Trust Me (40 page)

“When
are we leaving tomorrow?”

“I’d
prefer to sleep in. I think we’re going to need all the strength we can get for dealing with Aryana, why?” He frowned, still watching her rummage through her clothing, finally choosing the pants and shirt Sabrina had given her and a pair of silver and black sandals they purchased in Hyères.

“I
really want to see the Louvre, but not if we don't have time.” Creighton smiled and glanced at his watch. It was just now twelve o’clock noon, so they had plenty of time to do the things on her list of self-improvements and still meet with Aryana and Daniel for supper.

“We
can go first thing tomorrow morning if you’d like? I want to call The Don and try to convince him to come to Paris to meet with his daughter; it may make it more comfortable for her if she were in her own element, but if he refuses we’ll leave early afternoon.”

“Do
you think you can convince him to come here? I mean, wouldn’t a father want to come to his daughter?” Creighton stood and walked to her, pulling her into his embrace.

“A
normal father would, but The Don isn’t a typical father. He’s very protective and overreacts where Aryana is concerned.”

“I
hope there aren’t any problems. What if she decides to run before you can get them together?” Creighton stepped to the edge of the bed with her, pulling her onto his lap.

“She
won’t run. Daniel and I will both be there and she isn’t exactly in marathon shape. She’s six months pregnant, remember?”

“Do
you think her father will listen to reason?” He kissed her neck, nuzzling her ear lobe as he spoke.

“Yes,
but it may take time. He wants the best for his little girl and it’s going to be difficult to convince him that she has made up her own mind. She’s very stubborn, like her father and for that reason, there will be a lot of shouting and even more tears, I’m sure. Eventually, he will come around; unfortunately, I don’t have that much time to sit around holding their hands. We have little less than four weeks before our wedding day and we have far too much to do, to sit around playing their kind of games.”

“Maybe
we should just collect the girl and go tonight, so we can get this over with.”

“Miss
Dennis, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to back out of your agreement with me. Do you want to do those things on your list, or not?” She frowned. She did want to do them, but she was getting nervous and her anxiety was beginning to raise its ugly head.

“I’m
nervous,” she said honestly, looking into his dark eyes. “I’ve never been this bold before and I’m scared things won’t work out right.”

“Trust
me?” Sandra nodded, bringing a smile to his handsome face. “I’ll take care of the arrangements and you’ll have the best of care. Now, what do you want to do first?”

“I
don’t know,” she answered softly.

“Will
you trust me to make the itinerary?” She nodded shyly. “Good, then get changed and let’s go. We have a lot to do today and not much time left before supper.”

Creighton
walked together with Sandra along the
Avenue des Champs-Elysées,
where there were shops of all kinds and anything anyone wanted could be found there. They passed by a very large furniture shop with a window display of fine leather sofas, a large elegantly carved four-poster bed of rich dark walnut and a seventy-two inch flat-screen television. There was a smaller shop with long evening gowns draped across plastic mannequins and another with fur coats being modeled by live women.

They
walked through the busy streets past several more shops and stores until Creighton turned them into the doorway of a salon and pushed the etched glass door open. A very attractive blonde with large breasts sat behind a small glass counter. Several portraits of beautiful women and handsome men lined the walls around her and the chairs that lined the reception area were see-though plastic of all colors, reminding her of photos she had seen in an old seventies magazine.

The
floor was a mosaic of tiny colored tiles spelling out the shop’s name
Rochelle’s
. The ceiling was like that of a warehouse; with exposed steel supports painted black and hanging in the entry of the salon was a modern chandelier of five plastic circles of florescent pink.

Past
an arch entry that led into the main salon, were more than a dozen chairs of clear plastic like those in the entry, sitting before a wall of windows, each with small work stations held large mirrors for the patrons to see their new styles. Some of the chairs were occupied with clients having their hair done; fingernails painted or makeup applied. Beyond the chairs were four closed, frosted glass doors with the initial R in them. Sandra felt very much out of place among the elegant women wearing brightly-colored smocks, perfectly styled hair and high-heeled shoes.

“
Monsieur Ashford
,” the woman behind the counter cooed. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s
nice to see you as well, Monique,” he said, slipping his hand around Sandra’s slender waist. “This is my fiancée Sandra Dennis,” he introduced the two women as Sandra smiled, blushing deeply at the title he bestowed on her. She couldn’t help but glance down at the woman’s tight sweater, then back up to Creighton who smiled knowingly.

“We
have reservations with Rochelle.”

“
Qui
, she is just finishing up with a client. I will tell her you are here.” The woman left the reception area and walked past the arched entry and stopped by a tall, attractive dark-skinned woman with long braided hair. They spoke for a few moments, glancing back to the entry where Creighton and Sandra stood waiting.

“I
don’t know about this,” Sandra said nervously. “I don’t belong in a place like this.”

“Why
would you say something like that?” he asked with a frown.

“Look
at all these women,” she said softly. “They are all gorgeous. I’m just a nobody from Kansas.”

“I
don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again,” he scolded with a deep frown. “You are more beautiful than any of these women and you need to quit putting yourself down.”

“Creighton,”
the dark woman said interrupting their argument; she smiled with perfectly straight white teeth as she addressed him, stepping up to his side and kissing both of his cheeks with a familiarity that showed a closer than acquaintance relationship. “It’s been so long, I had begun to think you’d forgotten me and then you call out of the blue and say you’re getting married? What a delightful surprise.” Sandra was amazed at the woman; she spoke so quickly it took a little concentration to keep up with her. She had an American accent, no trace of French anywhere in her deep too-many-cigarettes tone.

