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She lay beside me with the sheets kicked to the edge of the bed. Her beautiful body was on display, with a tiny little stomach and big tits. Her long legs were toned, like all that time spent walking in pumps had chiseled her already sexy body.
She must have noticed details of my body too, because she stared at me the entire time.
Now was my chance for pillow talk. “Going in tomorrow?”
“No way. One of the nice things about being your own boss.”
It was even nicer to be the boss of an empire. My phone was on silent, because I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.
“You don’t seem tired.”
“I work nights.”
Her hand slid across the sheets toward me until her fingertips rested against the scar on my stomach. “Were you shot?”
She knew her scars. “Yes.”
“Did you deserve it?”
The corner of my mouth rose in a smile. “Hundred percent.”
“Did you kill the man who did this to you?”
“No.” I wished I had a cigar right now. A drink on the nightstand too.
“Then he must be your friend.”
“I don’t have friends. But if I did…he would be one of them.”
Her fingers continued to caress my scar. “Are you ever going to wear the clothes I picked out for you?”
I gave a slight shrug.
“So the only reason you walked into my store was to fuck me?”
Not the only reason. “Why else would I let you insult me?”
“I didn’t insult you,” she said with a smile. “Just trying to give you some pointers.”
“You liked the way I looked, so maybe I don’t need any pointers.”
“Touché.” Her hand moved up to my hard chest, mapping out the details of my body.
“Have you lived in Paris all your life?”
“No.”
“I can tell by your accent.”
“Then why did you ask?”
The corner of my mouth rose in a smile again. “Where are you from?”
“Florence.”
“The birthplace of the Renaissance. You remind me of those paintings.”
“The ones where women are draped over couches with their tits hanging out?”
