Natasha Richelieu de Vinci traced the cascading rapids of writhing rain on the west window, her luxurious tumbling locks veiled her face, a single tear salted her alabaster cheek, the letter read and reread fell to the floor; the words too hard to read, too hard to leave.
Her once proud family shamed on evidence she couldn’t contradict but would never allow her broken heart to believe. A flight on wings of a young girls dreams that flew too far away.
They would never understand. He was simply the best, better than all the rest, better than anyone she’d ever met. She’d hung on to every word he said and now, she was torn apart.
“Don’t leave me this way” she cried fervently, but softly, to herself “I can’t survive.” Her broken sobs, broke the silent silence in the silent stately manor.
It was seven hours and fifteen days since she met Roger Mannlimann, MD, BA, RAC, ACC, LCC, MAPhil, CBE, CAB, RA, AB+ve.
A limpid moon shattered the night’s darkness, the cool harbour, a mackerel sky, the twinkling stars sparkled in the supine sea. Enraptured dolphins, seals, whales, porpoises leapt coquetishly while the mysterious manta ray sang aquatic songs of love in Poseidon’s briny sanctuary. The resplendent yacht, the prestigious Marie Theresa Aphrodite, the envy of every Greek tycoon for her sophisticated lines, handsome crew and of course the guests, the World’s elite, wealthy, glamorous, famous: Huey Lewis, David Shilling, Eddie Large, they were all there. Samantha Fox and Mick Fleetwood were hosting - it was a spectacular night.
Natstasia’s vermillion lips sipped her WKD, her melliferous mahogany eyes darting across the dancefloor, catching all the suave attention, her tantalizing lashes, dipped and raised like the feathers of a startled thrush. If Heaven is a place on Earth then this must surely be it, which means that love comes first...
“Hello, is it me you are looking for?” The stranger said, his bass voice resonated like Baileys Mint over granite ashtray.
Natalia gasped gently yet politely and put down her drink, her mother-of-pearl fingers flexed over the slender neck of the crimson bottle. Her sienna eyes dipped to his russet brogues, her ardent gaze moving slowly, seductively, observing, a noble ankle, bulging calves, tense thighs, and, the orchestra swelled as a trombone coaxed a feverish note in an enchanted evening.
Rivets, yes there were definitely the finest, shiniest rivets she’d ever seen on a pair of jeans, his masculine hips, six pack hinted though the fitted Jonelle shirt, George tie and collar loosened, her voluptuous raspberry lips moistened as she raised her ocular exploration to his leonine face and his piercing azure eyes, like a summer sky that drew her into his gaze through eternity and she felt herself falling...
“Is this love, tor am I dreaming? “ she thought breathlessly, “Is this the love that I’ve been searching for?” Would she ever feel him hold her close sharing her eternal flame, whispering “I catch your grenade, throw head on a plate, I’d jump in front of a train for ay”
“Till now” she thought “I always got by on my own, I never really cared until I met you and now it chills me to the bone, how do I get you alone?”. Now she understood that love is a banquet on which we feed, because the night belongs to lovers...
Was it the chiaroscuro, was it the chirizo, was the chihuahua?
Her tactile senses reverberated to the vaporous music, and as the french horn tremolo-ed she longed for his sinuous arms to tenderly stroke her lusterous mane and his grave chin, three-enhanced blade shaved yet hydrated to tingle her cheek as he nuzzled her ear, his light yet firm and masculine touch squeezing her lobe.
His quizzical eyes searched her calamine face for an answer his ruffled flaxen hair loosely falling over his aquiline nose. Natalie nodded alluringly “Don’t wish too hard because it may come true...”
“I’m Doctor Mannlimann. I understand there’s an emergency. You are Miss Miller arn’t you... your drink is foaming”
As duty called away his taut frame, his Lynx Dark Temptation body spray lingered in the air and in her pulsing rubescent heart. The melancholy Flugelhorn mourned the night with a final melody echoing the soulful song of the sonorous Manta Ray and Natasha was left alone.
Every rose has its thorn, and as the memories of the night they met lingered Natalina let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday, like tears of a clown falling falling on his letter that expressed everything he had ever felt in those three fateful words... “Stop stalking me”.
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