by Cynthia Dane
“I have to tell you, though,” Zack continued, drinking beer. They were both waiting for their lunches to arrive. “You’re making me want to find a girl of my own. Maybe not from that Château, though… I hear that woman I was with is the mistress of the Andrews. You know. The Andrews. I ain’t going up against that. I’d fear for my life and dick.”
Seth vaguely knew who Zack talked about. I’m not in the society like he is. Seth grew up rich and privileged, but he was from a medical family. They traveled in different circles from the other elite… and tended to be anti-social everywhere but the golf course. Dentists, on the other hand… They didn’t count as real doctors, anyway.
Zack was from that other world. And friendly. And charming. He knew everyone, even if only tangentially.
“I had figured you were jealous. First time I’ve had a great girl and you don’t.”
“Sure. Let’s call it jealousy.” Zack glanced at the waitress walking by. A new girl. Big, round ass. “Either way, I’m happy for you about the gallery thing. I know this is huge for you.”
“You’re coming to the show, right?”
“Of course I am? What, do you think I’m that shitty of a bitter, jealous friend? Nah, man, I’ll keep telling you that you’re making a huge mistake. I’ll be first in line at your show, though. Wow me enough and I’ll even buy a painting from you!”
“Whoa, slow down hustler. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Tell me the truth, though,” Zack said, serious. “You’re not falling for this woman, are you?”
Seth had to get serious too. “I try not to think about it. Taking one thing at a time.”
“All right. I’ll leave you alone about it.”
Their food came, giving them a respite from this old conversation. While the waitress put down their food – and Zack not so covertly checked out her ass – Seth thought about his feelings for Judith, however they could be classified. I feel like I would do anything for her. Throw money at her. Tell her she was beautiful. Paint her until she died. Give her a shoulder to cry on, not that he knew what she would be crying about. Drive her halfway across the world so she could see an old friend she hadn’t spoken to in years. Whatever she wanted, he would give it to her.
Wasn’t that a form of love?
Seth dove into his clam chowder and salad. Zack’s right. I’m doomed. Still, he blustered through his day with a smile on his face. Nothing could take away his happiness right now.
***
Late that night he sat in his studio, finishing up his latest portrait of Judith: the one of her on the fountain, caught biding her time between clients.
He loved this pose. It was natural, relaxed, beautiful. Judith appeared in her element while also sharing an intimate moment with the viewer. It also wasn’t sexual, which was a nice change of pace from the other, more explicit portraits.
I’m keeping this one. He decided that as he added a blend of brown to her golden hair. Maybe he would display it in a gallery, but no amount anyone offered would be enough to make him part from it. It represented more than a moment they shared in that hedge maze. It represented the beauty he saw within her. Intimacy unmatched.
Once finished, Seth sat back and viewed it in context with the other completed paintings. A dozen Judith’s gazed at him, some of them with come-hither eyes, others with nothing but humor and yet even more begging him to think of no one but her. Accomplished. Judith was more than his muse now. She was his love. He supposed every artist had to have that muse who was also a great love. Not that it ever ended well for those other fools. Seth was in good company, then.
He spun around on his stool and looked out the darkened window. Enough lights were on overhead that the paintings reflected in the glass before him. Seth was surrounded.
For a split second, he realized his folly.
Then like the true fool he was, he crushed it down, deep, deep into his stomach where it wouldn’t have to be acknowledged. All he cared about was breathing in his careless emotions.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Joy. “My collection is called The Consummate Courtesan.” It was perfect. Artistic, poetic, classy… and absolutely true. Judith was consummate. A tender specimen who put others before her own needs, even if those others served her needs. A beautiful, darling woman who made him laugh and everyone around her comfortable, even if they didn’t agree with her lifestyle.
And there was the other definition of consummate, which matched her as well.
The next time he saw her he was going to worship the ground she walked on. He would prove that there was no other man who could make her as happy as him. Seth felt like he was walking into a real courtship. Yes. Yes it was a courtship. Eventually his graceful courtesan would become the only woman who mattered in his world. His heart beat erratically to think it.
