Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [86]
Hugo took his mouth away from Paris’s tender lips.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, “lovely, lovely Paris.” He stroked her face tenderly with just the tips of his fingers and Paris sighed happily.
Hugo turned his head and smiled at Olympe. She was sitting, chin propped on her hand, watching them, and she smiled back. He had known she was there, of course.
“Hugo,” said Olympe, “I saw your wife in the hall. She was looking for you.”
“Really?” Hugo’s reply was lazy, uninterested. His right arm was around Paris and his left hand caressed her hair.
Her silken hair, thought Olympe. She stretched out a smooth, suntanned arm toward him. A bunch of silver keys glimmered in the candlelight. “Why don’t you take these?” she smiled. “There’s no one at my apartment. You can take Paris there.”
Paris turned her head and looked at Olympe. She was smiling, friendly … conspiratorial. Paris glanced at Hugo doubtfully and he smiled back at her.
“I think,” said Hugo softly, “that is a very good idea. What do you say, Paris?”
His arm tightened, pulling her fractionally closer. She wanted to kiss him again, she wanted more than kisses.
“Wonderful,” she whispered.
Hugo reached out to take the keys from Olympe and their glances met.
“Say thank you to Olympe, Paris,” he said. “You don’t know how kind she’s being to us.”
“You remember where the drinks are, Hugo.” Olympe uncrossed her legs and stepped back from the cushions. “Give Paris anything she wants.” She was smiling as she went back to join Bendor, still waiting patiently in the hall.
Olympe’s bed was very, very big—American style. After her narrow sleigh bed Paris felt quite lost lying there alone and naked in the middle of it. She wished Hugo would hurry up, he’d gone to get drinks for them. Champagne, he’d said, because this was a celebration. She seemed to be celebrating everything all at once and she’d had so much champagne already today she was floating on the bubbles. It was true, her body felt light as air—probably from the joint she’d shared with Hugo, made from Olympe’s neat little stash of the very best grass. At least, Hugo said it was the best and he seemed to know. He knew a lot about Olympe. He knew where she kept her grass, he knew that there was always a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator—just in case; he knew that the blanket on the bed was cashmere. But if, as she suspected, Hugo and Olympe were lovers, then why had Olympe lent him her apartment?
Paris turned on her side, pushed the button on the tape deck, and switched the tape over. It was Richie Havens singing “I’m Not in Love.” The melody and his rasping voice seemed to hit some new corner of her soul; she felt wrapped around by the music, absorbed.
There was a clink of glasses as Hugo walked naked into the bedroom carrying a bottle and three crystal champagne flutes. Hugo naked was fantastic, thought Paris dreamily, darker skinned than you would have expected with his fair hair; strong legs; tight, muscular buttocks; and the most delicious “equipment.” She stretched luxuriously and smiled at him. Hugo had known exactly what to do with his equipment, and from the look of him he was ready to do it again.
“Why three champagne glasses?” she asked, running her hand along his thigh as he sat next to her on the bed.
Hugo dropped a kiss on top of her dark head.
“Olympe’s back,” he said casually. “She said she might come in and share a glass with us.”
“Olympe?”
“Well, it is her flat, darling,” chided Hugo gently. “Paris, your hands are shaking.”
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