Free Naked Truths by Jo Carnegie

events with her. Saffron, who had been doing the job long enough to be blasé about it, thought it was funny how much of a groupie Fernando turned into whenever ‘a face’ entered the room.
    Tonight they were going to the launch night of the Ice Palace, a champagne and vodka bar in Belgravia. It was a three-storey converted church, and the decor alone was reported to have cost two million pounds.
    It was a Mediterranean-like summer’s evening, and London was making the most of it. By the time Saffron had made her way past all the throngs of people drinking outside various pubs, Fernando was there waiting. He had spent the last few weeks either in the gym or sunbathing on his flat roof, and tonight was wearing a tight V-neck T-shirt that showed off his bronzed, rippling credentials. He was attracting looks of studied indifference from all the Chelsea socialites, and, as Saffron walked up to him, was busy smiling at a pair of blonde girls barely covered by indecently short dresses.
    â€˜Hey, baby!’ he exclaimed in his heavy accent. ‘I didn’t see you!’
    â€˜Clearly,’ said Saffron drily. A goofy smile broke out over Fernando’s face.
    â€˜Are you jealous? Aah, you do love me!’
    â€˜Get off,’ said Saffron as he pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. ‘Let’s go in. I’m dying for a drink.’
    Inside, the Ice Palace lived up to its promise. The walls were an exotic gold, and huge art deco chandeliers hung down from the ceilings. A waiter came up with a tray of inviting cocktails. Saffron took two and handed one to Fernando.
    â€˜Thanks, baby.’ His dark eyes stared at her chest lasciviously. ‘Your nipples are hard.’
    Saffron looked down at her vest top. Fernando was one of the most highly sexed men she had met. She hoped he wasn’t going to get all hot and heavy and embarrass her again; she’d only just recovered from him turning up to meet her in one of the most exclusive bars in town and announcing, in a stage whisper loud enough for everyone else to hear, that he’d spent a blissful day on the sofa sniffing a pair of her knickers. She swore he’d done it on purpose: Fernando always loved to be the centre of attention.
    An hour later, Saffron had air-kissed her way round half of London when she found Fernando sulking in a corner.
    â€˜Where have you been?’ he complained. ‘You said you’d introduce me to Liz Hurley.’ Fernando loved the upper-crust model, he even had an old picture of her in the infamous ‘safety pin’ dress at the
Four Weddings and a Funeral
premiere stuck on his kitchen wall.
    Saffron rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t think she’s here. Besides, I don’t even know her.’
    Fernando took a moody gulp of his drink. ‘I’ve been standing here by myself for ages.’
    â€˜I’m here now,’ Saffron looked at her boyfriend. Despite being high maintenance, he really did look fit tonight. She leaned in and kissed him. Fernando’s lips were soft and tasted of fruit and mint chewing gum. Saffron felt her stomach do that familiar flip.
    â€˜Mmm, that’s better,’ he breathed when they finally pulled apart.
    Maybe it was the warm evening, or the alcohol pleasantly flowing through Saffron’s veins, but she suddenly felt extremely horny.
    â€˜Fancy a fuck?’
    Fernando grinned. ‘Does a bear shit in the goods?’
    Fernando’s command of colloquial English was sketchy at best. ‘I think you mean “woods”,’ said Saffron, as she led him through the crowds. She’d seen an empty cloakroom on the second floor, earlier, it would be perfect.
    Minutes later she was riding him frantically on a pile of pashminas that had been thrown into the room. Saffron’s red miniskirt was up round her waist, one leg still in her tiny G-string. Fernando’s naked nut-brown torso, muscles rippling under a minuscule