Chapter One
Yvette Samson stripped her curve-hugging Roberto Cavalli
dress from her body before the door to her contemporary, midtown condominium
even closed behind her. Wearing nothing but a black lace bra, matching
boy-short panties and her four-inch stilettos, she walked into her bedroom and
tossed the dress over the back of the armchair in the far corner. She crossed
to the bed and threw back the crimson-colored duvet, then dragged the satin top
sheet off the mattress.
Carrying the sheet into the living room, she draped it
haphazardly over the enormous, high-backed sofa that served as the centerpiece
of the artistically decorated room. Next, she retrieved a tall, oscillating fan
from the hall closet, plugged it in, positioned it to blow on the sofa and
cranked it to high. She stood in front of the stream of air for several
minutes, letting the wind tunnel she’d created cool her hot, dewy skin. The
quick change in temperature tightened her nipples behind the lacy cups of her
bra. The breeze from the fan on the moist crotch of her panties was as
stimulating as fingers brushing over the sensitive spot, a whisper of a touch
along her pussy lips.
The fine layer of perspiration that covered her chest and
belly felt less sticky and oppressive as it chilled with the light gust coming
her way. Making her skin tingle. She would have turned the air conditioner on,
but with all the humidity and rain of late, the built-up condensation had
killed the motor. The part was on order, leaving Yvette without air
conditioning for the weekend.
The association that maintained the building had informed
her the temperature inside her condo was still within a range deemed
“appropriate” according to their written bylaws. Therefore, her lack of cool
air was not currently subject to their involvement in expediting the repair.
She was this close to checking into a hotel, but couldn’t fully justify
it when the air conditioning units in the condos surrounding hers helped to
keep the building from burning up. In fact, the hallway was downright chilly
from the central unit. A Godsend during this massive heat wave that had hit
Manhattan following the unexpected rains.
She poured a glass of freezer-chilled vodka from the wet bar
and downed a healthy gulp. The frigid liquid helped to cool her insides a bit.
She set the glass on the tall end table next to the sofa, went out into the
foyer and propped the door open. Just enough so she could leave the security
chain in place. The brisk breeze from the hall was welcome, but it’d take
awhile to bring the temperature in her condo down a couple degrees.
Perhaps a cold shower was a better alternative to the fan,
but she suspected the respite would be fleeting. She’d need another one five
minutes later, so what was the point?
Instead, she retrieved a spray bottle from under the kitchen
sink, filled it with cold water and returned to the living room. She flipped on
the CD player, already loaded with sexy jazz tunes, and then sank onto the
plush sofa. She’d covered it with the satin sheet, knowing the lightweight,
slippery material would be a hell of a lot cooler than the velvet.
Finally feeling the relief from her efforts, she reached for
her cocktail and sipped it as she spritzed herself with water, the air from the
fan turning the mist chilly. She leaned back against the rolled arm of the sofa
and spread her long, blonde hair over it, letting the air and the spray of
water cool her neck.
She’d just finished her first glass of vodka, certain her
internal temperature was no longer in the triple-digit range, when the doorman
rang her, announcing Finn Griffith’s unexpected visit. Perking Yvette up
considerably.
“Send him up!” she said into the phone receiver she’d left
on the coffee table.
Finn was a renowned artist who was also devilishly handsome.
A bit broody, as most creative geniuses were, yet definitely a tall, dark and
hunky fantasy come to life. She wondered what had brought
Yvette Samson stripped her curve-hugging Roberto Cavalli
dress from her body before the door to her contemporary, midtown condominium
even closed behind her. Wearing nothing but a black lace bra, matching
boy-short panties and her four-inch stilettos, she walked into her bedroom and
tossed the dress over the back of the armchair in the far corner. She crossed
to the bed and threw back the crimson-colored duvet, then dragged the satin top
sheet off the mattress.
Carrying the sheet into the living room, she draped it
haphazardly over the enormous, high-backed sofa that served as the centerpiece
of the artistically decorated room. Next, she retrieved a tall, oscillating fan
from the hall closet, plugged it in, positioned it to blow on the sofa and
cranked it to high. She stood in front of the stream of air for several
minutes, letting the wind tunnel she’d created cool her hot, dewy skin. The
quick change in temperature tightened her nipples behind the lacy cups of her
bra. The breeze from the fan on the moist crotch of her panties was as
stimulating as fingers brushing over the sensitive spot, a whisper of a touch
along her pussy lips.
The fine layer of perspiration that covered her chest and
belly felt less sticky and oppressive as it chilled with the light gust coming
her way. Making her skin tingle. She would have turned the air conditioner on,
but with all the humidity and rain of late, the built-up condensation had
killed the motor. The part was on order, leaving Yvette without air
conditioning for the weekend.
The association that maintained the building had informed
her the temperature inside her condo was still within a range deemed
“appropriate” according to their written bylaws. Therefore, her lack of cool
air was not currently subject to their involvement in expediting the repair.
She was this close to checking into a hotel, but couldn’t fully justify
it when the air conditioning units in the condos surrounding hers helped to
keep the building from burning up. In fact, the hallway was downright chilly
from the central unit. A Godsend during this massive heat wave that had hit
Manhattan following the unexpected rains.
She poured a glass of freezer-chilled vodka from the wet bar
and downed a healthy gulp. The frigid liquid helped to cool her insides a bit.
She set the glass on the tall end table next to the sofa, went out into the
foyer and propped the door open. Just enough so she could leave the security
chain in place. The brisk breeze from the hall was welcome, but it’d take
awhile to bring the temperature in her condo down a couple degrees.
Perhaps a cold shower was a better alternative to the fan,
but she suspected the respite would be fleeting. She’d need another one five
minutes later, so what was the point?
Instead, she retrieved a spray bottle from under the kitchen
sink, filled it with cold water and returned to the living room. She flipped on
the CD player, already loaded with sexy jazz tunes, and then sank onto the
plush sofa. She’d covered it with the satin sheet, knowing the lightweight,
slippery material would be a hell of a lot cooler than the velvet.
Finally feeling the relief from her efforts, she reached for
her cocktail and sipped it as she spritzed herself with water, the air from the
fan turning the mist chilly. She leaned back against the rolled arm of the sofa
and spread her long, blonde hair over it, letting the air and the spray of
water cool her neck.
She’d just finished her first glass of vodka, certain her
internal temperature was no longer in the triple-digit range, when the doorman
rang her, announcing Finn Griffith’s unexpected visit. Perking Yvette up
considerably.
“Send him up!” she said into the phone receiver she’d left
on the coffee table.
Finn was a renowned artist who was also devilishly handsome.
A bit broody, as most creative geniuses were, yet definitely a tall, dark and
hunky fantasy come to life. She wondered what had brought
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