck, giving herself more purchase to fuck back as Jack began to pound her.

After a while, perspiration began to drip from both their bodies. But neither cared. They were lost in their own needs.

For Roxie, it was all about re-affirming her love for her man. Her arms curled even tighter around his strong shoulders, giving herself more purchase to respond to the way he was pumping inside her. Hard deep strokes! The sound of his animalistic grunts was almost as much a turn-on as the feel of his hardness ferociously pumping inside her.

Had he ever been this way before, going at her like a man possessed?

For an awful moment it entered her mind that he must be thinking of Jade again. The African model had a way of getting into the minds of the men she fucked. No, please no, he couldn't be...

And glory be, as if to confirm it, he was groaning out her name.

"Roxie ... Roxie ... Roxie..."

His throaty grunts meant only one thing. He was on the verge. She grabbed one of his hands and dragged it upwards so that she could feed his index finger between her wet lips.

"Cum for me, Jack," she mumbled. "Cum in me..."

He climaxed the very moment she began to suck his finger like a cock.

Roxie threw her head back and wailed out her approval. The sensation of him releasing inside her was like gaining absolution for her sins. She wailed again with each ejaculation. He was coating her insides with his creamy tribute and he couldn't stop. A wave of happiness surged through her. Even after last night, he couldn't stop!

His explosions triggered her own orgasm and she gripped his shoulders more tightly as the intense climax ripped through her needy frame.

God, she so loved this man...

*

Nikky Volkov watched thoughtfully out of the window as Tony Yamamura headed towards his waiting taxi. Despite the oppressive heat, it had actually begun to rain. How fitting. His calculating brain had already put two and two together and he didn't like the answer it produced.

"What do you think, Boris?" he asked his bodyguard.

When the blonde German shrugged his shoulders, Volkov smiled to himself. He hadn't hired Boris for his brains.

He turned back to the window as his mind kicked into gear. At one time, Yamamura's loyalty couldn't be questioned. That's why the Russian had promoted him to such a prominent position. He'd given him so many opportunities to better himself, but greed was a self-defeating creature. Some people always wanted more. He hadn't wanted to believe the rumours that had found their way back to him, but nor could he ignore them. And their discussion had just confirmed their validity.

He hadn't needed to specifically ask the questions, nor had it been necessary to read between the lines. All he'd had to do was look Tony Yamamura in the eye to see that his trusted lieutenant was turning on him.

First there was the issue of Michelle Park. Yamamura was using her in the photoshoot because he wanted to further her career. So why not be straight about it? Volkov wouldn't have objected. He'd known the two of them were an item for some time, despite Yamamura's extensive efforts to disguise their relationship.

The Russian hated secrets. It meant people had something to hide. That's what had put him onto Yamamura in the first place.

Then there was the fact that his Asian employee was personally flying one of America's hottest porn stars into Dubai tomorrow. He wasn't bringing Bree Jensen there just to fuck her. There had to be more to it than that. He'd taken great pains to disguise her arrival from everyone, including Volkov. That was unforgiveable.

The clincher was this woman—Jennifer Finney. The Russian knew everything about her there was to know. She had every quality needed to become a top model, so why had Yamamura pretended otherwise? It didn't matter. The key issue was that he'd lied. But that wasn't the only problem. Tony Yamamura had gotten lazy. If he knew what Volkov did about the wannabee model, he wouldn't have allowed her to get on that plane.

He'd take good care of the woman when the time came ... just like he was going to take good care of the man who had just left his office.

He leaned back in his plush leather chair and closed his eyes. He didn't have all the pieces of the jigsaw yet, but he'd take action when he had. Threats had to be snuffed out at the first opportunity. Boris would normally be his first port of call on occasions like this, but he had the feeling this was going to be more complicated.

Reaching forward, he picked up his phone and hit speed dial. It paid to be prepared.

"I may need you here, Sergii," he said, once he heard the familiar voice answer.

"Where is here?"

"Dubai."

"When?"

"Fly in tomorrow. I'll make the usual arrangements."

"For how long?"

"Until I need you, of course. You'll stay in your hotel until I call again. Things will be clearer over the next forty-eight hours."

