Melting the Slopes by William Maltese

Author:William Maltese [Maltese, William]
Language: nld
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Romance MM, erotic MM
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

The weather forecast: Snow.

The drink: Pousse Cafe.

The locale: Brasov, Romania

The Casa Wagner had huge and luxurious rooms, and it was centrally located. Mount Tampa, the Black Church, and all the Old Town were right outside my door. It also was so well-heated that I had to crack one of the large windows overlooking the square, even though I was only dressed in a robe at the time, and large snow flakes were falling outside.

There was a rap on the door, and I bypassed the coffee table on which sat the Pousse Cafe, presently burning bright amber, brought to me just seconds before by a room steward who had made quite a ceremony of ignition.

"Hi, handsome," Alain said when I opened the door.

I let him in and nodded to his bodyguards, Rolph and Sversnk, who knew me well enough by now to nod back before I closed the door between us.

"So, how was your trip?" Alain asked, after a long and boner-producing —for him, for me—greeting kiss. The nearest airport was in Bucharest, 160 meters to the south, and I'd been driven from there in a hired car.

"The flight and drive were fine." I helped him off with his coat after he peeled off his gloves.

"And is the room to your liking? I can have them move us."

149

Melting the Slopes

by William Maltese

"Actually, there are three rooms," I said. "Sitting room, bedroom, and the bathroom with a shower and two bathtubs."

"As if we'd ever take separate baths," he said and smiled that wonderful smile of his.

He noticed the top layer of Pousse Cafe burning in its glass on the coffee table. He went over, picked it up, and blew out the flame. He downed the remaining multi-colored total in one large swallow, followed by a slight grimace, a pleased sigh, and a sexy smack of his full lips.

"You do know that if you don't blow out the flame, the drink will completely burn away?" he said. It had become our standard greeting ritual.

"I do believe someone once told me that in ... I think it might have been Berlin."

He discarded the last of the bundling in which he'd arrived—a black cashmere scarf—and tossed it onto the same chair where we'd put his coat and gloves. As usual, he was impeccably dressed, this time in an exquisitely bespoke black suit, black shirt, black silk tie, and black Gucci boots.

"I've managed to block out the whole fucking weekend for us, buddy," he said. "And I do mean 'fucking'. I've told everyone that I don't want to be disturbed even if the Russians invade—which, I suppose you know, they've threatened to do any day now. I thought the Americans finished them off as a world bully, but I guess not."

"Everyone is after oil, these days," I said. "Even those who have it want more of it. You're little kingdom just happens to be sitting on a vast reservoir of the stuff. I'd guess it's driving 150

Melting the Slopes

by William Maltese

the Russians crazy that your father is thinking of letting us Brits exploit it instead of them.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.