Eighty Days Amber Read Online Free PDF Page B

the taxi door open and promised to call me, and I went home disappointed, rejected and a little angry with him. I was used to men wanting me, and being more overt about the fact. Over the years, I had come to realise that dating was a transaction, and anyway, the thought of giving him a blow job would not have been an inconvenience – far from it. Chey’s cool chivalry left me empty handed, bereft of the usual weapons that I would employ to ensnare his favour.
    I became more irritated when I found myself looking out for him in the shop, jumping each time that the bell rang, rushing to get to the counter in case he was the next customer.
    Two days later he phoned the patisserie while I was dusting powdered sugar onto the choux Chantilly, careful to tap the sieve very gently so the pastry shells were lightlyand evenly dusted, not overpowered and sickly with too much sugar on top.
    Would I see him again? I agreed and this time he took me to the movies at the big multiplex off Union Square. I expected his hand to touch my knee or his arms to wrap themselves around me during the film, but he was a proper gentleman and I sensed he wouldn’t approve of groping a woman in the dark on a second date.
    We had a coffee on University Place after the performance and when we left he pulled me to him and kissed me softly on the lips, not long and lingering, but with feeling. When he pulled away he smiled and raised his arm at a passing cab. He handed me in and shut the door, paying the driver to return me to Brooklyn. I was slightly disappointed, hoping that after that kiss he might have taken a step further.
    My impatience continued to rise steadily over the next fortnight as we enjoyed a further two dates and again he did not make his move. It was as if he was quietly observing me, judging me, orchestrating the steady rise of my desire. Of course, I didn’t wish to appear overeager, but then again my frustration was building. I liked him and it was obvious from his flirtatious manner and soft, sensual kisses at the end of each date that he was attracted in equal measure to me.
    It was then he dropped the bombshell.
    He had been called away unexpectedly on business in the Dominican Republic, he told me over the phone.
    And he wanted me to join him.
    When I confessed that if I left the country I would most likely never be able to get back in again, he advised me that he sometimes had a private jet at his disposal and thatairport officials would pose no problem. I presumed that this meant he planned to bribe the airport staff who monitored these things into falsifying their records to indicate that their passenger had the appropriate paperwork in order. Both on departure and on arrival.
    So I discovered, in one fell swoop, that Chey was a man of wealth, power and influence, to an extent that I hadn’t fully realised during our dates.
    Naturally, that should have been my first clue that his business in the amber markets was neither as humble nor as law abiding as I had automatically presumed. But I grew up with the black market, in a world where bribing the police was simply a part of life. As for the money, Chey was so casual about it that it was easy to overlook. Day to day, he rarely flashed his cash, always dressing well but in understated fashion and never orchestrating unusually expensive dates. If he had wealth hidden away that he took for granted, then I could not find a way to hold that against him. Or to ask him how it was that he came by the money. An inheritance, perhaps, a successful investment or even a lottery win. Whatever it was, I resolved to remind myself that he had never lied to me about his income, and if it turned out to be more than I had expected, then that could only be good news for me.
    I was not about to let an opportunity for an overseas holiday escape. Unless I managed to secure a Green Card, or intended to leave the States for ever, I might never get one again.
    So it was that I accepted his invitation and