He's gorgeous, cool and slick. Small wonder those wealthy American dames are falling over themselves to taste his flirtatious skills, just where it counts. Seduction is the name of his game, and he knows how to keep a secret. Trouble is, our Gigolo is also a mischief maker, a man with a mission - to make a killing. So he's got a secret of his own. But, can he keep it that way? Deliciously sensual and a touch macabre, this collection of tales, I'm a Gigolo contains ten startlingly original and provocative short stories you'll need to be brave to read at bedtime. 5 Stars from Lisa Hall USA Book reviewer Witty, clever, saucy, seductive and naughty in equal measure - what's not to like? Leading with a story about a self-confessed and, some might say, self-obsessed, Gigolo, this collection of ten short stories is highly entertaining and diverse.
The Gigolo story is blush-worthy and provocative, told with sprinkling of arrogance and peppered with humour throughout. I anticipated the following short stories to be just as saucy and was pleasantly surprised by their diverse content. All of the stories had a fabulously wicked side to them and I wonder if this is the author's naughty side shining through. I think the old couple was probably my second favourite of the tales (with the Gigolo in first place, of course) it was deliciously dark and hugely entertaining.
Overall a fun collection of short stories with something for everyone.
Author Biography:
The inspiration for this story originated at a black tie event given by a senior American politician in a magnificent Georgian mansion in London's Mayfair, to which I was invited a few years ago. Attended by the great and the good the place was awash with fabulous food, fabulous surroundings and fabulous people. Among the latter, a sprinkling of billionaires. And more than just a sprinkling of stunning women, all in designer clothes and dripping gold and diamonds. My attention was drawn early on by a strikingly handsome young man with immaculate black hair. Extremely tall, and ignoring protocol, he wore a white tuxedo, with black silk dress shirt and white bow tie. In a further snub to convention, he was the only smoker in the room, flourishing a long thin cheroot between elegant fingers. I noticed him moving with animal grace from woman to woman, all of whom appeared entranced by his soft conversation. He seemed to approach females at random, whether alone, or even if accompanied by husbands and boyfriends. I contrived to get as close to him as possible to see and hear what they found so fascinating about the man. What I heard astonished me. Soft spoken comments. Amusing dialogue. A hand discreetly, if outrageously brushing a breast or bare back. Then, like a magician, the production of a gold edged, embossed business card, secreted by him, either about her person, or slipped surreptitiously into a clutch bag. And then: But surely not. But yes. I'd heard correctly. The quoting of a price. The man was a Gigolo. Nothing less. Working the room in the full glare of an ultra-prestigious gathering, as though he were the host himself. He must have conversed with more than a dozen women. I noticed several of them looking flushed, excited, expectant, as he moved on. How else to describe it? I needed to know more. To hear for myself what gilded web of enchantment this individual could spin. But when I searched the room, like a phantom, he'd disappeared. I attended several more parties over the years at that and other Mayfair addresses, but never saw him again. And when I made enquiries of my various hosts, none of them could ever recall having seen the man. Food for thought, I decided, and a short story. I am a Gigolo.
