Naked Angel Read Online Free PDF Page B

cocktails, to the bouncer at the door, to the live band, was dressed like he or she had stepped off the set of
The Cotton Club
. The cocktail waitresses’ dresses—identical sequined shifts in gold—were more impressive than her own.
    And then there was that bizarre, fishtank-like cube hanging in the entrance foyer. High above the crowd, encased in glass, two young women wearing nothing but bras, garters, fishnet stockings, and flapper-style headpieces played cards.
    A gold-swathed redhead handed her a Sidecar.
    “Those should come with a warning label,” Justin Baxter said.
    She hadn’t noticed him approach, but there he was. She had to admit he was good-looking—there was no question about it. And from the way he was gazing at her, the feeling was quite mutual. But she didn’t feel particularly attracted to him. This was no surprise—she never felt attracted to anyone. It was like she was missing the erogenous gene or something. She could look at a guy and know he was hot, but this didn’t translate into a desire to have him touch her. On the rare occasion that she indulged someone in having sex, it was far less pleasurable than getting a decent massage.
    “Thanks for the red flag,” she said, taking a sip. The drink was a potent mixture of sweet and sour. She could taste the brandy. She licked some of the sugar off the rim, and she felt Justin watching her mouth.
    “Is this your first time here?” he said.
    “Yeah. Don’t you know who’s been to your home?” she asked.
    “Do you know how many parties we’ve hosted? Sometimes I go to a big event, and people I’ve never seen before in my life thank me for a great night six months or even years ago.”
    “Hmm. Well, no. I’ve never been here before. It’s lovely, though.”
    “Let me give you a tour.”
    Gemma cast a quick glance around the room. Justin’s wife was nowhere in sight.
    “Um, okay.” She took another sip of the drink, then another as she followed him through the crowd to an elevator bank just off the living room.
    “Is this like a townhouse or an apartment or what?”
    “It’s a townhouse,” he said.
    “I’ve never seen anything like it—and I’ve been in New York over a year!” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She shouldn’t admit to how little luxury she had been exposed to in her life. If he saw the shabby house she’d grown up in, the endless gray skies of the English countryside—not to mention the bland, provincial food—he would no doubt find her far less interesting. The only way she’d gotten through the bleak austerity of her adolescence and young adulthood was living for the arrival of
Vogue
and
Harper’s Bazaar
at the town library every month. She’d thought maybe she’d be a model but then was surprised by her talent for making beautiful clothes, not just wearing them.
    They took the elevator to the top floor, and stepped out onto a deck with—of all things—a swimming pool. Lit from below, it shimmered an almost iridescent aqua blue in the summer moonlight. “Oh, my Lord,” she gasped. So much for playing it cool. “Why don’t you have the party up here?”
    “I prefer to keep the party up here private,” Justin said.
    Looking at the fourth-story view of downtown Manhattan, feeling like she was surrounded by the wealth and privilege she had longed for all her life, feeling so close to claiming a piece of that pie for herself—the “party” Justin was offering her was one she could not refuse.
    “Is the pool heated?” Gemma asked, walking to the water, careful not to totter too close to the edge in her four-inch heels.
    “You tell me,” Justin said with a mischievous smile. Gemma turned her back to him, gently shook off one of her shoes, and dipped the toes of one foot in the water. She was happy to discover that yes, the pool was, in fact, heated—to what seemed like a perfect temperature.
    And then she felt herself nearly airborne above the water. The only