Read Online Nights In Black Lace by Noelle Mack - Free Book Online Page B

Zut. That one is right. It is earlier than I thought. No one will be there until ten.”
    â€œAll right,” Bryan said happily. “Come on back to bed.”
    Odette could not very well refuse. She rose and picked up the tray, though, and put it on top of the dresser. Then she went back to the bed and crawled under the covers he flung back for her to her new favorite place in the whole wide world: under his arm.
    She scolded herself for being so romantic but Bryan Bachman made it hard to be anything else.
    Besides, she loved to nestle and he was so big and warm.
    â€œYou never did tell me how you happened to be at the back of the showroom,” he began. “I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought I’d seen you behind the curtains—”
    â€œ Oui. That was me.”
    â€œTalk directly into the nipple,” he teased her. Her mouth had brushed it. “Can’t quite hear you.”
    â€œIt was me!”
    He laughed. “I was right. And were you looking at me?”
    â€œI was looking at the audience. You were right in front. Do you know what people will do to get a seat like yours?” she asked him.
    â€œNo. Is it that big a deal?”
    â€œThey scheme, and they pull strings, and they offer you heaps of money.”
    â€œAnyone ever do that to you?”
    â€œI don’t need money,” she said, then realized her mistake. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to lose my job over something like that.”
    â€œWho’s the big boss?” he asked absent-mindedly. “Aren’t designers supposed to come out and take bows?”
    â€œSome do, some don’t. These days fashion is more of a business than ever. The pretenders come and go.”
    â€œHow’d you get into it?” She brushed her lips against his ribs, tickling him with nibbly little kisses to distract him. “Feels good, Odette. Be careful.”
    â€œI went to design school for fashion. And my mother was in the business.”
    â€œReally? As a designer?”
    â€œNo. She did embroidery. They are called the petite mains . The little hands. They do the detail work for the couture houses. Buttons. Faux flowers. Feather trims.”
    â€œInteresting.”
    â€œIt is painstaking work, and they are true artisans. But their craft is dying. Most of the women are old now and nobody young wants to do the work.”
    â€œDo you know how?”
    Odette nodded. “It is useful for a stylist. But no, I would not want to make my living at it.”
    Her conscience pricked her. Tell him the truth, it said. Your house supports a dozen such craftswomen, who will be able to retire in comfort. And you have vowed to keep alive their artisan skills as well.
    It was only one of her pet causes. How much money did one woman need? Giving it away was fun.
    He might find her charity noble—he did not seem to be aware that the ticket he’d bought had benefited it. But then it had been worded in French, and no doubt the young girl who’d sold it to him had wanted to talk about Le O.C. once she’d seen his tank top, which said Newport Beach in big white letters.
    But the uncomfortable issue of why she had not told him the truth in the first place was sure to come up.
    Bryan Bachman had turned out to be intelligent and passionate and…incredibly sexual. He would not be flattered to find out that she’d chosen him for a fling. Unluckily for her, he was the kind of man who wanted more, although he was honest enough about his footloose status.
    The thing was…she wanted him to come back. If it was possible. If he wanted to. If not, then good-bye and good luck. He would likely never find out, because it was not as if he cared about fashion or the crazy people who made their living at it.
    And he would not be a wanderer for long.
    Such were her thoughts until he prodded her. “Can you get me behind the scenes?”
    Odette raised her head, and propped her flushed cheek on