Indecent Proposal from an Escort Girl...

Nabilla hid behind the kitchen door, her hands pressed against her burning cheeks in a derisory attempt to cool them. Had anyone seen her leave the party in a hurry? She hoped not, but if not, you'd probably think she was helping Dania with the dishes. 

Her mouth dry, she walked away from the door. Fortunately, the vendors had left and the kitchen was empty. For nothing in the world would she have wanted to have to explain the reasons for her flight. She cursed herself for coming to the reception. But how could she have predicted that Geoffrey Thomas would show up here—alone—when it was rumoured that he was about to marry Dania Attenborough, the daughter of an American billionaire? 

She tried to calm down, desperately repeating to herself that she was no longer an Escort Girl . She had to be able to dominate any situation, even the expected encounter with this man whom she held responsible for the ruin of her family and the precarious living conditions in which she had been struggling for two years. 

With her new job as an assistant decorator at Le Mag Designer Associates, she was almost out of the woods and within a few months she would be able to start repaying some of the gambling debts her father had contracted before retiring. commit suicide. Of course, she would still have to work for a while as a waitress every weekend at Costello, babysit from time to time, keep going out to a minimum, be content to buy clothes on sale in the supermarkets... She who until then had known in life only the carelessness, luxury and frivolity of escorting nights… Everything seemed to him preferable to the humiliation that would have been to accept the help and protection that Geoffrey Thomas had given her when he bought Weathland, the family estate of Mission Hills, the last vestige of the empire of his poor father, Edward Ferguson. Nabilla still remembered, as if it were yesterday, the jubilant smile that had appeared on Geoffrey's lips when the auctioneer, armed with his hammer, had awarded Weathland “to Me Geoffrey Thomas. Even more terrible was the memory of the following night. The fateful night during which his father, in the hope of keeping Weathland, had started a game of poker with him... A game in which the young Nabilla was the ultimate stake. A part that Edward Ferguson had lost and almost lost, she... What revenge it must have been for the nephew of the Weathland gardener whom Edward Ferguson had hired as a seasonal worker, to have become, at thirty-three years, the one of Australia's finest lawyers and owner of Queensland's most fabulous mansion. And, to complete his victory, this monstrous game of poker which put at his mercy the daughter of his former boss! If he had wished… From then on, Nabilla had really understood who he was, the thirst for power, power and revenge that had always been in him. Even today, the young woman cursed herself for the trust she had shown in him during all those years when, as a child then a teenager transfixed with love, she would have blindly followed the attentive, charming and laughing young man that he had been. . this monstrous game of poker which put at his mercy the daughter of his former boss! If he had wished… From then on, Nabilla had really understood who he was, the thirst for power, power and revenge that had always been in him. Even today, the young woman cursed herself for the trust she had shown in him during all those years when, as a child then a teenager transfixed with love, she would have blindly followed the attentive, charming and laughing young man that he had been. . this monstrous game of poker which put at his mercy the daughter of his former boss! If he had wished… From then on, Nabilla had really understood who he was, the thirst for power, power and revenge that had always been in him. Even today, the young woman cursed herself for the trust she had shown in him during all those years when, as a child then a teenager transfixed with love, she would have blindly followed the attentive, charming and laughing young man that he had been. . 

