Divas

by Rebecca Chance

  Chapter 27

  ‘Miss Carin?’ Panio, Carin’s handsome butler-cum-manservant, said nervously as he swung the front door open. Spotting the orange Hermès bags hanging from Carin’s wrist, each one tied exquisitely with the signature brown bolduc Hermès ribbon, Panio reached for them deferentially. ‘Let me take those for you! Um, and Miss Carin, your three o’clock is here.’

  His tone suggested that it was considerably past three by now, but that Panio wasn’t brave enough to point that out to Carin. That morning he had slipped and called her ‘Mrs Fitzgerald’ – a title she had banned from the house ever since her husband died – and her wrath had been so extreme that he was terrified now of rousing it again.

  ‘My three o’clock?’ Carin frowned, peeling off her coat – white cashmere, silk-lined, and so slim-cut that it could be worn only over the lightest of clothes. ‘Panio, this coat needs to be overnight dry-cleaned every single time I wear it, you understand? I want it back in my coat cupboard by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Carin, ’ Panio said, draping the coat over his arm with as much reverence as if he were a lowly deacon cradling an archbishop’s gold-embroidered chasuble. ‘I’ll call them to pick it up right away.’

  ‘No, ’ Carin snapped. ‘Take it there yourself. Now. Those lazy bastards take forever to come over. It was half an hour last time.’

  She was walking over to the huge mirror in the hall, which reflected the Japanese screen on the opposite wall: two panels of silvered paper on which a few delicate brush-strokes had created a mountain scene, hills covered in snow, a single traveller on an oxcart just cresting one of the peaks. She stared at it for a moment. ‘Time to rotate the art, Panio. Take this one down and hang the screen with the dragon instead.’ She flashed herself a smile in the mirror, her pale blue eyes cold as ice. ‘It fits in much better with my mood.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Car—’

  ‘And what was my three o’clock?’

  She leaned into the mirror, fractionally adjusting a short strand of hair. Frédéric, her stylist, had, to his credit, been nothing but gleeful when she had walked into his studio a few weeks ago with her hair shorn: he had cropped the sides a little more and teased the front lightly into a short, dramatic sideways sweep of pure, natural white-blonde, fixing it with the lightest of products. It looked wonderful. She woke up every morning feeling free as a bird, not fettered down any longer by that wretched mane of hair her husband had insisted she keep.

  Of course, she also felt free as a bird because she wasn’t fettered any longer by her wretched husband.

  Carin’s smile of triumph at this thought was so frightening that Panio averted his gaze from her as he answered:

  ‘The new trainer, Miss Carin. He’s waiting in the gym.’

  Carin clicked her tongue.

  ‘I completely forgot about him!’ She frowned. ‘I was hoping it was the architect. I can’t wait to gut this house and remodel it. Strip it all the way down and start again.’

  Get rid of every last trace of my husband, she meant. Of course, I could move in a second to anywhere in the world I wanted: but that wouldn’t be half as much fun as erasing him from the house he made his own, would it?

  The surge of excitement this gave Carin made her feel restless suddenly, a wave of energy that her shopping rampage at Hermès must have failed to satisfy.

  ‘I’ll see the trainer, ’ she decided. ‘Tell him I’ll be down in ten minutes. Oh, and Panio?’ She flicked the exquisite pale green-white trumpet lily in the vase by the mirror. ‘I’m bored with lilies. Find me something else to go here. Something more unusual than this. And very expensive-looking. Something that no one else has.’ She turned to look at Panio, who was visibly wilting under this stream of com-mands.‘And Panio? I want it here by the time I’ve finished with the trainer.’

  Well! Carin thought as she entered the gym. This one’s certainly interesting!

  Because Carin was unable to keep herself from having sex with any man who worked for her, she went through personal trainers like a flu sufferer did tissues. A man had to be very good, and very accommodating, to keep Carin interested: Panio and Rico, in their very different ways, both had what it took. As had the little nurse, Joe. And God knew they were all paid well enough for the privilege of doing the boss.

