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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Romance/Love · #2241669
Love will capture you in any place of the world. Don’t you believe in it? Then believe!

In Hugs of Dream

Tasha Vae-Rosh

Dazzling lights of New-York, pacifying nature of a small town on Colorado, amazing beauty of Cote d'-Azur in France...wherever you are, the love will capture you in any place of the world.

Could a simple restaurateur Angie Northon imagine that her trip to New-York and meeting with the mogul Alexander Dimond would turn her life upside down and the sequence of events followed her crazy plan would lead her to true love?

Could a legendary mogul suspect that fallen to his hugs beauty would conquer his heart of the eternal bachelor and would become the love of his whole life?

Don't you believe in love? Then believe!


Tall, dark-hair man was standing at the window and watching from the height of a skyscraper at the lying behind his feet huge metropolis, glittering with multicolored lights and neon sign-boards. High buildings, rising up to the sky, were reflecting blinks to the waters of Hudson and illuminated Riverside Park. Traffic jams, like long snakes, were spreading along the evening city and unstoppably appearing pedestrians were in a hurry to do their business. This everlasting, buzzing, looking like an anthill city absolutely dazzled, but for the standing person this scene was ordinary and even a bit boring. He was living in New-York for too long and started his way by no means in the Manhattan penthouse, but in Bronx, the poorest and most densely-populated part of Big Apple1. A poor student, thanks to his brilliant mind and ingenuity could get the scholarship and after graduating from college, he wisely used his education, astonishing appearance and cute mind. During last ten years he had established contacts with top-level officials and set up his own business, contriving to make tons of money. By his thirty-one he owned a real business empire. His factories were all over the United Stated and now he was making the first, rather successful steps for conquering Europe. It was such a long and not a simple way from the very bottom right up to the top floor of the skyscraper Dimond-Westwood Building. But to his greater frustration he didn't fell anything but boredom. His beautiful, cold face being reflected in the window expressed absolutely nothing. Dark-blue eyes were observing this festival of life with a slight alloy of disdain. Behind him a door banged and a male voice asked:

- Alex, are we going or you are planning to cool heels here alone, while everybody is celebrating?

Alexandre Dimond lifted a glass of whisky to his mouth, made a sip and turned to his friend and business partner, squinting a bit his unbelievably sapphire eyes, just indecently beautiful for a male and at the same time cold like the waters of the Arctic Ocean. An accurately delineated line of the lips, a straight nose and a manly chin put him into the list of the Most Beautiful People of America and consequently the advantageous grooms. The last thing dejected him the most. He screwed up remembering the final edition of "Stylish America" that called him the main prize for any female. Rich, successful, popular. As if it was not enough that women except for put up tent near his house. With such gorgeous appearance he could have become a famous model or even a movie star, but all his ambitions were in another direction. Business. Contracts with Reinford Building Enterprises gave him an opportunity of entry to the European markets and new projects that would surely increase his in any case huge wealth and make him something like an icon in a Business world. The lessons of what he had absorbed quite well during last ten years of fight for the place in the league the best of the best. Confident, ruthless, not taking the middle path, believing nothing and nobody except his own intuition and business sense. His opponents got the news who they would be going to face with, clutched their heads in despair and ordered tickets to the most remote areas of Mexico being ready to live on the beach, catch fish and weave baskets. Anything only to avoid getting face to face with him, as he was called in press "Man of Steel". He had been coming to it so long and he finally reached everything he could only dream about, then why he didn't feel any satisfaction. He was the golden standard of the great American dream...so where was, the hell, this true blue blood disease...boredom from.

He looked closely at the person who had been with him from the very beginning and had been standing next to him at the machine tool on the steel factory. Maximillian Westwood was a tall, well-set up man, wearing expensive tuxedo, hadn't actually changed over those ten years. The same dark night eyes, the same black hair waving a bit on the ends, the same fabular sense of humor, the same insinuating genteel charisma and insolent irresistible smile, like his mother's one - the real Italian. Despite Alex, Max was the son of wealthy parents, who ruined all their expectations. The star of the high society from the early childhood. Instead of entering the college of law and continuing the family tradition of lawyers, he quit school and tried everything that the life of a golden boy could suggest him. Parties, girls, drinks and drugs was just a dream for any fast liver who he actually was. Only after drunk car accident, in which three people were hurt and the only guilty man was him, he understood he had been going the wrong way. Taking all the blame upon for that, he got off with a big fine, that was paid by his father, and correctional labor at the factory where he met Alex. Much to his father's displeasure, after college he didn't go to work for his company, but he stayed with Alex and together step by step they built up a business empire. His attractiveness and amiability were just a fade that hid the acute mind, ingenuity and firmness. Contrary to Alex, he preferred to clip claws his enemies with the boundless charm firstly, and only then showed his teeth.

