My God, he looked incredibly good in the morning, with his uncombed hair and the stubble on his chin. Maybe she could have sex with him again? What time was it?
She smiled and pulled the blanket over her head and crawled under it toward him. Let’s see if she regrets it, or perhaps he, she thought and had to smile, as he reacted to each of her movements – just as she wanted him to . . .
He sighed – well, it was Saturday, after all – and by God, he wouldn’t say no. Would he be able to say no to her ever again?
As she was in the bathroom and Gregor still lay in bed, he felt each muscle, like after a marathon. His mobile phone rang, and he saw the number of his friend, David Goodmann. “Hello, David, he mumbled, sleepily. “Hello, Gregor, I just wanted to check whether you’re still alive or if you had already committed suicide in despair?” Gregor didn’t quite understand. “Pardon?” “Well, that little aristocrat no doubt drove you to despair; she’s such an iceberg . . .” “Oh, I could use one of those at the moment,” Gregor mumbled softly. “I can’t understand you, speak louder!” “My dear David,” Gregor rolled on his stomach, pushed the pillow under his chest, and said quietly, “This woman will definitely bring me to despair, I am really finished.” David said nothing. He felt sorry for Gregor. “I told you to keep away; such a dumb move; one can’t buy someone with money; that brings only bad luck . . .” It sounded like genuine compassion in his voice. Gregor couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. “I’m sorry David, but I have to disappoint you . . . Zara is . . .” What were the right words? . . . “is everything a man has ever dreamed of. Just imagine . . .” He considered how he could really explain it. “A woman that not only looks fantastic, but who wants sex the whole night long, and then brings you food in bed, and wakes you up with more sex . . .” David was quiet. He believed that Gregor was joking; he knew Zara, she was an arrogant iceberg, she wouldn’t wait on any man, whether with food or with sex. “Now really, you’re not serious.” “Yes, I am, and believe me, I’m as surprised as you are. Suddenly she’s another woman and I’ll tell you about the rest on Monday evening at Hudson.” “I can’t wait; at nine o’clock at Hudson.” He hung up. Gregor let the phone fall and stretched. Oh, yes, this is how he wanted to wake up every day and to spend his nights. Then it occurred to him that she had said something about a new job, but his thoughts had been elsewhere. His good mood was shattered at the thought that he might lose her after one night. “Zara!” he shouted loudly. No one answered. Then he heard her. She was singing rap. He had known since Paris that she like that kind of music, but it didn’t fit the picture that he had of her. He smiled – it was strange when she sang, “My mother is fucking the dealer in the house next door, my brother died ‘cause of an overdose . . .”, and that with her French accent and not even in tune. He had an odd feeling – what did this girl know about dealers, whores, or an overdose? An unpleasant feeling came over him and his feelings had never betrayed him. What did he really know about her? Not much, except what the detective had dug up for him.
Zara knew exactly how she would break his heart; she had such a great deal of experience in this regard which he didn’t sense, didn’t know anything about. She was already in the kitchen while he was showering.
She was standing there – in running shorts and a T-shirt, barefoot, hair pulled back into a ponytail, stirring eggs in a glass bowl. He stepped behind her and kissed the nape of her neck.
“Before or after?” she asked and held the glass up. He had to admit his thoughts were on sex again, although she meant sports, since she was wearing running clothes. He turned her around and kissed her gently. “Since you have so much energy,” he whispered, and reached under her T-shirt to stroke her back.
She had remembered that he had stamina and last night had demonstrated that; and his wish was her command. She pushed the eggs aside, hopped onto the kitchen counter-top, embraced and kissed him – by God, it wasn’t a sacrifice. “First this and then the eggs,” he whispered, and with one swoop, pulled her shorts down.
The eggs landed on the floor unfortunately, as Zara tried to hold on, so she beat more eggs afterward and was glad that she wasn’t the housekeeper who had to clean up the mess.
Gregor watched her prepare the omelette – it was actually much too late to be eating breakfast. She put it on the table in front of him, and with a cup of black coffee sat down across from him.
