Free Legacy of Lies by Joann Ross

time she entered the studio.
    Four months after her promotion, Debord invited Alex out to dinner. Refusing to play coy, she immediately accepted.
    They dined at the Café le Flore, a place that remained unchanged from the days when Picasso had made it his unofficial salon and Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir had sat out the German occupation at a table in the back.
    But Alex’s mind was not on the past but the future. The immediate future, to be exact. She wore one of her own creations, which had been designed to capture and hold a man’s attention. Created of tissue lamé, the strapless dress dipped to her waist in the back. The sparkling gold fabric duplicated the lightest strands in her multihued hair; layers of black net petticoat peeked enticingly from beneath the billowy skirt.
    Glittery gold stockings, ridiculously impractical backless high heels and gold chandelier earrings that dusted her shoulders completed the festive look.
    â€œDid I tell you that I plan to include two of your designs in the fall line?” Debord asked.
    â€œNo!” Pleasure surged through her. “Which ones?”
    â€œThe silk dinner suit with the sarong-style skirt, for one. It should work up nicely in smoke.”
    Her tawny eyebrows crashed down toward her nose. “Gray?”
    â€œPurple is inappropriate.”
    Momentarily putting aside her excitement that the master had chosen her work, Alex crossed her legs with a quick,irritated rustle of ebony petticoats. “It’s not purple. It’s amethyst. Jewel toned.” Alex had intended to press to have it also offered in ruby, emerald and sapphire.
    â€œMore women can wear gray than purple. The suit will be offered in smoke. And, of course, black.”
    Of course, Alex thought. Although she knew she should be thrilled, she felt like a mother who’d just handed over her only child to the Gypsies.
    â€œWhat other design did you like?”
    Although asking Alex to hold her tongue was a little like asking her to stop breathing, she was clever enough to know that getting into an argument with Debord over the line that would ultimately bear his name would prove a fatal mistake.
    Patience, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time in months.
    â€œThe velvet evening dress with the gold braid.”
    â€œOh, that’s one of my favorites.” After the brutal change he was making to her dinner suit, Alex could hardly believe he’d actually selected her most flamboyant and sexy design. “I’m surprised you like it,” she admitted.
    He lifted an amused brow. “Because it is cut to showcase a woman’s curves?”
    â€œWell, yes, actually. I know you usually prefer to design for a thinner female shape.”
    Debord’s gaze moved over her, taking in the softly feminine curves displayed by her gilt dress.
    â€œAlthough I will not take back what I said about men preferring their wives to dress like ladies, I will admit that you are definitely correct about one thing, chérie .”
    His voice lowered, becoming deep and intimate. His gaze caressed her breasts, causing her nipples to harden into little points that pressed painfully against the gold tissue lamé.
    Alex swallowed. “What’s that?”
    â€œA man tires of fashionably bone-thin women.”
    His unwavering gaze was rife with sexual promise. A woman could drown in those eyes, Alex mused. And this man wouldn’t lift a finger to save her. Such thoughts, which should have frightened her away, strangely only made her want this passionate, talented man all the more.
    Conversation lulled as they sat close enough for their thighs to touch on the red banquette, exchanging glances that grew longer and more heated as the evening progressed.
    When she suggested they have their after-dinner drinks at her apartment, Alex was only following her heart, bringing things to their natural conclusion.
    Their lovemaking, she told herself as they stood