The Long Goodbye ((Open to 1 Female))

OOC: I've always found there to be an inherent (if slyly hidden) sexuality to the classic noir formula, seen in such films as "Double Indemnity", "The Big Sleep", "Chinatown", and "Body Heat". I was hoping to use that formula as a base for a more highly-sexualized noir roleplay. I will portray the hard-boiled detective, you will play the femme fatale. Please PM me if you are interested.

Richard Marlowe
Age 36
Short Brown Hair, Blue Eyes, A Light Five O' Clock Shadow on the Rough Days
Private Investigator

IC:

Marlowe leaned against the cold cement of a decades' old office building, ruffling through the deep pockets of his brown trench coat. The coat was soaking wet, having sopped up two days worth of rain. There was a crash of thunder over the rush hour traffic - cars beeping at each other, road rage seething underneath. Marlowe glared towards the drain on the opposite side of the street...

It was just like his career: drifting off to some estuary, so it could float off to sea to die. He wiped his brow of the rainwater and pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding a soggy pack of cigarettes. "Nothing like wet tobacco products," he muttered under his breath. This drew the wary eyes of a couple of yuppy passersby. "I know it's not fashionable, assholes!" Their pace quickened.

Marlowe had been a homicide detective for eight years, honored by the mayor, beloved by the press. But like any man, he had his weaknesses. It was his libido that always got him into trouble. Three counts of soliciting prostitution later and Marlowe was kicked off the force. Those bastards at Interior didn't even bother to listen to his side of the story. Solving crimes was all he had done since graduating from the academy, so he did the next best thing: he became a private investigator. In an era when real crimes were best left to the professionals, he was left with the scrapings at the bottom of the bowl: mostly middle-aged women looking for someone to follow their double-timing husbands. It was an embarrassment.

He stuck a cigarette to his lips, rain pattering down onto it, almost knocking it free. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, flicking the tip to get it to ignite. Five times he tried and each time a rogue raindrop would fall from the sky and kill it before it was even born. "God damn it." He burned the bottom of his thumb. "God damn it!"

Marlowe turned the corner, pushing the front door of the office building open. The lighter finally came alive and he puffed gloriously on his cigarette. "Excuse me, sir. You can't smoke in here," said the attendant at the front desk, a well-dressed man in his mid-forties.

"Fuck you, I pay rent," he shouted, moving towards the elevators. He pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and got off after ascending the massive building. Two doors down was his office, a plain door reading "Richard Marlowe: Private Investigator".

The office was small, but split into to two distinct sections: a small waiting room and the meeting area, which was sealed off with dark glass - to assure his clients' privacy. Sitting at the front desk was his secretary, Zariah, a gorgeous young woman with curly brown hair and an infectious (though often fraudulent smile). Marlowe had hired her primarily for her good looks, but she had proven to be an incredibly efficient worker. It didn't hurt to catch her bent over the desk in tight jeans, though.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray on Zariah's desk. She kept it there primarily for him. "Do me a favor, Zariah. Call Ms. Tucker and tell her that she's out of her mind. Her husband has been golfing every day for two weeks and I'm not gonna play spectator to another tee-off. Unless, of course, she wants to up my fee."

Zariah stared at him with cold eyes, "Do me a favor and don't be late with my paycheck for the third week in a room, Mr. Marlowe."

Marlowe reached in his pocket and pulled out a soggy envelope, tossing it on her desk. "Here. Keep the change." He moved towards his office, looking back after opening the door. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Zariah rolled her eyes in response.

Marlowe sat at his desk, stewing over old cases, filing the odd piece of paperwork. What he wanted was something that would make him feel prominent again. He wanted real work. Work to be proud of.

((bump))

There's been an awful lot of views, but no takers. I really think this could be a lot of fun, so please feel free to PM me and join in.

Brigitte Fontaine looked out the window of the taxi she rode in through the city streets, contemplating what she was about to do. She had fled pretty quickly from her apartment building several minutes ago, and practically dove into the first taxi that was waiting. If anyone asked her about her rapid movement and urgent behavior, she would blame it on the rain. The wretched, cold drops poured down the glass of the taxicab's windows, obscuring her vision of the buildings she was passing. She was looking for a Marlowe... she heard his office was on Front Street from a friend of hers, Marcy. Marcy was paranoid about her husband, Mr. Tucker, but Brigitte knew that nothing was afoot in their relationship. Marcy was paranoid about nearly everything.

Reaching into the small black handbag she clutched, Brigitte pulled out her fire engine red Revlon lipstick, a color she swore by, and a small silver compact mirror. She deftly applied the pigment to her full, pouty lips, smacking them together once to insure that she had covered them completely. Then she replaced the items and leaned forward in her seat to speak to the driver. "Uh, Front Street, please? I think it's the next block... The address is 205...." Her voice was throaty and sultry, practically purring into the driver's ear. It was a talent she had mastered long ago: the ability to make anything she said sound devilishly sexy. Now it was so second nature that she never spoke in any other tones.

The driver murmured something to her, and she didn't bother to ask him for clarification, merely sitting back in her seat to wait out the next few minutes of her journey. Finally feeling the car swing right to pull up alongside a curb, Brigitte reached into her purse to fish out several large bills, not bothering to count them. Money had become less of an object to her than most people, and part of the reason that Brigitte was here to see Marlowe had to do with her fear of losing the comfortable lifestyle she had grown accustomed to. Handing the bills over without so much as a parting word, Brigitte pulled her headscarf tighter around her shiny, dark hair and lowered dark shades over her eyes before stepping out into the harsh, unyielding rain. She spotted the building immediately, just a few yards down the street. Briskly, she stepped towards the doors, her high black stilettos clicking on the pavement. She was catching the eye of quite a few business men, and some women too. This was exactly what Brigitte did not want.

Swallowing hard and finally pushing through the heavy wooden doors to the office building, she located the elevator and skipped over to it. When the doors opened, she pressed the button for the 14th floor immediately, not wanting to risk having someone join her. The elevator was slow moving and she took this time by herself to contemplate exactly what she would say to Marlowe. She knew very little about him, besides the random facts Marcy had laid out: his attractive face, tough demeanor, and the rumors surrounding his swift release from the force; those had been spreading like wildfire through the city. Brigitte wasn't afraid of him, though... she heard he liked a little spice in his life, and that perhaps all those underground bars he had been visiting back when he was a homicide detective weren't filled with the most respectable of characters. She, on the other hand, was married to Mr. William Fontaine. The biggest big shot on Wall Street right now. Also, the oldest.

Sighing unhappily, Brigitte heard the ding of the elevator and looked up. Fourteenth floor. Away she went. When the doors opened, she glanced around and spotted an attractive, if scowling, young secretary with the phone to her ear. The woman looked up and, seeing Brigitte, held up a finger as if to delay her for a moment. "Look, Ms. Tucker, I don't know what to tell you... Detective Marlowe is a busy man and he is wont to drop a case when it seems dead... I'm sorry, if you'd like to come by some time soon to discuss this with him personally, I'm sure he'd oblige... Yes, Thursday afternoon... goodbye, Ms. Tucker..." So Marcy's case is going to get dropped... serves her right... Brigitte, now seeing her opening, approached the desk and leaned forward, tapping on it with bright red, freshly manicured fingernails. "Marlowe's in? I need to see him, and it's urgent... I don't have an appointment, before you ask...."