“You’re not eating anything?” he asked, surprised. She shook her head. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be angry, but I’m a little worried. Do you have an eating disorder?” Her eyes opened wide and Zara put the cup down, furious. “I don’t have any eating disorders!” she said, imitating him emphatically, “I just don’t eat much!” He raised his eyebrows critically; he didn’t quite believe her. “As you say, but I’ve seen enough women who ate as little as you, and they had a problem without a doubt.” During his modeling days he had met many women who had controlled their weight in varying ways.
He couldn’t say exactly how many times they had sex that afternoon, but as he stood in the shower, he felt pretty much finished; he was not, after all, thirty any longer. She appeared to have the energy of a hundred women, even if she hardly ate anything; she ran through Central Park with him and they had hardly returned when . . . sex again. He sighed and leaned against the glass wall. The warm water ran down his body. He closed his eyes and saw her face in front of him.
While he was still working in his study, Zara went to bed. The night had been short and she had to go to Paris tomorrow evening because she had a little secret. Tired, she sank into the soft pillow and pulled the blanket over her naked body. It smelled of his cologne and of sex. Everything was proceeding as she had imagined it; tired and happier than she had ever hoped, she fell asleep.
Gregor found her sleeping. Her hair formed a circle around her face, and he gently stroked her cheek. In her sleep, she pushed his hand away and murmured something. He had to laugh and kissed her on the nose. She woke up and looked into his eyes.
“Are we going out?” she asked and lightly touched his lips with hers, without actually kissing him. She wanted a part of her old life again – and if she played the obedient lover, he would give her all of that and much more. She half-closed her eyes, and between her long dark eyelashes, she saw his face. He was so handsome; no wonder that her mother had been taken with him – and that had already been a number of years ago.
She stroked his hair and pulled him nearer to her. No one had been able to resist her seductive ways, even Gregor. She pulled him closer yet, and with one leg pushed the blanket aside. He was lying on top of her, and she undressed him so quickly and cleverly that he didn’t quite realize how he suddenly came to be lying naked in bed with her. She seemed to think only about sex, to be made only of sex; she knew exactly how she could delay his orgasm, how she could drive him crazy. This woman had the experience of a hundred-year-old love slave.
He screamed her name, but she seemed to have no compassion. She drove him to the edge, and with him, her lust, her demands; he had absolutely no control over her -- and when he finally lay spent in her arms, he had the feeling that he had run a mega-marathon. He breathed deeply. Where did this girl learn such things?
Zara lay next to him on her stomach and leafed through a French magazine. She noticed that he was looking at her and smiled. “Now we’re entereing Level V,” she said and stroked his washboard stomach with one finger. He didn’t say anything and she bent over him, pulling her tongue in a line along these muscles, down to his navel, and deeper. “Oh, Zara!” he cried out and pulled her up by the arms. “Yes, I’ll go everywhere with you, but I need time out!” Zara grinned. He looked really happy. Yes, she would make him very happy, at least for a time, since the happier he was now, the more unhappy he would be later.
He watched her as she stood among her hundred outfits in the room that she had transformed into her dressing room, clothed only in a thong, and pondered what she should wear. Then she reached for a bl
ack lace dress, which revealed more than it concealed, and slipped into it. With one gesture she fastened her hair and pulled her ponytail into position, put on her high heels, grabbed a bag that was hardly bigger than the palm of her hand – and with a smile turned around and said, “ready.” He shook his head. Except for fashion shows, he had never seen anyone get dressed so quickly, and especially not a woman.
There was no question if they would be seated: They were immediately shown to a prime place, and drank a Bellini. The DJ played hip-hop, and Gregor admired the energy of this woman, who, even after the second Martini and the Bellini, showed no reaction, except that her foot was under his pant-leg. He was glad that it was so dark here and that no one saw her. Public sex wasn’t exactly his thing, but apparently Zara found it quite exciting.
Many thoughts buzzed around in his head – was this really the elegant, withholding woman whom he had met, or had she sent a double?
