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Try to love me
Di Sylvia Kant
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggereLunghezza: 748 pagine11 ore
- Editore:
- Newton Compton Editori
- Pubblicato:
- Feb 23, 2018
- ISBN:
- 9788822719829
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
The X-rated Italian bestseller that has scandalised readers
Antony Barker is a handsome, muscular gigolo. Officially, he's the lover of cold, unscrupulous Rachel Norton, head of the largest pharmaceutical company in the United States, but Antony's legendary services are also in demand from many other clients in New York's jet set...
Antony has relationships with men, women and even with groups, but he never lets himself fall in love: cool and professional, his sensuality is second only to his determination.
Not long after arriving in New York from Italy to work in Rachel's marketing office, young Angela Palmieri has become her boss's favourite, and reluctantly finds herself immersed in a world of luxury, excess and decadence.
The X-rated writer who tops the Italian bestseller lists
A breathtaking story and a huge hit with thousands of readers on the web.
«In her first day on sale, Sylvia Kant was already breathing down E.L. James' neck.»
La Stampa
«Try to love me is the story of a gigolo which broke out from the world of self-publishing.»
Il Corriere della Sera
«If something is going to change in the New Adult genre, it will be the complexity of the plot, because as well as explicit images, female eroticism also needs narration. Like in Sylvia Kant's book.»
D La Repubblica delle donne
Readers' comments:
«Warning: may cause addiction.»
«Try to love me grabs hold of you, pulls you in intimately and envelops you in an atmosphere that is raw and sensual. You can't put it down, and once you've finished it you'll feel abandoned and empty, and you'll realise that you want more, and more, and more...»
Sylvia KantHer self-published first novel was a runaway success on the Internet. She is currently writing the sequel to the red-hot story of Antony.
Antony Barker is a handsome, muscular gigolo. Officially, he's the lover of cold, unscrupulous Rachel Norton, head of the largest pharmaceutical company in the United States, but Antony's legendary services are also in demand from many other clients in New York's jet set...
Antony has relationships with men, women and even with groups, but he never lets himself fall in love: cool and professional, his sensuality is second only to his determination.
Not long after arriving in New York from Italy to work in Rachel's marketing office, young Angela Palmieri has become her boss's favourite, and reluctantly finds herself immersed in a world of luxury, excess and decadence.
The X-rated writer who tops the Italian bestseller lists
A breathtaking story and a huge hit with thousands of readers on the web.
«In her first day on sale, Sylvia Kant was already breathing down E.L. James' neck.»
La Stampa
«Try to love me is the story of a gigolo which broke out from the world of self-publishing.»
Il Corriere della Sera
«If something is going to change in the New Adult genre, it will be the complexity of the plot, because as well as explicit images, female eroticism also needs narration. Like in Sylvia Kant's book.»
D La Repubblica delle donne
Readers' comments:
«Warning: may cause addiction.»
«Try to love me grabs hold of you, pulls you in intimately and envelops you in an atmosphere that is raw and sensual. You can't put it down, and once you've finished it you'll feel abandoned and empty, and you'll realise that you want more, and more, and more...»
Sylvia KantHer self-published first novel was a runaway success on the Internet. She is currently writing the sequel to the red-hot story of Antony.
Informazioni sul libro
Try to love me
Di Sylvia Kant
Lunghezza: 748 pagine11 ore
Descrizione
The X-rated Italian bestseller that has scandalised readers
Antony Barker is a handsome, muscular gigolo. Officially, he's the lover of cold, unscrupulous Rachel Norton, head of the largest pharmaceutical company in the United States, but Antony's legendary services are also in demand from many other clients in New York's jet set...
Antony has relationships with men, women and even with groups, but he never lets himself fall in love: cool and professional, his sensuality is second only to his determination.
Not long after arriving in New York from Italy to work in Rachel's marketing office, young Angela Palmieri has become her boss's favourite, and reluctantly finds herself immersed in a world of luxury, excess and decadence.
The X-rated writer who tops the Italian bestseller lists
A breathtaking story and a huge hit with thousands of readers on the web.
«In her first day on sale, Sylvia Kant was already breathing down E.L. James' neck.»
La Stampa
«Try to love me is the story of a gigolo which broke out from the world of self-publishing.»
Il Corriere della Sera
«If something is going to change in the New Adult genre, it will be the complexity of the plot, because as well as explicit images, female eroticism also needs narration. Like in Sylvia Kant's book.»
D La Repubblica delle donne
Readers' comments:
«Warning: may cause addiction.»
«Try to love me grabs hold of you, pulls you in intimately and envelops you in an atmosphere that is raw and sensual. You can't put it down, and once you've finished it you'll feel abandoned and empty, and you'll realise that you want more, and more, and more...»
Sylvia KantHer self-published first novel was a runaway success on the Internet. She is currently writing the sequel to the red-hot story of Antony.
Antony Barker is a handsome, muscular gigolo. Officially, he's the lover of cold, unscrupulous Rachel Norton, head of the largest pharmaceutical company in the United States, but Antony's legendary services are also in demand from many other clients in New York's jet set...
Antony has relationships with men, women and even with groups, but he never lets himself fall in love: cool and professional, his sensuality is second only to his determination.
Not long after arriving in New York from Italy to work in Rachel's marketing office, young Angela Palmieri has become her boss's favourite, and reluctantly finds herself immersed in a world of luxury, excess and decadence.
The X-rated writer who tops the Italian bestseller lists
A breathtaking story and a huge hit with thousands of readers on the web.
«In her first day on sale, Sylvia Kant was already breathing down E.L. James' neck.»
La Stampa
«Try to love me is the story of a gigolo which broke out from the world of self-publishing.»
Il Corriere della Sera
«If something is going to change in the New Adult genre, it will be the complexity of the plot, because as well as explicit images, female eroticism also needs narration. Like in Sylvia Kant's book.»
D La Repubblica delle donne
Readers' comments:
«Warning: may cause addiction.»
«Try to love me grabs hold of you, pulls you in intimately and envelops you in an atmosphere that is raw and sensual. You can't put it down, and once you've finished it you'll feel abandoned and empty, and you'll realise that you want more, and more, and more...»
Sylvia KantHer self-published first novel was a runaway success on the Internet. She is currently writing the sequel to the red-hot story of Antony.
- Editore:
- Newton Compton Editori
- Pubblicato:
- Feb 23, 2018
- ISBN:
- 9788822719829
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
Correlati a Try to love me
Anteprima del libro
Try to love me - Sylvia Kant
Table of contents
Cover
Series
Colophon
Title page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Chapter 2
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Chapter 3
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Chapter 4
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Chapter 5
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Chapter 6
Saturday
Sunday
Acknowledgments
1954
First ebook edition: february 2018
© 2018 Newton Compton editori s.r.l.