The secretary, though now smiling, definitely didn't approve of Brigitte's lack of preparation. Yes, she should've made an appointment, but it really was urgent... and besides, Brigitte had never known a man to object to her sudden arrival. Waving her in, the secretary lowered her head to resume the completion of a crossword puzzle, deciding that it wasn't worth it to fight this battle on such a shitty day. Brigitte thanked her and then clicked towards Marlowe's door, rapping once and then going on in at the sound of a muffled "Come in..."

She was taken aback as she opened up the frosted glass door. Richard Marlowe was, in fact, a very good looking man. Marcy's taste had never been very close to Brigitte's, but she was spot on with this one. He would be a hard shell to crack. Shutting the door behind her, Brigitte turned and took a few moments to survey Marlowe before speaking up in that sultry tone of hers. "Detective Marlowe? I need your help... desperately...."

Marlowe stared up from his desk and a beautiful woman walked through his door. It was pleasant sight after a long day of tracking an adulterer who hadn't done any adultering - Tucker, was his name. His wife, Marcy had been adamant about his strange behavior, but after nearly a month of constant tracking, nothing had turned up. Marlowe wasn't one to have his time wasted, even if his new job felt like a permanent waste of time. His eyes moved up the woman's body, a clinging dress perfectly highlighting her sumptuous form, stilettos accentuating the curves of her legs, and red lip stick emphasizing her entirely-too-kissable lips.

He had met her kind before: rich, spoiled, bored. They were almost always more trouble than they were worth. Marlowe knew better than to look his female clients in the eye. It tended to lead to a more discounted rate than necessary. He was easily charmed.

"Listen, I haven't even taken my coat off yet, so cool it with the desperation," he replied, pulling his arms out of his trench coat, standing up, and placing it on the rack to the right of the door. He was clad in his usual attire, a boring white business shirt, dangling red tie, and gray slacks. Marlowe would've been a handsome sight if he hadn't been so drenched.

Marlowe walked over to the door, peaking his head out. "Zariah, did Miss, uh...Miss..."

"No, Miss Fontaine doesn't have an appointment, but you've got an empty fifteen minutes before we close and you could use the clientele," the secretary shot back quickly. She was rapid fire in verbal exchanges and always able to keep Marlowe's attitude in check. He had hired her because of her extensive experience, but also because she was a pleasant sight and for a moment his eyes juggled between Zariah and Ms. Fontaine.

He turned back to the woman in his office. "Listen, it's been a really long day. I spent the last day and a half tracking an old man across a golf course in the rain. I'm wet and I'm grumpy, so maybe could do this another time, huh?" He looked at his watch. It was nearing eight o' clock. He had planned to spend his night in front of the television, in his boxers, watching what basketball game happened to be on. He needed the break.

Marlowe lit up another cigarette, giving Fontaine another once over. Damn, those legs. Killer legs. Career ruining legs. "So here's the deal Ms. Fontaine: if you've got a cheating spouse - he's probably not cheating. He's probably playing poker with his buddies. And if he is cheating, let him. You love him, right? Let him get his kicks, because eventually he'll run into some trouble and he'll end up lovin' you more than he ever did. That's my advice. Your welcome to it for free." He shouted over his shoulder towards Zariah, "Get this nice young lady a business card, Zariah!"

Then his eyes met with Fontaine's. They were completely alluring and completely desperate. A dangerous combination. "Is there anything else I can do for you, because by my watch, it's about two hours past dinner time and I could use a hot dog?"

Brigitte took a few moments to let her presence sink in before removing her sunglasses to reveal deep, brown eyes and long eyelashes. Then she stepped closer to Marlowe's desk, barely getting any words out before he was launching into his speech about how busy he was and how tired he was and how he wasn't really up to dealing with any new cases. Brigitte merely listened, expecting this sort of reaction. She wasn't one to beg. Marlowe would want to help her out. She knew it. Taking in the exchange between Richard and Zariah, she leaned her palms down on his wooden desk, her dress just low-cut enough to show off a nice swell of cleavage. The dress had been a present from her rapidly-approaching-70 husband, something he loved seeing her in. She had worn it today because she knew men couldn't resist the strong curve of her thighs and calves. It also showed off those specific assets perfectly.

As Marlowe surveyed her, lighting up a cigarette, Brigitte bit down on her lower lip, somewhat melodramatically. She wasn't going to let him get off this easily. "It's not that I'm concerned about my husband cheating, Marlowe... I know I'm the only woman he looks at." At this, she held out her hand for a cigarette, needing something to calm her nerves. She didn't smoke very often, but the aroma of tobacco was alluring to her. "I'm hungry, yes. Why don't we go some place where we can discuss my...situation... I can pay you in cash." At this she cracked open her purse and tilted it toward the wet detective, showing off an impressive wad of bills. She knew no mere mortal man could resist so much green.

She straightened up again now, hoisting her bag over one shoulder and replacing her shades over her eyes. She was disguised this way, and she knew that if she took Marlowe to her favorite dark, secluded burger joint, she could talk to him without any prying eyes recognizing her. She strutted back towards his door, opening it and then leaning against it as she looked back at him, a smile spreading across her red lips. "Shall we?"

Marlowe handed Fontaine a cigarette from his bunch, but looking down was faced by a wad of cash like he had never seen before. He might've been kicked off the force for corruption, but it was due to his vices, not to his greed. "You can put your money away, Ms. Fontaine. You pay after I get results, regardless of whether or not the results are what you were looking for. Of course, during the case you'll pay for any expenses, but customarily, I buy the first dinner for my clients. A sign of trust, you could call it."

He smiled, moving towards the cabinet on the far side of the office. Opening it up, he pulled out a fresh trench coat and wrapped it around his body, sliding his arms through the sleeves. Turning back around, he tried not stare, but Ms. Fontaine's body practically called out for him through the light fabric of her dress. Marlowe tried to shake her out of his mind. He was supposed to be the one in control of the situation, but Fontaine had already crawled under his skin.

Escorting her out of his office, he stopped by Zariah's desk. "If you'll step outside for one moment, Ms. Fontaine, I need to confer with my secretary."

He waited until he heard the door shut, it was heavy and the room was sound proof. "Zariah, before you leave tonight, I want you to track down any information you can about Ms. Fontaine. Family, friends, business associates...anything that would suggest a deception. There's something I don't trust about her. She's almost..."

"Too perfect?" Zariah smirked from behind her desk. "It's like she found the Richard Marlowe catalog and picked out the exact outfit that would catch your attention." Zariah laughed to herself. She was always one to bring Marlowe back to earth.

"Exactly," he replied. "I've learned not to trust anyone that beautiful. Except for you, of course." Marlowe smiled and winked as he exited his office.

"You wish, Marlowe," Zariah shouted in the distance.

Marlowe shut the door behind him and looked to Ms. Fontaine. "Show me the way."

Brigitte idly tapped the cigarette that Marlowe had handed her a few moments ago against her lips, then fished a lighter out of her purse and ignited the fag herself. She knew she wasn't really supposed to smoke in the building, but if Marlowe could do it...

Bringing it to her lips, she took a long drag and sighed happily, relieved. She hadn't smoked in weeks, and her nerves had been driving her crazy. It had been a long time since her husband had left her unattended and he hated the smell of cigarette smoke. She would take her vices when she could. She couldn't hear the conversation going on between Zariah and Richard, but she had some idea of what it could be centered around: her. She knew he didn't trust her, and that was fine for now, but she would have to loosen him up at least a little bit if she was going to get him to do the work she desperately needed done. All the company bullshit that surrounded her husband, all the lies and deceit... she was used to it. She thrived under that sort of pressure. She knew how to handle Richard Marlowe, whether he knew it yet or not.

