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ever was on Sunday afternoon in the bathtub …” He went on cataloging and comparing their sexual exploits, as Sasha giggled.
“Liam! Stop it! I meant about the gallery and the employees.”
“Oh, that. Very nice. I liked everyone.” He was much more interested in making love to her than talking about work.
“Be serious for a minute,” she chided him. She loved sharing her work with him. She had loved that with Arthur, too.
“Serious? If we make love any more often, I'm going to collapse in your arms, and you'll have to revive me. I'm older than I look.”
“So am I,” she said, with a look of regret.
“I've never done this so often in my life. I'm beginning to feel like a sex toy,” he said, looking worried. “Come to think of it, maybe I am. Is that all I am to you?” He was serious for a moment.
“Don't be silly,” Sasha said, lying back on her pillow. But she had to admit, she was having fun with him. A lot of it.
“I feel like the sex slave of the Faubourg St. Honoré. Maybe I should call the SAMU to rescue me.” The SAMU were the paramedics, the French equivalent of 911.
“I think you're becoming an addiction,” Sasha admitted, but she was having too much fun now to worry. She had put her fears on the back burner for the week, and was enjoying having him around every day.
“Maybe we should go to a twelve-step group. Love Slaves Anonymous. But hell, why spoil our fun?” He looked amused.
“Exactly,” she said, as she leaned over to kiss him. Neither of them could believe it, but they made love again before they went to sleep, and again before she went to work the next day. She felt girlish and giddy and tried not to act it, when she walked in.
Liam arrived shortly after, and enjoyed seeing the gallery once it was open. Sasha was pleased to discover that Bernard had invited Liam to lunch. They all seemed to like him, which was at least something. She'd been worried about how he would fit in, but so far he did.
Liam spent the rest of the week wandering around Paris, looking up artist friends in the Marais, and Sasha did her best to lighten her workload so she could spend time with him whenever possible. Although sometimes she had to meet with clients who were expecting to see her and buy important paintings. Liam walked in on one of those meetings, toward the end of the week. He was wearing a T-shirt, leather motorcycle jacket, baseball cap, jeans, and his cowboy boots. And, unbeknownst to anyone but Sasha, socks and underwear. He was determined to be proper and civilized that week. She introduced him to the clients she was meeting with as soon as he walked in, looking for her. He hadn't hesitated to interrupt her, which upset her. And she was looking stern and somewhat irritated, as he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Sasha was furious with him. Her clients were in their seventies, the wife was an Italian princess, and the husband the head of an important French bank. Her clients didn't get more conservative than them. Sasha had worn a Chanel suit with a skirt for the meeting, and pearls. She looked as respectable as they did. Liam looked like James Dean with long blond hair, which was definitely not their thing. She introduced him as one of their artists, and was somewhat unnerved when he sat down, uninvited, to have tea with them, and then changed his mind and poured himself a drink. He made himself totally at home, which didn't go unnoticed by her clients either. The princess looked shocked, and the banker was obviously annoyed. All Sasha could do was hope they thought him an eccentric artist, although his kissing her on the mouth certainly tipped their hand, and would have been hard to explain. What's more, they wanted Sasha's full attention. They had just bought two paintings for half a million dollars each. Liam looked singularly unimpressed by the paintings standing on two easels, and commented that they were very pretty, but not exciting. Sasha wanted to kill him. As soon as they left, she turned on him with a vengeance.
“What in God's name were you thinking, to say something like that? This is how I earn my living. Those two people just bought two paintings for a million dollars, in cash, and I don't care