Read Online Gemini Heat by Portia Da Costa - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Portia Da Costa
Tags: Erótica, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Erotica, Romantic, British & Irish
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vibrant, sensual Delia quite different to the suppressed and single-minded girl who'd been stifled by the awful Russell.
'Yes ... I'd like to say "take him and good luck". But I can't Deana, I just can't!'
'Neither can I, love. So there's only one thing for it . . .'
'Oh, Deana, we haven't done it since we were fifteen!'
'It's the only way. Do you have a coin?'
As she watched her sister reach for her bag, open her purse and take out a ten pence piece, Deana was shaking. She mimed 'heads' but couldn't tell whether she wanted it to come up or not.
With a deftness that Deana envied, Delia tossed the coin, caught it neatly, then exposed the face. 'The Gemini Game. Round One. Deana Ferraro to play,' she said with a shrug and a half-envious, half-relieved grin. 'Come on, we'd better sort you out something to wear. He said dress to impress, Deana love, and I don't think you've a single impressive item in your whole wardrobe!'
'Bloody cheek!' replied Deana affectionately, jumping to her feet and following her sister from the room. It was a matter of taste, she supposed, but for once, and for the purpose of going out with one Jackson Kazuto de Guile, she knew that Delia was most probably right . . .
At ten to eight, Deana's senses were turbo-charged, and even though Delia said she did look impressive, to her own eyes she wasn't so sure.
From their combined wardrobes - and cosmetic resources - the two Ferraros had created an accumulated persona called 'Dee'. A woman who was both wild and smooth, and who - with luck - could fell any man on earth. Even half-Japanese billionaires with a penchant for quickie sex.
In the narrow antique mirror that stood in the hall of their flat, Deana surveyed the potential slayer and felt a small surge of confidence.
The top was hers; an iridescent sequinned bustier which Delia had been somewhat dubious about until Deana had showed her its bona fide designer label. It was eyecatching but tasteful and clung faithfully to Deana's braless breasts. De Guile would appreciate the body beneath and he had no way of knowing that the sparkly garment that covered it had cost just fifteen quid at a Saturday second hand market.
Bearing in mind 'their' date's fondness for leather, the girls had chosen a straight black skirt made of buttery high-gloss hide. This was Delia's but not something she wore often. She liked the skirt but rarely went to places that it suited. Even so, its sophisticated two inches above the knee length, and skimming rather than clinging shape, reflected a far less 'obvious' sense of style than Deana's. The same good taste that had insisted on smoke-grey stockings, not bare legs, and made Deana take off virtually all the jewellery she'd put on. She scowled now at the simple beaten silver button-shaped earrings, and the thin bangle which was the only other item she'd been permitted. She'd complained at first, but now had to admit that her sister was right. And about the hair too, a sensuously coiled topknot with just a few wayward tendrils that drifted around a lightly made-up face. Unbeknownst to Delia, though, Deana had slicked on a coat of darker, plummier lipstick at the last minute and changed her sister's plain gros-grain court shoes for a pair of three-inch high black patent stilettos - another magic find from the markets.
'You look good, kid,' she whispered to herself, adjusting a strand of her coiffure, 'But for how long?'
Delia had said de Guile was taking 'Dee' somewhere, but in both their experiences so far, he was far more likely to want her body almost immediately. Deana felt her breasts prickle in the scrunchy containment of her top as she imagined those long dark fingers upon her: stroking and exploring, and this time reaching areas that he'd not reached before. The bustier fitted neatly, but would make very little of an obstacle if de Guile wanted to handle her bosom. And the skirt, whilst tapered, was an easyish fit with a super-slidey lining. A narrow hand, such as
'Yes ... I'd like to say "take him and good luck". But I can't Deana, I just can't!'
'Neither can I, love. So there's only one thing for it . . .'
'Oh, Deana, we haven't done it since we were fifteen!'
'It's the only way. Do you have a coin?'
As she watched her sister reach for her bag, open her purse and take out a ten pence piece, Deana was shaking. She mimed 'heads' but couldn't tell whether she wanted it to come up or not.
With a deftness that Deana envied, Delia tossed the coin, caught it neatly, then exposed the face. 'The Gemini Game. Round One. Deana Ferraro to play,' she said with a shrug and a half-envious, half-relieved grin. 'Come on, we'd better sort you out something to wear. He said dress to impress, Deana love, and I don't think you've a single impressive item in your whole wardrobe!'
'Bloody cheek!' replied Deana affectionately, jumping to her feet and following her sister from the room. It was a matter of taste, she supposed, but for once, and for the purpose of going out with one Jackson Kazuto de Guile, she knew that Delia was most probably right . . .
At ten to eight, Deana's senses were turbo-charged, and even though Delia said she did look impressive, to her own eyes she wasn't so sure.
From their combined wardrobes - and cosmetic resources - the two Ferraros had created an accumulated persona called 'Dee'. A woman who was both wild and smooth, and who - with luck - could fell any man on earth. Even half-Japanese billionaires with a penchant for quickie sex.
In the narrow antique mirror that stood in the hall of their flat, Deana surveyed the potential slayer and felt a small surge of confidence.
The top was hers; an iridescent sequinned bustier which Delia had been somewhat dubious about until Deana had showed her its bona fide designer label. It was eyecatching but tasteful and clung faithfully to Deana's braless breasts. De Guile would appreciate the body beneath and he had no way of knowing that the sparkly garment that covered it had cost just fifteen quid at a Saturday second hand market.
Bearing in mind 'their' date's fondness for leather, the girls had chosen a straight black skirt made of buttery high-gloss hide. This was Delia's but not something she wore often. She liked the skirt but rarely went to places that it suited. Even so, its sophisticated two inches above the knee length, and skimming rather than clinging shape, reflected a far less 'obvious' sense of style than Deana's. The same good taste that had insisted on smoke-grey stockings, not bare legs, and made Deana take off virtually all the jewellery she'd put on. She scowled now at the simple beaten silver button-shaped earrings, and the thin bangle which was the only other item she'd been permitted. She'd complained at first, but now had to admit that her sister was right. And about the hair too, a sensuously coiled topknot with just a few wayward tendrils that drifted around a lightly made-up face. Unbeknownst to Delia, though, Deana had slicked on a coat of darker, plummier lipstick at the last minute and changed her sister's plain gros-grain court shoes for a pair of three-inch high black patent stilettos - another magic find from the markets.
'You look good, kid,' she whispered to herself, adjusting a strand of her coiffure, 'But for how long?'
Delia had said de Guile was taking 'Dee' somewhere, but in both their experiences so far, he was far more likely to want her body almost immediately. Deana felt her breasts prickle in the scrunchy containment of her top as she imagined those long dark fingers upon her: stroking and exploring, and this time reaching areas that he'd not reached before. The bustier fitted neatly, but would make very little of an obstacle if de Guile wanted to handle her bosom. And the skirt, whilst tapered, was an easyish fit with a super-slidey lining. A narrow hand, such as
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