Turning at the sound of a doorknob swiveling, Brigitte smiled at Marlowe once more. "Sure..." Then she headed for the elevator, punching the button impatiently until it arrived. In the elevator on the way down, alone with the detective, Brigitte leaned up against the back wall, her dress hiking up a bit around her soft thighs. She wasn't wearing stockings. The smooth skin he saw was her own. "So, Detective Marlowe... I hear you're the best. I need someone who can get information for me. Discreetly. I can give you the details when we get to where we're headed, but... I need to know that this will be kept between us. Not all private dicks are as reliable as they say....." The wet tip of a tongue slid across Brigitte's lower lip as her gaze bore into Marlowe. She would need to trust him as much as she needed him to trust her.

Before he could answer, the elevator dinged and Ms. Fontaine's attention was torn from the man in the trench coat. He could confirm his confidentiality clause later, when there was no one to hear them. Brigitte swiftly made her way out of the building and into the now much heavier rain, turning and heading down the block with Marlowe in tow. After only a few minutes, they were there. She gestured toward a dark wooden door on the side of a building, a shady looking place that Marlowe had never been. But Brigitte knew the owner well, from the days before she had been married to Mr. Fontaine.... from when she was a....

A quick rap and a few whispered words later, Fontaine and Marlowe were safely inside the dim, dusty place. There were a few old tables around, some light jazz playing over their heads and nearly no one in sight except a few ratty old guys playing cards around a table and a handful of drunk women at the bar. The bartender glanced up and gave Brigitte a knowing wink before nodding towards the back corner. A secluded table was set up with a couple of menus and one lone martini glass, complete with two olives. She had called ahead.

The warmth of the dive bar practically smacked Marlowe in the face as he walked through the front door in his cold, soaked clothing. There was no doubt that he would dry off quickly with the heat blazing as it was. The place was seedy, but he had seen much seedier. The old men in the corner didn't seem to be bothering anyone and the drunk girls' at the bar weren't doing anything more than partying. The menu and drinks were already set out on the table; Fontaine was quite assumptive. She had assumed that he would join her, that her womanly charms would be too much for him to ignore. She had done her research.

"You were already prepared, weren't you?" he asked playfully. "I'm a sucker for places like this. As long as they know how to make a good hot dog, I think this'll be fine." He sat down in the booth, watching her lithe body move into the space across from him. Fontaine's movements were graceful and purposeful, she was trying to draw his attention and he was doing everything he could to ignore her. Women like her had ruined his first career, he wouldn't let her ruin his second.

"Before you get started, I want to be upfront with my process." He tapped his pack of cigarettes on the table before opening them up and lighting another. "You asked for the best and you got the best. Do you know the percentage of the crime rate that can be directly connected to my time on the police force? Seven percent. Seven percent of all crime in the city went down because of the guys I put away. Drug kingpins. Gang leaders. Sex traffickers. Whatever problem you have pales in comparison to those cases. And I'll do everything I can to get you results."

He paused, "Hey barkeep, can I get a jack-and-coke?" The bartender quickly drew his drink and placed it on the table. Marlowe took a sip before continuing. "You pay me after the investigation for my labor, but you pay for any resources during the course of our time together. I'm willing to work six days a week, if you're willing to pay overtime. The seventh day is mine, you don't call me unless it's life-threatening or the information is one-time only. I expect absolute honesty at all times, but if you choose to not be up front - it will only extend the investigation and thus, extend my fee. Lastly, everything you tell me is confidential within the bounds of my office. Zariah does side-work that may involve your case and she will need to know some of the dirty details."

He smiled, genuinely. "If you can agree to that, than I'll listen to what you have to say. If not, I'll get up out and walk out the door. So...what can I do for you, Ms. Fontaine?"

Brigitte watched as Marlowe took in the atmosphere around him. He seemed comfortable enough. Surely he had been in shady places like this before, especially in his line of work. She wasn't surprised by how nimbly he slid into the booth and how easily a smile spread across his face. She merely slid in across from him, wrapping delicate fingers around the stem of the martini glass. As he began to talk, she listened. He sure did like to hear himself speak, this one. She was paying attention, yes, but she was also a bit distracted. The way his mouth moved, that strong jawline, that gorgeous hair (soaked or not)... she hadn't really expected to be this attracted to him. But she mustn't let those feelings get in the way. The investigation. That was what she needed to focus on.

As he finished, sipping on the jack-and-coke he had ordered, Brigitte took a moment to let her eyes pass over his face. He was stern about all of his rules and regulations, but he meant well. And he was serious. He would get the job done, and he would get it done well. It was only a matter of her cooperation. "You know I'll agree to your terms, Marlowe, obviously I really need your help, right?" She took a sip from her martini, then pulled out the little stake holding the olives to suck them off, one by one. When she was finished, she leaned forward in her seat, setting her elbows down on the table. She was ready to get down to it.

"So, I'm sure you've heard of my husband.. William Fontaine? Yes, the William Fontaine, big shot Wall Street guy. Well, his brokerage is in a bit of trouble, and I know someone on the inside is to blame... I'm almost sure it's his partner, Wallowitz, but then one can never be too positive.... what I need you to do is look into the company's funds, find out where the money's been going and inform me.... there's a lot at stake here, I know a couple guys who are really jazzed up about money they've invested going missing... and these guys don't mess around. They want blood."

Brigitte sighed, swallowing hard and removing the shades she had neglected to take off before spilling her problems to Marlowe. She was nervous now, but perhaps not for the reasons he would assume. Yes, it was true, someone was embezzling money from the company... but Brigitte knew a bit more than she was willing to admit about the situation. Tapping her fingernails on the table nervously, she grabbed her glass again and drank it down, then waved the bartender over. He strode to the table, wiping down a pint glass with a dirty rag, eyeing Brigitte with a smirk on his face. "What'll it be, toots? Another martini, dry?" Brigitte shook her head for a moment and smiled up at him. They were old pals. "No... I'll have what he's having, actually... jack-and-coke, was it?" When the bartender nodded and walked away, Brigitte's eyes traveled back to Marlowe. "What'dya say? Can you help me?" As she spoke, Brigitte's long, delicate fingers traveled up to one side of her head, nimbly undoing the headscarf she wore. When she pulled it off, her long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, shiny and sleek even in this light. She shook her hair out, watching Richard Marlowe carefully all the while.

Fontaine was doing a great job at playing with Marlowe's weaknesses. The way she sucked on the olives from her martini, the way she leaned over just enough to show a hint of her ample cleavage, the erotic overtones of her dark hair flowing down her shoulder - whether conscious of it or not, she was drawing his attention to all the right places. She was keeping him entertained and his mind raced with the possibilities. But his face remained calm and collected, hardly showing his mental arousal. Her body was just another trick. A trick to avoid telling the whole truth.

"They want blood, eh?" Marlowe sipped on the corner of his glass. He didn't want to get drunk - not yet, at least. Then he'd be even easier to take advantage of. "We must be talking about a lot of money. Enough to bring down an entire Wall Street firm?" He laughed to himself, a smirk forming across his lips. "Those bastards probably deserve it. I don't have a lot of sympathy for guys who destroy the whole economy, but don't take credit for it. No offense, but your husbands' more of a criminal than the guys I put away."