I’m a fucking bastard in love. He shoved his phone back in his pocket after receiving Joy’s confirmation. And I don’t care!
Chapter 18
MIGUEL
“Allow me to introduce you to Serene, my… date… for the evening.”
Miguel could hardly believe his eyes. Here he was, at the damned opera with an old American friend named Clive Nielson, and one of his favorite women was already making eyes at him.
“Pleased to… see you, Serene.” Miguel wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know the west coast beauty. With skin glowing in a healthy tan, eyes shrouded in hazel contacts, and bleach blond hair pulled back into a sporty ponytail, Serene was the picture of Californian vivacity. She’s also available for a nominal fee. Either there or Vegas. Miguel had paid for her services in both cities before. She was even in his little black book of pros! This is hilarious. Even more hilarious when Serene went from stroking Clive’s arms to smiling at Miguel… all right, at his pants.
There was a reason he liked her so much.
“Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bolivar.” Serene didn’t mess around.
Clive glimpsed between his date and friend. “I see you two know each other.” He sighed. “I should have guessed, knowing you, Miguel. Where’s your date?”
“Don’t have one, I’m afraid. I’m still new in town, you know. Give me some time to find a woman who isn’t my assistant to bring to these things.” He tried not to think about Judith. Would she like the opera? I should ask. As soon as he became her patron, he was taking her everywhere. I would love for her to be on my arm. Whether meeting a friend for an artistic evening or going to a business dinner, Judith could blend in seamlessly. It wasn’t her job. It was her nature, and Miguel could respect the hell out of that.
So much for not thinking about her.
They had their own balcony for that night’s show, Carmen. A show Miguel had seen a hundred times, given its popularity in both Spain and France. Never seen Americans take it on, though. Tonight’s cast was predominately Latino, making the Spanish lyrics roll easily off the tongue and the chemistry between Don Jose and Senorita Carmen sizzling. In true American fashion, however, the sexuality was rammed up about 100,000 degrees. Fahrenheit, of course. Halfway through the show, the delightful actress playing Carmen song both her fantastic song and danced as if her body was on fire.
Clive excused himself to go to the restroom during intermission. The moment he left, Serene hopped up from her chair and sat in her date’s, right next to Miguel.
“What do you think of the show?” she asked, one tanned, long leg swinging over the other. Her perfume was tropical. Her lips? Full and pursed. There’s one thing she is really, really good at. Miguel usually paid a premium for her to keep him going as long as possible. When a woman was that good… “It’s scandalizing. I didn’t know the opera was supposed to make me think of sex so much!”
“You’re always thinking of sex,” Miguel pointed out. “Which begs the question… what are you doing all the way out here? I thought you kept your hunting grounds to the southwest.”
“When a client pays you to fly out to New England to keep him h
appy and fulfilled for a week, you go.” Serene’s grin should’ve been illegal. Stop looking at her, fool. “What I want to know is what you’re doing here. Business?”
He gave her a quick rundown regarding his partial move to America. Her eyes widened. Those contacts were going to give him nightmares if he stared for too long.
“Really? Do remember me if you’re ever on the west coast.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Although knowing you, you’ll have some other American girl all over you. Big moves usually mean big personal changes for guys like you. That said…” She pulled a card from her bust. Right from her cleavage. Covered in that tropical perfume. “If you want to fly me out here for some fun once in a while, I am game. I need at least a month’s notice so I can pencil such a thing in. Besides...” Her hand curled over his thigh, fingers brushing against his cock. For some reason, it didn’t readily stir. Maybe I am getting older. At nearly thirty-five, Miguel was starting to feel some strange physical changes his father and biology classes never warned him about. Hopefully he wouldn’t be having to pop blue pills anytime soon. “My time with Clive ends tomorrow, and I’ll be around for a couple more days after that. Got some shopping to catch up on… friends to meet with…” Her hand clenched his flesh. “Clients to see.”
