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.