Rome, P.O. box 6214
ISBN 978-88-227-1982-9
www.newtoncompton.com
Cover artwork: Sebastiano Barcaroli
Cover image: © Ilona Wellmann/Trevillion Images
Sylvia Kant
Try to love me
Translated by Marco Condorelli
To my husband
Chapter 1
Saturday
Sixteen little squares.
Sixteen on the long side and four on the short one. Sixty-four wooden panels and an Egyptian-style door in the middle, between the thirtieth and the thirty-first little square.
She knows every single detail about that door now. She has been there for twelve minutes.
The posh-looking cabinet door is covered in fingerprints. An insult to perfection. She pulls out a tissue from the pocket of her coat and takes the door knocker in her hand in order to polish it – she loses her grip on the damn thing and hits the brass plate right behind it; it makes a terribly loud noise. Her heart skips a beat for a second as the door opens slowly.
Good evening.
The old butler doesn’t seem to have noticed anything; his voice is as irritating as crickets singing while you’re trying to fall asleep. They both stare into each other’s eyes, as though they’re both waiting for something to happen, then she decides to pull the invitation out of her pocket.
Please make yourself comfortable, Doctor Palmieri,
the man says in an obsequious tone, after reading the card that she hands to him.
Her feet feel stuck to the floor but she makes her way into the room anyway. Then a choir of voices makes her freeze again on the doorstep – she feels unable to move.
Please, follow me.
The butler invites her to walk down the marble hallway which leads to an enormous lounge filled with be-suited people. She stands still on the doorstep for a little longer, looking for a familiar face among the paedophiles and bitches that walk around the room.
A horrible feeling of suffocation overwhelms her as her eyes hover over the many people in the room. She notices the large windows near the ceiling and a pool illuminated by faint lights. The lights reflect psychedelic images on the rest of the room. They were the perfect frame for a classy terrace which looked out over a breath-taking view of New York.
This way please.
The butler seems a little annoyed at the fact that he can’t close the door behind her, but the fear still keeps her glued to the doorstep. Do you want to leave this with me?
he asks warmly, pointing to the winter coat that she is wearing. The coat,
he mutters, as his lips stretch to form a cheesy smile.
Ah, yes, thank you,
she replies and takes her coat off without even noticing that she still has her bag hanging on her shoulder.
The butler struggles to remain serious. Your bag,
he says and then he pulls the bag out of one of the sleeves.
She blushes and mutters quietly. Sorry.
The man finally gives her a friendly, warmer look. You can leave this with me as well, if you like.
Thanks,
she says in a whisper; he walks away holding the coat on his forearm and the bag in one of his hands. A horrible feeling of anxiety turns her stomach in knots as she begins looking at the other guests. The humble light blue silky dress with flowers printed on it was a little ridiculous, compared to the luxurious outfits that the other guests were wearing. She was ridiculous. Ridiculous and out of place. She was like an ugly neon sign – her dress stood out in the crowd for its inappropriateness.
Angela – what are you doing, standing on the doorstep?
Finally, a familiar voice. Rachel has been waiting for you for ages!
She turns around to look at the beautiful woman who has approached her on the doorstep. Hey, Susan,
she whispers happily to the woman as she kisses her on the cheek. The woman is wearing a beautiful, black dress that comes down to her knees. Prada? Dolce e Gabbana? She doesn’t understand much about fashion, but this is definitely a high quality dress. Her friend looks even more beautiful wearing it.
I was getting worried – it took you ages to get here!
the woman says, fiddling with her thick, blonde hair.
It took me a whole week to decide to come here and twelve minutes to knock on the front door,
Angela says, glancing at the watch that she is wearing. She raises her eyes to the crowd of ridiculously elegant folk. Susan giggles and puts an arm behind Angela’s back, then she drags her down the staircase, towards the large room.
Come on, let’s go!
I don’t feel good enough for this place!
Susan stares at Angela – her eyes reveal that she understands Angela’s reaction and, at the same time, she’s amused by it. Of course you are – it wasn’t easy for me either, at the beginning, but it didn’t take me long to get used to it after a few failed attempts.
Susan smiles, revealing a beautiful line of white teeth.
I don’t want to make a fool of myself – please leave me in a corner. My English is way too rusty for any conversation.
Oh, come on! New York is full of people who don’t know how to speak English. Let’s go and have a couple of drinks; that will rid you of this pathetically frightened expression.
Angela finally walks through the crowd with her eyes wide open following her friend Susan. Most of the people around her look like the best version of themselves. Angela’s head feels empty as she fights conflicting emotions. If they had told her a year ago that she would see so many famous faces all in one place, she wouldn’t have believed it. She recognises some of the actors and singers that she loves and a few big cheeses who work in the financial sector in New York. How the hell did she end up here? Susan keeps dragging her through the room like an old doll, shouting at people carelessly. Excuse me sir… ‘scuse me… can I get through? Thanks… cheers.
It feels like they will never get through to the other side of the room. Angela keeps stepping on people’s feet, she drags her feet, she catches her bracelet on another person’s hair, she gets glared at, walks forward as fast as she can, and looks around just as quickly. When you sweep your eyes around, you always catch unique details – a light-coloured jacket among the dark blue blazers; elegant, confident gestures among hysterical people; a killer smile among fake ones and, for an endless moment, a pair of eyes that penetrate her own eyes, melt her mind, turn her stomach upside down, make their way right to her heart, mess with her heartbeat and… it’s the end.
The end.
She has seen many other handsome men before, but this man is of a different kind – an incredible dickface. He was surrounded by a crowd of people eager to touch him, hands and arms of men and women beautifully swathed in expensive garments. The man’s chest looked quite tanned – his shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The other men seem a little jealous of his beauty. Angela doesn’t realise that she has stopped to look at him, until Susan whispers into her ear.
He’s a dish, right?
she asks.
Everything has stopped in Angela’s mind – all that she can do is look into his dark eyes.
Who is he?
she asks. It takes all her energy to be able to speak.
Be honest – you’d do him here, in front of everyone.
No.
Angela’s answer comes out of her mouth slowly but decisively. I could fall in love with him.
Angela’s trance comes to a sudden end, leaving a blank expression. He’s definitely out of my league.
Susan laughs at her comments and brings her sharply back to reality.
I’m not so sure about that – he’d be yours for a three-thousand dollar cheque.
She doesn’t understand, she doesn’t want to understand, but her disappointment is obvious on her face. Do you know who that hunk belongs to?
Susan carries on. His name is Anthony Barker and he’s Rachel’s unofficial lover.
Angela would rather not hear anything else about him, but her blonde friend carries on talking in her ear. He’s not really her man, because Anthony doesn’t belong to anyone… he’s a dark, free soul.
A dark, free soul. What does that mean?
Does she provide for him?