Casually, he moved his hand around his neck, undoing the knot of the tye and sliding it from behind his collar. He crumpled it in his left hand and placed it in a pocket of his trenchcoat. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, showing just a small, triangular glance of his muscular chest. "But I'll take your case. In my position, I can't afford to turn you down." He paused for a moment, going over what she had told him. "What leads you to suspect Wallowitz? And what kind of access will I have to the company? If I have to hire a hacker that would be one more person that knows your business, that doesn't need to. The more specific you can be, the better."

Marlowe was unsure about this. Wall Street corruption was typically in the jurisdiction of the Feds and if he got caught by the wrong person than he could be tossed into prison for interfering with an investigation. Still, the thrill of the chase boiled inside of him. He was tired of adultery cases, tired of being a peeping tom to peoples' darkest secrets. He was ready for some action.

Marlowe was sure that Ms. Fontaine could provide plenty of that.

Brigitte watched Richard Marlowe with a steady gaze, her eyes following his as he talked. He was interested, he had bitten, that much was certain. But what could she tell him to encourage him to trust her? She let her eyes follow his hands now as he undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. She had a few tricks up her sleeve, yes, but so did he. Showing her just a gleam of his chest. Just a bit of strong muscle and chest hair. He could probably guess that Brigitte's sex life wasn't too hot, so to speak. Her husband was old and slow and arthritic. Feeling a slow burning tingle between her legs, Brigitte crossed them and drew her mind out of the gutter. Who was seducing who here?

"Marlowe, I assure you I am fully aware of the horrific things my husband has done. I don't pretend that he's some innocent bystander in the downfall of this economy. All I want to do is protect him. I... I love him. It's simple."

The dive bar had begun to clear out, the night darkening outside and the rain slowing down. People were headed home to pass out, drunk, or maybe spend time with loved ones, or maybe fuck, or maybe make love. All Brigitte had to go home to was a big empty penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side. William Fontaine was on a "business trip", which really meant he had flown to Vegas for a couple nights on the town, complete with strippers and maybe even hookers that he wouldn't be able to get it up for. Brigitte was on her own. She sat pensive for a moment, sipping down the last bits of her drink. She would have to show Marlowe some sort of evidence that would draw him to investigate Wallowitz. Something that would make him want to know more about this case. Setting her drink down, she held up a finger to the detective. "Just a moment, darling."

At that, she stood up from the booth and made her way to the bar to discuss things with the bartender, Jim. She knew Marlowe was watching her, the way her hips swayed as she walked. She leaned over the hard shiny bar surface and gave Jim her most winning smile. "I need a couple of bottles of Merlot to go... I'm entertaining company tonight..." Jim couldn't say no to her. He had never been able to, even back when they worked closely together at...

Sheepishly, Jim nodded and pulled some dusty wine from underneath the bar. "Here, gorgeous... don't have too much fun..." "Oh, and the...." Brigitte held out her hand and Jim passed a brown paper sack over to her. She grinned, pleased by how efficient he was being tonight. "You're always prepared...." "No one is ever fully prepared for Brigitte Seratos.... I mean, Fontaine...." Brigitte chuckled and leaned up to kiss Jim squarely on the cheek, leaving her signature red lip print on his flushed skin. Then she squeezed his hand and strutted back to Marlowe.

When she reached the table, she leaned against it, smiling down at the detective. "Let's go back to my place... I think I have some evidence there that will secure your trust in me.... and your trust in the things I've just told you. There's red wine in it for you...." Brigitte tossed the bag down on the table and then leaned over to grab her things from her side of the booth. "Also, hot dogs... piping hot and always delicious. You can eat in the taxi..." At that, Brigitte wrapped her headscarf around her head, secured it and then draped her bag over her shoulder once more. "Shall we?"

Marlowe didn't let his gaze move from Fontaine as she sauntered towards the bar. He wasn't just watching her hips move from side-to-side, he was watching for subtle body movements that could suggest her real motivations. Why would an aging Wall Street banker's trophy wife suddenly become so interested in his business? Certainly she had already pulled the right strings to get into his will. And someone as wealthy William Fontaine would have plenty of off-shore accounts to protect his net-worth. There was no reason for her to worry about the state of the company. Did she have a history with one of the investors she had mentioned?

Marlowe made a mental note to bring up these questions to Zariah. They would have to track Ms. Fontaine's personal relationships before the marriage.

As he waited, he also heard the bartender refer to her as Brigitte Seratos. Seratos? The name sounded familiar, but Marlowe couldn't quite put a face to it. Seratos. It would bother him for the rest of the evening. He quickly juggled his cell phone out of his pocket, typing quietly beneath the table to his secretary. When you get to the office tomorrow, look up the name Seratos. He pressed send discretely and placed the device back in his pocket.

Fontaine moved effortlessly back toward the table, her strut drawing his attention once more. He could feel a stirring in his loins, but he ignored it, even if she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had to stay strong.

She seemed in a hurry. "I normally don't follow my clients home, Ms. Fontaine." He paused, taking one last sip of his whiskey. Marlowe licked his lips before standing - just a bit too close to Fontaine. He could practically feel her warm breath on his neck. "But I can make an exception for you. However, I will warn you, I no longer mix business and pleasure."

He winked and started to move out of the bar.

Fontaine would not be the follower in this adventure... she fully intended to lead or do this as a side by side sort of thing. She quickened her pace as she moved across the bar, managing to get next to Marlowe once more. As they left, she gave her bartender friend Jim a quick nod and a smile, then pushed open the heavy wooden door with her hip. The rain had stopped but the pavement was still wet. The sun was going down and everything was shining with a dewy glint to it. It was a pretty evening after all... too bad she was dealing with this at the moment. This referring to the guy striding along beside her, too much confidence and suspicion in his gaze. She had to put him in his place, make him see her as a trustworthy ally. She needed him.

As the pair reached the still busy street, Fontaine stuck two fingers up in the air to call a taxi. Immediately, two or three were vying for her attentions, coming to screeching halts along the sidewalk. She chose the closest one and opened the back door, sliding in before gesturing for Marlowe to follow. When he had shut the door behind him and the driver had begun to pull away, Brigitte spoke up. "700 Fifth Ave please, Upper East...." she breathed to the driver before sitting back in her seat. She was halfway between the far left and the middle of the backseat, not far enough away from Marlowe to appear formal but not close enough that she was in his lap. She turned toward him now, though, her knee brushing gently against his thigh. Despite her reservations about this (especially now that he had explicitly said no to mixing business with pleasure), Brigitte liked the feeling of her bare knee against the material of his pant leg. She hadn't been touched in weeks... her husband had been busy with work and often fell asleep in front of the tv when he got home late at night. She knew he would get his fill of pleasure on his little Vegas excursion for the next few days. He would be satisfied.

Brigitte, on the other hand, had become accustomed to touching herself at night, alone, to the sound of soft jazz. Her trusty vibrators did the trick most nights, but there was nothing quite like the feel of warm flesh against warm flesh. She needed a man.

Thinking about these desires brought back bittersweet memories for Brigitte, memories of half a decade ago, when she was an exotic dancer in a pricey club for wealthy business types. Working there, she had her fill of pleasure and men... the types of men who couldn't stop calling her beautiful and sexy and perfect. It had been a very hush hush organization at the time, as most of the women who worked there ended up in bed with the high-paying clients they served. It was prostitution at its classiest, and it was how Brigitte had made her way in this world when she first left college. Then she met William Fontaine, who had previously been married to an old, frigid bitch named Linda. William divorced Linda when she found out about his addiction to Club X (the very place where Brigitte had danced) and discovered him in bed with Brigitte herself. A few months later, Brigitte was the new Fontaine woman on William's arm and Linda faded into obscurity. She wasn't proud of the way she had gained status, but she didn't regret it either. Now Brigitte was fabulously wealthy, and she intended to keep things that way... as long as Marlowe agreed to help.