"So? Am I going to beat off all those desirous of getting married successfully ladies alone?" He looked at his friend raising his eyebrow expressively.

Alex smiled that exactly charmingly-foxy smile that pulled the wool over everybody's eyes beginning from cleaners to his business partners.

"Since when have you become so diffident with female? Did the Hell freeze over?"

"Don't make me laugh," smirked Max. "It will come only with my last breath. Women is the only thing that brightens my boring life of a real work-addict. But today I am with an amazing lady, so the others are up to you. Moreover, who of us is the new live sex-symbol?" And he laughed, watching his friend's face going dark.

"I don't want to hear any word about that creepy article," roared Alex, putting his glass on the edge of the table and buried his hands into the pockets. "I've got the feeling that I'm not a serious businessman, but some kind of an amusing toy-animal for female with the shedloads of credit cards."

"That's exactly what the solicitous for your attention women waiting downstairs think. If you want, I can tip off that you're on the other side of the road, it will free you from the status of the main groom in a second."

"Go to hell," laughed Alex. "The last thing I need is to be grasped in the corners by men." Max fell on the coach laughing.

"I imagine news headlines "big selling-news Alex Dimond is the main groom of the year who is wearing pink strings under his multi-bucks' suits and sleeps only with the blondmen".

"Back off," Alex grumbled and burst out laughing. Max was the only person, who could say anything without getting a bruise on his model face. "If it comes like this, reporters won't live our long-time friendship without any attention and you'll get your piece of mud, mind that...sweetie," Alex sang in a twangy voice and saluted with the glass of whiskey.

"No, no, just wait. You won't sully my reputation of the first womanizer in New-York with your dirty hints and gossips."

"Oh year, sure, our reporters are able even for worse, so don't relax"

"In this case I'll buy a pinky mansion and present it to you. Let the vultures feast. Maybe it will stop them from getting us married to every single lady in this city."

"Perhaps, you should get married."

"God save me!" Max exclaimed in a horror putting his hands up jokingly. "I am too polygamous and I don't see myself with one woman. You marry."

Alex choked with his whiskey. After clearing his voice, he ran an accusing eye over his friend.

"You want me dead, don't you? And then you'll sell all our business and go to Maldives with a flock of leggy girls to hell around at our bloody-earned millions. No way."

"Wow, such a great idea. Why haven't I thought about that before?! No more multipage contracts, multihours negotiations, only sun, ocean and women. Thanks for the idea, man! I hope I'm the beneficiary in your last will."

"Sure! You're the main chief manager of Trust Fund for Sherry. You won't leave my sister unsupervised, will you?" asked Alex inquiringly.

"I won't, of course. But firstly I'll hire an army of detectives to find her. Have you any idea where she is now?"

"Figuratively, she's somewhere in Italy. Precisely, I don't know. She's like the wind and goes where it blows. Though, last time she constantly says she's found a job."

"Seriously?" Max burst out laughing. "I'm afraid to ask as who? As a seller of designers' stuff, moreover of her own?"

"In this case she won't need to work at all," Alex smiled. "Her clothes costs as the half of our business."

"Maybe even all," Max continued still laughing.

The joyance was interrupted with the phone call. Alex answered.

"Yes," he said. "Sure. Coming."


"It's time to start. Guests are tired of waiting," Alex answered, wearing his suit jacket and fixing his tie, slightly leasing it off. "Let's go. This year was difficult for us, but successful, it's time to celebrate it."

In a moment men came out of the office and got into the lift, that took them to the last 105th floor, where a big hall for arrangements was situated.


Avangelina Camellia Northon at birth and just Angie in life, sneezed loudly and turned the air blue. How could she catch a cold in a such responsible day? So much depended on that, she just couldn't let herself being sick. And nevertheless, she felt such adynamia that she barely raised her head from the pillow. Several efforts more and she came to the bathroom, however, she hardly took a look at herself in the mirror as she groaned and clutched her head. Swollen face, running eyes and red as Santa Claus's nose. What a horror!!! She took another look and barely choke back tears. And how could she appear in Dimond-Westwood Steel Building looking like this and, moreover, attract the attention of such a person like Alexander Dimond? All she needed was to get close to him, met and broke into his office. But with such look the only place where she was welcome was the jakey-bum shelter. She rushed to her mobile and googled the nearest drug-stores. In fifteen minutes she was standing in the queue with a pack of cold-relief, antiviral and antipyretic drugs. The Pharmacist inspected the standing in front of him woman very attentively. Fair, wavy hair was in such a mess that she looked like a bogy, whose masters had gone away from their home far long ago leaving the poor thing to the mercy of fate. Glasses hid her eyes surrounded with flossy black eyelashes, but they couldn't bury the unbelievable emerald shade of her external iris, which became of deep dark-green color near the apple of her eye. A straight nose, small poupy lips and an accurate stubborn chin. Despite her sicky look, the girl was a real bombshell. The Pharmacist unintentionally feasted his eyes on her soft milky skin with a light flush on her cheeks.