"Understood. And the money?"

"The usual fee will be in your bank account later today, Sergii. For now, that's all you need to know."

*

The shrill ring of his telephone woke Jack Palmer as he dozed on the bed. Roxanne had quickly showered after their lovemaking and left him to rest while she'd headed off to rehearsals. Her energy amazed him. He'd thought her absence would give him some thinking time, but he'd fallen asleep almost as soon as she'd left their room.

He pushed his weary body up on the bed as he answered the call, and was fully alert within seconds when he recognized the unexpected voice on the other end of the phone.

"Sandra?"

Sandra Wilson had been an integral part of the London Met's successful but ultimately bloody investigation into Dominic DeVere. The subsequent break-up of their team had hit her hard, and she would have refused the offer of the Head of Vice position had it not been for Palmer's intervention. Someone trustworthy was needed to safeguard all the work they'd all carried out to that point, he'd persuasively explained.

Wilson had constantly kept in touch with him since then, seeking out his advice whenever it was needed, and asking him to help her out from time to time on cases she couldn't be seen to officially touch.

No doubt that was the reason for today's phone call...

"Jack," she cheerily replied. "It's good to hear your voice. But you sound tired. Is life in the fast lane catching up with you?"

A wry smile creased his lips. She wouldn't believe him if he told her.

"I get by," he settled for saying. "But I take it this isn't just a social call. What's up, Sandra?"

"You were never one for small talk, Jack," she chuckled. "But it's true. I do have something of interest for you. Particularly as I read that Roxanne has signed up with Nikolay Volkov, yes?"

Palmer felt his stomach clench. Was everything he'd feared about to come home to roost?

"Okay, I'm listening..." was all he said.

"We've been looking at the Russian's European operations for a while," she continued, her voice business-like. "Don't worry, we don't have a single thing on him. But the names of his top models constantly crop up with other people we're interested in."

"I knew it," he snapped, clenching his teeth.

Wilson picked up on it straight away.

"Knew what, Jack? You've got something on him?"

Palmer paused. Instinct was one thing, facts were another.

"I don't have a thing on him, Sandra," he reluctantly said. "Other than one of those feelings I've come to trust. I haven't met the guy yet but I've seen him around. I don't like a single thing about him."

"We don't either," Wilson agreed. "But we both know how these things worked. Sexual favours offered in return for business deals. Look, this could all be innocent, but on the other hand we may have stumbled onto something real, here."

Palmer didn't answer at first. He had to control the bile that rose up in his throat. This was déjà vu. Volkov could be using his modelling agency as a fucking prostitution ring!? He'd kill the bastard if he tried to involve Roxie.

"And you're telling me this because of Roxanne's connection with him?" he eventually asked.

"No, not exactly. We've actually got someone close to getting a job working for Volkov."

Palmer hesitated, confused. What was Wilson asking?

"So let me get this right, Sandra. You're saying that Nikolay Volkov is up to something, that his modelling business could be a front for something more sinister? There's no proof, but you're sufficiently interested in him to send someone undercover as a model."

"That's about it in a nutshell," Wilson agreed. "I see you haven't lost your touch."

"Very funny," Palmer snapped, grinding his teeth in frustration.

This was confidential information, so he had to be careful how much he told Roxie. No, that wasn't it. He didn't give a shit how confidential it was. If she was in any sort of danger, he needed her to know. But equally, he didn't want her to think he was trying to pour cold water on her new career without anything to back it up. Despite their lovemaking session less than an hour ago, things were delicate enough after last night.

"Why don't you just spell out what it is you want from me, Sandra?"

"The woman we've planted will have arrived in Dubai now. Volkov's people are interested in signing her as one of his newest models, but that's not going to happen, of course. I don't want her getting too involved in anything. Her job is just to sniff around, get a feel for how he operates and then report back."

Palmer shook his head to himself. Did they never learn? Whoever it was would be out of her depth when dealing with someone of Volkov's calibre. He was surprised that Wilson of all people should take such a risk.

"You're fucking crazy, Sandra."