Feeling the car pull to a stop, Fontaine snapped out of her stupor. She glanced out the window to see that they had pulled up in front of the building where she resided and she smiled at Marlowe. "Here we are... thanks, sir!" She handed a few bills to the taxi driver and then nudged Marlowe to open the door and get out of the car. It was about time she got him to sit back and relax. A few hours at her luxurious apartment would do the trick.

The close-quarters of the taxi had Marlowe sweating. Fontaine was sitting comfortably close, her bare leg pressing against the fabric of his pants creating mental friction within him. The game they were playing was a power struggle and Marlowe was determined to win. He wasn't sure if she was trying to seduce him or every man she came across. It was obvious that she knew what she wanted and would do anything to get it. That made her dangerous, but it also made her the perfect foil for Marlowe's skill set. It also made her more attractive.

She had meandered into his mind and was a permanent fixture now. It was hard to analyze the case when all he could think about was her ruby red lips, her elegantly erotic movements, and her stark, bold confidence. He had never met a woman who could keep up with him and in close confines of the taxi, analyzing her from a close distance, he was convinced that she would be something important to him in the future. Although he wasn't sure what.

Marlowe had been married to a miserable woman who detested his thrill-seeking and occasional arrogance. In some ways, the controversy surrounding his release from the police force had been a blessing in disguise. Within hours of the news hitting television and print, she had filed for divorce and he happily signed all the paperwork. However, his reputation had been soiled ever since and he had found it difficult to interact with women. They looked at him as a corrupt pervert, when really had only been seeking out a modicum of happiness that he couldn't find in his home life. Sex had been his way of dealing with what his life had become - and since leaving the force he had been trying to reform himself.

As they pulled up in front of the apartment complex, Marlowe truly knew he was dealing with the rich and famous. The building was famous for its wealthy residents, many of whom served has politicians and bankers. In fact, he had once arrested Sonny Ackerman, the famous drug kingpin, in his penthouse suite atop this very building. It brought back memories of heroic deeds, before he had been forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for cases. "Nice digs, Ms. Fontaine."

He got out of the car and moved towards the building, following the woman who loved to be followed. And he didn't mind the view. "I have to say, this is much better than my ratty apartment building. I can't even get them to fix the air conditioner."

Fontaine smiled to herself at Marlowe's comment, then nodded to the doorman as he pulled the door open for the two of them. Super perks of having money. A girl never needed to open her own door. The doorman wasn't terribly friendly, although he seemed to treat Fontaine better than he treated many of the other residents. She was sure it had nothing to do with the times she used to ride the elevator (which contained security cameras) in nothing but a silk robe, occasionally untying said robe and flashing the camera a sneak peek at her full, round 36C breasts. Nothing to do with that at all. Brigitte led Marlowe to a set of shiny elevators at the far side of the lobby, punching the up arrow on one before turning to look at him.

"How could a girl like me not want to protect the money that got her into a place like this?" She winked at Marlowe, half joking, but also hinting at a possible motive for coming to Marlowe for help. It was this very lifestyle that she was eager to maintain, this type of environment that she wanted to live in until the day she died. Brigitte was determined to stay filthy rich. Glancing up when the elevator arrived, Brigitte and Marlowe entered and then whizzed up to the penthouse suite. When they arrived on the highest floor, Brigitte smiled at Marlowe, stepping forward so she could unlock the door to her home. Then, finally, they were inside.

The doors were double, and glass, with shiny mahogany surrounding them. A large F was embossed on each door, in shiny gold lettering. Her husband's idea of class was not quite identical with her own and Brigitte rolled her eyes as she caught sight of the embellishments. It was tacky, if you asked her. Pushing the door open and allowing Marlowe to enter first, Brigitte then pulled the door shut and locked it with all three of the locks it had to offer. She wanted privacy, and some people were wont to just come into her apartment to see her husband, regardless of whether she said it was okay. When she turned back around, Marlowe was turning in a circle, taking in everything around him. She chuckled and headed for a closet on one side of the room, taking off her headscarf as she went. Then she pulled open the door and folded the scarf up on a shelf, slipping her black heels off too. She was now barefoot, and her delicate toes were painted the same bright red as her fingernails.

Turning back to Marlowe, she gestured to the bottles of red wine she had set down on the large glass coffee table a few moments before. "Make yourself at home... I'm going to slip into something a bit more comfortable..." Before he could protest, Brigitte was padding lightly down the hallway to the master bedroom. She knew Marlowe could see it from where he stood and she didn't care... even if the big door to her bedroom was lightly frosted glass that someone could look through from a relatively far distance.

Because she was so close to him still, Brigitte decided to continue this conversation from where she was. "So what do you think? Still willing to help me out, even after seeing this place? I know it's truly a monstrosity...." She giggled, her voice muffled a bit but not drowned out. She waited for his response, and when it didn't come, she shrugged. "Well, let's see if I can't convince you after a couple glasses of wine and my award-winning smile....." At this, she exited the room again and slowly strutted back to where Marlowe had perched himself on the arm of the couch.

She was dressed differently now, her feet and legs still bare, and her black dress gone. Now, instead, she wore a silk, black nightie that barely hit her at mid-thigh. Atop it was a matching silk, black robe that was not tied, and merely hung loosely on her shoulders. Her hair was now entirely down, not pinned up at the sides as it had been before, and it cascaded across the tops of her breasts, even more visible now than they had been during the day. As Marlowe caught sight of her, she feigned an innocent smile. This wasn't a big deal. She would have changed no matter what. He just happened to be here to see it.

Marlowe's eyes explored the penthouse thoroughly, his photographic memory compiling images of the place for later use. So, he thought to himself, I guess this is what you get when you have more money than taste. It felt like a temple to wealth: walls clad with over-priced modern art, decorative furniture made from minerals mined in third-world countries, and golden everything - vases, side tables, forks, and knives. He wasn't impressed by the laviciousness of it all, but he was impressed by the size of William Fontaine's ego.

Still, despite his disgust in the opulence of it all, it gave him something to look at besides Ms. Fontaine. She was doing her damnedest to keep his attention and he was doing his damnedest to ignore her advances. He hoped that she hadn't noticed that he had been sporting a massive hard-on during the entire cab ride. Just being close to her was intoxicating. She could have him in the palm of her hand if she wanted, but Marlowe was sure she knew that.

As she strutted off towards the master bedroom, Marlowe took the opportunity to examine his surroundings for evidence. He left the wine on the table, afraid of the dangerous combination of inebriation and sex appeal that Brigitte was offering to him on a platter.

The penthouse itself was remarkably clean - there was no doubt that an army of maids kept it that way - save for an assortment of paperwork stacked on top of the desk in the corner of the foyer. With soft footsteps, he moved to the desk, ruffling through the stack. It was mostly personal information; insurance claims, letters from Fontaine's lawyer, but at the bottom Marlowe recovered a recent bank statement. He pocketed it, moving back towards the couch before Brigitte would notice his absence. There would be plenty of time to review its contents later.

Marlowe rested on the arm of the large, luxurious couch, waiting. Before long, he heard the bedroom door open and looked up. Brigitte Fontaine gave him an innocent smile, leaning against the door frame. But he could barely look at her smile. Her silk nightie showed off more of her impossible legs, leaving barely anything to the imagination. But Marlowe could imagine and soon his loins were burning with desire once again.

