Parisian Affair (16 page)

Gerard was the exception, since he was
responsible for maintaining the apartment on the rue des Rosiers,
and at times Ram relied on him for dealing with difficult
mistresses or prostitutes.

He remembered the tape he had loaded earlier
in the VCR, and he pushed the button to activate the machine. He
picked up the snifter of Armagnac that Gerard had so thoughtfully
poured and took a long swallow. Then reaching over, he twisted the
dimmer on the bedside lamp until it was completely off.

Up on the big screen, Denise sprang into
view, her tongue licking her sensuous red lips, her long blond hair
loosened and flowing down over her pale shoulders. Her milky
breasts with their large nipples were fully exposed to the camera,
and when she moved slightly, her shaved mound came fully into
view.

Ram immediately felt a rise in his groin. She
was so beautiful. So pale and white, so blond and blue-eyed. So
much the Aryan ideal. And such a slut. As he watched her, his hand
slid down between his legs. It amused and aroused him to know that
she had no idea her domination was being filmed.

And what I've done to her is nothing
compared with what I'll do to a certain family after I have that
ring in my possession. Nothing
.

As the film ran, he took another long swallow
of the Armagnac. His eyes glittered in the dark, aroused by lust
and even more so by his power. Long before the video ended, he hit
the off button, satisfied and content. He wouldn't need more of the
Armagnac to sleep well tonight.

'I should be receiving a check from Dufour in
about two weeks. Perhaps even less,' Princess Karima said into her
cell phone, her voice lowered in a breathy whisper, though she was
alone in her immense bedroom. 'I'll wire the money into the account
in Luxembourg as soon as it's cleared my bank here. The rest is up
to you.'

She dragged nervously off her cigarette as
she listened to her caller, her eyes bright with the excitement of
conspiracy. Walking to her vanity, she crushed her cigarette in a
crystal ashtray and picked up the drink she'd left there. She took
a swallow, then sat down, flipping loose tendrils of hair away from
her face.

'You needn't worry,' she said impatiently.
'I'll call you the moment I've sent the wire.' She heard her
bedroom door open and saw Mimi's reflection in the vanity mirror.
'One moment,' she said into the cell phone. She turned toward the
door. 'What is it, Mimi?'

'I was just going to turn down your bed,
madame,' her ancient maid replied.

Princess Karima waved a hand toward the old
woman. 'Don't bother, Mimi.'

'Yes, madame.' The maid executed an
approximation of a curtsy on her arthritic knees and turned to
leave.

'And, Mimi?'

'Yes, madame?' The old woman turned to face
her employer again.

'Don't bother me again tonight,' Princess
Karima said. 'I won't be taking any calls, no matter who they're
from. Understand?'

'Of course, madame.'

'Now please leave me in privacy.'

Mimi turned and departed the bedroom, closing
the door behind her quietly.

Returning her attention to the caller,
Princess Karima apologized. 'Sorry,' she said. 'Go on.' She
listened for a short time, then sighed in exasperation. 'Don't be
so damned paranoid. If there's any reason to worry, it's at your
end, not mine.'

She took another cigarette from a gold box
and put it to her heavily painted lips. She lit it and took a long
drag, listening to her caller while scrutinizing her exotically
beautiful but mature face in the vanity mirror.

'Don't call me again,' she said at last, her
voice imperious. 'Unless there's a dire emergency. Not until after
you've taken care of business in Luxembourg. I must go now.'
Without another word, she depressed the END button on the cell
phone and snapped it shut. After placing it on the vanity, she took
another sip of the Jack Daniel's on ice and ground out her
cigarette in the ashtray.

She began sliding off the four rings she
wore. They were golden trinkets as far as she was concerned, not
worthy of association with her exalted name and therefore not going
up for auction. There was the Harry Winston diamond set in yellow
gold; a plain matching band; a ruby, blue sapphire, and diamond
confection; and a large peridot from Bulgari. She dropped them into
a jewel-encrusted seashell. Count Fulco di Verdura had designed the
seashell in the 1950s, and she had received it as a gift from
Stefano several years ago. Looking down at it, she suddenly felt a
sickly moment of panic, then realized it was a false alarm. The
emerald wasn't there. But it wasn't supposed to be, she reminded
herself.

