Sin Tropez Read Online Free PDF Page B

butter-soft and could be reclined right back to become a
bed. Each place was ready stocked with a selection of current newspapers and magazines, and there were bottles of Evian and tall crystal glasses by the arm rests. Reza hadn’t been able to
resist a little personalization here, so there was a gold company crest embedded in each glass. The uniformed captain introduced himself, pointing out the fully stocked mini-bar and the freshly
baked cakes, snacks and savoury treats ranging from cucumber sandwiches to sushi and caviar, which Reza always had specially sourced.
    Tara had been staring surreptitiously at Natalya, who was, in turn, staring out of the window looking bored. ‘Abbi,’ she whispered, ‘look at her neck.’
    ‘Oh my God!’ Abena gasped. A patch of skin on the side of Natalya’s neck that should have been covered by her hair was exposed with the twist of her head to reveal an angry red
welt.
    A few more people filed into the aircraft and eventually the last arrival was seated. The male passengers were mostly either employed by Reza or were potential business clients. As well as Henry
and Anders there was a silver-haired Englishman called Piers and Reza’s two right-hand men, Darren and Fadi. Burly Darren was his minder and Fadi was the money man, which meant that he
literally followed Reza around with a fortified briefcase filled with the £50 notes that Reza needed to pay for things on a day-to-day basis. The female passengers were all attractive.
Besides Tara, Abena and Natalya there were two Italian girls who appeared to be about seventeen and barely spoke English, and two older, ultra-groomed brunettes in daringly, if not commendably,
skimpy outfits who looked with disapproval at the ‘mere children’ around them.
    ‘Mutton-dressed-as lamb alert,’ Tara whispered. ‘Next thing you know my mother will be out here.’
    Abena digested the first woman’s look: a small Prada bra top with high-waisted short-shorts – ropey enough on the anorexic-looking teenagers who exhibited it on the runway, let alone
unleashed here. The second woman was also falling out of one of those looks that should never, ever be allowed to leave the catwalk. ‘Hmmn, certainly a clever time-saving trick – put
your beachwear on before you reach your holiday destination. I’m quite tickled by it,’ she murmured.
    Reza looked over the inhabitants of his shiny teal toy as a king might survey his kingdom. He thought of his childhood, of growing up with his Syrian father and Belgian mother, living first in
Syria and then in different Middle Eastern countries, so that he and his brother were constantly being dragged around and pulled out of new schools. Somehow his brother had always managed to
adjust. He’d done well and been happy everywhere, while he, Reza, had been the misfit. But that was then. He leaned back, letting his lips curl into an awful smile. If the kids who’d
picked on him at school could only see him now. But then, they could, couldn’t they, he smirked, glancing at his picture in the business pages of The Times .
    Reza recalled the strange dream he’d had the previous night, still mildly aroused by it. He’d dreamt he lived in a mythical land where he had the gift of unlimited ejaculations. But
as he came, all his produce morphed into a torrent of £50 notes so profuse that he filled entire seas with money. And then the girls appeared like mermaids, bikini-clad and swimming around in
the notes in ecstasy. Mmmn, marvellous young girls. There was Lilith, who he’d asked out as a spotty adolescent and who’d laughed cruelly in his face. Well she wasn’t laughing
here. Then Farah appeared. She’d agreed to one date with him because his mother had paid her – and then nipped to the loo during lunch and never returned. All the young beauties
he’d ever wanted, who he still seethed at now for spurning him, were present, thrashing around in his seas of passion. They chased after the notes