Her hair cascaded down her chest, which was more revealed than before and he found himself transfixed by her perfect collar bones. Her loose hanging robe still managed to highlight her hourglass figure. It wasn't fair for any woman to be this alluring, not when there were suckers' like Marlowe born every day.

Marlowe stood, "You've got a lot more than an award-winning smile, Ms. Fontaine. I'll give you that. But you had me interested from the beginning. Adultery is starting to bore me - corporate crime, on the other hand, is new...and exciting." He moved towards her. "So, what's this evidence you wanted to show me? That nightie doesn't count."

Fontaine reached Marlowe and stood directly in front of him, their height difference apparent now that she was no longer heeled. She felt less powerful this way -- he had a good five or six inches on her -- and she didn't really like the shift in control. However, she was willing to let him think he had the upper hand if he wanted. A fleeting thought flashed through her mind... perhaps he had already snooped around the apartment to find "evidence", when she had left for a moment to change. It didn't matter, though... she was sure he hadn't found anything too serious. Or anything that she wouldn't have showed him anyway.

Gazing up at him, she let her eyes meet his for a moment. She was sure her gaze was intense, but he could handle it. "This nightie? It doesn't count for anything?" She smirked, letting her robe slip down one shoulder, revealing smooth, tanned skin. One thing she had always been praised for: her bone structure. "I have the evidence in my husband's office. But really now, I'd prefer us to be comfortable with one another.... let me pour you a glass of wine..." She turned now and headed for the kitchen, which was open at the other end of the living room. It was sprawling, with marble countertops and an island in the middle. The stove was rarely used for anything. Most nights Brigitte and her husband went out to entertain clients. On the nights that she stayed in, alone, she ordered Chinese food or pizza. She couldn't resist junk once in a while. Glancing back over her shoulder, she smiled at Marlowe. "Come on, then...."

As she reached the middle of her kitchen, she stood up on tiptoe to open a high cabinet. She extracted two large wine glasses, stretching to reach them off of a top shelf. As she raised her arm, the hem of her nightie rose up, exposing just the underside of one firm ass cheek to Marlowe's eyes. She could feel them on her, and she sensed that he was feeling a bit less inhibited. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the alcohol they had already drank, and had everything to do with her attitude toward him. In any case, he seemed less inclined to quickly look away if she exposed her body to him in this way, and she was enjoying the effect she was having on him. Grasping both glasses in one hand by their stems, she set them down on the counter that Marlowe was now leaning on and took the bottle that he had graciously brought over for her. She used a corkscrew to open the bottle, then poured a generous amount into each glass for the two of them. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she was playing house with this man she had just met. It had been so long since she had gotten to show herself off to her husband... so long since he had sat down to drink a glass of wine with her and relax.

"What I've got is a few receipts... also several withdrawal statements from the company bank account, and the numbers don't exactly match up with expense reports that I've looked over. My husband cannot know I've contacted you, though... he has too much faith in Wallowitz to accuse him, but I don't trust the guy... never have...." Brigitte handed Marlowe one of the glasses and stepped closer to him, leaning one arm against the counter.

Marlowe leaned against the marble kitchen island, toying with the stem of the wine glass. He had given in. Whatever was going to happen tonight was going to happen regardless of how intoxicated he was. Fontaine was laying it on thick - even her smallest ministrations had erotic undertones - and every time she revealed a bit more skin Marlowe could feel his resolve eroding. He hoped that she was just a harmless flirt or a shameless exhibitionist, because the last thing he needed was to piss off the most powerful executive on Wall Street.

He took a sip of the red wine, its bitter taste resting on his tongue for a moment before he swallowed. He licked his lips to keep his tongue from getting too dry. "I promise your husband won't know anything. Unless, of course, I need to speak to him, but I've got a few forged documents that would lead him to believe that I'm still a cop. I'm not above deception."

Marlowe stood, removing his trench coat and laying it across the counter top. His clothes were still soaked from earlier and when he moved he could feel the water locked within the fabric, weighing him down. Under any other circumstance, he would've gone right home and changed, but a woman like Brigitte Fontaine didn't walk into his office everyday. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a tight-fitting tank top that revealed his muscular chest. "If we're going to get comfortable with each other, Ms. Fontaine, does your husband have any old clothes I could borrow?" He smiled. King takes pawn, he thought, as the back-and-forth game of sexual chess continued between them. "I'm sopping wet and I honestly don't know if I'll be able to give you the attention you deserve if I'm this uncomfortable."

He removed the over-shirt, slinging it over his shoulder, his toned arm flexing. With his other hand, Marlowe tossed back the rest of the wine. He could feel its effects on his mind. He was losing his inhibitions and making bad decisions. But sometimes bad decisions had a way of turning a bad day into a good one and he was determined to make the most of his time with Brigitte.

Fontaine was surprised by Marlowe's actions, not expecting him to bite so quickly. He didn't object to the wine she had poured him, which she thought he would have playfully pretended to drink while actually barely taking any sips of it. He was letting her in, and letting her take control once more. Partially, at least. When he took off his trench coat, Brigitte knew she had him.

Her eyes traveled down with his fingers, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and revealed the tight-fitting shirt he was wearing underneath it. She could make out the lines of his muscles on his chest and even down to his abdomen, with the way that shirt clung to him. This was a man who worked out, and with frequency. Fontaine licked her lips, biting down on the lower one after a moment. Her own arousal was increasing with every minute she spent with Richard Marlowe. He had no way of knowing how positively alluring he was, with his arrogance and his first-impression standoffishness. He was sexy. Not to mention, Brigitte hadn't been touched by a man in months. She was in desperate need of whatever this night might bring. Momentarily, she forgot about the case at hand. She knew that any and all details would be just as fresh after the two of them... connected, so to speak.

Stepping closer to Marlowe now, she ran one finger down the front of his shirt, feigning a dampness check. "You certainly are soaked... why don't you slip out of that too?" She grinned, turning to stride away from the man, heading in the direction of the master bedroom she had been in several minutes before. "Follow me, darling...." She could feel Marlowe close behind her as they entered through the glass doors of her bedroom. Against the middle wall of the large room was a king-sized bed, black satin sheets covering it and pillows crowded at the head. Brigitte closed the bedroom door with finality, then turned to face Marlowe. She gestured to a dresser on the right wall, identifying it as her husband's. "You can take anything you want out of there, he has so many clothes that he'll never realize anything is gone....."

Keeping her eyes on the detective, Brigitte moved to the middle of the room and settled herself down on the bed, crossing her legs. Her robe rode up, now dangerously close to not covering any part of her thigh at all. She leaned back on her hands and smiled as Marlowe approached the dresser to pull out a change of clothes for himself. "You don't need a warm bath, do you?" The comment was made almost condescendingly, but Brigitte's tone was playful. She'd love nothing more than to have Marlowe strip down in her bathroom... but she never imagined he'd go for it.

Marlowe moved with trepidation towards the master bedroom, gazing at Brigitte's sweet derriere as it shifted the soft fabric of her robe. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Professionalism had been thrown out the door as soon as he agreed to follow her home, but years' of guilt had worn away his old vices. He hadn't been with a woman since his resignation, had even turned down the advances of lesser women than Ms. Fontaine. But something about her drew him in. She was confident, even arrogant - perhaps even more arrogant than he was. This self-assurance was as powerful as her lithe body and her sensual movements, it was at the core of her being, a core that Marlowe hoped to get more acquainted with.

