Michael returned to his stool at the other end of the bar and then thinking for a moment he dragged it closer to hers until he was almost within touching distance. Of course, it was essential he got closer so he could look at the silk stockings, which were gleaming enticingly in the dim light of the bar and which Imogen had now boldly crossed.

It wasn’t unusual to see a woman in stockings – but there was something about the way she wore them. It was as if she was made to wear a pair of hose in the way some girls are made to wear gloves or pearls. Therewas no doubt the silk stockings and the woman were a uniquely erotic combination and no other woman on the planet could carry off such a stunning partnership.

Imogen watched Michael for several minutes and before she realised what she was doing, she speared him with her cheeky gaze and raising her glass she invited a toast. It was something she never did and there was a steely determination in her glance, not unlike a whore’s invitation, but in a way she was a whore. She was, as Louis had so quaintly put it, the silk stocking whore – a cocktease in Cervin.

Michael smiled at her. She hazarded a guess he was doing what most men did, he was wondering if she had a boyfriend or if she was a high class whore waiting for a punter since she seemed expectant and her gaze kept continually darting to the door. The truth of the matter was, though, Imogen couldn’t get rid of the irrational fear which seemed to be mounting up inside her day by day, the fear Louis would walk right back in and blackmail her.

After awhile Imogen fished an olive out of her drink and popping it between her lips she dried her finger on her thigh. She didn’t mean to do it, but the action of the finger drew Michael’s attention to the silk stockings. She rubbed her finger up and down suggestively and then she drew several small circles on her thigh before hitching her skirt skilfully up her legs. She didn’t want to tempt him but she couldn’t help it, she liked him. She liked his wide-eyed innocent look and his slim sexy physique and narrow hips. He was American, she’d guessed that immediately because he talked with a bit of a twang like Jake, but Jake had a broadBrooklynaccent and Michael’s accent was soft and husky as if he’d just had sex and rolled out of bed. Even that voice was enough to get her going for some reason. It sent shivers all the way up her spine.

Michael travelled the world in his high powered job as top sales executive in his sister-in-law’s cosmetic firm. He was a rebel like his father and he’d been groomed to walk in Abel Levenstein’s shoes, but when he left law school Michael found, although he had a certain genius just like his father for law, he didn’t want to be a facsimile of a legal Levenstein.

Being a famous Levenstein wasn’t easy and when he dropped the bombshell, Abel didn’t talk to him for six months, but the family were close and a compromise was reached. He now employed his skills to good use in Marta’s employ. He enjoyed selling useful products and he could put his legal skills to good use. Furthermore, he loved the job because he was constantly meeting and able to appraise stunning women, women of incredible and outstanding beauty. He’d been to many exotic countries and he’d shared a bed with a fair quantity of fascinating girls. Girls he had to admit, who were exceedingly enchanting and sexually provocative and sometimes had eclectic and surprising sexual repertoires but whose beautiful flawless looks became in a while just a little bit repetitive. In all those bars, in all those hotels, he’d never seen a dame as exciting as Imogen, the woman in the silk stockings.

Michael was also not a hustler and he didn’t behave like a lot of guys who hopped in out of bed with every broad who approached them. No. He liked to experience some kind of enchantment and be attracted to a woman in more than the base physical way before he went to bed with her. What’s more, he’d never gone for orthodox beauty. He enjoyed having his interest piqued by something exceptional. This time, shockingly, it was the enchantment of Imogen’s incredible sex tools in the silk stockings.

Michael was astute, he’d been trained as a lawyer after all, and in a few seconds he’d sized Imogen up. He liked her thick natural blonde hair, which Imogen had piled stylishly high on top of her head and which was fastened with two tortoiseshell combs, and he liked the way the hair which was swept away from her cheeks, accentuated her lustrous blue eyes.