Angela is overwhelmed by disappointment and her face betrays this, as she carries on staring at his beautiful face.
Not quite,
Susan answers. Divorced people, gay people and unsatisfied wives are his daily bread – all this is seasoned by a good level of perversion. He organises fancy parties for fancy guests every now and then – men, women, transsexuals. And he uses cocaine. Loads of it.
Susan pauses for a second and then lowers her tone. Rachel is his number one client.
Angela turns around and glares at her friend, she feels almost irritated by so much gossip. How do you know all this?
Susan stares at her – her big, blue eyes suddenly become very serious. They are the eyes of somebody who has been to hell and back. Those parties were at the core of my career.
Angela feels overwhelmed and chilled by all this information, but she still finds the courage to open her mouth and ask. Have you been with him?
The blonde woman glances quickly at the beautiful gigolo. Not during the parties – Tony fucks only for business.
You’ve been with him, then!
Angela manages to hide away the jealousy that grips her heart – she can’t help but imagine Susan locking her thighs around the muscular hips of that man. It’s like being punched in the stomach.
I did something very silly a few years ago. I sold a diamond to fuck with him, but trust me – it was worth it. It’s a shame that he doesn’t feel pleasure during sex. Not many women notice, but he doesn’t utter a single moan during intercourse. He never kisses. Ever.
While Susan is still talking, Angela sees Tony tilt his head towards a young, blonde man. As a reply, the gigolo stretches his lips to resemble a smile, showing his perfect line of teeth. When he smiles, two clefts appear on his cheeks, which make his smile even more intriguing. Tony’s beautifully long finger runs along the young man’s back and then hesitates on his hips. A stick-thin woman approaches him and whispers something in his ear. She touches his stomach lightly and he smiles his beautiful, killer smile by way of reply.
He’s a charming man,
Angela whispers.
He’s a bastard,
Susan comments. All he’s bothered about is money.
The gigolo, apparently unaware of all the talk about him, carries on talking calmly and confidently to the crowd of people who surround him.
A bastard,
Angela whispers, trying to weigh the meaning of those words – she struggles to see him for what he really is. Then he notices her. And stares at her. Insistently. His eyes are so penetrating that they could burn a hole through Angela’s soul. His eyes are as cold as ice. Then she hears him speak. The tone of his voice is dismissive.
Are you done?
He asks. Yes, he’s talking to her.
Angela jumps when she hears him speak – her heart pumps blood to her chest, her neck and then up her cheeks, lighting her face up like never before. She turns her feet, ready to retreat; she almost turns her head too and then she decides not to. She sticks her tongue out as a reply. The crowd that surrounds the gigolo giggles at this childish gesture. The gigolo doesn’t.
Angela finally walks away and her blushing slowly fades – the fresh air helps her circulation and soothes her burning humiliation.
He’s a dick,
Angela hisses. He’s a fucking dick! Who does he think he is?
She keeps cussing to him and fights against the desire to walk back to him, slap his face and then walk away again. But she can’t do that. She can’t upset Rachel.
Rachel.
Angela’s stomach began to tense up at the memory of her meeting with Rachel. While she waited to be introduced to the Norton & Faulk president, Angela felt that her legs would give way underneath her. She was wearing an expensive suit that she bought for the occasion.
Welcome, do come in.
Pamela, Rachel’s secretary, gave Angela a cold smile. Angela opened the wooden door and stepped into an office poorly light by a dim light. The beautiful Serapi carpets muffled her footsteps like dewy grass. Angela had coughed nervously – the woman who was sitting behind the mahogany desk lifted her eyes. They were intense, masculine; her smile seemed radiant, but the curve of her lips told a whole different story. The powerful aura of the woman behind the desk filled up the room like the threat of a mine-field, ready to explode at the first wrong step.
I was worrying that you wouldn’t turn up,
she whispered to Angela. Did she really just say that? Maybe Angela misheard her. Come closer – I want to see what the marketing genius that they’ve sent from Rome looks like.
Rachel had a solid voice, at times scathing. Angela walked closer to her – her legs barely held her upright. Don’t be afraid, I don’t bite... too often.
she said with a smirk, alluding to a famous vampire film. She grabbed Angela by her shoulders and moved her gently towards the light. Angela pulled an awkward half-smile, she blushed under Rachel’s eyes. It might be difficult for you to settle down in a male-dominated workplace. Even here in America, men still think that a pretty woman must be an idiot.
They’ll change their mind,
Angela answered.
Rachel stared at Angela for a long time, lovingly. I’m sure you will,
she said, in her incredibly hoarse voice. She slid her thin hands along Angela’s arms and then she removed them from Angela’s body. Angela,
she muttered, still staring at her insistently. Angela,
she repeated, while taking her hands in hers. We should become friends.
Angela’s heart skipped a beat after hearing those words – the embodiment of the American business power was telling her that she wanted to be her friend. If it hadn’t been for the deep terror that was swallowing her alive, Angela would have burst out laughing at that absurd request. I want you to call me by name. Whatever problem you have, speak to me first. Me in person, okay?
Do you like the suite that I found for you?"
Angela struggled to speak. It’s very luxurious. Maybe the waiters are a little snobby.
Rachel smiled evenly back at Angela. You’ll get used to it,
she said, so confidently that Angela felt the chills run up her spine. I’m going to leave for Brazil tomorrow and I’ll be away for a few days, but whatever you need, you can ask Susan.
Angela stared at her questioningly. She’s both a colleague and a good friend
Rachel had said.
I’ll introduce you to her in a moment. She’ll show you New York and every sector of our business during the next few days. You’ll work with her in one of the marketing offices next week. It will be right next to my office.
Another wave of chills had run up Angela’s spine. Let’s change topic anyway – I’m going to throw a party for my birthday on Saturday. Do you fancy coming?
And there she is – at the horrible birthday party. Angela closes her eyes, breathes in the summer breeze, and the glaring lights of New York disappear. She imagines she’s leaning over the parapet alongside the Lungotevere and can feel the warm Italian wind on her face. It’s dark in Rome – they’re giving a party near the river bank. They’re projecting Gone with the Wind on a big screen in the open air. She watches the film, sitting on the awkward saddle of her boyfriend’s motorbike; he’s snoring away, his arms crossed and his head leaning against the parapet underneath the tall plane trees. The lights of the ancient buildings shine on the surface of the river – happy couples walk across the bridges holding hands. That memory is like a painful kick in the stomach.
Somebody lays their hands on the terrace sill next to her, bringing her back to reality for a moment. She doesn’t fancy socialising right now – she closes her eyes again and carries on with her imagination. It’s almost dinner time and it’s boiling hot in Rome. Her mother has washed her clothes and is hanging them on the terrace; her father is wearing a vest and a pair of shorts and he’s watering a withered lemon tree that has hardly ever produced any fruits. Her grandfather has fallen asleep in front of the TV – he’s almost ninety years old and, before she left, he asked whether he would see his granddaughter again.