“I get the point.” Miguel didn’t shoo her hand away, but he also didn’t encourage her to explore further. “You know you’re one of the first women to come to my mind when I think of my favorite Americans.”
“Stop it with that accent! You’re getting my panties all wet, Miguel.”
“Just helping Clive for later.”
“Between you and me…” Serene’s voice lowered as her tongue threatened to touch his ear. “He ain’t that great in bed. Five-minute man. Sigh.”
“Doesn’t that make your job easier?”
“I would like to enjoy my job like anyone else. No woman wants to have bland sex, no matter how much she’s being paid for it.”
“So you’re not flirting with me because you need to keep the income flowing, but because you also like me. How about that.”
“Your money is half of the attraction, sure.” Grinning, Serene brushed the back of her hand against Miguel’s cheek. “So what do you say? I’m a free woman starting tomorrow night. Whatever you want, Mr. Big Stuff.”
Whatever I want? What did he want? Judith.
He even surprised himself with that thought.
Miguel glanced at Serene again. She was beautiful, funny, and a complete professional in and out of the bedroom. Talented too, as had been established. I could get the second best blowjob of the year tomorrow night. Judith was first, of course. “Mierda,” he murmured. “Sorry, Serene, but I’m a bit spoken for at the moment. Maybe some other time.”
Her crestfallen countenance almost made him sad. Whether it was meant to do that or it was how she truly felt… didn’t matter. Miguel had few relationship principles, but they now told him to mind where he stuck his cock. He hadn’t felt that tug of monogamy in years. Not since…
He swallowed.
“If you’re ever in the mood, you have my number.”
“I certainly do.” Serene had backed off before Clive returned. Miguel chose then to go to the restroom, even though he probably wouldn’t be back in time for the start of the second half of the opera.
What was his problem? He found a single-stall restroom and paced around, occasionally glancing at himself in the mirror and washing his hands to keep them busy. I never turn down Serene, unless I have to. He had the time. For fuck’s sake, he had the money. She was game, he was rich and available…
Or was he? Available, that is.
Shit! It felt wrong to be with Serene!
Miguel gripped either side of the sink and glared at himself in the mirror. The only times in his life he ever looked at himself like this was when he made a bad business deal, he fought with his family, or…
Relationships. Fuck ‘em.
His phone vibrated with a text message. He pulled out his phone and saw the main number of the Château flashing on his screen. The other bastard vying for Judith’s financial affections had outbid him again. Monica asked if Miguel would like to raise his bid as well.
“You know how much Serene would cost?” he grumbled, punching in a huge YES on his phone. “Ten thousand. Ten measly fucking thousand for a blowjob and one round of intercourse. But no, I’ve got it hard for only one lumia.” He didn’t usually pull words like that out of his ass. Miguel always tried to call the women he hired by whatever terms they liked. Of course, those terms were constantly changing, and were different all over the world, but he had a feeling neither Serene nor Judith would appreciate being called a blasé prostitute.
The whole point of going to women like them was that it was a business transaction and nothing more. No love. No emotions, outside of respect and perhaps a light likeness. Miguel had eschewed obnoxious emotions like romantic love after…
It was a long time ago, and it had been treating him well these past few years. Now the thought that he somehow owed Judith a form of monogamy… when even she couldn’t give him that… how fucking absurd!
“Calmaos,” he grumbled to himself. No idea who he was talking outside of himself, but if anyone was listening in outside the bathroom, they better fucking calm down too. “One thing at a time.” After inhaling deeply, Miguel made his decision: he would address how important Judith was in his life if and only if he won the bid war for her most precious commodity.
Her time.
***
Miguel called ahead the next day. He had to, since he otherwise had no plans to see Judith that night. Yet when he woke up that morning with a raging hard-on and dreams of Judith, he knew he had to confront what lurked in his heart.
Emotions. Crazy, stupid, obnoxious emotions that had no business being in his life.
