“Yeah, right.” She said sarcastically. “I don’t know about joining them.” She had genuinely mixed emotions. She wanted to be with Elliot, only with him. But she supposed it would at least be better to be with people she knew, even if she only knew them a little. She paused in thought.

  “Well, do you want me to contact him?”

  “There isn’t much other choice, is there?”

  “You can go anywhere you want.”

  “I don’t know Europe - I haven’t been here that many times before - and I don’t want to return to America for two weeks.” She sighed openly. “Call René and see if he’ll put me up.” Feeling resolved and a little better, she couldn’t resist a tease. “He is a good kisser, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He clearly wasn’t happy that his time with her was to be interrupted.

  “I was only teasing. I know you’re no happier about this than I am. Who knows, maybe Monique and I can learn from each other.”

  “Now that could really be dangerous.”

  An hour later, René answered his Skype page. Elliot put René on the flatscreen TV in the great room; Claire joined him in a light sweater and capris.

  “Mon amí, I’m going to have to leave Claire for about two weeks and we were hoping that she might spend the time with you and Monique while I’m gone.”

  “But of course!” Claire thought René was too pleased but she just smiled and said nothing. “She can come immediately!”

  “In seven days. Where will you be then?”

  “Let me see. That is Sunday. We will be moored in the harbor in Monte Carlo. Mais oui, an excellent place to meet. Shall I send a car?”

  “No, I’ll chopper her in on Sunday. How about eleven a.m.?”

  “Bon. Claire, Monique and I will be delighted to see you again!”

  “Thank you, René.”

  “You are very welcome, mon cher. Au revoir.”

  “I guess that will work,” he said, weakly. “I’m so sorry that we’re going to have this interruption.”

  Elliot was distressed; it was written all over his face, and reflected in the way his shoulders hung.

  “It’s alright. You’ve shown me a hundred-and-fifty-some wonderful days! I guess I can stand to be without you for a little while. We’ll continue two weeks from next Sunday. Besides, I might have a good time. Better than you, I’ll bet.”

  “Not too good of a time, I hope.” He forced a smile - it was a feeble attempt at humor.

  Claire tried to make him feel better. “Being alone, my thoughts will be always directed outward to you. Remember, once this happened to us over a two-week period at the Christmas holidays. We survived it and became stronger. Besides, we have seven more days to get our fill of loving, to tide us over for two weeks.”

  “Then let’s start now.”

  “Like last night?”

  “Did it make you too sore?”

  “Barely. Probably not really at all. You prepared me well. And I’m still wearing the door stop.”

  “Door stop?”

  “Yeah, it keeps the door open! Use it or lose it!”

  “I think I like your open-door policy.”

  “Clearly, I’m a lady who likes to turn around.”

  They both laughed as Elliot pulled her sideways onto the bed, avoiding her nipples while holding her against him. His clothes were off in an instant. This time, he gently rolled her over onto two pillows which he placed under her lower abdomen and her stomach. Her bottom was raised up a few inches, and her nipples were kept comfortably off the bed.

  He removed the door stop. He spread her legs widely apart and salved her carefully with K-Y, before applying it to himself.

  Once again, the fingers of his left hand carefully probed between her labia rings and entered her. With his right hand, he massaged her anus and slowly probed within it with his finger. He expertly massaged her flesh between the fingers of his left and right hands until she was ready to cum in the front and spasmed. In moments she almost climaxed from behind too. He held her suspended between tense anticipation and orgasm. When he felt the inkling of relaxation in her body, a slight retreat from the peak, his fingers moved to bring her up again. He held her there at the apex of arousal for one, five, ten, fifteen minutes. Then mercifully, he brought her to a stunning climax in both areas at once. Claire felt the world explode about her. Her mind ceased operation; all thoughts stopped. For those moments, she wasn’t a person at all but a single pleasure center suspended in the void. Without drops in her eyes, she became blind. She fiercely gripped the bedding. Unintelligible moans of pleasure escaped, uncontrolled, from her throat. The peak of her arousal vibrated up and down, over and over. Without registering it consciously, she realized that his largeness had entered her rear portal. He fell lightly upon her as his back-and-forth motion from behind was coupled with his fingers still within her vagina. She came again. Her mind was completely taken over by its pleasure centers. Her arms thrashed wildly, no longer under her brain’s control. Her voice was reduced to gurgling. She could still see nothing. Her legs shook as even her thighs received the pulses of pleasure from her groin and her backside.