Angela sighs heavily in discomfort, then she turns around quickly. A pair of eyes is incredibly close to her, they scare her in the half-light. Angela gulps out of fear – she would recognise those eyes even in a crowded stadium the night of the finals. She looks around, worried – maybe those eyes are not staring into hers. The man’s lips are stretched in an impenetrable smile.
Nobody has ever snubbed me for so long,
he says with his warm, shiver-inducing voice. And nobody has ever stuck their tongue out at me.
He’s talking to her. She’s too embarrassed to say anything. She looks away and taps her fingernails nervously on the terrace sill. She hopes that a sudden explosion, an earthquake or a falling airplane would distract the man’s attention from her. What’s your name?
Angela is surprised to hear a sensual tone, almost sarcastic, in his question.
Angela... Palmieri,
she mutters shyly. The gigolo carries on staring at her enigmatically.
I bet you know my name already.
Is that your usual opening line?
she asks, trying to cover her panic attack. Anthony straightens up like a cobra, glaring at her. I’m not here for business,
he says harshly – it looks like he’s about to turn around and walk away. Do you think that I can’t spot a poor goose in a pool of rich ducks?
he adds scornfully, speaking in Italian. Angela opens her eyes wide, in dismay.
You speak Italian?
It feels liberating to speak Italian after so many days struggling with her English.
Please don’t spread the word.
The man speaks a very clear Italian, without any accents.
Are you... Italian?
What other nationality would you have guessed I was? I’m an Italian stallion!
The man’s tone was ironic – Angela smiles back at him without noticing. She stares into his magnetic eyes. My mother was Italian,
he mutters to her, leaning over to her sensually.
You don’t act very Italian,
she replies, moving aside – her stomach is in knots. The man’s lips stretched in a sardonic smile, which apparently was his trademark.
I have enough Italian traits.
His intense eyes glimmered, Angela is intrigued by that light. She tries to shake herself awake – his Italian charisma is incredibly magnetic.
Is your dad American then?
She asks coldly. He pulls that scornful smirk again – he knows that she’s attracted to him. He’s a bastard.
He’s a pureblood New Yorker.
He leans closer towards her.
Do you like me?
Angela feels uneasy, now.
Do you like embarrassing people?
The gigolo lights a cigarette, he breathes in deeply and keeps his eyes fixed on Angela.
I’m used to it,
he says after a long pause. She looks at him, a little disappointed by the fact that he hasn’t offered her a cigarette. Are you trying to quit?
he asks amused, raising one of his brows. She stares back at him, confused. Those who quit or never smoked shouldn’t be offended if they get one offered.
What? Does he read people’s minds?
What if I never quit at all?
she asks, irritated. The gigolo penetrated her soul with his eyes.
You would have lit one up by now, considering how nervous you look.
I could have forgotten to put my cigs in my handbag.
It’s difficult for a smoker to forget her cigs.
Maybe I just wasn’t as nervous as I looked.
She looks straight into his eyes, ominously. Anthony shakes his head.
A real woman doesn’t blush like that.
His smile is incredibly charming.
She stares at his lips for a little too long, trying her best to breathe normally. The part of her brain that is still able to think rationally notices that he’s ironic and funny, as well as incredibly beautiful. She would like to look at him more carefully, but she feels unable to. His interesting posture and his incredible beauty throw her into a state of uncontrollable uneasiness. She glances for a moment at the expensive-looking watch that he’s wearing – his wrist is thin but strong looking, his hands are very well groomed. Angela whispers, questioningly. What do you want from me?
The gigolo remains silent. Angela breathes in to pluck up her courage, then she speaks again. A mysterious smirk has appeared on his face, making the dimple on his cheek more obvious. His smile is dangerous.
What do you think?
His voice is silky.
I don’t think I need your services,
Angela replies harshly. Maybe you need mine, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to be your friend.
She’s beginning to feel nervous and her mouth is making small-talk, almost involuntarily – he doesn’t seem to be put off by anything that she has said so far.
It’s true,
he admits after a few moments of awkward silence. It seems that you know a lot about me already,
he says, looking at the nocturnal skyline. Angela looks away, regretting her harsh words.
I’m sorry,
she mutters quietly.
How the hell did you end up in New York?
he asks her. She looks back at him, this time more affably.
A six-month temporary position – I had to be away from Rome.
The gigolo’s eyes are like that of a stray cat who’s waiting to catch its prey in ambush.
You’re interesting,
he says in a hiss.
Well you only know me superficially... and it’s going to stay like that.
Angela’s harsh words silence Anthony for a moment. Then his warm voice caresses her ears again. It looks like you’re at the wrong party.
I am,
she grumbles.
Why are you not getting out of here then?
he asks, surprised, and then he arches one of his eyebrows.
I can’t,
she replies, gloomly.
Why not?
Angela points towards the room in the attic. Somebody that you know.
Anthony lifts his chin. If you’re talking about Rachel, you’re right. It’s dangerous to antagonise her.
So I’ve been told.
You’ve been told too much.
This time, she looks straight into his eyes. Did they tell me anything wrong?
The man gives her another enigmatic, impenetrable look, then he walks away without saying another word.
***
Albert Johnson is waiting for you in your office.
Pamela’s voice is scratchy and just as annoying as the buzzing of a noisy insect. Rachel turns around towards her secretary, visibly irritated. Her employee works like a cyborg. And she’s equally as cold. She had never seen her with anybody else – whether it was a man or a woman – even though she was very pretty. It was difficult not to notice her long legs, her round breasts, her large feline eyes and her sexy, curvy lips. She would probably be able to give intense pleasure to whatever sexual organ came in contact with her mouth. Keeping on track with the private life of her closest staff members was a daily part of Rachel’s job, and yet Rachel never fully understood her sexual orientation. It looked like Pamela Wells was only interested in work and career. Maybe she also had a drawer full of vibrators.
Tell him that I’ll be with him in a moment,
Rachel replies a moment later.
When she enters his office, Albert Johnson is staring at the portrait of a man which is placed on one of the shelves at the very back of the library.
What are you doing, Albert? Saying hello to Grampa?
she asks ironically. The man turns around towards her – his face is framed by thick, white hair.
I was trying to figure out how similar his face looks to yours.
he replies.
Rachel shakes her head. Adam Eisenberg was as beautiful as his daughter – surely not as his niece.
You inherited your passion for business from your grandfather. And you’ve always been as beautiful as your mother.
he adds; he walks towards her smiling sweetly.
Good old charming Albert,
she replies, and the she leans her head over on his shoulder. The only thing that I inherited from the Eisenbergs is the money. I have the ugly personality and the poor health of the Nortons.
she says in a sigh.
