Absolute Pleasure Read Online Free PDF Page A

exalted Helen again, she would see the piece of jewelry firmly planted on his hand.
    "I can't believe you spent so much time with her, and she'd assume that you'd wear such an ostentatious trinket."
    "But she didn't really know me, now did she?"
    He was proficient at inferring what his paramours yearned for in a man, and he could transform himself into whoever they needed him to be. Kind, compassionate, altruistic, firm, fierce, hot-blooded, potent, his ability to adopt different mannerisms was so effective that he might have had a career on the stage if he hadn't been so adept at dabbling with oils.
    The effect was that the women grew attached to the man they supposed him to be, rather than the man he actually was. When their liaisons terminated—which he carefully strove to ensure from the inception—they went on their way, presuming him to have been a dream come true when, in reality, he was usually vastly distinct from the person they'd built him up to be in their minds.
    But he had no complaints. He brought them gaiety and excitement. In return, they generously gave him things with which they could readily afford to part. Valuables, oggetti d'arte, cash, gems, he never refused any of it, because he deemed their largesse as the completion of a simple business transaction: goods tendered for services rendered.
    "Is she still interested in having you complete the portrait you started?" John inquired, always the pragmatist.
    "Absolutely."
    Gabriel didn't add that she'd vowed to hang it where she could constantly gaze upon it, where it would always provoke memories of him. If informed of the depth of the countess's misplaced fondness, his father would fume and fret but, at the same juncture, he would be elated by the news that she was ecstatic over the final product. John was faithfully hoping to augment Gabriel's customer base through referrals by prosperous patrons such as Helen.
    On the few occasions when they'd had a capital row on the subject, John contended that Gabriel's compensation should derive exclusively from the paltry amounts produced by the portraiture contracts John negotiated. But what fun would that be?
    Gabriel quickly tired of painting the ill-behaved sons and spoiled daughters of the nobility. It was so much more appealing to paint the wives. He became intimately involved with a woman, discovering her fears and inhibitions, the pressures and burdens that ruled her. Long before brush was ever touched to canvas, he passed innumerable hours talking and sketching, establishing an acquaintanceship, and thus attempting to capture the woman's essence.
    Meticulously, he peeled away the layers, searching for the person who was hiding beneath the fancy gown, the expensive cologne, and elaborate coiffure. And of course, as he rolled back the emotional mantle, he also stripped away the clothes.
    How could he be expected to resist? He was only a mortal man, after all, and he was invariably eager to accept that which was freely and willingly offered.
    He adored naked women, how their hips curved, their thighs molded, their breasts shifted. His notion of heaven would be to sit throughout eternity, a sketch pad in hand, a nude model posed before him, as he struggled to exactly record a fleeting look, a subtle glance, a sudden mood.
    Ever the realist, John yanked him out of his reverie, "So, you're ready to begin again. Did you have a chance to review the list of names I prepared?"
    He and John had lived on the Continent for nearly all of Gabriel's twenty-seven years, having returned to London only two years earlier. They'd spent most of their time in southern Italy, with brief stays in Paris, Vienna, Madrid, and other exotic cities. Gabriel considered Italy to be home, but despite me mishaps that had originally sent John fleeing into exile, he hadn't ever had the heart to sever the strong ties that bound him to England.
    He still harbored an intense, incomprehensible interest in the affairs of the British aristocracy,