  It took ten minutes for her to stop shaking and for her sight to return. She finally rolled over onto her back, unable to speak or know what to say. He lay propped up on his elbow, playing with her short, wispy bangs, twirling them through his fingers. Neither spoke for a long time. Finally she did; her voice husky and weak.

  “It is not possible for a woman to survive that kind of pleasure.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  “I must be dreaming, for certainly I am deceased.”

  “You aren’t dead. It’s simply that we are so perfect for each other that we vibrate together, both our bodies and our spirits. That vibration amplifies any pleasure we would create with only our sex. We read each other’s needs like an open book.”

  “This can’t be happening. Life cannot be this good to me.”

  “Of course it can, Claire. You’re as deserving of happiness as anyone I’ve ever known.”

  And Elliot continued to give her that happiness throughout all the hours of the next week, before they parted.

  They had both packed the things they would need for the next two weeks. A helicopter was coming for her at nine o’clock for the hour ride to Monte Carlo. Another would pick him up after she left.

  He held her tightly in his strong arms in those minutes before she would go. Their kisses were long, wet, and consuming. They would both feel those kisses for the days between then and when they would embrace again.

  A chopping sound filled the air and then dropped to the ground outside the chalet. He took her outside, carrying her bags to the waiting vehicle. The pilot helped her inside. Elliot stepped up for another kiss, telling her that he’d call each day, and send email when he could. She held tightly to his hand as he stepped down and refused to let it go when he tried to close the door. He gently took her hand from his, kissed it, placed it in her lap, and shut the door. The helicopter left when he was safely away.

  He returned to the chalet to retrieve his things and lock up, tears forming wet tracks on his cheeks.

  Chapter 6: Days of Wine and Roses

  The helicopter delivering Claire hovered above the deck of René’s yacht. Scared to death, she was lowered to the deck in a harness-like chair that reminded her of an adult-sized, child’s car seat. The ship’s captain held the chair steady with a drop-rope and helped Claire out of the harness. René, Monique, and Jean-Pierre were standing there to greet her. René held a small glass of whiskey, straight up. Claire gratefully emptied the glass in one gulp. The helicopter ride over the mountains, though beautiful, had been scary, and being lowered to the deck from a vibrating machine suspended above by loudly rotating blades was down-right frightening. As soon as Claire was free of the harness, Jean-Pierre began to fuss about her hair.

  “Beautiful Claire, you have kept your hair in Jean-Pierre’s style! I am so honored that you liked it enough to wear it for a while!” He seemed puffed-up with pride and gratitude, though Claire thought he was overdoing it. “You must be very happy with it, no?”

  “I like the style, though I’m still not quite sure of the color. But Elliot likes it so I kept it trimmed and colored black. I miss being a blonde sometimes, though.” His smile drooped in an obvious pout. Claire quickly added, “But I’ve gotten so used to not having eyebrows that often I go the whole day without them, or put them on in your style, like they are now.” That perked him up, she observed.

  Jean-Pierre tisk-tisked her doubts, tousled her bangs and circled around her clasping his hands together in obvious delight - at her or himself, Claire couldn’t tell.

  Monique was, as always, the slender, elegant, sable beauty. She hugged Claire so tightly that her still-sore nipples made her wince. She tried to conceal it, but Monique had already noticed something. At that moment, however, nothing was said.