The man kisses her on her forehead, then he hugs her tightly.
How are you?
he asks, a little more seriously.
Not so good, Albert,
she mutters, sadly.
You looked bright tonight – I thought you were doing well.
I’m happy for another reason.
Is it anything to do with my man?
He’s doing some excellent work, but no – nothing to do with him.
Rachel pulls a gloomy expression, then she speaks again. Has Anthony realised that he’s being watched?
Albert smiles reassuringly. Anthony is smart, but my man is the best one in the field.
Don’t under-estimate him,
she mutters, alarmed.
I never have – I know what he’s capable of.
Rachel sits on the white leather sofa, then she puts her palms on her face. This situation is nerve-wrecking,
she whispers. I don’t like to hide secrets from my closest co-workers.
Albert smiles again – this time his grey eyes shine with a friendly, warm light. I know – hiding secrets is my job, not yours,
he says as he sits next to her. But if Anthony had easy access to the databases, he would become suspicious. That’s why it’s best to keep Morris and Matthison in the dark.
Who would have thought that the president of the United States of America would want to investigate Norton & Faulk? I should have probably guessed that the news of my illness would stir up some trouble.
Your granddad made sure that I was at the right place at the right time.
As he said this, Albert glanced at the portrait again.
There are a lot of enemies in my grandfather’s family because President Lawrence is their man.
Rachel speaks bitterly.
Albert stares into Rachel’s eyes, resentfully. Adam Eisenberg’s men have never protected the interests of the family,
he says coldly. President Lawrence is only an idealist manoeuvred by Mark Williams.
I’m sorry, Albert. I know that I can trust you and that you’re loyal.
Rachel sighs audibly, her mouth set in a grim expression. But you know that Mark Williams has always worked in the interests of that wicked part of the family and he has his eyes set on Norton & Faulk. I don’t want some breaking news to destroy our shares. When I die, most of the money that my grandfather has left for me will be given to those traitors. They should pay what they owe towards the business! I have turned this company into one of the most powerful ones in our country with my blood, sweat and tears every day. I don’t want the name of Norton & Faulk to be stained and then let them buy the business at a bargain price,
she grumbles furiously.
My loyalty to you comes before anything else, you know. And it’s the same for your grandfather’s men.
His hand reaches out to hers. Don’t worry, Rachel. Everything will go as smoothly as you hoped.
Rachel stares at him silently for a moment. Anthony is trying to work on our bank manager, right?
Tony sleeps with Irene Blunt, the head of your team of lab scientists.
Rachel nods. The Blunt family are close friends with Steve Matthison.
Henry Blunt will be coming back from his diplomatic job in Uganda soon and he’s extremely possessive of his wife.
Rachel comments. Anthony won’t be able to sleep with Irene anymore when Henry returns.
He won’t be able to talk as often to their friend Steve, either,
Albert adds thoughtfully.
I understand,
she says. I’ll figure something out soon.
Anthony has done a very good job hooking up Matthison and Senator Morris without them being suspicious. I know it’s irritating to leave those two unaware of everything, but your gigolo doesn’t seem to trust anyone. Not even me. He knows what it’s like. Few people know the secrets that he knows. The bedroom is a place where secrets are often told and Anthony is a very good listener. His inside information has been extremely useful in many investigations prior to this one, but I don’t think he’s an idealist.
No,
Rachel confirms. Anthony is not a Crusader in the Holy Land. He has always had one goal,
she mutters bitterly. To destroy me.
Albert pulls a sad face and, after a moment of silence, he asks. Why do you want to end it like that?
I’m in dire straits,
the woman mutters. I’m in pain.
And you want to die with him,
Albert says slowly. You want to take Anthony to the grave with you – why?
Rachel’s eyes gleam with a foolish light. Because he’s mine.
***
Where have you been?
Susan asks. She is visibly worried – Angela has only just turned up.
I’ve been distracted, sorry.
Leave Dark Soul alone. Come here – Rachel wants to introduce you to somebody.
Susan drags Angela to a different spot.
The Norton & Faulk president is surrounded by a crowd of cheesy, fake friends and moderately famous individuals from the TV and finance businesses.
She is wearing a beautiful lamé dress, which gently covers her bony hips. If she wasn’t so thin, she could be mistaken for a queen – short, blonde hair, grey, oriental-looking eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose, sunken cheeks and a pair of lips that must have been round and soft once upon a time. She was a woman of unusual, fascinating beauty. Her bony fingers lightly touch the men’s shoulders and the women’s faces that surround her; she smiles quickly and coldly to each of them.
Look how motherly she’s acting with those assholes,
Susan hisses. Motherly. An adjective that she would never associate with Rachel, even though she might also be a mother.
Does Rachel have any sons or daughters?
Angela asks.
Susan sighs, pulling a funny face. Thank goodness, she’s as sterile as a desert after some radioactive rain.
Both of them try to contain their fit of laughter, as they walk towards the fearsome witch.
Angela, darling!
Rachel greets her affably, with her annoyingly strong American accent.
Angela still struggles to call her by name.
Hello... Rachel.
The woman invites the waiter to serve Angela some champagne. Are you having fun?
She asks.
Oh yes,
Angela lies, as she takes the glass of champagne.
I wanted to introduce you to our manager, Karl Emerson,
Rachel says, while a tall, handsome man appears next to them. His breath is a little heavy. Karl, meet Angela.
Rachel introduces her with pride.
I’m amazed!
Karl exclaims. Talented people aren’t usually very beautiful,
he adds, glancing at Angela.
I’m happy that you’re here.
Rachel stares intensely at Angela, then she takes her hands in hers, making her blush. I hope that you don’t feel too much out of place here.
Are you joking? I’m tempted to ask everyone here for an autograph!
Rachel laughs a short, hysterical laughter as she hugs Angela tightly. You’re funny,
she mutters, and looks at her with limpid eyes. You’re a delight!
Karl looks at her, intrigued, and Rachel moves to the side a little. I want you to make lots of friends and make yourself at home here in the United States – maybe you’ll end up deciding to stay here longer than planned.
Angela tries to answer ironically. Assuming that you don’t kick me out earlier than expected.
Rachel glares at her – it’s the most chilling look she has ever received from Rachel. That will never happen. Never.
Angela gulps, trying to understand why Rachel is acting so strangely. Soon after, Rachel’s secretary Pamela makes her appearance in the group – she has drenched herself in what seems to be litres of Chanel perfume.
There’s a phone call for you,
she says coldly – her lips appear even sexier as she speaks slowly.
Rachel strokes Angela’s cheek lightly with her hand. Excuse me,
she mutters as she walks away. The groups of people who were standing around her slowly dissolve soon after.
Susan leans over towards Angela and whispers into her ear. I think she has a crush on you.
That’s why she acts so strange?
Angela asks.