"Maybe, you should go to the hospital," he addressed to her with gentle voice.

"No, thank you," Angie answered, sniffing her nose. "Everything is fine; I've just got a little cold. But I have everything I need here," she raised a basket with preparations.

The Pharmacist only shook his head and put through all the medicine, placing them into the packet. He had big doubts about this self-treatment. Too many drugs on the show glass that didn't need any recipe, though the result of such uncontrollable usage of the medicine without doctor's advice could lead to the dire consequences. The girl came back to the hotel and took the cold-relief and antiviral drugs immediately. After some thinking, she decided to take antipyretic one later, when it was the time to go to the social. And she called her assistant and also best friend Teresa Tailor.

"Hello? Teresa, how are you?"

"Hi, Angie. Nothing new. In our town even flies die from the boredom as if you don't know that," her friend answered. "You'd better tell me, how the Big Apple is. Is it all in the lights and debauch?"

"Ter," she laughed, "what could I see? I flew yesterday and got to the hotel at once. But it seems this climate doesn't suit me at all. There is snow and rain, and God knows what else is outside. So I'm a bit sick and can't wait coming back home," Angie sighed.

"It's awful. Aha, and I think why your voice is so hoarse. Damn, you need to be at the party today. How will you go there like this? Perhaps, this plan must be called off, we'll think up something else."

"No. There's so little time left. Until he sees those documents, I need to put hands on them. You know how much it means for me. As for such conglomerate like Dimond-Westwood Enterprises it is just a couple of sacks of money. All I need is to take their attention off from our town, and everything will be great again."

"Well, it's up to you Angie. You're the most rational person I've ever known. But time to time you just cut up didoes so much that all my hair stands on end. Can you imagine what it will cost you if he catches you fiddling with his papers? He'll have you for dinner and won't even choke over."

"I know," Angie said rankly, "but I'm not a little girl, I'll take care of it. How are the preparations in the restaurant?"

"According to the plan. Everything is under my control."

"Even aunty Daisy?" Angie interested slyly.

"Don't say the name of Devil in talks," Teresa hissed.

"That's what I thought. Good luck and patience to you. See you at home."

"Ocean of luck to you too. Ciao."

Angie put down the phone and thought. She knew perfectly that there would be only the ashes left of her if she failed. She read everything she could find about Alexander Dimond. Three too. Too ruthless, too handsome, too rich. Damn, her knees were shaking as she was thinking about the things she had to do. Never mess with such people like him. Gasping, she went to the bathroom and had a shower. No matter what, there was no way back for her. She had thought through all possible versions of coming events, not for nothing her IQ was higher than some men had. Her plan was perfect.

At seven p.m. a black Mercedes stopped in front of the main entrance of Dimond-Westwood Building, a graceful, fair-hair lady in white fur wrap, black long dress and classical black high-hilled shoes came out of it. The wind almost blew her off while she was approaching to the front door. The doorman respectfully opened the glass door in front of her. She entered into the huge hall and looked around in an excitement. A big room with high ceiling, white columns in Greek style, marble floors and sofas impressed with its majesty and luxuriance. The walls were of soft beige color with slight patterns of decorative parget which were of mixed beige-peach shade with a bit of golden dust and covered with the wax surfacing. She had the feeling that she was in some kind of a fairy cave. Dark sofas and long reception desk of deep marengo shade added severity, as though reminding it was not some restaurant but a business office. However slight feeling of fabulousness didn't leave her while she was coming to the reception. Secretary girl asked where she was going. She gave her the invitation card for Unity Dousons' name. God should save the Mayor's wife who had got this invitation for her and helped her in everything, no matter what the consequences this plan could bring. The only thing the girl was calming down her inner small voice with was the realization that everything was done purely for good. As for Alexander Dimond, he would survive. It would be just a little loss for him, while she could lose everything.