Such a feeling revolted her. Shame him. Because she now knew the true face of Geoffrey Thomas. But why, suddenly, tonight, couldn't she help but feel nostalgic for that time? Why this emotion so strong in his presence, why this unexpected confusion when he had posed his gray gaze on her, and above all, how to explain this sudden weakness which made her regret having been for him only a flirt without importance? But what harm was there, after all, in regretting the past when it had been happy? Because all that, she knew, was well and truly over. Nabilla and Geoffrey would never again look like lovers who tenderly held each other's hands or roamed the countryside on horseback. Money, ambition, Weathland had ganged up on them, forever determined their understanding, their complicity and their love games. She was no longer a child or a rather naive young girl, but a woman of twenty-five. A lucid woman. Lucid about men. Lucid about life, too. Nabilla suddenly had the impression of a terrible mess. Why had the tragedy destroyed this happiness which she had naively believed to be eternal? Why did they have to be secretly grateful that they weren't savoring his victory. Because it was indeed a victory for him, that she remained there, defeated, disarmed, consenting in his arms... And, despite her bitterness, she could not help being seduced by the elegant behavior by Geoffrey. For a moment, she had forgotten almost all the torment she had endured because of him. VS' is the first time I've seen you cry, he whispered. He had never been so kind, so sweet. And Nabilla had realized how much she loved his tenderness. And, even worse, how badly she needed him. - Yet, I cried so often, she had confessed. - Never in front of me. However, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Spontaneously, she had smiled through the tears and he had approached his lips to hers. "No," she protested plaintively. You mustn't... I would have done better to take what you offered me that evening instead of offering you my protection, he had murmured. Your protection ? she wondered, between two suppressed sobs. When you worked for us, you already behaved like a master, a tyrant! "Because I didn't want you to go out every night?" Because I wouldn't let you see just any boy? Because I thought you had to learn a trade? You took your role a little too seriously, didn't you? She had moved quickly towards the window and, crossing her arms, staring stubbornly at the night, she had felt her heart leap in her chest when he approached her. And then... you know, not everyone thinks so. Some people even think that you belong to me as much as Weathland... I also remember the time when you yourself were convinced that... Enough! Enough ! Why do you still come to torment me? So you will never let me forget that night! But it's me who can't forget it, Nabilla, that night when I won a second time Weathland and you... Shut up! It was you who suggested this idea to my father. It's all your fault! No way. He was the player, not me. The proposal was from him and. .. I won. Those are the rules of the game. I could have lost. Stop, please! Leave me alone ! After all, you just had to take your chance while there was still time! At least let me help you if you can't bear to hear the truth. Believe me, I could take better care of you than your father ever did! I believe I have already amply proved this to you. "I...I don't want your charity and then you...you lie!" My father no longer knew what he was doing and you took advantage of it. "Would you like... - You are a monster. Geofirey Carradine! she said with disgust. You are nothing to me. He had approached again. “Then I wonder why you are so aggressive with me. Is it because of Weathland or because you can't forget that I turned my back on you when you offered yourself to me? You might not be grateful that you kept the thing secret and didn't profit from it, until today, at least.. . I gave you back your freedom back then! I didn't want a woman won on a bet. I wanted you to be, free and in love! She backed up and raised her hand to slap him. Faster than her, he had caught her before she reached his face. I hate you ! she had shouted. - This n' Hasn't always been the case, he replied calmly, not letting go of her wrist. She struggled and he let her go. Remember, you... She hadn't let him finish, had thrown herself on him in a rage, determined to beat him, knowing, however, that she could never hurt him, shake his confidence and his cold arrogance. Very quickly, the powerful arms which embraced her had got the better of her. The contact of this powerful body against mine had troubled her. Despite her hatred, she had suddenly felt very tired, helpless and had let herself go between the muscular arms, decidedly too strong. She had abandoned herself against the powerful torso and had impulsively tied her arms around his neck. The tears had slipped down her cheeks, she had let them fall. He had kissed her on the forehead. A delicious shiver ran through her. She had closed her eyes in him growing so close to each other that fate would separate them then, so cruelly? 