“She’s a professional,” that’s what he told himself as he drove up the mountainside, a familiar route by now. “Anything she makes you feel is fake, you bastard.” Miguel was grateful that he was going back to Monaco soon. He needed to clear his head of this American bullshit. “Don’t be a pendejo.” The angrier he got, the more he slipped into Spanish – particularly Latin American. He blamed Rosa.
Fucking. Rosa.
He pulled off to the side of the road. Rain had begun to fall. Splitter. Splatter. Drop, drop, drop.
It had rained the night Rosa dumped him.
The car was back on the road, going a respectable speed, but Miguel’s brain five miles away. The sun was long down. A message from Aimee went unanswered on his phone. Probably about his trip back to Monaco coming up. He had charged her with making last minute arrangements earlier that day. She would not be going with him.
Most men who went to the Château probably did so to relax. Certainly, that was Miguel’s original plan. Then he found himself becoming more agitated the higher the altitude became. He pulled over again to use his phone. Not to call Aimee back, but to call the madam of the Château.
“I want her waiting for me in her room,” he snapped once Monica recognized his voice, “and tell her I’m making good on her promise from the last time we met.”
“Very well.” Madams. They always sounded so unbothered. “I will inform her. When you arrive, please meet me in the Receiving Room. The welcoming maid will show you the way.”
He didn’t need a welcoming maid, but Miguel went ahead and used up the last of his manners when he arrived at the Château and followed the usual song and dance of handing over his traveling coat and nodding to the maid who greeted him in lieu of Judith. “This way, sir,” she said, demure. Miguel practically overtook her when she opened the Receiving Room door.
Monica instantly caught on to his mood. “I won’t keep you, Mr. Bolivar. I have a form for you to sign. Judith told me what you had intended to do the next time you met.”
Good. He glanced over the rules for a BDSM encounter and slapped his signature on it. “Thanks. I
trust you received my new bid?”
She did not smile. “Yes. Thank you for your continued patronage, Mr. Bolivar. Both Judith and I hope that you remain happy here.”
Don’t get me started. Miguel didn’t accept a drink or shake Monica’s hand. He went straight upstairs to Judith’s unlocked bedroom door – which he would soon be locking. No eavesdroppers tonight.
Hell. The little brat could eavesdrop all she wanted. Neither Holly nor Serene would be able to seduce him as long as he was smitten with Judith King, the queen of the heart surging like a fucking tsunami in his chest.
Heavy incense burned in the dimly lit bedroom. It was as it was the first time he came to the Château… when his life was turned upside down by this woman, of all people.
She was supposed to be a fun time, that was all. Maybe his favorite go-to girl in the area. Judith was never, ever meant to be anything more than what Miguel paid her to be.
Yet when he saw her kneeling on her bed behind that sheer curtain, hair down, skin soft, and demeanor so demure that she looked like a new woman… Miguel understood why he was so infatuated with her. There was no helping it. She was perfect.
“Good evening,” she greeted, voice soft and pure. I don’t buy she’s pure for one second. Miguel didn’t want pure, anyway. He wanted experienced and willing. There was little enjoyment in deflowering, regardless of what other men often boasted about. “I trust that you are well this evening… sir?”
Had any woman ever said that word so delicately before? Stop it. Stop making me become someone I haven’t been in a long time. Miguel refused. Both on the grounds that he was a man of logical principle, and with the reassurance that Judith was merely playing a game with him. A game that would get her paid… the most money Miguel had yet to put in her hand.
BDSM with one of these women did not come cheap.
He pulled back the curtain and bit his tongue. There she was, clad in the most tantalizing black negligee he had ever seen. Not just sheer, or lace. Floral appliques covered her mound and nipples, as well as decorated this patch and that fold. For the most part, she was naked, wearing nothing but some black lace over her torso and on top of her hips and thighs. No underwear. The way she knelt, with her hands in her lap and her eyes pointed toward him, made him almost swallow that tongue he bit.