  René bent her backwards and kissed her fervently. He does have excellent lips, she thought again, in spite of the chagrin she felt at his forwardness. Monique slapped him lightly in jest to get him to leave Claire alone. There was no anger; she knew her man. And I know mine, Claire thought, her mind turning once again to Elliot, as it had every minute of the hour or so since they parted.

  Before she knew it, Claire was holding another glass of whiskey. René described the view of Monte Carlo which surrounded them on three sides. It was a blend of the old and new: light-gray, sand-colored and orange-brick-colored buildings of the city-state were spectacularly set against the backdrop of mountains. Boats thickly dotted the azure bay. The sky directly above was bright and barely laced with clouds, while the sky above the mountains hung gray with the pall of an approaching storm.

  Claire felt the anchors release and the rumble of the engines as the yacht made its way out of the harbor.

  “We’ll sail out this afternoon and return tonight to the casino,” René told her. Monique led Claire to her cabin so she could settle in.

  “Lunch in about an hour?” Monique asked.

  “That’d be fine. I’ll come up on deck after I freshen up.” Claire paused, then added sincerely, “Monique, thanks for letting me visit for a little while. I didn’t want to go back to the States for just two weeks or wander around Europe by myself.”

  “You’re very welcome, mon cher. Besides,” she said only half-jokingly, “René seems quite fond of your lips.”

  * * * * *

  At Elliot’s suggestion, Claire had brought a variety of clothes. Reluctantly, she decided on a new, black, full-length evening dress she’d wanted to save for him. It was really the only thing suited for “… the most expensive and the most famous casino in the entire world,” as René had put it.

  She’d bought the dress off-the-rack in Saint-Tropez, but Elliot had arranged for it to be modified for her. The right, sleeveless shoulder of the dress was a black taffeta which extended full-length. It was cut to expose her cleavage, then partially rose up to cover her left breast, just above the nipple. That section extended down her left side in a curve that followed her curve to her thigh, about ten inches below her waist. To the right, the black taffeta, wrapped around her, plunging in the back and continuing around to meet the front at her thigh. The part of her not covered by the black fabric was filled-in with a sheer material consisting of a pattern of concentric circles, broken by radial lines surrounding diamond figures. There was a short sleeve of the sheer mesh on the left. Further down in front, the black taffeta was cut away again and replaced with the lacy mesh. The front was also cut out in a curving pattern to expose her bellybutton jewel through the sheer fabric. Her seahorse tattoo was exposed through the mesh in the back.

  She wore black, very high, spiked-heel sandals, with only a thin strap across her toes, and two spaghetti straps equally spaced between her toes and her ankles. She wore three pairs of diamond earrings - two pairs of studs above long, dangling ones.

  Jean-Pierre had done her hair and makeup and, although she was sure it was considered very chic in France, she wasn’t crazy about the look. He had put a mousse on her hair and dried it so that, although it lay mostly flat on the top, pieces of it stuck out everywhere as though someone had completely mussed it up. Her bangs hung haphazardly. He had used bright blue eye shadow over her entire lid and extending out beyond her eye to continue the curve of the eye upward. She was wearing heavy mascara but he hadn’t added to her permanent eyeliner. She had no eyebrows and her protestations met with no sympathy from Jean-Pierre as he assured her that, “You are among the few women in the world who look more stunning without them than most women do with them. Flaunt it, my Dear.”

  Her nails on hands and feet had deep red polish. Her lips were a delicious blood-red. René agreed to take her picture so that she could email it to Elliot. If he liked the look, she would try it again in the future. She wanted to be every woman to him, everything that he could desire. Elliot had opened the world to her; she would open her possibilities to him.

  They arrived at the casino in a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce Phantom limo amid all the glitter and wealth of Monte Carlo. She wished so much that Elliot could be there. It was stunning in the way that only Europe can be, without the over-done, often tacky flavor of an American resort like Las Vegas or Atlantic City. The class is dripping off these people, Claire thought to herself.