She emitted a throaty laugh. If the men from
Dufour only knew what she knew.

The world might have been informed that she
was disposing of her earthly possessions, but only fools would
expect a lady to give
all
of her baubles to charity.

She opened a gold compact and lightly dusted
her face with powder. Flipping the compact closed, she picked up
the bottle of Golconda perfume from JAR. She dabbed beneath her
ears with it, trailed the stopper down her neck, then generously
rubbed it between her breasts and on her thighs.

She heard the bedroom door open and looked
into the mirror. She watched as the backlit figure closed the door
behind him and slowly approached her at the vanity. After he
crossed the room, he stood directly behind her and put his hands on
her shoulders, squeezing them lightly, looking at her reflection in
the mirror. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head tenderly
with his sensuous lips.

'You smell heavenly,' he said softly, his
voice deep, masculine, and seductive.

She turned to face him. The pearl buttons on
the filmy silk chiffon gown she wore were open, exposing her ample
breasts to him. Her nipples were lightly rouged. 'Take your clothes
off,' she said, her dark eyes glinting in the soft light.

His jacket, tie, shirt, and undershirt
dropped onto the floor, and he stood proudly before her, exhibiting
his lean, muscular torso with its well-defined abs, his broad
shoulders, and his pumped-up biceps. Naturally olive-complexioned,
he was deeply tanned, and his raven black hair and dark eyes shone
against his skin.

The princess feasted her eyes upon his young
unblemished body, drinking in his masculine hardness, then leaned
back against the vanity, her head cocked at an angle. 'Light a
cigarette for me,' she said, indicating the gold cigarette box with
a slight nod of her head.

The young man stepped forward and reached for
the box, took one out, and lit it with her gold lighter. He exhaled
a stream of smoke, then handed the cigarette to her. She accepted
it from him, took a deep drag, smoke trailing out of her nostrils.
'Now finish.'

The young man slipped off his expensive
loafers and socks, then loosened his belt and took off his
trousers. He wore no underwear.

Princess Karima stared at his body with
hauteur, but her eyes shone with hunger. She was gratified to see
that he was already aroused, whether by her body or the cash he
knew he would receive at the end of the evening. She didn't care
which. She had no illusions about her aging body, but it wasn't her
allure that was important in this transaction. It was power over
him. Not to mention the physical satisfaction she would no doubt
receive from his considerable endowment.

'Here,' she commanded, pointing with a
lacquered fingernail to her right nipple. 'Kiss it.'

The young man went down on his knees and
leaned toward her breasts.

'Let me see your tongue,' she said.

His tongue appeared, pink and wet, and she
nodded her head slightly. The young man kissed her nipple lightly
and began licking it, slowly and delicately at first, tracing
circles around it, then more rapidly, groaning with desire as it
hardened on his tongue. He began stroking himself as he licked, his
breath coming in audible gasps.

'Don't touch yourself,' she ordered.

The young man immediately obeyed, removing
his hand from his engorged manhood, then looked up at her, awaiting
a signal from her before he made another move. The whites of his
eyes and his perfect white teeth stood out in contrast with his
darkness, and she suddenly remembered his name. Yamal.

She spread her legs apart and boldly thrust
her pelvis toward him. She enjoyed the momentary look of surprise
on his face when he saw her shaved mound, then the naked lust that
came into his eyes. With a finger she motioned him toward her, and
when his head was nestled between her thighs, she stroked his
coarse black hair as she spread her legs farther apart, giving him
uninhibited access to her.

She tilted her head back as shivers of
pleasure traveled up her spine and throughout her body.
The
seclusion of my new spiritual path
, she thought,
is going to
enhance my physical life immeasurably. Without the prying eyes of
society, I'll be able to enjoy myself as never before, all the
while garnering the praise of the world for my charitable
acts.

The press will compare me with Mother
Teresa
, she thought as she ground herself against Yamal's face,
holding his curly black hair tightly.

