Sin Tropez by Aita Ighodaro Read Free Book Online Page A

cut almost indecently low at the back to reveal an expanse of toned flesh. She had teamed this with a pair of flat gold gladiator sandals – the
dress was foxy enough without heels, and besides, there were so many amazingly tall model types around that she figured she was better off going for the enchantingly petite and feminine effect,
which made even the weediest of men feel as big and strong as Spartacus when she coquettishly looked up at them from under her curly dark lashes. Tara, however, had pulled out all the stops, and in
five-inch heels was over six feet tall. She had opted for a black vintage Alaia bandeau dress. It needed no embellishment; she would let her whippet-like figure speak for itself. The men, with the
exception of Reza, had arrived earlier, and now shot eager looks at the assembling delights. As Natalya and three tall Eastern European blondes strode across the room towards their table, all legs
and big hair, Piers smirked. They had the attention of every single table in the restaurant and that was just as he liked it.
    Pair by pair, women kept arriving to join the group. Striking women vastly outnumbered the men, who promptly set about making energetic displays of largesse, waving vigorously for rare bottles
of champagne and enquiring after their favourite brands of cigar for after dinner. A place at the head of the table was reserved for Reza, but everybody else just pulled up a chair wherever there
was a space. Piers grinned at Eric, a fellow financier, and winked in the direction of Tatiana, whose huge breasts threatened to tumble right out of her flimsy silk vest and knock over her Bellini
each time she shook her long tresses from one shoulder to the other.
    ‘So, I, er, think I made a mistake asking my latest “project” to come join us out in France tomorrow. There’s already more than I can handle on this side of the
Channel,’ Piers told Eric, looking pointedly at Tatiana’s chest as she ran her fingers slowly up and down her glass and pretended not to listen. ‘Perhaps I can tell her I got
called to a meeting and send her to Harvey Nicks with my credit card instead,’ he mused. ‘I haven’t had time to look for another wife but I’ve always got a
“project” on. As long as you keep them in holidays and watches and set them up with a nice convertible then they’re happy.’
    ‘Holy cow! Can I be a project?’ cut in Tara, looking pained. Piers and Eric appeared momentarily surprised and then as Tara’s face creased with laughter they joined her,
guffawing a touch too loudly. Some of the other girls shot her irritated looks, annoyed that she’d managed to infiltrate the boys’ talk and was threatening to rise above arm-candy
status.
    Natalya peered down from the other end of the table, where she sat in a strategically selected black silk dress that quietly skimmed her subtle curves. She’d been purposefully ignoring the
men around her as this was always the most effective way of gaining attention from those not used to being disregarded. She stared enviously at Tara. All those flippant comments. Everything in her
simple life could be neatly summed up, dealt with in a throwaway remark or a privileged laugh.
    Finally Reza appeared, flanked by the two young Italians, Ciara and Francesca. Ciara, in a one-shouldered burgundy cocktail dress with her dark hair piled up high on her head and shimmering
diamond drop earrings, looked like a sweet child who had raided her sexy elder sister’s wardrobe. She took a seat squeezed in beside Reza and, pulling out a compact and lipstick, repainted
her pouty mouth a brighter shade of red.
    ‘Do my thighs look a little chunky in this dress?’ Abena whispered to Tara, starting to regret having worn flats.
    ‘No, no, you look great,’ replied Tara without looking. Walking into the restaurant was a man in his late twenties or early thirties with swept-back ash-blond hair, finely chiselled
cheekbones and a long Roman nose not