  Carin didn’t have women friends. But then, most New York society women were the same: they had social acquaintances instead, who functioned on a complex barter system for invitations, parties, and tips on the best facialist or plastic surgeon. This latest piece of young male meat had been recommended to Carin by Lady Julia Listwood, someone she hadn’t heard from in a while: but Lady Julia had been simply dying, she’d said, to tell a few friends about her new trainer.

  From the look of Lady Julia, Carin was surprised she even used a trainer; dumpiness ran in the family, or on Lady Julia’s side of it, at least. Both her daughters had inherited their mother’s pear shape, and poor moon-faced India was no beauty – at least Sylvia, the older one, had her mother’s aristocratic bone structure. But Lady Julia was impeccably well-connected, and though she could be an awful bore, she never bothered to ring people to let them know about something new and exciting unless she really thought it was worthwhile.

  Carin stood in the doorway of the gym, surveying the man who was balancing in a perfect handstand in the centre of the stretching area. Lovely tight ass, she observed. A little leaner than I usually like, but nice definition. And fairly hairless, apart from that ghastly ponytail. I wonder if he waxes? Watching him, her tongue slid out and slowly traced the contours of her narrow lips. She felt her nipples tighten. Yes, she definitely owed Lady Julia for this one.

  The trainer lowered both of his legs to the ground, slowly, under complete control. He straightened up and looked gravely at Carin. She couldn’t tell whether he’d been aware of her presence or not, and that impressed her: Carin was so used to being in control of her surroundings, and of the impact she made on those around her, that the fact this man wasn’t visibly fazed by her was a pleasant change.

  She’d break him, of course. Make him jump to attention. But this was a nice little challenge.

  ‘Mrs Fitzgerald—’ the trainer started.

  ‘Just Carin, ’ she interrupted. ‘I never liked Fitzgerald.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll be reverting to my maiden name soon.’

  Just as soon as that idiot daughter is convicted, she thought. It wouldn’t look too good to do it during the trial, now, would it?

  ‘I’m Lawrence, ’ he said, crossing the room, reaching out his hand to shake hers.

  ‘Well, Lawrence, what do you propose for me?’ Carin said, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. Lawrence was about to withdraw his hand – she could feel it – but she held on for a few more seconds. He would have to learn that she ran things around here, not him. Goodness, he was handsome. He had the face of a classical sculpture; long straight nose, large clear grey eyes, full lips.

  She imagined that calm, handsome face later on, working hard between her legs as she sat in the thigh adductor machine and spread them wide. The picture made her lower stomach twitch with anticipation. She’d ride him hard this first time, show him how things worked here, down in her private gym with its mirrors and its machines, so many of which could be adapted for other and more interesting purposes. And if he were any good, she’d give him the kind of bonus that would make him try even harder to please her the next time.

  Lawrence was looking her up and down, not a shred of anything but professional interest in his eyes. Carin was all too used to being surveyed by men, and she knew that she had never been in better shape. Her Stella McCartney steel-grey capri leggings and white racerback sleeveless top showed her long slender body off perfectly. No bra, she barely needed one: and besides, she liked to see men’s expressions as they watched her nipples, which were disproportionately large for her small breasts, move and harden against the shiny Lycra-mix fabric. Her long waist meant that a good couple of
inches of her dead-white skin were exposed below the hem of her top, and her stomach was as flat and smooth as a lacquered piece of ivory. It should be, after the money she’d spent on SmartLipo.

  She posed, turning on her heel, giving him a view of her back, her small tight buttocks flowing into long, long legs.

  ‘I have to be honest, ’ Lawrence commented as Carin finished her rotation. ‘All you need is maintenance work, Mrs – Carin, ’ he corrected himself. ‘Your waist is as narrow as you can make it, your shoulders haven’t been over-worked. You don’t have any over-aggregation of muscle that we need to stretch out. I can happily train you and work with you, but I can’t promise any changes, because there aren’t any to be made.’

  Carin laughed, an almost-silent laugh that nevertheless opened her mouth wide, showing her sharp white teeth.

  ‘Flattery, ’ she said, ‘will get you everywhere with me.’ Her ice-blue eyes gleaming, she slid her tongue over her lips. ‘And I mean everywhere.’