"Probably," she agreed, without even a hint of amusement in her voice. "I've been having second thoughts about it ever since I signed it off. That's really why I'm calling you, Jack. If she runs into any difficulties out there, can she call on you? Unofficially, of course. I just need someone on the spot to steer her in the right direction."

"You want a babysitter?" he asked, a bit incredulously. "I've never heard anything quite that stupid. Besides, I don't work for the Met anymore."

"No, not babysit," she emphasised, ignoring the tone of his response. "Jenn won't need that. I'd just like her to have someone experienced to call on if she needs to talk anything through. You know, someone on the doorstep, so to speak. Like you used to look out for me when I first started in the Met..."

"That was a long time ago."

"But you kept me on the straight and narrow. Look, Jack, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't need this favour. It's simple. If Jenn's having problems and can't speak to me, will you help out? What do you say?"

Palmer paused. Did he really have a choice? He'd always looked after Wilson's back and wasn't going to stop now. Besides, maybe this way he could gain some inside information on Volkov. That would give him a better chance of looking after Roxie's best interests.

"You know the answer, Sandra," he softly said. "Give her my details and tell her I'm here if she needs me."

"I already have, Jack," Wilson chuckled. "Her name is Jennifer Finney."

*

Jenn Finney stared at the fabulous view out of her 5 star hotel window. She'd stripped to her underwear—a black Freya Deco underwired moulded half cup bra and matching thong. She'd purchased the lingerie especially for the undercover operation. She had to look the part, after all.

She only wished that her confidence matched her stunning appearance. For the first time since she'd flown into Dubai, she'd begun to have serious doubts as to whether she could pull this off. She'd been full of self-belief when she'd volunteered for the assignment. Not only was she finally getting her teeth into something meaningful, but the case sounded glamorous, too. What girl wouldn't want to play out the part of a successful model?

Now, reality was kicking in and she was feeling felt extremely vulnerable.

She'd been told that she was beautiful and had a fabulous figure—that was one of the reasons Sandra Wilson had chosen her, after all. Darn, it was about the only reason. She had no experience in this kind of thing. But there were beautiful women everywhere she looked around here. She couldn't compete with the sophisticated models all around her.

What made her think that Nikolay Volkov would take her seriously? And if he didn't, her task would be over even before it had started. Part of her wanted to rush back to England before she was found out.

One of Volkov's men had accompanied on the flight from London, a good looking Asian guy with a crew-cut and a crisp, linen suit. At first she hadn't understood why she'd been assigned a chaperone, but it had soon become clear that Tony Yamamura was there to check out every detail of her story.

She'd answered his questions in as much detail she could, thankful for the thorough briefing that Sandra Wilson had given her. She must have passed the test, because halfway through the flight he'd turned from quizzing her to explaining what was in store once they reached Dubai.

When he'd mentioned the photo shoot, she'd nearly passed out. No-one had said anything about such a thing. Wilson had expected her to be there for a few days, mainly on the fringe of activities, where she could chat to some of the other models and work out what was going on.

"We like to throw our models in the deep end," Yamamura had casually explained. "It's that sort of business."

That was when her insecurities had started to kick in.

The shoot was for a new line of lipstick, apparently, and she'd be working with another more experienced model. If the shoot was successful, she'd be offered a contract immediately.

"If not, Jenn," her chaperone had continued, "at least you'll have had an enjoyable few days in Dubai."

She hadn't had an opportunity to call Sandra Wilson yet, to explain what was happening, or get in touch with the contact she'd been given. Jack Palmer. That name at least gave her a little confidence. Palmer's name was still held in high esteem in the Met.

Turning away from the hotel window, she took a sip from the large vodka martini she'd just had delivered to her room and then exhaled a loud sigh.

Clinique was producing a lipstick line that was supposed to 'volumize' a woman's lips. Yamamura had said they were searching for models that needed no help from lipstick at all.

"When we saw your photographs, it was clear you fit the bill perfectly," he'd said.

She turned towards the mirror and touched her mouth with her fingertips. She'd been complimented on her full lips before, although never from anyone in the fashion world. It made her feel special. Leaning forward, she planted her lips on the thin mirror and then admired the lipstick outline she'd left on the cold glass. It looked pretty.