The Year of Dangerous Loving. John Davis Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ had looked for her only out of an intoxicated desire to see that female sexuality again, and maybe to hear her sing, to admire her, to lust after her from afar. But when he turned and saw her again, that lovely face, those big blue eyes and the sparkling smile, those perfect breasts, those long golden legs, he was lost: if she was a prostitute he simply had to have her, he simply had to possess that magnificent body just once.

      ‘Olga. What a surprise!’

      ‘Is it? You didn’t look for me? I am disappointed.’

      ‘Will you have a drink?’

      ‘Will you have a dance with me first?’

      Oh yes … Alistair Hargreave was not a dancing man, but he had to feel this glorious woman close against him immediately, he just had to hold her in his arms.

      Her dress was mid-thigh length to show off her long legs, her lovely breasts swelled against the low-cut bodice, her smooth skin warm through the slippery silk. They danced close, and he could feel her body-heat against him, the warmth of her belly and thighs, he could feel the cleft of her buttocks under his hand, her mound of Venus pressed against him.

      ‘You want to make love,’ she whispered.

      Oh yes please. Hargreave was smouldering with desire. He did not ask, ‘How much?’ He did not care how much.

3

      It was very expensive: five hundred American dollars bar-levy to buy her out of the club for the night, plus five hundred dollars ‘for me’. Hargreave knew it was an outrageous sum, that he could have her for half if he protested, but it would be ungentlemanly to bargain with a lady. He paid unflinchingly at the bar, with his winnings. He had not had a woman for a long time, and he simply had to have this glorious girl splayed out beneath him tonight.

      And what a wonderful night it was. When he woke up beside her in the Estoril Hotel that Sunday morning to the sound of church bells, hungover and exhausted, he felt no remorse. He was not concerned about having been recognized in the Tranquillity club: it was a well-known tourist venue and anyway there had been nobody he knew. He did not flinch when he remembered he had not used a condom, he felt no moral guilt at the sound of those church bells.

      When he woke up he was thinking of her golden nakedness, the breathtaking beauty of her as’she had slipped the silk dress off her shoulders: her glorious curves, her jutting breasts, her soft hips, her long perfect legs. She was the most naked woman in the world. Then came the wildly erotic business of showering together, the glorious soapy feel of her, her breasts and buttocks and thighs gleaming, slippery: he had wanted her so much that he had not been able to produce an erection. That’s how come he had not used a condom: he remembered her leading him to the bed, her riotously golden hair splayed across his loins as her wide mouth did its magic on him. That’s when he had thrown caution to the wind, toppled her over and clambered on top of her nakedness, thrusting frantically up into the sweet hot depths of her.

      No; no regrets. And when he woke up that sultry church-belled Macao morning with Olga’s sleepy nakedness against him there was no question about an erection. And after it was over, in a crescendo such as he had never known, he had no doubt about how he was going to spend today. Lying beside her, exhausted, he said:

      ‘Don’t go. Stay.’

      She sat up, tousled, and beamed down at him: ‘Yes? Lovely!’ Then she added apologetically, ‘But I regret you must pay.’

      Hargreave grinned. Of course she didn’t regret it, but the solemn way she said it was endearing. ‘How much?’ He did not care.

      ‘The same as last night?’ she said with an anxious little frown.

      ‘On a Sunday? Surely there’s a discount for a Sunday; no night-clubs do big business today.’

      ‘No,’ she said earnestly, ‘every weekend in Macao is high season. Monday to Thursday is low season, but Sunday is full price: I’m sorry, darling.’ It seemed she almost meant the endearment.

      ‘But the night-club won’t know – tell them you spent the day in bed with a headache.’

      She said earnestly: ‘They know everything, and if I do not pay they will punish me.’ She widened her eyes, made a guttural noise and drew her finger across her throat.

      Hargreave grinned. ‘And such a beautiful throat. Okay, but I haven’t got five hundred US on me.’

      ‘Credit-card!’ She scrambled up on to her knees and hugged his head against her glorious breasts. ‘I’m so happy!’ She reached for the bedside telephone, punched the buttons, and spoke rapidly in Russian.

      They were lying squashed up together in the bubble-bath, drinking champagne sent up by room service, when there was a knock on the door. Hargreave heaved himself up and draped a towel around his waist.

      A tall white man stood outside, smiling politely. He had slick black hair, was athletically built, and carried a briefcase. ‘My name is Vladimir. I have come about Olga, sir. I am the accountant.’ He walked in, opened his briefcase and pulled out a credit-card machine.

      Accountant? Very fancy name for a pimp. He was the guy to talk to about discounts. ‘I get a different price on Sunday?’

      ‘Will Olga return to the club at seven o’clock?’

      Oh, he wanted her tonight. ‘No.’

      ‘Then it is full price, sir.’ He ran the machine over the card, wrote ‘Goods’ on the slip, and gave it to Hargreave to sign. It was made out to Gorky Enterprises. ‘You are satisfied with Olga’s service, sir?’

      ‘Oh yes.’

      Vladimir produced a visiting card, printed in English on one side, Chinese on the other: there was no address but it gave a Macao telephone number. ‘If you have any complaints, please call immediately. We have many girls, all very good, all speak English, sir.’

      Lord, a thousand dollars. But Hargreave signed the slip without second thoughts.

      ‘Thank you,’ Vladimir said. ‘Have a nice day.’

      It was a lovely day. Afterwards, when he was to look back, it seemed the happiest day of his life to date, the start of the happiest period of his life. After finishing the champagne in the bath – her happy, slippery nakedness all over him felt like love – they had a late breakfast on their balcony overlooking the waterfront and harbour, with another bottle of champagne, while downstairs the hotel’s casino hummed and tinkled.

      ‘So tell me about yourself, Olga.’

      ‘Where do you want me to begin?’ She grinned. ‘And what do you want me to leave out?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Not even about my profession?’ She added, with a twinkle in her lovely eyes, ‘You must not worry about Aids, you know. I always make love only with a condom. You were the first time I did not.’

      He was thankful to hear that, though he had not thought about it since the sound of the church bells. ‘Why didn’t you?’

      She clasped her hands СКАЧАТЬ