A man speaks from behind the two girls – his chlorophyll perfume was incredibly strong. What are you guys talking about?
Rachel’s sexual orientation,
Susan lies.
Karl shrugged. I would say her sexual orientation is pretty clear – she only fucks with Anthony Barker.
Angela plucks up the courage to speak. No women?
Not that I’m aware of,
Karl replies. I would be aware of it otherwise – I wouldn’t be the staff manager if I didn’t have a whole team of spies who work for me,
he adds proudly. No, Rachel doesn’t like pussy,
he says ironically. She only likes dicks – big ones, possibly.
After Karl says that, the two girls instinctively look at Anthony, who is talking with a bunch of women not far away from them.
You know, I’d never seen you around before,
Karl says, giving her a lustful glance. Rachel didn’t introduce you to anyone.
I arrived from Rome a few days ago. Susan introduced me to the office duties this week and things will settle down from Monday onwards, I’m afraid.
Why ‘I’m afraid’?
Because those who go up the ladder very quickly, they usually hit the ground very hard if they fall.
Karl looks around. It all depends on how much you care about your career and the compromises that you’re prepared to make to carry on in it.
Let’s say that I’m not keen to step on anybody’s toes to climb the ladder.
Karl sighs loudly. You won’t get that far then, I’m afraid.
I believe that Rachel likes you because you’re a good girl and you know your job,
Susan breaks in.
Rachel is obsessed with Italy,
Karl replies, spitefully. She probably likes you more because you’re Italian.
He glances behind the two girls. Excuse me,
he mutters; he walks away as if he has suddenly remembered an urgent appointment.
Fuck’s sake,
Susan comments and she pretends to throw her glass at him as he walks away.
Angela laughs, then she offers Susan a friendly arm. He’s a little weird.
Some loud music begins to attract most of the guests on the terrace towards the edge of the swimming pool, interrupting their discussions.
Do you fancy a dance?
Susan asks, frivolously.
Sure.
For the first time that night, Angela begins to enjoy the party – she loves dancing and Susan is almost as crazy as her. The captivating, rhythmic music empties her mind. Hey, look who’s around!
Susan exclaims as she suddenly stops dancing.
Angela looks over to the spot where Susan is looking and she notices somebody looking like Brad Pitt not far away from there. He’s handsome.
Robert Harrison, his friends call him Bobby. He’s a fashion photographer – I’ve been after him for a couple of months now,
Susan whispers into her ear.
He’s a handsome man, but he’s rather busy,
Angela says looking towards a pretty brunette who is standing next to him. She is kissing him boldly. Are you in love?
Susan opens her eyes wide. Never been in love in my life!
she exclaims. Every now and then I just get a crush on somebody and I get obsessed with them until I sleep with them.
Bobby notices that he’s being observed and turns towards the two girls, giving them a smile. Looks like he’s in a good mood today. I’ll be back in a moment – I want to see if he follows me.
Susan walks away without giving Angela a chance to reply.
Angela has never liked dancing all by herself, let alone in a party like this one. She decides to get closer to the buffet table to grab a drink and get a better view of the party guests. She sees Bobby walk away and follow Susan, away from indiscreet eyes.
Son of a bitch,
she mutters – she can’t help but think about her own past. She almost wants to go over to the brunette girl and make her aware of how shameless her boyfriend is; she chooses to turn around instead, and swallow down her drink. She looks at the barman who’s standing with his chin held high behind the buffet table.
Martinis are usually a little too strong for her, but she orders a double anyway. Her stomach is already filled with champagne and nothing else, apart from the pain that she has been bearing for a long while now. She can’t help but turn around again and look at the brunette who’s now dancing thoughtlessly with her friends, completely unaware of what her boyfriend is doing not far away from her. She swallows down the drink and then orders another double, trying to drink away the anguish that inhabits her stomach. Her eyes turn again to the girl who’s dancing graciously – she’s happy and beautiful, and she’s standing in the middle of the terrace, while her man is goodness knows where with Susan. The anger washes through her heart in waves. It makes the memories all the more vivid – Rome, a hotel room, her and her ex laid naked next to each other, fading away into sleep. The same old punch in the stomach that stuns her with desperation. She breathes in deeply, gulps down the Martini in one sip and waits for it to numb her feelings. She leans over the balustrade which surrounds the whole attic, clenching her jaws tight together. She tries to distract herself from her obsessive thoughts by glancing at all the guests who are dancing by the pool, showing off their expensive clothes and their perfect bodies.
Their underwear probably costs as much as I earn in a whole month,
she mutters to herself, disgusted.
Then she sees the man. Everything freezes before her eyes – a couple of beautiful women dance next to him, not far away from where she is standing. She’s staring at him, her Martini glass in her hand frozen in mid-air. A sudden wave of sexual desire runs up her spine, from her genitals right to her neck.
‘He’s too beautiful to be real,’ she thinks, keeping her eyes on him. His Armani suit seems moulded around his body, highlighting his wide shoulders and his tight waist – he’s painfully smart and sophisticated. Angela has never seen so much charm and sensuality all in one man. Anthony dances well – he’s clearly enjoying being surrounded by all of those women in heat.
‘Son of a bitch,’ she thinks, then she forces herself to turn around. Her eyes, however, are attracted to him like a magnet – she can’t help but look at him again. She’s confident that he can’t see her – she indulges in the sight of his wide shoulders, which move sensually under his light-coloured jacket. His body is incredibly attractive and the shape of his muscles is visible under the linen suit that he’s wearing. His long fingers run gently along the back of one of the women dancing next to him – she can almost feel the warmth of those fingers on her own body. Her genitals contract for a moment, alarmingly. She shakes her head in dismay, wondering why a woman would ever have to pay a man for sex. She would never pay to do anything like that. With a man like that, though, the temptation would be real. More than she could have ever imagined. The memory of her and her ex naked in bed resurfaces in her mind again, giving her another strong, numbing punch in the stomach. She wondered if making love to the gigolo could ever give her some relief from the pain that she’s feeling right now. The man’s ice-coloured eyes stare into her own eyes for a split second – her heart begins to pump very fast.
Fuck, he saw me
she mutters to herself, and then she turns around to the barman again – he pours her another drink without saying a word. Thanks,
she hisses, and grabs the glass.
She turns around, helplessly, to look at Anthony again – he’s still staring at her, while one of the women wraps herself around his waist in a sensual dance.
‘He’ll think that I like him.’ She lowers her eyes, irritated, sipping on her cocktail. After all, it wouldn’t be so bad to have fun with someone like him. No love, no strings attached. Sex. Just sex. Like most men do. The sharp pain comes back again and torments her stomach – she chugs down the Martini to relieve the pain.
Forget him, he’s expensive,
a man whispers behind her back.
I know,
she replies monotonously. She doesn’t bother turning towards the man who spoke to her – the smell of chlorophyll has already told her who it is.