“It’s
great to see you again Rochelle, thank you for fitting us in. This is my fiancée Sandra Dennis.” He smiled proudly as Sandra stepped forward, reaching out her hand.

“You
said she was beautiful, Cray and you weren’t lying,” Rochelle smiled brightly, almost amused as she exchanged handshakes with Sandra. “Cray said you were looking for a new style. What exactly did you have in mind, Miss Dennis?”

“I
would like some layers, maybe.” Sandra felt suddenly embarrassed and Creighton slipped his hand further around her waist for support.

“American?”
Rochelle asked suddenly with a raised eyebrow. Sandra nodded. “Well, it’s very good to see a fellow Yank. What part of the states are you from?”

“Kansas,”
Sandra said, feeling an instant liking for the woman.

“No
kidding? I’m from Oklahoma; Castle to be exact.” The two seemed to strike an instant friendship and Creighton smiled as he listened. “So some layers? How about a little highlights as well?”

“I
want you to give her the works,” Creighton said taking his phone out of his pocket and pushing a button to stop it from buzzing. He leaned in a little closer to Rochelle, whispering something in her ear that made her smile brightly and nod; waving a hand toward the main salon.

She
led them through the rows of chairs and workstations, pausing momentarily to speak with one of the young female stylists before stepping to an etched glass door and opening it.

Inside
was a leather massage table with two moveable platforms at the foot, covered in a thin pink paper. A wooden chest of drawers stood next to it and a long circular light hung from the ceiling, similar to that in the foyer, just not as elaborate. There was a small leather stool like that used by a doctor, along with a wine colored chaise lounge, an oval coffee table and an ornate wooden screen in the corner. The room wasn’t much larger than a ten-foot square, but it was elegantly designed and smelled of teak wood and incense. A speaker hung in the corner of the beige walls, echoing the soft sounds of nature.

Rochelle
closed the door behind them and immediately lit several candles positioned next to the table and on the dresser before turning back to the couple that stepped to the opposite side of the room.

“Cray
said you mentioned your sister suggested waxing, is that something you would like to try?”

“I
hadn’t really thought much about it,” Sandra said with a deep blush, glancing back to the man beside her.

“It
lasts for about a month and there is little irritation involved,” Rochelle continued, trying to sell her on the idea. “It feels wonderful and makes for heightened sensual play.”

“I’m
not a big fan of pain,” she said calmly, feeling the urge to kick Creighton in the shin. Rochelle chuckled deep and husky, a very unusual sound for a female.

“A
few seconds of pain, for weeks of comfort is well worth it. However, if you want, we’ll start with your underarms first. The skin is thicker and it doesn’t sting as much as the pussy does.” A knock on the door brought a halt to the conversation, allowing Sandra to turn to the man next to her who shrugged his shoulders innocently. The young stylist Rochelle had spoken with a few moments early, entered with a small plastic cart filled with several jars and items that made Sandra’s anxiety mount then turned to leave, but not before giving Creighton a shy smile, closing the door and shutting the three alone in the small room again. Rochelle took the cart and moved it to the wall near the leather table then walked to the chest of drawers and retrieving a thin pink robe, handing it to Sandra.

“Go
behind the screen and strip down. Come back out here and we’ll get started. Do you mind if Cray stays? He said he wants to watch and I may need his help.” Sandra blushed, as she took the gown, glancing back to Creighton. She hadn’t agreed to this and was about to back out, until she saw the excitement on his face. She drew a deep breath and slowly nodded to Rochelle, stepping behind the wooden barrier as instructed.
It was now or never
, she thought, wondering if there was anything she wouldn’t do for this man.

Sandra lay at a reclined position
a on the table, across a large pink sheet that covered the layer of leather. She was completely naked beneath a second sheet, feeling very awkward and slightly embarrassed as Creighton sat sprawled out across the chaise lounge, watching.

Rochelle
applied a thick layer of deep conditioner to Sandra’s long hair, massaging it into the strands and wrapping it securely inside a warm turban, then turned and sat next to Creighton on the chaise lounge while a young woman with shoulder length red hair named Brie, massaged Sandra’s shoulders and neck. Her nerves soon relaxed; her anxiety soothed away, leaving her feeling very pampered and so at ease that she nearly drifted off to sleep. The sounds of birds and wind chimes echoed softly from the speakers and Sandra sighed, the veil of slumber floating down upon her, but she woke full when she heard Rochelle ask the man exactly what he wanted done with his fiancée.

“Ready?”
Rochelle asked after Brie left, folding the sheet down across her full breasts. Sandra drew a deep breath and nodded.

“Breathe
Sandra,” Creighton said softly, causing her to look at the wicked smile cross his handsome face. She did as ordered and released the breath she was unconsciously holding and felt a slight degree more relaxed.

“It
really isn’t that bad,” Rochelle said with as she raised Sandra’s arms above her head. “At first there is a sting, but it’s gone before you know it. There is a bar on the wall above your head, feel it?” Sandra reached her fingers out feeling the cold metal bar and nodded. “Hold on to it. The wax is really warm, but it will be very quick and easy. I just need to clean off the skin, and then we’ll start.” Sandra forced herself to breathe, closing her eyes as the woman washed her underarms with a strong-smelling alcohol and lavender liquid, drying the skin with a soft towel and dusted her skin with powder.

“Here
we go,” she said and spread a layer of warm, sticky goo across her skin. Sandra wrapped her fingers around the bar and screwed her eyes closed; bracing herself for the unknown. Rochelle smoothed a soft piece of cloth across the warm wax, quickly jerking it off in one fluid movement. Sandra screeched loudly her fingers wrapping around the bar tighter to prevent from jumping off the table.