“Come!” she whispered in his ear and reached into his open shirt. “Zara?!” He didn’t know exactly, and it wasn’t that it didn’t matter to him, but in the meantime he could hardly count how many times they had slept together today. “So, Doctor Levy, you’re not going to be cowardly?” she asked and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go.” She wouldn’t allow any objection, took his hand and pulled him to a small hallway by the emergency exit that led to a storage area. It was completely dark except for a flickering neon light. She pressed him against the black wall, and pulled her thong off in one stroke, put it into her mini-bag, and at the same time continued to kiss him. Her hands were at his pants, she reached under his silken shirt and moaned. Gregor held her tight, for all practical purposes, he had left his power to reason back in the bar. What was he doing here?! He was having sex in a hallway, where someone could come by at any time, where everybody could see him; he was CEO of a major concern; he couldn’t do this . . .?!
He was already holding her half up in the air with his arms, and one of her legs was wrapped around his hips; he turned her around so that she was pinned against the wall. The risk seemed to arouse her greatly. He had to put his hand over her mouth as he pushed into her because she cried out loudly, far too loudly. She had now wrapped both her legs around his hips, and he held her tightly – and he had to admit it was quite unique for him too, although he hoped that no one would pass by and see him with his pants down.
Breathing heavily, both stopped briefly. She smiled and kissed him, pulled her dress down and smoothed it with her hands. She breathed deeply and stroked Gregor’s cheek; he had pulled his pants up, and not a moment too soon – a waiter came through and looked at them pointedly and grinned. What the two had been doing here was immediately clear to him, as he saw the clothing askew, Gregor’s shirt hanging out of his trousers, half open, wrinkled . . . the messy hair. Good-looking couple – too bad that he didn’t have to come to get the case of wine earlier . . .
Gregor looked at Zara. “You’re crazy,” he said, after the waiter had passed by. She laughed aloud. “Well, you seemed to enjoy it too.” She buttoned his shirt.
His glance fell on the condom dispenser, and he realized that she had never brought up the topic of protection. “Are you taking the pill?” he asked, as they were walking back. She looked at him oddly, as if he were asking her about something entirely foreign. “Why, should I?” He shouldn’t know about her secret. He was more than astonished. “With so much sex, it’s a real risk . . .” She laughed again and sat down, took a sip of Martini and kissed him as he sat next to her on the sofa. She said no more about it; she wanted him to draw his own conclusions.
Had she decided to have a child? Not that he would have anything against it; in fact, he would welcome it, but it certainly left him at a loss for words. He was quiet and looked at her. She leaned back, and crossed her legs.
He had actually only decided to do without condoms because he considered her to be safe, since the detective had not found any history to the contrary. The detective thought her to be somewhat of a saint, and sexually-transmitted diseases were not ever in question. In addition, he could imagine himself having a child with her, but he didn’t think that she was interested in that right at the beginning. It confused him – why, then, didn’t she want to marry him? Did she feel more for him than she wanted to admit? Was there really more behind all the passion? The thought alone made his heart beat faster.
Zara knew what she had accomplished with her remark. She wanted him to be confused, to deliberate about her hint. She stared into the alcohol in her glass – everything was moving along better than she had hoped.
In the morning, Gregor found her in terrycloth hot-pants and a short T-shirt, lying on her stomach and reading. She must have gotten up very early. Didn’t she need any sleep?
She reminded him of a college-girl. She heard him coming and looked at him. It wasn’t bad with him – and avenging her mother wasn’t bad either, at least up ‘til now – and, my God, in those tight jeans he has a rear end to die for.
He saw the books – what was she studying? “You’re flying somewhere?” he asked, and sat down on a chair nearby. He had seen her suitcase in the entry; she must have packed earlier in the morning.
She played with her ball-point pen and turned a page. Noticing that he was still looking at her, she looked up. He was very serious, as if he were lost in thought.