Can I have a Martini, please,
Karl says to the barman. You shouldn’t drink all alone.
Angela finally manages to look away from the gigolo and turns towards Karl. He’s a good-looking man, tall and fit, with short blond hair and blue eyes. She hasn’t fully understood his personality yet. He’s mysterious. He’s handsome, though. How old is he – thirty? Thirty-five? Something like that. Yeah, he must be older than thirty. Anthony must be older than thirty, too – she sighs in anguish. Three-thousand dollars for a fuck! Basically all her savings! She looks at the handsome Karl, who’s still standing next to her. He would probably fuck for free... and he might not be too bad at all in bed. What the heck is she thinking? This must be the alcohol talking. Or maybe it’s the usual damned anger.
Did your friend abandon you?
Karl asks, glancing at her several times.
Not for too long, I hope,
she replies coldly.
He raises one of his eyebrows, he wasn’t expecting that answer. Hey – you’re evil!
Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that,
she says to clarify the misunderstanding. I just feel out of place here – I don’t really know anybody at all.
Well, you know me,
he exclaims happily.
How about...
he takes her hand. We go somewhere quieter, so we can hear ourselves think? This music is ridiculously loud.
They both sit on a sofa that’s half-hidden by a thick climbing plant – they order two more drinks and sip on them in a slightly awkward silence. Karl puts down the glass on the coffee table and then looks at Angela insistently. She smiles a dumb, nervous smile – she tries to suppress the tension that is spreading slowly but inexorable through her whole body.
What?
Angela asks after a while, feeling a little uneasy.
Karl presses his lips against each other tightly and looks coldly into her eyes. You’re a different type of pretty – you’re not like the stereotypes that we see here. You’re fascinating, but you’re still a little out of place here.
Angela struggles to suppress her urge to run away and slaps his face anyway. Rachel would die for you,
Karl mutters, still keeping his eyes fixed on hers. She has an emotional attachment to you, I think. I wonder how long it will take her to get you to relax more in this new environment.
Angela’s throat has dried up out of disbelief at what she’s hearing. Why would Rachel want to do that?
Because she enjoys it – let’s talk about something interesting now.
A charming smile appears on his attractive face. Are you free?
What do you mean?
In that sense,
he adds, and then gives her another dirty look."
After a moment of hesitation, Angela replies. Officially, yes.
Officially,
he repeats thoughtfully. Have you just got out of a three-way affair?
Angela’s stomach cramps up. It’s none of your business.
Karl opens his eyes wide. And you’re still thinking about somebody who cheated on you?
I’m not thinking about anyone.
Karl opens his arms a little. What about me?
I must admit that I still haven’t been struck by Cupid’s arrow.
He keeps looking into her eyes, this time a little more resentfully. I’ll make up for it then.
He pulls her towards him and gives her a cold, violent kiss on her lips. Angela is so shocked by what has just happened that she doesn’t think about reacting – any attempt to wriggle away from him would be useless anyway; he is a lot stronger than her. Karl keeps her close to his chest, his teeth bite her lips lightly, forcing her to open them. Then one of his hands slides down her thigh, caressing it lightly. Angela finally manages to detach herself from him for a moment to scream, but he lays a hand on her mouth to keep her silent. Her presses on one of her thighs, trying to spread her legs. Angela attempts to scream again when she realises that he is trying to pull his trousers down. She is blinded by fear and she begins to shake like a frightened fox that has fallen into a trap. No! No! No! Not that way! He can’t do that to her! Not that way!
She has lived for years in one of the most dangerous outskirts in Rome, and she gets raped at one of the most glamorous parties in New York? There must be a police chief somewhere on this fucking terrace! Then, suddenly, he lets her off – she’s free to breathe again. She looks around to seek help and then focuses again on Karl – his neck is wrapped in someone’s arm and he’s unable to move. The staff manager of Norton & Faulk has turned pale. He grumbles as he tries, desperately, to rid himself of the arm that’s choking him.
That’s enough, Tony.
Rachel’s voice comes from one of the wicker sofas behind her, not far away from where Angela is now pulling her skirt back down. Anthony releases Karl, and he begins to cough repeatedly.
Go away.
Anthony’s voice is cold as ice. Karl doesn’t say a word – he gets up and quickly walks away.
Everything alright?
Rachel asks, still sitting on the sofa.
Angela gets up clumsily, trying not to look into Anthony’s intense eyes. Yes... sorry, Rachel... I’d like to go home.
She manages to mutter.
Rachel finally gets up. Of course, my dear.
She hugs Angela warmly. I’m sorry that idiot scared you – he has sniffed a lot of cocaine tonight. Did you not realise that he was stoned?
Angela shakes her head, incredulously.
You’re from Rome – you should know that a man is stoned by looking at his dilated pupils.
Rachel adds, gently putting her hands around Angela’s face.
I never had anything to do with drugs.
Good for you,
Rachel says, and then she puts an arm around her back. Unfortunately, I let the driver go because I’d asked Susan to give you a lift back – I think she went away with someone though. Anthony – do you mind?
A wave of panic runs through Angela’s body, making her unable to move. No, no, Rachel – I’ll call a taxi.
Angela exclaims, alarmed.
I’d be happier if you went with her,
Rachel says as she kisses her cheek. I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.
She then walks away to talk to one of her guests, leaving Angela no chance to reply.
I...
Angela mutters, she dreads being alone with Anthony.
The gigolo’s deep, manly voice strikes her like a slap on her cheek. Relax,
he says warmly, and then he locks his eyes into hers, making her freeze again. I’m not going to charge you for the lift!
He hands her a glass of cognac. Have a drink first,
he says and smiles at her. You deserve it tonight, after all.
Angela lowers her eyes and grabs the glass; she’s worried that he might sense he has a hypnotic power over her. Then she swallows the whole drink down at once.
Thanks,
she manages to say – the cognac mixes with the champagne and the Martinis that are still sitting in her stomach. I wouldn’t have lost my virginity anyway.
She blushes after saying this.
Anthony looks at her, amused. I wouldn’t have guessed,
he says, almost ironically. He offers his arm to her and then they walk together to the cloakroom. Miss Palmieri – a coat and a handbag, please.
The young lady at the cloakroom gives a lustful glance at Anthony.
Of course, Mr Barker,
she smirks as she says those words.
Of course, Mr Barker,
Angela repeats mockingly as she imagines the young lady’s hands on Anthony’s body and feels a profound, unnecessary sense of unease.
Anthony tries his best to keep a straight face – he looks at her amused. When the young lady comes back to them with the coat and the handbag, he smiles at her. Thanks, darling.
A dumb smile appears on the attendant’s face.
Thanks, darling,
Angela repeats annoyed, and the girl glares at her.