  She dipped her gaze down to the front of his track pants. No movement there that she could see, not even with that clear innuendo; but then, the pants were fairly loose. Carin liked her trainers to wear tighter leggings. She’d have to mention that to him for the future.

  ‘Let’s get you on the cross-trainer, ’ Lawrence suggested. ‘We’ll do a warm-up, then I’ll measure your recovery rates. And after that, I’d like to do some Power Plate work. Check your posture in various positions. It’s a great invention, the Power Plate, but you have to use them right. So let’s make sure you are.’

  Okay, I see how you want to handle this, Carin thought. Workout first, play later. I can respect that. This guy is nothing but professional. And after all, it’ll build the anticipation . . .

  ‘I’ll finish by stretching you out, ’ Lawrence said. ‘After that, I’ll have a good sense of your body. We can do some massage too, if you want.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll want, ’ Carin said, smiling to herself. ‘Absolutely sure.’

  He’s amazing, Carin thought dazedly, an hour and a half later. Unbelievable. No one’s ever done anything like that to me before. She stretched out her feet, pointing her toes, rotating her wrists slowly, gradually coming back to full consciousness.

  ‘God, ’ she purred, looking up into Lawrence’s eyes. ‘You are fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you!’ he said, sitting back on his heels.

  ‘I’m sure you get that a lot, ’ Carin said dreamily. She turned her head from side to side. ‘Your hands are magic. God. When you did that thing to my breasts . . .’

  Carin closed her eyes, remembering the sensation of his hands running over her breasts, her buttocks. She raised one of her hands, stroking where Lawrence had done, feeling how hard the nipple was, how swollen it had become when he touched her. He’d known exactly what she needed – she hadn’t had to say a word, give one command or instruction. That was unbelievably rare in a man. He’d be walking away with a huge bonus today.

  Lawrence cleared his throat.

  ‘I massaged your back, your shoulders and your pectorals, ’ he corrected.

  ‘You certainly did.’ Carin writhed a little as she remembered it.

  ‘I know it’s rarely done, but in my opinion it’s an essential part of sports massage, ’ Lawrence continued. ‘Those chest muscles tighten up there just like any other ones, and we did a lot of push-ups today. It’s good to work out the knots straight away.’

  ‘And now it’s my turn to work out your knots, don’t you think?’

  Carin sat up, swinging her legs underneath her. She reached down to the hem of her top and wriggled it off in one smooth motion. Her nipples, big and dark, were full and hard just thinking about Lawrence’s hands on them. Smiling at him, she made pincers of her fingers, taking hold of her nipples, pinching them till it hurt, watching his face all the time.

  ‘Don’t worry, ’ she said. ‘I like it rough, but I’ll go easy on you this time. And no marks, not unless you want them.’ Her smile deepened. ‘Trust me, you’re going to love it.’

  Lawrence was still sitting back on his heels, the position he’d adopted after Carin’s full-body massage. He gazed at her, his eyes calm and clear, no change in his expression even after Carin had bared her breasts to him.

  He’s very cool, this one, Carin thought. Oh, I like this. I like this a lot. I can’t wait to see him get hot and sweaty. I’m going to make him moan and pant for me . . .

  Going on her knees on the soft blue gym mat, she reached out towards him, one hand slipping up his thigh, over the fabric of his track pants, letting him feel her nails as they dragged lightly, pressing into the skin below. He barely moved; of course he didn’t. He must be enjoying himself tremendously now he knew what was about to happen. This was the dream for most trainers, wasn’t it – get to make a nice amount of extra money by having sex with a woman with a kick-ass body?

  Carin’s hand cupped into Lawrence’s crotch. He knows how to be passive, she thought, very pleased: he knows how to sit still and let me run the show. Carin was all about switch-hitting, and she liked a man to be able to do that too, give her a good hard fucking when she wanted it, but lie there and take whatever she wanted to do when she felt like dominating.

  Still, there was a reason Carin always preferred to fuck her employees. In the end, she had to be in charge. And she was more than happy to pay the men who worked for her extra so she could snap her fingers and get them to dance to her tune whenever the impulse took her that way.

  Lawrence was shaping up to be a great addition to her stable.