Kitty's mouth was set in an unmistakable
pout, and she barely uttered an acknowledgment of Hilton's cheerful
greeting when he strode into the penthouse's master suite. Her eyes
remained glued to the Italian Vogue she held, as if its pages
provided the secret to immortality.

Hilton caught her sullen expression out of
the corner of his eye as he loosened his necktie, took it off, and
placed it across the back of a chair. She was pissed, he thought.
He refrained from chuckling aloud, amused by her childish
behavior.

He promised himself that he wouldn't tell her
what he was doing. He knew it was going to be the biggest surprise
of her life. But he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when
he presented her with Princess Karima's thirty-something-carat
emerald ring.

Staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at
the early-evening lights of Manhattan, he began undressing,
whistling tunelessly. Behind him, he heard the magazine flip shut,
then land on the floor with a whack.

'Do you mind?' she complained.

'What's that, beautiful?'

'The whistling,' she said. 'It's driving me
crazy. It's not like you can carry a tune, you know.'

'Why, I think you're the first woman I've
ever known who complained about my whistling ability,' he countered
jovially.

'Then they were all deaf as doornails,' she
said sourly.

He gazed at her, grinning. 'Thought we were
going to Swifty's for dinner,' he said. 'Why aren't you
dressed?'

She shifted on the bed and looked away from
him. 'I don't think I'm in the mood tonight.'

'Why not?' he asked. 'You were all set to go
earlier today. What happened?'

'Nothing,' she said in a small voice. 'I ...
I just don't have anything to wear.'

'What?' He laughed. 'Jesus, Kitty, you've got
more clothes than Bloomingdale's.'

'It's not clothes,' she replied.

'Then what the hell is it?' he asked,
stepping out of his trousers.

'It's . . . it's my jewelry,' she replied.
'I... I don't have anything new to wear to Swifty's, and you know
how those society bitches are. They'll be analyzing everything I
have on—especially my jewelry—and I'll be a laughingstock if I wear
the same thing twice.'

'Oh, fuck,' he said, laughing again. 'Half of
the old cows in that place can't see well enough to know whether or
not you're even wearing jewelry, and the other half are wearing
worn-out old pearls and mine-cut diamonds they inherited a thousand
years ago. You've got more jewelry than nearly any woman in New
York.'

She bolted upright from the pillows against
which she lay, her eyes wide with fiery anger. 'That is a lie!' she
cried. 'I don't have anywhere near as much jewelry as most of the
women in this town. Nowhere near as much.'

Naked now, Hilton strode to the bed and sat
down beside her. He put his hands on her shoulders and massaged her
gently. 'Oh, come on, Kitty,' he said. 'I didn't mean to upset you.
I know there are women in New York with more jewelry than you've
got. There's always going to be somebody with more. More money,
more clothes, more jewelry, a fancier car or apartment, a bigger
yacht. You name it. If you're in some kind of game where you always
have to have the biggest and the best, then you've come to the
wrong place. I'm not interested in playing that game.'

Kitty could see that she'd gone too far, and
quickly tried to mollify him. She put her hands on his cheeks and
caressed them tenderly. 'There is more to me than that,' she said
softly, an earnest expression on her face. 'You know there is. It's
just that. . . well, I guess I try to overcompensate sometimes
because I grew up poor. And a lot of these women have had fabulous
things all of their lives. I will admit that I do try to impress
them, partly for me but for you, too. I want you to be proud of the
woman walking beside you. I try to look my best for you all the
time.'

'Aw, Kitty,' he said, melting at her words.
'I know what you're saying. You're the most beautiful woman in New
York City. I'm just afraid to see you get caught up in keeping up
with the Joneses.' He kissed her tenderly, inhaling her exotic
scent.

Kitty returned his kiss, putting her arms
around his bare shoulders. 'I'm sorry for upsetting you,' she
whispered. 'I didn't mean to. You know that.'

He drew back and looked into her dark eyes.
'Now, tell me,' he said. 'What's this all about, huh? This
having-no-jewelry business.'

'Well . . .,' she began, choosing her words
carefully, 'I ... I admit that I do have a lot of jewelry. Not many
emeralds, though.'