Time to go, bitch,
Anthony whispers into Angela’s ear with his warm voice. She’s absurdly pleased by his joking tone. She follows him to the lift, stumbling along the way. The butler closes the apartment’s front door behind them, instantly muffling the loud music that comes from the terrace.
Angela suddenly feels light-headed – she leans awkwardly against one of the sides of the lift.
Oops.
Anthony’s deep voice awakes her from her haziness – his strong hands grab her by her arms and pull her towards him. Oh, heaven! Anthony’s silky shirt, moulded around his sexy curves, feels like burning flames under her palms. The tips of her fingers touch his lean, silky chest eagerly. Angela smells Anthony’s light scent – it’s a mix between aftershave and something else that hits her stomach like a bolt from the blue. Angela pushes herself back, trying to gain some safe distance between her and him.
Did you eat anything?
he asks, and then he smirks at her again.
No – I’ve just been drinking.
she whispers, with her eyes half-closed.
You’ll be fine after you get some sleep.
he assures her as he helps her to sit down on the floor of the lift. He takes a couple of steps back and stares at her again with his penetrating eyes.
Thanks for helping me out at the party,
she mutters. Can you stop staring at me now?
The gigolo crosses his arms on his chest and then leans with his back against the wall. His eyes are still locked on hers. Why should I?
Angela hears herself reply without being able to control her tongue anymore. Your eyes have an effect on me.
Anthony’s eyes are so intense that she feels the urge to look away.
This is part of my job,
he replies sensually.
Angela snorts, keeping her eyes away from him, but then her loosened up tongue speaks again. Is it true that you sleep with everyone?
Her tone of voice is aggressive and her eyes are impertinent. Anthony tilts his head on one side and looks at her silently. Even with ugly girls?
Angela insists.
The man smiles at her, amused. Especially with the ugly ones,
Anthony says in his sensual voice.
Angela stares at him with a serious expression, keeping her eyes on his. What about men? Do you sleep with them, too?
He breathes in deeply. You’re such a son of a bitch!
she states out loud, while the lift opens onto the building’s elegant hall. Oh god, I feel so sick,
Angela mutters. Anthony accompanies her to the pavement outside the building, just in time before Angela’s stomach ejects all of the alcohol that she knocked back at the party. She leans with her hand against the wall, struggling to breathe, while Anthony holds her by her hips.
I’m sorry if I have this effect on you,
Anthony says sarcastically, then he hands over a tissue and helps her to stand upright again. They walk a few steps away from that spot, towards the car park attendant who has seen her being sick. Anthony gets closer to a brand new Ferrari and then opens one of its doors. He helps Angela to sit down in the car and then walks to the other side to take the driver’s seat. When Anthony sits down, it takes Angela all the energy that she has left to speak without being sick again. My hotel...
I know where you live,
the gigolo replies. He drives slowly, trying to avoid sudden bumps that could make Angela even more sick. After a while, he decides to open the hard top of his convertible, letting the warm air of the late spring night blow on Angela’s face to give her some relief. Angela would like to thank him for doing so much for her, but the alcohol and her pride have glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
Did you fall asleep?
Anthony’s voice never ceases to charm and embarrass her at the same time. Angela opens her eyes wide and realises that they are parked in front of her hotel. How are you?
Anthony asks. She’s probably as pale as a ghost, but the way that he looks at her warms up her soul and her heart.
I feel dead,
she hisses.
Anthony leans over towards her, almost touching her ear with his lips, then he whispers softly. Give me the keys to your room.
At the sound of those words, a series of images runs through Angela’s mind like a montage – white bed sheets, muffled moans, two naked bodies rolling over in bed, covered in sweat. Angela sits upright on the seat, trying to wake herself up from that sudden vision. She begins to feel around, searching desperately for her handbag. He leans over towards her and takes her handback from the space under her seat. A painful cramp grips her stomach and a burst of heat lights up her cheeks as soon as Anthony gets closer to her. She knows that her reactions are amusing him and she presses her lips to stop herself from saying anything scathing. Anthony gives her another sensual look and then hops out of the car. He walks to the other side of the car and opens the door for her, then he helps her out with his muscular arms.
Are you able to walk?
His silky voice is the most sensual music that she has ever heard. She wants to wriggle away from his arms and his warm breath which are getting her all hot and bothered, but her legs are not strong enough to let her do that.
I’m dead,
she sobs.
The gigolo puts one of her arms on his shoulders and keeps her standing upright. You’ll be fine,
he whispers to her, smiling.
A moment later, he takes her in his arms like a child, then she slowly slips into a dream-like state, where reality and imagination are fused together by the fumes of alcohol – their bodies touching, her arms around his neck, her cheek and her nose pressed against him give her the most intense feelings that she’s ever experienced in her life. If this isn’t a dream, it must be the ante-chamber to heaven.
***
The lounge appears anonymous and elegant, like every other hotel suite. Anthony looks around and sees the bed almost immediately. Dresses, shoes and underwear are all scattered on and around it – they are the proof of how much time Angela spent trying to decide what to wear for the party that evening.
...My teeth,
Angela mutters, with her eyes closed.
You can brush them tomorrow.
No!
Angela exclaims, petulantly. I never go to sleep without brushing my teeth.
Anthony sighs out of frustration and then takes her to the bathroom. He lets her stand against the basin and keeps himself behind her, to make sure that she doesn’t collapse onto the floor. He grabs a glass from the sink and fills it up with mouthwash, then he brings it closer to her lips.
This will be enough to keep your teeth fresh, tonight,
he says, and he waits patiently for Angela to slowly sip on the mouthwash and spit the liquid out in several takes. Her legs fail on her and Anthony helps her up once again.
Francesco,
she mutters, while Anthony lays her on the soft bed sheets.
No, darling,
Anthony says, taking her arm off his neck. I’m not Francesco.
Francesco,
Angela repeats – her face is the portrait of nostalgic pain; her eyes are still semi-closed. The gigolo begins to takes her clothes off, he glances at her body and his fingers lightly touch the curve of her breasts, which are covered by the soft, white, micro-fibre bra. His hands run along her body, down her hips, her thighs and legs. He finally takes her high heels off her slim feet. He forces himself to take his eyes and hands off her body and then leans again towards her to cover her under the silky bed sheet. Angela wraps her arms around his neck again and pulls him towards her.
Francesco,
she repeats with her eyes semi-closed, drawing closer to Anthony.
I’m not Francesco!
the gigolo repeats, alarmed. He tries to wriggle away from her, but she keeps pulling him to the bed and then presses her lips against his with confidence.
Anthony loses control of his legs for a moment and has to sit down on the bed – he tries to keeps himself away from her with his hands, but her soft, warm tongue slides into his mouth slowly.
Anthony’s body stiffens at feeling of her sensual kiss – he clenches his jaws in a natural defensive position. He’s out
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