"You need the 105th floor. You can leave you fur wrap in the checkroom, it's at the corner," the secretary said and pointed the direction with her hand. Angie came to the checkgirl and with shaky hands gave her the wrap, the price of which was her year salary, not less. The Mayor's wife was a good woman in fact but in clothing she was a real maniac. She would triply skin her alive in a way, if her most favorite fur wrap, of ten the same in her wardrobe if not more, lost at least one single hair. There was a big mirror near the checkroom. Angie came up to check her hairdo and make-up. A slim, sultry stunner with unbelievably green eyes with black wings, plush lips with a little touch of red lipstick and a model cheek-bone as sculpted from the thinnest porcelain. Fair hair with light curls playing the golden sheen was running down along her back till the waist. Angie had never been haughty but now she couldn't help admitting that her look was fabulous. Black long drees with naked shoulders sexually fitted close her beautiful breasts and narrow waist dilating from her hips to the floor. Sexual slit opened her fastidious leg while the walking. She looked like a picture from the fashion magazine. In a real life she preferred hiding her slim figure under sack-like clothes and tied up her hair into the horse tail avoiding of using any make-up. An ordinary next door girl with brilliant grades at school, honor bachelor's diploma of restaurant-keeper and this chic, sexual woman in the mirror was the one face, all round. The only thing that didn't harmonize with her visual appearance was a big golden bag in a form of a folder which could be more suitable for documents, but not a small clutch that undoubtedly would be more idoneous. Though, in this case where would such batch of documents be put in? And whatever, in nowadays world it was normal to wear what the soul wanted and who didn't like that could look to another direction.

Angie deeply sighed several times, fixed her hair and came into the lift. Pushing the button 105, she slightly lean to the lift wall feeling adynamia. She had the feeling that flu pills were invented in the search of the way to calm down the mad elephant. She let herself a bit relax and closed her eyes. Flashes of weakening came over her with waves and she seemed that if it went on like this, she would fall asleep standing in the lift. Suddenly the lift door opened, and she slightly winked from the bright light, pulled her up and came out. And immediately she appeared in a big room with high walls and cut-glass chandeliers. There were about fifty people there in the room, who were fussing around like the flock of ants, running from table to table, dragging food and at times snatching glasses with champagne from the waiters. In fact, it was quite similar to her parties in the camp, the only difference was the form of clothes. Women were in designer dresses, expensive jewels with perfectly stabbed faces and lips, all was done according to the today's fashion, and pompous in smart suits with haughty looks men. God! What kind of nice mess she got into! That high society which was only for the chosen ones appeared in reality to be the demonstration of arrogance, vanity and affectation. Everything that Angie actually despised. She winked one more time and scanned the audience in a search of a person she went not one hundred miles for, herewith she had an over make-up and poshed up like a very expensive call girl.

And finally she saw him. Alexander Dimond was impossible to be noticed. He projected magnetism, strength and confidence which she felt thought the whole room. Dark hair a bit longer than it was supposed to be slightly waved on the collar of a very expensive suit. Dark-blue eyes fascinated and hypnotized. Light smile seemed to be deadly frozen to his lips. He was inexcusably posh. The magazines conveyed only a beautiful picture but in life his powerful male origin passed through every of his move. Tall, wide-shouldered, the one and the only real Greek God of seduction in flash walking down the Earth for the subjugation the whole women population on the planet. The real embodiment of sin passion. Angie stopped dead for a moment immediately forgetting about everything. She came into reality only when the waiter appeared right in front of her and offered her politely a tray with champagne. She grabbed a glass of it with shaky hands and drank it in one shot. She would pretty sure need all her composure, iron will and intellect, which she was really proud of to accomplish till the end her perfect plan despite her shaking knees. And raising her head proudly, she moved forward to her aim.


The perfect plan said:

Item number one: go past him and lightly slipping up, pour a little of champagne on him.

The main point that there wouldn't be seen anything on his dark suit and the wet trousers weren't deathly, of course, but very inconvenient. He would surely need to dress up. Variants were two: or he would go home or to his office. But as he was supposed to make a speech he would barely go home. So there was only the variant number one left: he would go to his office. She knew exactly from the Mayor's wife, who had been acquainted with Alex from his childhood because she had been working with his mother in one company in Denver, that he had a huge clothes room in his office. That was exactly the place where he was supposed to go. As she in her turn in an image of bombshell for a night would offer him help because she was the guilty one who had messed up his suit. Such Romeo as him wouldn't refuse to spend a little time with such a beauty according to his fact file in magazines and the Net. Thus, she would get a chance to come into his office. The seduction of men wasn't her strong side but her nature beauty made all the job for her. All she had to do was to flirt a bit and men melt in front of her. Of course, such millionaires, like him, didn't reserve a place in the queue near her front door but she didn't actually have any other way out. She had to get into his office by any price, even if she was supposed to run after him.

