Read In Too Deep for Free Online Page B

boarder. College had been a culture shock, but she'd
had Arlene to shield her, Arlene who came from a rumbustious Irish
family. She had left Dublin to attend an English university and
then gone on to the Portland School of Fashion. Both of them had
settled in London, and Julia having inherited her aunt's property,
it had been natural that they share it.
    Arlene was
like Julia's big sister. Julia was an only child, whereas Arlene
was one of six. She felt responsible for her and hoped that old
lecher, Will, wasn't getting up to anything.
    Even though
her thoughts were busy with Julia, another part of her mind was
alert for bargains. She approached a short balding man who was
manning the fort for another supplier.
    'Can I
assist?' he said, smiling too much. Arlene noted the little beads
of sweat on his upper lip, the smell of cheap deodorant clinging to
his person, the way in which his watery eyes roamed her
breasts.
    'I'd like to
order samples of this,' she said haughtily, displaying a piece of
forest green devoré.
    'Certainly...
Miss Murphy,' and he studied her nametag as if committing it to
memory. 'Such wonderful stuff, so glamorous. I expect you know that
devoré, literally translated, means devour. The makers use acid to
eat patterns into the velvet.' He brought this out with relish, as
if the very mention of devouring brought his cock to attention. His
leer told her he would like to suck her nipples and lick her
pussy.
    'I knew, but
thank you, anyway,' she said, deliberately adding to his discomfort
by leaning across the stall so that the valley between her breasts
was clearly displayed.
    His face
flushed even more. He came round and stood beside her, his portly
body close as he placed a sweaty hand on hers, saying, 'I can
arrange for your order to be processed at once. And there will be
no charge for the samples. I'd be happy to deliver them in person,
Miss Murphy. Perhaps we could go out for a drink or a bite to
eat...'
    'Perhaps we
could,' Arlene murmured, batting her eyelashes at him. Unlike
Julia, who never could get the hang of flirtation, Arlene was an
expert.
    'I'm Sam
Watney,' he said, and she could see the thickening of his dick as
it lay to the right of his flies. In her experience men who hung
that side and not on the left were usually sexual inadequate.
Besides which, it looked untidy, offending her designer's eye.
    'Thank you for
being so helpful, Sam,' she said throatily, and didn't back away as
he pressed his prick against her thigh. 'I'm not in a frantic hurry
for the swatches. Don't put yourself to any trouble.'
    'It would be
no trouble; a real pleasure, in fact, to help a beautiful woman
like you,' he insisted, his cock growing, an expression of drooling
admiration on his face.
    'I'll look
forward to receiving the samples. When I've decided on the colour
and how many metres, I'll be in touch.' She didn't fancy him one
bit, but had learned to get all she could out of men. If he wanted
to lust after her and thought he was in with a chance, well, so be
it. It would ensure he got her a good deal.
    She turned
away, and immediately bumped into the most beautiful man there. She
recognised him, of course, but wasn't about to give him the
satisfaction of knowing this. Let sycophantic followers hover in
the background. Let the press be jockeying for a few words from his
lips and, if possible, a picture. She chose to pretend to be
ignorant of the fact that this was Marty Blake, one of Britain's
leading designers. He smiled and she melted into lubricity.
    He was
thirtyish, tall, rangy and lean, casually but expensively dressed
in loose, sand coloured trousers and a white collarless shirt. His
face was tanned and classically handsome; high cheekbones, a
straight nose, a firm jaw and dark hair that curled to his
shoulders.
    Arlene was
cynical about men, thought she knew everything about them and what
made them tick, was sure she could control her own reactions to
them, but now she could feel heat washing over her