Nights In Black Lace. Noelle Mack

      APHRODISIA

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      For JWR—et pourquoi pas

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      1

      “Who is he?”

      “I don’t know, Odette.”

      Odette Gaillard looked again at the man seated in the front row next to the catwalk. “He is very handsome.”

      Her assistant only shrugged. “If you like Americans.”

      “I do.” She shot Marc a laughing look. “And I am in the mood to fall in love.”

      “Oh, Odette. You should not say that.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because you cannot decide if you are going to fall in love. Love finds you. Then you fall in it.”

      “Like a mud puddle?” Odette asked.

      “Well, sometimes. And sometimes you experience incomparable bliss, accompanied by earth-shattering sex.”

      Odette gave a snort. “If you are very lucky. I don’t think I could describe any love affairs of mine like that. Which doesn’t keep me from wanting a new one.”

      “How long has it been, Odette?”

      She answered with vehemence. “Months! The business of fashion has taken over my life!”

      Marc waved a hand in a bored way. “Please, spare me the part about you being an artist and how you need to create.”

      She stuck out her tongue. “I do though.”

      “And your latest collection is your best yet. Having so many clients is good for you and good for the company.”

      “Well, the last part is true. We are making millions, Marc. But I still feel very tempted to quit and go do something else.”

      “What?”

      “I don’t know.”

      He sighed deeply. “Putting this show together has unhinged your mind.” Marc took another peek at the man his boss had her eye on and shrugged. “But I suppose he would do for a fling.”

      “Exactly,” she said with a feline smile. “Besides, love can last a week or a lifetime. No one knows that at the beginning of an affair.”

      “Alors,” Marc said. “We all wish we did.”

      Odette stepped away from the curtain that separated the backstage area from the catwalk. “Are you happy that we have a full house?”

      “Of course. The dragon lady from Vogue is in her accustomed place and we ought to begin.”

      “I do like peeking at them first,” Odette replied. “Especially the celebrities.”

      “Who is here?” He twitched apart the curtain again. “Aha. Alisa Calderon is making an entrance.”

      Odette put her cheek next to Marc’s to watch a famous Spanish actress saunter to her seat in the front row. “Isn’t she going to star in Pedro Almovodar’s next movie?”

      “I heard that too. You must design something exclusively for her, Odette.”

      “She is beautiful.”

      With her cascade of dark hair, doe eyes, huge breasts, and a purse big enough to partly conceal the bodyguard who followed her, the actress caused a stir she seemed to enjoy.

      “Beautiful, yes, but she does not know how to accessorize,” Marc said disapprovingly. “Her purse is much too large and those shoes do nothing for her legs.”

      Odette only shrugged. “Since I design neither of those things, that is not my problem. Hmm. I could create a bustier studded with precious stones for her. And if she wears it on the red carpet, then women will be clamoring for their own.”

      “Fabulously faux, of course.”

      “Yes, Marc. Great big sparkly fake emeralds and amethysts, I think. With her sultry coloring, perfect. What fun.”

      Marc thought of something that had evidently been on his mind. “Don’t you think that you should move into accessories, Odette?

      “Eventually. Ooh, Alisa, you are a naughty girl. How the heads turn when she sits down.”

      “That is because her skirt hikes up,” Marc sniffs. “I can see far more than I want to.”

      Odette noticed that the American man, whoever he was, did not even look at the actress or seem to notice the hubbub around her. He was talking to a woman next to him, who was delighted to have his attention.

      Odette knew her well—Marie Arelquin was a freelance journalist who blogged for Paris Match. “Your friend may have first claim to him,” Marc was saying.

      Odette pouted. “I have known Marie since our school days. She was never one to share.”

      “Then you are out of luck,” Marc laughed.

      The man was laughing at whatever Marie was saying.

      “What a nice laugh he has,” Odette said, talking to herself more than to Marc. “I like that type of man. He seems open-minded and open-hearted.”

      Marc snickered. “And athletic. And too young for you.”

      “What do you mean by that?” she asked indignantly.

      “You will turn thirty in November.”

      She looked at the man. “He is twenty-seven or twenty-eight. He has smile wrinkles around his eyes.”

      Marc clutched his clipboard and looked over the top of it. “I suppose so. I would bet he has spent his adolescence on a surf-board. Very bad for the skin.”

      “And very good for the physical development. Swimmers and surfers have magnificent bodies.”

      Marc sighed thoughtfully. “Are we reading too much into the fact that he is wearing the top half of a wetsuit?”

      “Unzipped,” Odette pointed out.

      “It is hot out there.”

      “He is hot.”

      Marc laughed in a low voice. “Ah, Odette, I know you will find a way to meet him before the show is over. But you have only a little while left for this game of peekaboo.”

      “What time is it?”

      Marc looked at