BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) by Juliette Jones Read Free Book Online

Bellamy.  A very talented masseuse who runs a successful establishment of her own.”
    “This is Lila Carmichael,” Alexander said, to which both Etienne and the women began to spout what I thought might be along the lines of ‘enchanté’ but taken to the extreme degree of flattering enthusiasm.  Their French was a whirl of lilting expressiveness, all of which was almost entirely incomprehensible to me.  I now wished I’d paid more attention to foreign language study when I was scrabbling my way up the academic ladder.  At the time, I’d never thought I’d travel, or do anything beyond camping out in stuffy (warm) east coast libraries until I could secure my place in an upper middle class existence.  It also did not escape my notice that Alexander didn’t bother to follow up his introduction with my title.  Maybe now that he’d not only thoroughly consummated his lust for me but also confessed his love for me, he didn’t want me to be his assistant anymore.  I, however, still wanted to be his assistant.  Badly.  I could be his lover without being merely his toy, I thought, and my own defiance on the subject surprised me.
    “I’m Alexander’s new assistant at Skyscraper in New York,” I added.
    This inspired a new raft of gushing admiration which extended, on the part of the girls at least, to touching my hands and my hair.  “You’re so pretty,” said the one named Mia, whose eyes were a distinct shade of sky blue.  Her full lips had been painted fire-engine red.  I thought the colors of her were somewhat outstanding: the blue and the red against the pale white of her face and the flags of pink across her cheeks. The touch of their hands was reminding me of my unrequited lust, which still pulsed in a lingering echo.
    “You’re pretty, too. Both of you.”
    Both girls had dark hair, but Monique’s was jet-black, and shiny.  Her features were petite, pixie-like.  They seemed good as a team, satelliting off each other with their lipstick, their thin, elegant arms and their flicky schoolboy haircuts.  And their enthusiasm bounced off each others’, compounding the effect of youthful, sexy frivolity.  They were very tactile, touching me often, running their hands along my arms as they spoke and tracing the neckline of my top.  I wondered if it was a French thing, if getting a literal feel for someone was a part of getting to know a new acquaintance.  I didn’t mind this at all.  As Alexander was now deep in discussion with Etienne, I was enjoying their company.  It had been a while since I’d had a girlish conversation.  The past two weeks had been intense, to say the least, and wonderful, but it was nice to take a break from all that heavy masculinity for an hour or two and savor the soft, lively company of these women, who weren’t much older than I was.
    They spoke English well but with an accent heavy with z sounds.  I got the impression, from their manner and their touchy-feely coquettishness that was somehow laced with deeper intention, that they might bat for both teams.  Or at least dabble in the occasion round of unbiased sexual experimentation.
    “What kind of business do you run, Monique?” I asked.
    She smiled at Mia, and leaned closer to me, as though to share a private joke.  “I design sex toys.”
    I felt my eyebrows rise.
    “She writes a column about her new designs in the magazine,” Mia said.  “What’s hot, and what’s even more hot.  That kind of thing.”
    “Oh,” I heard myself say.  “Wow.”
    “Would you like to see my newest design?” Monique said.  “It’s going to be featured in next month’s edition.  It moves in a number of new, innovative ways, and the vibrations are rhythmic.”  She reached into a small shopping bag and pulled out a box with a clear front, showcasing a pearl-colored vibrator.  “Have you ever used one?”
    “A vibrator?  Uh, once.”  I remembered it well.  The night of the poker game.  At the time,