  And then she realised, in absolute shock, that he wasn’t shaping up at all. Her hand closed around an unmistakeably soft, yielding package of male genitalia. She could feel his balls in the palm of her hand, could roll and separate them out like ripe, slightly squashy nectarines. She loved to feel men’s balls, their weight, to stroke and cup them and then squeeze them, just a little too tightly, seeing if their owner would respond by a groan and an extra stiffening of the dick, to see if his dick wanted a sharp slap or flick of the fingernail. You couldn’t teach that. Either a man’s dick and balls liked a little pain, or they didn’t.

  But right now, all she was aware of – with rising indignation and amazement – was that Lawrence’s goddamn dick, which she was now holding through his sweatpants between thumb and fingers, was as soft as fucking toffee.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she demanded, her head snapping back, staring angrily into his face. ‘Why the fuck aren’t you getting it up?’

  Lawrence’s hand closed over hers, and gently, but firmly, lifted it and removed it from his crotch.

  ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding somewhere, ’ he said, his expression apologetic. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman with a fantastic body, Carin, but I play for the other team.’ His hands turned upwards, in a ‘what-can-I-do?’ gesture. ‘I’m gay.’

  ‘You’re gay?’ Carin sat back on her heels, facing him. ‘You’re kidding!’ She stared at him, taking this in. ‘Shit, Julia could have fucking warned me!’

  And then she burst out laughing. ‘So that’s why you did that tit massage. There was me thinking it was the best come-on ever! But to you it was just a chest massage, yeah?’

  He smiled at her, such a sweet, yet detached smile that any doubts she’d had about his homosexuality were swept away. Reaching up to pull his hair out of its elastic band, he said:

  ‘It’s always a pleasure to work on such an aesthetically pleasing body, Carin. But no, I’m sorry. It was purely business.’

  Carin let out a long whoosh of air, shaking her head from side to side, trying to clear some of the built-up sexual tension.

  ‘Do you want me to continue working with you as a trainer?’ Lawrence asked, smoothing back his hair and re-tying it in the elastic. ‘If the misunderstanding doesn’t bother you, it certainly doesn’t bother me. I’d be more than happy to keep you on as a client.’

  ‘Oh hell, yeah!’ Carin said, standing
up. ‘I’m not going to can someone who does massages like that. You’ll be here three times a week, two hours at a time. Panio will book you in and pay you on the way out. Tell him if you need any extra equipment, and he’ll order it in for you.’

  ‘Great, ’ Lawrence said, jumping easily to his feet. ‘Sorry about the misunderstanding, Carin.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Just be careful you don’t make your massages too good, ’ she warned, raising her eyebrows. ‘You don’t want me getting carried away and raping you, do you?’

  Now he did look disconcerted. As he went upstairs, she smiled, watching him go. She’d thrown him off-balance, and the power had shifted back to her again.

  Which was exactly the way she liked it.

  Chapter 28

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ David asked.

  Lola nodded grimly. They were sitting in the office of the suite at the Plaza, which was appropriately business-like with its dark striped wenge wood furniture, the latest in leather-upholstered swivel chairs, and a whole wall of conferencing screens and control panels. In front of David was a pile of gossip magazines, tabloid papers, and his own laptop.

  ‘OK. Item One, ’ David started. ‘Jean-Marc and I are getting married next month. In London.’

  He slid two tabloid newspapers, one English, one US, across the desk, folded to the right section, the articles circled with a red marker pen. Lola scanned through them swiftly.

  ‘Madison, ’ she said, her heart beginning to sink. ‘That was what I told Madison, in confidence.’

  ‘Item Two, ’ David continued. ‘You think your chin is too pointy, and you want to have it shaved down.’

  He opened several magazines to the right pages, which he had marked with those little stick-on coloured tabs. Close-ups of Lola’s face from different angles, with big arrows indicating her chin, and headlines screaming: ‘DOES LOLA NEED A CHIN JOB?’

  Lola grimaced.

  ‘I thought we’d picked that one because I didn’t need a bloody chin job, ’ she said fretfully. ‘But when you see yourself all blown up like this . . .’ She poked at the picture of herself in Star and Heat magazines. ‘It does sort of look like my chin’s too pointy.’