Item number two: drink with him.

There was also no problem to be seen. She would offer him to drink with the look of remorseful sinner in the way of consolation. He wouldn't refuse to make a couple of sips. It would be more than enough for the sleeping pills which were given to her by the drug-seller for her father to act. One crushed pill was lying in her overall bag.

Item number three: Talk him down. Flirt a bit. Wait until he falls asleep.

The drug-seller said that these sleeping pills were of short action and they were specially prescribed for a person to flack out. That's enough for her. The most important was not to chicken out and did everything according to the plan.

Alex was ready to stuff the mouth of another blonde girl with a gag, Sally or Kelly, he even didn't remember her name properly. He was just drinking his whiskey on a bar and she appeared faster than her less successful rivals and took her place near him. Despite all her beauty, she ran through his both ears into the brain with her squeaky voice. All she could talk about was her. How many magazines' covers she appeared on this year. How many she was going to appear on the following one. How much she loved the movies. And, of course, she was a very talented actress. All she needed was to appear in any movie and she would surely be a movie star. She was the most invitable person to all parties this year and sometimes she even had to choose from several offers. And, oh, it was such a pity that there was no possibility to know in advance, which one of them would be better. Here was an example, last week she had been at the party of the chief editor of the magazine "Antren". You wouldn't believe! They offered warm champagne and the oysters tasted like snivels. It was a shame! Such a popular magazine and such plebeian party. And more, one Wall Street magnate's wife dared, how she only could, it was just inadmissible, came to that party in a red dress, that color had been in trend last year, this one Burgundy was on the top stage. He had no idea what the Burgundy meant and what they ate or drank, God, he wished she would just shut up. It was unbearable! Nevertheless, his face stayed still and he continued smiling her with the tolerance, sipping his whiskey and nodded. Where was Max? Wasn't that the right time for the speech? He was almost ready to bow off the persistent girl and exactly that moment some woman just butted into him, a glass of champagne dropped right into his face and unexpectedly he stepped back, snagged on the bar leg and fell to the floor with a great din, and that awkward woman landed up on him and ... a bar stool too. For a second he thought, he became blind but it was only stranger's hair that covered his face completely and moreover, stuck to the champagne. The girl started to murmur something at the same time trying to get up and kicked his tender bits with her knee. That was it, he grabbed her leg which was a real threat for his future sexual life forever, raised the stranger girt accurately and carefully got up holding the girl on his hands and cursing silently.

"Ladies and gentlemen, everything is fine, everybody is alive, nobody hurts, please come back to celebrating until we put into shape," Alex said in a tense voice. Angie didn't even raise her head up, she understood clearly that the whole audience was looking at them. All she wanted was to sink into the ground. God damned those pills. She felt that Alex was going somewhere but she didn't move. Alex went into the lift, pushed the fifty-eighth button and carefully put the girl to the floor.

"Can you stand? Or maybe, should I call for a wheelchair for you?" a soft baritone sounded over her ear.

Angie looked at him through the sheet of her wet from champagne hair and froze. He was much more handsome than in magazines and the Net. He eyes of astonishing blue color watched smiling that actually made her glad. Everything happened so fast that she couldn't invent a story to tell.

"Thank you," she whispered in a husky voice, trying to move away from him, "but I can stand on my feet."

He nodded silently and turn away. Angie, otherwise, couldn't take her eyes from him. She had to admit that her perfect plan had some defects: if somebody of them could seduce, it was he. His sexual energetics filled the small space of the lift so quickly that she felt it on the physical level. The masculinity was reflected in every feature of his haughty face; she studied his proud profile, straight aristocratic nose, arrogant chin, sensual manly mouth, which crooked in a light sneer and felt waves of light vibration shaking her bode from the top to the heels. "God, he is just irresistible!" she thought. Her gaze moved and got caught up to the mirror wall of the lift. "God, who is this?" the thought run through her mind and for the second time on that day a wave of desperation covered her. She was in one lift with a walking sex machine and looked like a winy seamaid. Wet hair was hanging like icicles covering her face and breasts, one eye which avoided the fate of his brother being buried under the layer of her hair was in a captivity of flowing mascara. She felt utterly discouraged. So here was the seduction of a millionaire. In this form she could pour whiskey into him only with a force that didn't fit her physical training level. She mournfully sighed and lowered her head. Bad luck today!

Full book is available on Amazon.

1 Jargon name of New York

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