Diva. Carrie Duffy
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showing her breasts whenever she leaned forward. Dionne was well aware of that. It never happened accidentally.
She turned to CeCe beside her, who was slicking on her trademark red lipstick.
‘Okay, baby girl,’ Dionne grinned. ‘Let’s go see what we can find.’
Philippe was making his way through Bijou, squeezing past the mass of bodies pressed up tightly together as they danced and drank. There was a good vibe in the club and they were at capacity, operating a strict one-out one-in policy. It didn’t seem to deter the crowds outside, huddled on the pavement and hoping that they might get lucky, picked out of the mob and allowed inside to join the chosen few.
Philippe stopped briefly to pose for a photo with an up-and-coming pop starlet, then headed for the DJ booth. He wanted to ensure that the DJ had everything she wanted; he’d spent a lot of money flying her in from LA for the night and intended to keep her happy.
‘Philippe! Philippe, honey!’
Out of the corner of his eye, Philippe saw some girl making a beeline for him. Tall, black, with an incredible body, she was barrelling towards him like a heat-seeking missile locked onto her target. He’d met her before, he thought – in his line of work it was necessary to have a photographic memory. His recollections of her weren’t good. He remembered her as loud, attention-seeking and trashy. And she was American, he realized with distaste, pronouncing his name in a grating, nasal accent.
His mind was working quickly; perhaps he could still get away. The music was pounding and he could pretend he hadn’t heard her. Changing course, he headed for the bar. He needed a stiff drink if he was going to survive this evening. As soon as the bar girl saw him approaching, she immediately began pouring a large whiskey with a dash of soda and not too much ice. Exactly how he liked it. The staff had been well trained in how to keep Monsieur Rochefort happy.
He drank it straight down and nodded to the girl to make him another as he felt a predatory hand clamp on his arm.
‘Philippe, honey!’ Dionne kissed him ostentatiously on both cheeks, thrilled to have finally tracked him down. She glanced around quickly to see if Katerina was watching – she’d show that dumb-ass clothes horse that there was only one woman Philippe Rochefort was interested in. ‘Baby, how are you?’ she demanded.
‘Fine, thank you.’ Philippe fought to be polite. He wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. After he got rid of this girl, he would go home, take a shower and prepare for his trip tomorrow.
‘Your club is amazing, I’m having a fabulous time,’ Dionne gushed, going for the full-on charm offensive. She was a firm believer that the way to a man’s bed was via his ego. ‘And you’re looking so incredibly handsome,’ she murmured, leaning in close as she slid a hand along his torso. His shirt was open at the neck, showing the thick, dark hair on his chest.
‘Thank you. You’re very kind,’ he muttered, as the bar girl handed him another drink. He downed it in one and felt it hit the spot that the first one hadn’t.
Dionne sensed his distraction and upped her game. ‘You know, I’d love to come here every night if I could. Are you here every night? That would totally be worth coming back for …’
‘I’m afraid I go away on business tomorrow. I will be out of the country for at least a week.’
‘A whole week! How’m I gonna survive that long without you?’
‘You will manage.’
‘It sounds so exciting,’ Dionne persevered in a low, breathy voice. ‘It must be awesome to fly all over the world the whole time.’
‘It is not always so awesome,’ Philippe pronounced the word distastefully, ‘when it is work.’
‘Oh, but you must have a lil’ fun sometimes too, y’know what I’m saying?’
Philippe gave a tight smile but didn’t reply.
Dionne pressed on, unfazed. ‘So, are you going somewhere glamorous and exotic?’
‘Perhaps you may think so. I must fly to the US.’
‘The States!’ Dionne exclaimed. ‘Oh, I wish I was there! I miss my home country. Hey, maybe I could go in your suitcase?’ she suggested mischievously.
Involuntarily, Philippe glanced at her full breasts and well-rounded butt on her skinny frame. ‘I don’t think you’d fit.’
Dionne saw him look her over, noticed the expression on his face as he registered her spectacular body. It gave her an idea.
‘Have you met my housemate, Cécile?’ she cooed, dragging CeCe over from where she was chatting with friends. ‘She’s a designer, and sooo talented.’
Philippe smiled automatically, kissing CeCe’s cheeks in greeting. Physically she was nothing special, not in the way that Dionne was, but her dress sense was striking and she undoubtedly had something about her – that indefinable je ne sais quoi.
‘We do everything together,’ Dionne continued, adding with a grin, ‘And I mean everything …’ She giggled as CeCe slipped an arm around her waist and leaned in, beginning to nuzzle her neck. Dionne turned and kissed her softly as CeCe responded, reaching up to pull Dionne’s face down to hers. Their mouths were open, eyes closed. All around them, people began to stare.
Philippe shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the stirring in his crotch, the bulge growing in his trousers as he watched them, hands caressing each other’s bodies. For Christ’s sake, he reprimanded himself, he was thirty-eight years old and his dick still had a mind of its own.
Dionne came up for air, looking across to Philippe to ensure she had his attention. He was staring at her, that familiar look on his face that she recognized from so many men. It was almost funny, how easy they were to manipulate.
Dionne moved across to him, eager to seal the deal. She was tall, an inch or two above him in heels, and she bowed her head to whisper in his ear. ‘How about we all get together before you leave,’ she breathed. ‘Give you something to remember us by.’
Philippe looked over at her, taking her in properly this time. She was stunning, no doubt about that – stacked, sexy, and with huge lips that would look great round his cock. The other girl looked wild, totally uninhibited.
What the hell, maybe he should go home with them. Perhaps this would be the way to get Alyson out of his system – by banging some meaningless women that he didn’t give a shit about. They obviously didn’t give a damn about him – other than as some kind of trophy fuck.
Breaking into a charming smile, Philippe turned to them. ‘Ladies,’ he began solicitously, his arm snaking round Dionne’s waist. ‘Can I buy you a bottle of champagne?’
9
It was still dark as Alyson rolled over and stirred groggily, wondering what had jolted her awake. It didn’t take her long to realize. As she lay with her eyes tightly shut, hoping to sink back into blissful sleep, she heard the unmistakeable sound of Dionne and CeCe as they clattered through the front door, drunk and giggling. The door closed with a slam, and Alyson pulled the duvet up around her ears in frustration.
‘Please shut up …’ she whispered into the darkness. But whichever way she turned she couldn’t block out the sound of Dionne’s flirtatious laughter, or the low rumble of a man’s voice, speaking in accented English.
Great, so they’d brought some guy back with them. That meant at some point in the next couple of hours, Alyson would have to endure the sound of Dionne or CeCe – or possibly both – having extremely loud and vocal sex, while Alyson irritably clamped a pillow over her ears and waited impatiently for it all to finish.
Dionne seemed to be as uninhibited about sex as she was about everything else in her life, and would groan and scream with complete disregard for anyone within earshot. Alyson