“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Maybe next time you could see more of me. You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”
Sette was already halfway out of the chair. “If I can find my friend, yes… unfortunately.”
“Mmhmm.” June planted a kiss on her cheek.I can smell my own pussy on her breath.Why in the world was thathot? Why was she so proud that this amazing woman smelled like her?Because, deep down, I’m a stupid animal who only knows fucking and eating.Maybe some sleep thrown in there to keep the cycle continuing. “I’m guessing that right now she’s in Grace’s pussy. Or maybe her ass, if she’s into that. ’Cause Grace is.”
“I have no idea. I don’t make a point of knowing my friends’ kinks.”
June gave her a careful look. “That so? Too bad. I love talking about kinks.” Now her smile was the fakest in the universe. “I’m a bit of a gossip girl, I guess.”
Now what? Should Sette thank her? Shake her hand? Leave without another word? Pretend that she would come back to finish the job, this time with her wallet open?Maybe… it’s only fifteen grand. Wow. First time in her life she thought like that, and this was a woman who never had a shred of debt, even after medical school.Sex has addled me. She may have only had June’s mouth – for now – but she was counting it.
June killed the awkwardness by announcing she had rounds to make on the boss’s behalf. Sette would let her go. Why not? She needed to refocus anyway.Ha. What for?What was there to focus on? As soon as she left the Manoir, she was going back home, to stare at an empty canvas and listen to her agent’s rambling threats on voicemail. What was Sette in a hurry for?
She gazed at June as she finished putting her ensemble back together and gussying up in a gilded mirror.She’s so beautiful. Did she know how beautiful she was? Her body was so entrancing that Sette felt like she could stare at it for hours. The curve of her spine. The roundness of her ass. Those slender legs with calves of steel. That was the view from the back. The golden hair accentuated it.
I want to paint her. Not the first time Sette thought that since seeing her.
“Excuse me,” she said, as June reached the door. When June looked at her, Sette was compelled to continue. “Can I see you… let’s see… Friday?”
“Friday?” June looked genuinely surprised. Shocked that she would pay her for her time?I’m shocked, too. June batted her eyelashes, coy, but not facetious. “I’m free all afternoon. I’m booked for a party that night, though. After dinner. Sorry.”
“No, no… the afternoon is perfect.” Summer was coming. So much wonderful daylight to paint in. “This may sound unconventional to you, but I would like to pay you for your time.”
She guffawed. “That’s hardly unconventional.”
“Let me finish.” Sette faced her, feet firmly on the ground, but her heart leaping into her throat. “I want to paint you, June. I want to pay you to be my model. I will come here since it’s convenient for you… and because there are so many great views around here.”
June was incredulous. “Model for you?”
“Remember that I’m a painter?”
“I remember.”
“Well, I need a new model. I think you’d be perfect.”
June returned to Sette, hands running up her arms as she grinned from one ear to the other.Touch me more, lovely. Sette wanted to feel June all over her, but reason was finally winning out, and it told her enough was enough for today. She could go home and touch herself to images of this beauty. Would give her time to think other things through. “You can pay me for whatever you like, Sette.” June kissed her again, this time with more fervor. “I don’t mind,” she whispered on her lips. “I’ll even take my clothes off for it.”
Sette tried not to latch onto this detail. “I was hoping you would say that. So… Friday? I’ll be sure to leave early enough so you can get back to your real work.”
“What is real work? Anything I get paid for is real work. Surely, an artist knows that.”
Did June consider herself an artist of some sort? Why did that thought strike Sette down once again? “I do. How does two sound? I’m thinking a small sketch to begin with, and I can paint it at home… but I like to do my sketches in real—”
She put her fingers on Sette’s lips. “Friday at two. I’ll be all yours.”
Chapter 6
Miquela
The worst part about moving one’s life across an ocean was the logistics, and Miquela Bolivar was done with logistics.
That’s why a woman had an assistant to take care of that bullshit for her. Aimee was a young French woman from Nice who had gone from potential girlfriend to personal assistant the day she found out Miquela was one ofthoseBolivars.You know, the Monegasque Bolivars.Most jumped at the chance to sleep with – let alone date – a woman like Miquela. Aimee? She was way too intimidated. Apparently, she preferred her partners to be comfortably middle-class and disinterested in taking over the world.
Worked for Miquela. She needed an assistant, anyway, and Aimee had excellent references. When Miquela told her about the move to America, she begged to come. “How far away from New York?” she asked time and again. Did she have familythere? A comfortably boring lover? Miquela had no idea. She didn’t particularly care, as long as Aimee did her job.
Today, that job was to arrange the furniture, or at least oversee the crew arranging the furniture. No matter how much she searched, Miquela could not find a furnished apartment to her standards. She ended up purchasing the place with the best view and worrying about furniture later. Now it was here, and she could stop sleeping in hotels.