He didn’t want her to go away, and sighed at the thought. “Hey, that’s my job,” she said, smiling. He bent down, close to her. “I know that, I know our contract . . .,” he said calmly and pushed her glasses, which had slid down a little, back up on her nose, and kissed her on the cheek. According to the contract, he was not to hinder her to travel and pursue her job.
She laughed and bent backward, lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him from his chair. They fell onto the books. “You’re not longing for me already, are you?” she laughed and ran her hand through his hair. He said nothing. “And would that be so bad?” he asked, a little embarrassed. She laughed and kissed him passionately and before he knew it, she had unbuttoned his jeans, pulled up his T-shirt . . .
He would need the days without her to recover, and yes, he would miss her, more than he would have liked.
He was even more surprised when she stood before him later that afternoon, fully dressed, and wanted to say good-by. “You’re leaving today already?” he asked, taken aback. She was wearing a tight black pantsuit, with her dark glasses and her hair pulled back, ready to travel. “Yes, I have to be in France tomorrow morning.” She smiled and leaned toward him. He had been absorbed in his work, but now he leaned back and pulled her to him. She sat on his lap and put her arms around him.
“Did you tell the chauffeur when to be ready?” he asked, and pushed her glasses back on her nose. “Yes, he’ll be here any minute.” She had already taken charge in the house some time ago, even the housekeeper seemed to idolize Zara. She could wrap anyone around her little finger, which made him a little uneasy; it was usually he who controlled everything.
She laughed as if she could read his thoughts, kissed him gently on the mouth and ran her hand through his thick blond hair. “Doctor, you’re really not going to miss me during these next few days,” she whispered. How blue his eyes were, how longingly he was already looking at her – and that was only after a long weekend. “If you hadn’t been so obstinate, I would have taken you with me much earlier,” he said. That wasn’t exactly the answer to her question, but she understood. His interest in her had not developed overnight. Who knows? Perhaps he saw a photo of her at her mother’s at some point?
“You’d better go, or I might lock you up,” he threatened and pushed her off his lap. She laughed and began to leave. As she reached the door of his study, he asked, “When are you coming back?” She turned toward him and without thinking about it, said “Friday . . .” and whispered, “maybe,” but he didn’t hear that.
Gregor had kept Friday evening free, as well as the entire weekend. He also picked her
up from the airport although he actually had a meeting, which he postponed until Monday without hesitation. He wanted to see her and even considered whether he should buy her flowers, but decided against it. He had seen something else when he was in Los Angeles, on Rodeo Drive, at Harry Winston to be exact. It was a unique pair of star-shaped diamond earrings with a pink shimmer.
Zara saw him already in the distance – he was very tall and towered above most men. She was tired, but not so much from the flight. She had celebrated quite a bit yesterday and Paris was exhausting in general. She had also found out that Gregor had put several of the properties up for sale, for which she had given him the power of attorney. If he maintained this schedule, she and her mother would be debt-free soon . . .and that was good. She couldn’t, and didn’t want to stay with him too long.
Gregor saw her coming in his direction. She looked tired and had circles under her eyes. “What strenuous demands did your job require this time?” he asked. She smiled, but didn’t answer, and studied him silently. He must have come from his office, otherwise he wouldn’t be wearing a dark blue suit and tie. She embraced him and kissed him, carefully. He smelled good and she briefly closed her eyes and breathed in. “And did you miss me?” she asked him teasingly, giving him a kiss on the cheek and mussing his hair with her fingers.
“Don’t get any ideas! I missed the sex,” he said and pressed her against him. She laughed. “Then come with me . . .” He glanced at the clock in the airport. Actually he had to return to the office. “I have to go back,” he said quietly and with great regret. She smiled sympathetically; let him earn a lot of money, she would need it, after all, but he should think of her, and only of her, the rest of the day . . .
In the limousine, Zara immediately lowered the dark partition between the driver and the back seat, and turned toward Gregor with a furtive smile. He had hardly leaned back and the car had just left the curb as she reached for his tie, loosened the knot and pulled it over his head; with nimble fingers she was at his pants, his shirt . . .
Love under contract Page 13
