You Will Never Find Me Read Free

appreciating her, even the ones with stunners on their arms. She had an address she’d been given, written it on her hand because she couldn’t remember Spanish names, let alone make a cab driver understand. A Moroccan guy had given her the name of a ‘brother’ who knew a people trafficker who’d pay a thousand euros for a valid UK passport with an electronic chip.
    Cabs were stacking up in the
plaza
and she’d joined the short queue for one when she realised a guy, late thirties, was standing next to her, looking her up and down with naked admiration. The first thing she noticed: she towered over him in her heels. He was wearing a black leather jacket, an open midnight-blue silk shirt revealing a hairy chest, but in a nice way, with a gold chain. His jeans were tight with a black belt and a metal clasp which had twin scorpions, tails meeting. He was tapping his black pointed boots with silver toe tips on the shiny pavement. He wasn’t a looker, but he was built. The silk of his shirt was stretched over the muscles of his chest, his pecs stood out, nipples peaking with the cold, and she could see the rack of his abs too. The cords of his neck were like columns on either side of his protruding Adam’s apple. He had black curly hair, a sardonic but sexy smile, white teeth and dark deep-set eyes whose colour she couldn’t tell. Confidence radiated out of him. One look told her that this was a guy who’d never have trouble talking to women.
    â€˜
Hola, que guapa, chica. No te puedes imaginar . . . 
’ he said and stopped. ‘You don’t speak Spanish? How about English?’
    â€˜I do English,’ she said.
    â€˜
Mira guapa
, I’m with my friends taking a drink,’ he said, speaking with a Latin American accent. ‘I see you coming down the street, I say this is a girl who knows how to dress, this is a girl who knows how to have a good time, this, I bet, is a girl who knows how to
dance
. Am I right?’
    And with that he did a couple of disco dance moves which showed he too knew how to dance and, despite his evident musculature, he could move fast and smooth. His two friends, one with a Latina beauty on his arm, gave him some ironic applause. ‘
They
can’t dance,’ he said to her conspiratorially. ‘That’s why they’re clapping. They’re like cows on ice on the dance floor.’
    He performed a Neanderthal two-step which suddenly went horribly awry and sent her into giggles. He came up close to her, his head at the height of her chin. He looked up, eyes penetrating right into her. The nerve of him. Ugly bugger too. She had to bring all of her London cool to bear, and he saw that he’d have to make another push.
    â€˜You know where I’m from?’ he said.
    She wanted to say ‘the movies’ but didn’t want to throw herself at him. He didn’t seem to be local.
    â€˜Madrid?’ she said, ironic. He came in closer.
    â€˜Col-
om
-bia.’
    He saw the light come on in her face and knew what it meant.
    â€˜
Te gusta un poco de nieve
,’ he said, laughing. ‘You like a little snow.’
    He thumped his breast pocket with the side of his fist. Smiled.
    â€˜We have enough to go skiing.’
    That did it for her. No need to sell the passport. No need to haggle in the toilets. Free charlie the whole night through. He held out his arm. She took it. His friends couldn’t believe it. They came over and slapped hundred-euro notes into his hand, which seemed to her like a lot of money for a bet.
    They went to Le Cock and drank mojitos, snorted a couple of lines each and then moved to a nightclub called Charada, where house music was the name of the game. They danced for half an hour and then went to the toilets for another line. He kissed her. She kissed him back. He put a strong hard hand between her legs and felt the heat coming off her. The music thumped through the