She tried to push those thoughts away. Nostalgia only served to heighten the pain. And she didn't want to suffer anymore. The hatred she felt for Geoffrey Carradine, for the man he had become, was to be her only guide. However, in spite of herself, Nabilla went back to thinking about their last meeting, on a beautiful summer evening like this, as she was returning home after her service at Plaza. He was waiting for her outside the door of his studio. She saw his gray eyes again, his gaze resting on her. Once again, she could only see that he was the most attractive and handsome man she had ever met. Everything about him was incredibly virile, powerful: his muscular body, the way he moved, he spoke, he looked at her... For a few moments, she had been hypnotized by his face framed by black hair, his gaze full of mystery and his devastating smile which gave him an irresistible charm. Incredulous, she whispered: Good evening. Slowly, as if another part of her had acted in her place, she opened the door for him, then turned on the light and they looked at each other for a moment without saying anything. He took a step towards her. - What are you doing here ? she whispered. Why are you here ? - You come home very late, Nabilla, he had noted in this voice with hoarse and velvety inflections that took a pack of cigarettes. He had offered her one which she had refused. So he put it to his mouth and lit it. Still not drinking coffee? he inquired with a small smile. No. - Well, how about a cup of tea? 'I wouldn't say anything. And he had laughed. Despite the hostility he could read in the young woman's eyes, he had gone to the kitchenette cupboard, opened it, found a bag of tea there, which he threw on the coffee table. Then, trying to take the cups, he had dropped one, which had broken on the floor with a sinister noise. "But who do you think you are?" she had exploded, exasperated. You have no right to come here, to my house. Isn't Weathland enough for you? “No, not without you. Where were you tonight? It's none of your business, she replied. "I'm not so sure as you are." "You have no right over me, Master Thomas!" She glared at him, had approached the open cupboard, had quickly taken a saucer from it and placed it abruptly on the table. Very close to him, she had seen him smile while the gray eyes detailed the features of his face: his velvety skin, his green eyes, his long eyelashes, his delicate and... sensual lips. Of course, I have no rights over you, Nabilla. I've never had one. .. But your perseverance in asserting it will end up making me believe the opposite. young woman loved so much. Someone has to take care of you... And that person is me. She had stared at him for a few seconds in silence, then she had said: 'Go away. He kept looking at her, as if he hadn't heard, seeming to notice for the first time how the fierce girl he had known had grown into a woman. And a beautiful woman. That night she wore a T-shirt that hugged her round breasts and a loose hard gray skirt held in place by a wide black leather belt that outlined a wonderfully slim waist. Her long blonde hair was held up under a gray canvas cap from which escaped a few curly locks. Anger, fear, and a kind of fragility gave his green eyes a fascinating glow. If you're going to stay…, she had continued, icy. He had contented himself with examining the few pieces of furniture in the room before dwelling on the watercolor that the young woman had hung on the wall. A painting on which, years earlier, they stood hand in hand, 

He then turned to her. Unable to move, she stood in the doorway. - What do you want ? she asked. You know it... His gaze had once again slid over the curves of this delicately feminine body that he could make out under his clothes. Then, from his suit pocket. Who knows... Perhaps you still blame me today, after all this time, for not having followed you to your room that night? I would have hated you... "Just like you do today," he replied. She had begun to tremble and her cheeks had suddenly flushed. "Tell me, Lyon, do all the men you go out with make you shiver and blush?" - Of course not ! But them, I don't hate them! she replied, ruthlessly. - Why do you persist in hating me, Nabilla? Anyone other than me would have taken advantage of the situation. You know that very well. I have always been correct with you. I know how to be very patient, up to a point, and... Are you planning to talk all night, Master Carradine? she had interrupted, detaching herself completely from him. Why don't you leave me alone now? — So be it, but think about it and if you need help... — You're the last man on earth I'd call if I needed help, do you hear me? The last ! Master Carradine? she had interrupted, detaching herself completely from him. Why don't you leave me alone now? — So be it, but think about it and if you need help... — You're the last man on earth I'd call if I needed help, do you hear me? The last ! Master Carradine? she had interrupted, detaching herself completely from him. Why don't you leave me alone now? — So be it, but think about it and if you need help... — You're the last man on earth I'd call if I needed help, do you hear me? The last ! 

He had stared at her intensely with his mysterious gaze that was both impetuous and tender, fascinated and sensual. I'll be back, he said as he opened the door. I will come back, Nabilla. Think about what I just told you... And Nabilla had wished, for a brief moment, to leave Paris, change her name, forget her forever.