"La Petite Mort" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gregg Carolyn)Chapter Two Torch lights illuminated the huge castle-like mansion where the ball was taking place. Bria stared at the multiple spires with their mullioned windows with a gnawing hunger that had nothing to do with the need for food. Tonight she would be granted her ultimate wish, her penultimate fantasy, and her nerves were so tightly strung, the synapses were singing in anticipation. Her skin was dry and damp at the same time. Her mouth felt like it was clogged with cotton balls. It had taken her all day Friday and Saturday to figure out what to wear. After all, what did one wear to one's own death? And in the midst of a masquerade ball, at that? Careful snooping and a few well-placed questions only revealed that just about anything would be acceptable in the form of a disguise. Which meant that a trip to a costume shop had been part of the agenda. Endless searching, and more than a dozen try-ons later, Bria had settled on a Grecian toga of sorts. The layers of material were diaphanous. Even after wrapping it around her, it was still almost completely see-through; but the store clerk assured Bria she had the figure to pull it off. "Did you know Grecian women loved to drench themselves in water to highlight their attributes?” the woman grinned. “With your dark, naturally curly hair, you could be the spitting image of one of those models on their mosaics or urns. By the way,” the clerk added in a conspiratorial tone of voice, “be sure to go braless, but wear some little something down below so your thatch won't be so prominent." Red-faced, Bria had nodded and hustled out of the shop. Yet, once she put the costume on again, secured her hair up on top of her head, and added a gold cuff as her only jewelry, the final results were superb. The Greek goddess Bria was ready to descend from Mount Olympus and honor the common mortals below with her presence. As the moon rose above the horizon, she drove to the outskirts of town, and the secluded stretch of beach where the island's parking lot was located. A man dressed as a knight, complete with chain mail and tabard, merely glanced at her invitation before helping her onto the ferry that would take her over to the event. There were three other people with her on the brief ride. They were all dressed in different outfits-a cowboy, an Egyptian pharaoh, and a super heroine complete with cape. No one spoke, much less attempted to engage in conversation. Once they docked at the island, another knight escorted them to one of three open carriages, each one driven by two pristine white horses that took them through a small forest, and finally up the main drive to the mansion. As she was helped from the conveyance, Bria handed over the invitation to the Musketeer standing in the doorway. The place boiled with activity. Kings, satyrs, belly dancers, and princesses in medieval finery-the flowing wall of color and flesh was overwhelming. With every passing minute, Bria realized she didn't know these people. And, in truth, she didn't belong here. The invitation hadn't been meant for her, so her being here could be legitimately argued as fraud. She turned to see if she could escape back outside and make her way back to the ferry when a fresh wave of costumed revelers came through the door, blocking her exit. Almost panicking, Bria turned to see a huge set of double doors leading to another room. She headed toward them. Buffet tables and drinks trays piled high with nearly everything edible imaginable filled this room adjacent to the entryway. Music filtered in from the ballroom next door-loud but not overwhelming. Not knowing much about music, Bria couldn't tell whether the live orchestra played a tarantella, or a minuet, or a waltz. Did people actually dance to it? It didn't seem to matter anyway. The costumed guests appeared to be unaware of the entertainment as they meandered from room to room and indulged. All right. The hosts were taking care of the basic needs. So where was the person taking the fantasy orders? "May I be of service?" The sudden, deep voice coming from behind Bria startled her. She hoped the white cotton half mask over her eyes helped to hide a lot of her confusion, and disguised most of her embarrassment when she turned around to see who was talking to her. The man towered over her. With glossy black hair and the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen on a man, his face alone was enough to stop traffic. He wore no mask, which surprised her. But what concerned her was not his alarming good looks. Nor was it those impossibly wide shoulders, complete with Superman muscles. No. It was the tiny white skirt he wore below the wide, gold belt about his narrow waist. A skirt that was barely long enough to cover his buttocks in the back. Dear Lord! I hope he's wearing something underneath it, was her first thought, until the little devil sitting on her shoulder firmly rebuked her. Five will get you twenty he's not. Betcha if he gets a hard-on, it would peek right past the hem. What a bitch to discover a man who looked better in a short skirt than most women did. "We seem to make a couple,” the man continued, either oblivious to her staring, or not caring about the way she was ogling him. In fact, by the time Bria managed to drag her eyes back up to his, he was smiling. "Uhh… a couple?" Laughing softly, the man indicated her toga and his similar attire. “I'm Hercules. And you are… who? Athena? Or perhaps Hera, the queen of the gods." She had to have a personification? Bria opened the rusty gates on her mental files regarding Greek and Roman gods. Vague memories of an old college class came back to her, until a name clicked into place. "I'm Persephone, spending what time I have here on this earth to attend this masked ball,” she managed to reply without stammering. "Ah. Persephone. Queen of the underworld. I am honored to make your acquaintance.” The man bowed over her hand before pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. The feel of his mouth on her skin sent a warm flood of desire surging through her, soaking the tiny thong she was wearing and leaving her moist between the thighs. Unconsciously, her eyes darted to the tiny skirt, but nothing stirred. "My real name…" "Ah!” Hercules wagged a forefinger at her as his eyes sparkled with amusement. “No real anything. Not tonight. Tonight we are whoever we wish to be, doing whatever we so desire. And what is your desire, my queen?" Well, hell, Bria. Now's your chance. Go for it! "I want to die." |
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