Free Nights In Black Lace by Noelle Mack

one hand. “Why on earth? Wasn’t that show enough for you? You said it gave you a headache.”
    â€œI said the music gave me a headache. Okay, the models were too skinny, but the Arelquin women were a lot of fun to talk to.”
    â€œYour charms were not lost on either of them,” she said wryly.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œAnyway, it would be something to do. If you don’t have to work, that is.”
    â€œMy female intuition tells me that you have an ulterior motive, Bryan.”
    He guffawed. “You’re good. You’re very good. I do.”
    Odette felt her stomach sink. “What is it?”
    â€œMy mother was a dressmaker. Didn’t I tell you that?”
    â€œIf you did, I don’t remember it,” she said cautiously.
    â€œNot hot couture or whatever you call it.”
    â€œ Haute couture.”
    â€œWhatever. She made prom dresses and bridal gowns and things like that. We got by.”
    Odette had to ask. “What happened to your father?”
    â€œHe took off to grow pot in Mendocino. Never paid a nickel of child support and never sent a postcard. I didn’t know him, so I didn’t miss him. No, it was just me and Mom.”
    Odette couldn’t resist. “Her style sense did not rub off on you.”
    â€œI’m a guy. What do you want from me?”
    â€œI don’t know.” She patted his bare chest, feeling suddenly wistful. “But naked, you are magnifique . And not very many people can say that. Which is why clothing designers make so much money sometimes.”
    â€œYeah, well, never mind that,” he said cheerfully. “You French are very interested in everyone’s family. Madame Arelquin asked me the same question about my father.”
    â€œAnd did you give her the same answer?”
    â€œI said he was a hippie and let it go at that.”
    â€œWhat did she say?”
    Bryan grinned as he tried to remember it exactly. “She looked very sad. She said it was too bad that my maman had to marry an eepee and not a nice bankaire.”
    â€œThat sounds like her.”
    â€œAnyway, my mother would be thrilled with a virtual tour of a real Paris fashion house.”
    Odette knew she had just painted herself in a corner. “But they are very secretive. No one is allowed to see a collection before it is shown. Designs are knocked off within hours in countries where labor is cheap.”
    â€œI can imagine,” he said easily. “Well, it was just a thought.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can do,” she said. There must be a way to get him in somewhere else. Not that the nearly naked fitting models who hung around Oh! Oh! Odette catching up on gossip and knitting would care if a stranger strolled through.
    And what had he said? That they were too skinny for him? Odette was finding more and more reasons to fall for him.
    He sighed with happiness. “Guess I’d better get going.” He pushed back the covers and got up, fluffing his stuff. “Mind if I take a shower?”
    â€œOf course not. So long as I can join you.”
    â€œAll right. You get it going and I’ll be right there.”
    It was as good an opportunity as any to end a conversation that was likely to trip her up. Odette headed for the bathroom, and set out scented soaps and great big towels.
    With the water running, she couldn’t hear anything, and came out to look for him.
    Completely naked and unselfconscious, Bryan was looking at the art in her hallway. He looked without much interest at the graffiti-influenced Basquiat painting that she’d bought in New York, and then moved from framed photograph to photograph, studying the images.
    â€œThese are by Henri Cartier-Bresson.”
    â€œYes,” she said quietly. She was surprised that he would know that, and a little ashamed of herself for being surprised. He was educated and not uncultured. But the photographer’s