  The class is dripping off that woman, the Europeans thought as they glimpsed Claire walking elegantly up the casino steps.

  Inside, they were ushered into a semi-private area. The people there were dressed even more expensively than those she’d seen outside. Looking around, at first intimidated, Claire began to realize that she fit in perfectly. Her dress was more exotic than the norm, her hair and makeup - like it or not - had been done by one of the best designers in Paris; she was a millionairess five times over herself; and she was with Monique and René, who oozed the Euro jet-set image.

  René had refused to let her pay for anything. He’d set up a fifty-thousand dollar line of credit for her before they’d arrived. He’d told her to have a good time, and gamble it all away if she wanted - he would cover the losses, and she could keep anything she won over the initial stake.

  Claire wouldn’t have known where to begin. Fortunately, Jean-Pierre had taken the time that afternoon to show her how to play several of the more interesting continental games. She was a quick learner. She started at the baccarat table. By the time she walked away shaking with the thrill of the game, she’d won over forty thousand dollars.

  I don’t care how much money I have in Swiss accounts, she thought, forty thousand is still a lot of money to me. I’ll risk ten of it and not touch the other. When the ten is gone, I quit.

  She was up one hundred and thirty thousand dollars by the time three hours had passed. Several times, she’d drawn a crowd to watch her win time after time. That evening, she was the glamorous, unbeatable Lady Luck.

  She was getting so flushed with the flow of adrenaline that she had to take a break. As she walked up to René and Monique, she saw that they were talking to a pleasant looking but nondescript middle-aged man with receding hair. When René saw her, he took her by the arm and introduced her, in French, to Prince Albert II. The Prince of Monaco took her hand and kissed it as Claire tried to curtsy reasonably demurely in the tight dress. The Prince was pleased with her gallant effort and told her so.

  Albert spoke to her in French. Claire could understand most of what he said, thanks to six years of junior high and high school French and her experiences in France over the past few months. René, concerned that she couldn’t understand, started to translate the Prince’s words into English. Claire stopped him. “Je comprend,” she said.

  “Claire is an American,” Monique told Albert.

  “Really?” The Prince said in perfect English. “I wouldn’t have known. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Lady Claire, but you look quite continental, quite French, in fact.”

  “Jean-Pierre got a hold of me,” Claire said, making a joke to cover her nervousness.

  “My mother was, of course, an American. She had the beauty and grace to go with her name. Your country can produce remarkable women. I see without a doubt that you are one of them. You carry yourself with an air of sophistication that every woman should aspire to. I’m surprised that you’re here without a gentleman escort, other than this scoundrel René.”

  “Elliot, my gentleman, is away on business for two weeks.”

  “Yes,” René interjected, “you know him, your Highness. We all met at Grenoble several years ago during the Winter Festival.”

  “Ah, I remember him well. We have, in fact, done business on several occasions since.” He looked directly at Claire again. So Elliot is your - may I say - consort?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “That explains it, then. I remember thinking that if ever he chose a woman, she would be one of great allure, intelligence and elegance.”

  Claire couldn’t let that one go. “Perhaps I chose him.”

  The Prince smiled. “Then, as he is in many things, Elliot is also a lucky man in the business of love.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, Your Highness. But he would probably tell you that there is no luck, only the results of talented, hard work.”

  “And he would be right, as he most always is. I wish you both bountiful happiness. You two must come to see me sometime.”

  “We would be honored,” she said. Holy shit! Claire thought.

  They left shortly after that. Claire had returned René’s fifty thousand dollars, and deposited her winnings, one hundred and thirty-four thousand dollars, into her bank account. René had refused her offer to share the winnings.

  She sat on the bed in her cabin on the yacht feeling smugly satisfied with herself. She’d met the Prince of fucking Monaco and won a hundred and thirty-four-thousand dollars! That was more money than she’d made in two years before.