The bedroom itself was like something out of a dream. It was immaculate, well-decorated, and warm, a drastic contrast to the gaudy laviciousness of the rest of the penthouse. Marlowe had no doubts that this was Brigitte's playground, the one room in the penthouse that she was free to express herself in. He found himself wondering how anyone could be this filthy rich and not feel an incredible loneliness. Something about the luxury and ease of her lifestyle felt alien to him. Marlowe liked mingling with the dirt and the grime on the streets. His lower-middle class life was miserable, but so was everyone else's. He could relate to them.

He could not relate to this.

Marlowe peeled off the undershirt as he ruffled through the drawers of William Fontaine's dresser. He could feel Brigitte's eyes on him, even as he turned around. His taut back flexed as he stretched his arms above his head. The cool air of the apartment eased across his skin and he felt relaxed. Fontaine had horribly tacky clothing: Hawaiian shirts, plaid shorts, golf attire - the opposite of anything Marlowe would wear in his everyday life.

His head turned at Brigitte's comment. A warm bath would be nice, but he didn't want to come across as an exhibitionist. He wanted to make her wait. "A hot bath would be wonderful, Ms. Fontaine, but I'd prefer a hot cup of coffee. Something to warm my bones." He grabbed a plain white t-shirt, stretching it across his upper body and turned back towards Brigitte.

"What do you think of all this?" he said, making a general gesture to the opulence of the apartment. "You don't seem like the typical gold digger, the typical trophy wife. What does all of this do for you?" Marlowe moved slowly towards Fontaine as he asked his question, standing above her, just in front of the bed's edge. He could feel her bare knee pressed against the fabric of his pants once again and unwittingly his arousal began to awaken.

Brigitte watched as Marlowe dug through her husband's drawers, sure he wouldn't find anything he truly felt comfortable in. They had completely different styles, Richard and William. William tried hard to look the way all of his friends did, and none of them were very fashionable or clothing-savvy. Richard, on the other hand, had a classic 50's look to him. He obviously didn't have a lot of money, what with his abrupt dismissal from the police force and the shabby state of his trench coat. But he did know how to appear suave and debonaire, which was something Brigitte found simply irresistible.

From behind him on the bed like this, she took in the sweeping lines of the muscles in his back, then let her eyes travel up to his neck and his impeccable hairline. He was a young guy, probably a bit older than her but much younger than her aging husband. He seemed tired, though, as if life had gotten him down in a way that couldn't be fixed by even an exciting corporate corruption case. Sure, Marlowe was arrogant and confident and walked with a swing in his step that only comes with years of self-assurance. But Brigitte suspected that it might be an act. She could tell from the way he looked at her that he hadn't been with a woman in a while, though she had no way of knowing just how long it had been for him. Brigitte was rapidly getting closer to making a conscious decision to sleep with Marlowe tonight, and she had no qualms about bringing him into the bed that she (occasionally) shared with her husband. She pressed her feet into the plush carpet on the floor next to the bed, letting her toes get tangled in it. Decisions, decisions.

"I can give you something to warm your bones...." Brigitte let her inherent sexual innuendo sit in the air and Marlowe ignored it, smartly so, she supposed. He gestured to her apartment and questioned her about it, bringing up something that Fontaine struggled with on her own. True, she wasn't your typical stuck-up bitch of a trophy wife. She wasn't the type of woman that William's partners and colleagues expected to see on his arm, especially because she had the air of a woman who was born beautiful, rather than someone who had paid to become beautiful. Nothing on her was fake, not her shapely C cup breasts or her toned tummy or even the dark, rich color of her hair. She was all natural, and a lot of the other company wives envied her for this. Sighing as she glanced at her surroundings, Brigitte took in the decor of the bedroom. This room was fine: she had decorated it herself, and while William though it needed more flash, Brigitte loved the warm seductive feel of it. Out there in the rest of the apartment, however, that was William's territory.

"I wasn't always wealthy. I came from meager backgrounds, to say the least... and... I needed a way out. I don't like it here, really, I can admit that... but this is where I am now, and it's nice to know where your next meal is coming from for a change...." At this, Brigitte's voice trailed off, becoming barely a whisper as Marlowe closed the space between the two of them. Her knees pressed against his legs and she turned her face up toward him, focusing her deep eyes on his. She could sense something in them, some sort of spark or passion that she hadn't seen before. He wanted her. They were here, in her bedroom, and her husband would not be home for days.

"Richard..." She leaned back farther on her hands now, reclining so far that her robe slipped off of both shoulders and halfway down her arms. Her smooth collarbone and tanned biceps were now revealed for Marlowe to drink in with his eyes and her long, dark locks just barely dragged across the satin sheets she perched atop. She hadn't yet called him Richard before this moment, and she could feel a shift in the energy in the room as she uttered his first name. She bit down on her rosy lower lip, not wanting to move from this moment. She felt sexy, for the first time in a long time, and she wouldn't immediately give that up. All thoughts of the evidence she had to show him and the case in general took a back seat to the desires Brigitte had now. She wanted him.

Richard rang from Brigitte's lips like a bell from heaven. No one called him that anymore, it was a term of endearment that had lost much of its meaning. He had kept everyone at arms length for so long that he had simply become Marlowe, a one-dimensional being, a man whose profession was his entire life. But something about the desperation in Fontaine's voice made him feel alive and the man he had once been was starting to dominate his mind. As she looked up at him, leaning backwards onto the soft mattress, he could sense her invitation.

He reached out with his strong right hand, gently gliding it through her dark hair, easing it down her sensuous neckline, and wrapping his fingers behind her neck. Marlowe pulled himself closer, his eyes boring into hers, her breath quickening. There was still something dangerously mysterious about her motives, but if she needed to be tamed, he was sure he was the man who could do it. The stare was both an instant and an eternity.

Marlowe couldn't take it anymore.

He pressed his lips into hers, mad with lust and affection. The kiss was gentle and rough, passionate and carefree, filled with all of the contradictions that Marlowe knew he embodied. His hand continued down her arm towards her waist and their lips moved together in a primeval dance. Marlowe tugged lightly on the small of her back, pressing against her body, the light fabric of each of their clothes' barely enough to separate them. He rested some of his weight on top of her without breaking away from their impassioned kiss.

In a few brief moments between kisses, Marlowe managed to get out a few words. "I wouldn't mind warming your bones, Ms. Fontaine." His head craned away from her for an instant. "I wish you weren't so god damn beautiful." Soon his lips were back at it again.

Brigitte knew it was coming before it happened. The way Marlowe leaned in close, dragging his hand down through her hair, she knew he could no longer hold out. She would not object to this; in fact, she would give in with everything she had. He kept his eyes on hers for a few moments, and she felt her breath speed up. Electricity pulsed between the two of them, and before she knew it, his lips were pressed hard against hers. She was all tangled up in him, both physically and emotionally now, invested in what was about to transpire. They were so close now, their bodies pressed together like they were meant to fit in this way, their clothing barely concealing the way flesh felt against flesh. But she wanted him exposed, and she wanted to expose herself.

In between kisses, he spoke, his first statement sending shivers up her spine, his second statement confirming for her that he was the one. In that instant, she did actually feel beautiful. Someone who had spent her entire life struggling to figure out who she was finally felt like she was turning into someone worthwhile. "Brigitte.... call me, Brigitte, or even Bri, but no more Ms. Fontaine.... not while your lips are pressed against mine." Her fingers wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him fully on top of her now. Brigitte wanted to feel his full weight on her, so she could confirm that this was really happening. It all felt like something out of a romance novel, the lonely wife sleeping with the sexy detective.

