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amazing and the bill would be a fortune. She wasn't going to be able to keep up at this level for three months.
    “Don't worry, Patrice won't charge us,” Sasha said, throwing back her cocktail and washing it down with champagne.
    “I can't live off you and your lover for three months,” Indie hissed.
    “Don't worry, I told you. Tolar won't even notice and anyways I need you here.”
    “What for?”
    “Back up.”
    After dinner they moved to a pair of black leather stools at the long black glass bar and the music pumped up for late night dancing.
    Sasha filled Indie in on how she'd fallen for Patrice when, bored out of her mind when Tolar was traveling, she sat at this very bar and ordered dinner three nights in a row and they got talking.
    “One thing led to another thing then another and soon we were meeting almost every afternoon on his sailboat, away from the prying eyes. And I have to tell you it was the hottest freaking sex I have ever had in my life, the man is a maniac with his tongue. Come on let's dance.” The girlfriends had always enjoyed their reputation for dominating the dance floor with some girl action. They gave themselves over totally to the music and pumping out a sexual rhythm, twirling around each other with a few provocative moves that never failed to get onlooking guys stirring more than their martinis. A bunch of new arrivals flooded the floor and Indie found herself dancing with first one stubbled French hunk then another. Hmm, easy to see what Sasha meant when she said everything here was gorgeous.
    After a good hour of loosening up her body at long last, Indie was parched and moved back to the seat at the bar. Sasha was nowhere to be seen so she downed a glass of water and then the chilled fresh champagne the bartender magicked in front of her.
    “Slow down. No one's gonna steal it.” A way too smart, deep French voice said right beside her ear. The closeness of his cheek and whisper of breath made her neck tingle. Who the hell did he think he was? She turned on her seat to face the real Oliver Martinez, no not the real one, but the same wide Gallic jaw and melting dark eyes, strong nose, slick black hair on a base of broad shoulders in a tight tee shirt, sizzling white in the dark nightclub. her inner thighs quivered and he looked down at her legs, bare all the way to the mound. Jesus, I should have considered buying a less risque sliver of dress. I've got it all out on display like a vendor at the fruit market .
    “I'm thirsty actually. I've been dancing.”
    “Well let me quench your thirst,” he said, leaning one arm on the bar and his torso a little too close to her cleavage that was rising and falling a little too rapidly, even if she had been dancing up a typhoon for an hour.
    “Oh, no thanks,” Indie said. “I have to go find my friend.” Before he could dissuade her, she picked up the last dregs in the flute and moved out on the floor. Slithering her way into the middle of the throng to dance slowly, eyes closed, holding the glass in one hand like a shield. Her heart was still pounding from the fucking stunning face that kept rising up in her vision. He was so damn sexy and so damn sure of it.
    She was not in the mood for fending off lotharios who wanted to score models and then compete with them. Men who loved themselves for their physique were a major drag to be around. You had to be constantly buoying up their egoic sense of themselves and Indie was there to relax, not make some island stud feel hot. The men on the dance floor swam up to dance beside her for a while, moving on when they realized she wasn't returning their lascivious stares and attempts to brush rub her. That was fine. Attention was good for her sore heart, anything more was too much.
    Sasha was still completely vanished, taking another tour of the upstairs apartment no doubt as Patrice was also nowhere to be seen.
    Indie made her way back to the bathroom, feeling blindfold in the totally black glass