As she pulled him down to her, Brigitte rearranged herself on the bed so she was laying straight along its length, settling herself completely into the soft bedcovers. She sank down, her hair splayed around her head and her robe now hanging onto one arm. Her other arm was completely bare, and one thin strap of her satin nightie had slipped off of her shoulder. She bit down on Marlowe's lower lip as she kissed him, smiling against each delicate caress of his mouth against hers. She hadn't even tasted him yet, and she sought to change that, using her tongue to part his lips now. As their kisses became more hurried and passionate, Brigitte could feel herself dampening underneath her nightie. She wasn't wearing any panties, and she realized that Marlowe would soon see this. She hoped he wouldn't think her too forward, and she blushed a bit. It was strange, the way she was feeling... she had never felt so completely immersed in something, no man had ever conquered her the way Marlowe was about to.

When her lips had become numb from several long minutes of kissing Richard Marlowe, she pulled back to gaze up at him, a curious look in her eye. She didn't want to be in charge, for once. She wanted him to take control of her. She couldn't remember the last time someone had truly made love to her, or made her feel as beautiful as she was told she was. Her words were barely audible, a gentle whisper, the way lovers were meant to speak to one another. "Please... undress me?"

As Brigitte's lips parted from Marlowe's, he felt a momentary emptiness. Marlowe had fucked too many women in his life; brief, hurried, primal moments devoid of any kind of passion. He had never felt this way before. The woman staring up at him was sinfully angelic and delicately strong, a mass of contradictions as complex as he was. And even though they came from different worlds, he could feel a deep connection with her - something beyond the jolting electricity of her hands on his back. He cared about her. Marlowe wanted to protect her, wanted to give her everything she ever wanted, wanted to be the man that her husband couldn't be. And he wanted to make love to her, god, he wanted to make love to her.

He leaned down lightly kissing the base of her neck, his tongue tracing the way up to her earlobe, where he nibbled for a moment before whispering, "I think I can arrange that, Bri." He smiled around her ear before reaching down to the bottom of her nightie, the silken fabric almost as smooth to the touch as her unblemished skin. Gently, he pulled it over her head.

To Marlowe's surprise, she was completely naked. The thought of having been so close to her naked flesh for so long had him even more aroused and now his full erection was straining against the zipper of his pants. The tip was nearly poking out from the top of the seam, pressed firmly between his body and Brigitte's stomach.

He sat still for a moment, taking all of her in. Brigitte's sensual neckline led down to a pair of perfectly shaped breasts, each of which was round and full with a stiff areola poking out towards him. Her stomach was flat and firm, her hips arching outwards and than sweeping in to create the long, luscious legs that Marlowe had been lusting after since they met in his office. And between those legs was her center; her sweet, elegant, beautiful cunt. It took all of his might to keep himself from thrusting deep inside her then and there, but if she was going to spend her entire evening teasing him, than he was sure he should repay the favor.

Marlowe leaned back down, continuing where he had left off, spending a few moments worshiping the base of her neck with his lips, tugging lightly on the flesh with his teeth before kissing the skin around her collarbone. "You know..." he said smiling devilishly, staring her right in the eye. "You've done a hell of a lot to get my attention tonight. And each little sideways glance, each little hint of skin, each moment of innuendo...will only add to the pleasure that I'm going to give you. You have my attention, Brigitte. I am yours." The kisses continued further down her torso and soon Marlowe took her pink nipple into his mouth, his tongue dancing the outside for a moment before flicking upwards.

This would be a night to remember.

Brigitte felt as if she was floating, in a dream. There was no way any of this was actually happening to her. The thrill of Marlowe's hands on her flesh was nothing compared to the thrill she felt when her gaze caught his. Looking up at him, time stopped, and she was momentarily confused by the cliche her life was rapidly becoming. Was she really falling for Richard Marlowe? This man who she barely knew, who had probably slept with dozens, maybe hundreds of women during his lifetime... a man who probably had tons of other options, women more shapely and beautiful than Brigitte was now or ever could be. For the first time, Brigitte had doubts about pleasing Marlowe. And she wanted to please him more than she had ever wanted to please anyone in her 25 years on this earth. She was ready.

A smile spread across Brigitte's lips as she heard Marlowe call her by her pet name, Bri, a nickname that no one had called her in years. She had asked her husband numerous times, but he claimed it made him feel like a grandfather making love to his teenage granddaughter. Their age difference frequently made an appearance at the worst times. Brigitte could remember the countless times that William had asked her to ride him a little less vigorously, please, because his heart was about to give out. She could barely get him to stay up past 9:30 anymore, and he had never taken her in the shower with passion, slipping in behind her as she soaped up. Brigitte had fantasies and desires that old William Fontaine could never fulfill and she had realized this a few weeks earlier, with a jolt. But how could she keep the lifestyle she so desired if she left William? She couldn't.

Brigitte shook these thoughts from her head as she brought herself back to the situation at hand. She was beneath Richard Marlowe, the sexiest man she had been with, maybe ever. Slowly, he slipped her nightie off of her and her bare skin was exposed to the cool air of her bedroom. She closed her eyes for a moment to muster up the confidence that she typically exuded and then opened them to look up at Richard. He was gazing down at her body as if he had stumbled upon some treasure, something he had never seen before. She was embarrassed for the first time in years... she couldn't remember the last time her face had felt so flushed and hot. Her instinct was to crawl underneath the covers so that he couldn't see her so exposed in this way, but she knew that was ridiculous. Instead, she bit down on her lip and swallowed her fears.

She couldn't speak right away, but as Richard lowered his lips to her flesh, she whimpered softly. Any words she tried to utter would only get caught in her throat, so she merely gasped as his teeth tugged at her throat playfully. Then she smiled up at him slowly, warmth and comfort spreading through her as if it radiated out from the spot where he teased at her skin. She would not be afraid or nervous (although every inch of her tingled with anxiety at what was about to transpire) and instead would embrace this encounter wholeheartedly. Sliding her arm across the soft sheets, her fingers dug into the bed at Richard's words. She was ready for a night of unadulterated pleasure.

"That's where I'm.... ugh.... most sensitive..." Brigitte choked out her words as Richard's lips danced across her neck and collarbone and further down to her full breasts. Her pink nipples were already hard and erect, what with the sweet mixture of the cool air and Richard's attention to her body. When his lips reached them, Brigitte subtly arched her back up toward him, giving him easier access to her chest. She couldn't help herself and she let out a sweet, soft moan. It was the sound of her giving in to her desire, and it echoed throughout the huge room, bouncing off of the walls and back to the two of them as they lay on her bed. One hand reached up to run across the top of Marlowe's head, fingers tangling up in his dark, soft locks, gripping him there. Brigitte could do little more than let herself be taken now. Marlowe had promised her pleasure, and his full attention, and she would milk that for all it was worth. It had been so long since someone had made love to every inch of her body, not just her hot center. She could feel her pussy throbbing and clenching, aching for attention. She was shaven smooth, save for a tiny little patch of soft brown, trimmed curls in the shape of a little landing strip. Her clean, smooth pussy lips glistened now with drops of her slippery arousal, her clit growing swollen, just barely poking out between the folds of her labia. She was tempted to reach down and flick her fingertip across her slit; she wanted the pleasure of it all. But she knew it was better to wait and let Marlowe discover just how wet she was himself. Brigitte felt her body relax into the bed, immersed in Richard's touch now.