Moonlit Terrace is an emotional and touching novel. It details how an extremely wealthy and powerful man succumbs to the everyday pressures in life, and unwillingly falls in love on the journey.
Steffen Galeio, an Italian immigrant and entrepreneur of Galeio's Shipping Incorporation is invited to one of the most talked about political events of the year. Steffen circulates his presence within the multitude of aristocratic and social elite. He makes eye contact with a very beautiful and sensuous woman named Isabella Tramaine.
Isabella Alexis Tramaine, a vivacious, beautiful, and intelligent woman. In addition, a potential match for Steffen Galeio's cool and abrasive demeanor.
The two dance to a seductive physical enticing ballad.
Steffen Galeio's philosophy of I hunter you prey was put into play, as he whispered promising words of physical compensation into Isabella's ear. Isabella intentionally breaks Steffen's imprisoned embrace. Her only reasonable means of escape is onto the sanctuary grounds of a Moonlit Terrace.
Steffen and Isabella share a kindred intimate embrace on a Moonlit Terrace, until the unexpected became too unbearable for Isabella to mentally comprehend. Her quick departure leaves Steffen, abandoned, physically depraved, and emotional captivated.
Does Steffen Galeio's philosophy of fast cars, rich women, and no commitment hold merit?
Indulge your senses in emotional discreet. Get into the mind of a methodical stalker. Hide behind a mask at the Tramaine's Masquerade Ball. Sit in on a Learjet table conference. Feel the spellbinding emotions at a New Haven, Connecticut palace, as it withers down to emotions battling the will of good judgment. Moreover, cruise in thebackseat of a moving limousine intimate moment. All this awaits you and plenty more in the pages of Moonlit Terrace.
Well well…, look at here Hayward thought.
He watched his latest obsession open her bellowing white curtains. He placed his Red Bull energy drink down on a table near the window.
“Good morning Sunshine,” Hayward spoke out in the confinement of his high-rise one bedroom loft.
He glanced at his Quart Black Sports Watch.
“Right on time,” he quoted to himself.
He immensely clocked her graceful ballerina movements from sunrise until sunset.
“Seven o’clock in the morning,” he stated.
Hayward recorded the time in his daily journal he kept in his possession. He placed the small 5x7 tan leather alphabetized journal under his mattress and then hurried back to the window. He stooped over, blinked his eyes, and then adjusted one of his pupils to the viewfinder eyepiece of a black sixty-four inch tripod mounted telescope stationed in the center of his living room. He turned the adjustment knob counterclockwise; his field of vision found his female subject.
“Simply perfect.” Hayward rubbed his palms together in total awe while adjusting the clarity of the scenery in full view.
“Well pretty, what shall the color be today? Personally, I think you look sensational in pink panties, and even better in nothing,” he mumbled to himself.
Hayward watched in fascination as the woman slid a green pair of bikinis up her long tanned bare legs. He withdrew his eye from the telescope’s viewfinder eyepiece and wiped around his blurred eye with the back of his sweaty right hand. He immediately refocused his eye back on the viewfinder’s eyepiece; he dementedly scanned her adjoining rooms. His telescope found her presence in her bedroom. His lovely female fixation sat at her vanity mirror brushing her long manageable curly hair. He inhaled as if smelling her hair himself.
“Ooo that hair.”
Hayward imitated the woman’s brushstroke techniques with his right hand. He wondered to himself if she just washed her hair. The telescope’s glass Hubble lens scanned her bathroom. The lens slowly zoomed in on her antique circular vanity mirror positioned on a Formica sink counter-top. He could not make out the imprinted label on the half-turned plastic shampoo bottle. Whatever the fragrance was, the scent indeed made her hair smell like lavender. He zoomed in the telescope's viewfinder back upon her attendance.
Hayward could not wait for another week until he encountered her presence again. Maybe if she were not in such a rush to get in and get out, he would ask her to be his escort for an exciting evening out on the town.
“Dammit,” he cursed out.
He became enraged when she stood and walked out his viewing range. His curious telescope's Hubble lens began to scan the other rooms. He started with her living room, dining room, down her hallway, and then her bedroom once again.
The emptiness he suddenly felt had him slamming his clenched fist against his leg in annoyance. He became disappointed with himself that he could not hold her lovely image inside his telescope's Hubble lens any longer. Maybe he will retry again this evening.
Hayward strengthened his posture and walked across his loft. He sat down on a King size bed and reached under his mattress; he pulled out a tan leather journal.
He inscribed her past movements and present whereabouts. He glanced down at the open photo album lying on a nightstand table near a half-eaten dish of Chow Mien.
“Interesting,” he commented.
Hayward discontinued his logging and placed his journal down on his bed. He lifted the photo album and flipped through the battered enclosed contents. The plastic covered pages contained numerous heart shattering front-page old newspaper headline clippings of murdered and missing females.
Hayward lifted the plastic covering and removed a photograph. He placed the photo album on his bed, stood, and walked over to the window. He lifted a glue stick, eased the tip over the back of the photo, and flipped it back over.
Hayward smiled with deadly intentions as he pasted, yet another photograph of his latest female obsession to the pearl white wall. He added it to all the other graphic photographs of nude, sodomized, and murdered female victims he found interesting. His ruthless gray-colored eyes stared at his newest female preoccupation. He walked back across the loft and sat down on a leather couch.
Hayward smiled in anticipation of the photographs he recently developed in his storage closet he substituted for a darkroom. He looked down at his watch. He matched his latest obsession time’s itinerary with her usual stirrings for a typical Thursday. He stood and stretched.
Hayward retraced his footsteps to the window, stooped over, and placed an eye on the telescope's viewfinder eyepiece.
“Right on time.”
He witnessed her place her aerobic workout gear in her Fila duffel bag. He already discerned on this day she can be spotted in the gym at twelve o’clock noon. Her lunch break getaway he labeled it. He hopes today during that time period he can interact with her presence; his body is healthy and robust, therefore, anyone can believe he is a fitness instructor. Now he has to figure out a plan with impersonating a Fitness Instructor.
He knew today he would have to park a great distance away from Madison Fitness and Day Spa. His limited monetary budget could not cover his parking tickets he has accumulated for his shadowing manner. He sadly watched with a hunger as the woman opened her door to leave out for the day.
“See you later sunshine,” he mumbled to himself.
Hayward allowed her a brief interval before he scanned for her figure on the street below. His heart turned over in trepidation as he wiped his hands against both upper thighs. He realigned his posterior and turned around. He glanced up at his wall; he reached over the headboard of his iron bed frame and yanked a picture of her from off the wall of his personal shrine of numerous photographs he idolized. He thought to snatch another picture from off the private space on his wall he reserved for her.
The captured pictures of her were; after she exited the bathroom, some were partially clothed, nude, and the others were just her goings and returns to her condominium.
Hayward sat down; he centered the bulk of his weight on a creaky four-legged wooden chair. He swatted at the aggravating fly swarming around an open box of stale cheese pizza near the legs of the chair. He looked down at the picture.
“What a pretty creature,” he mumbled.
Hayward’s voice held such genuine obsequious. He held the photograph of her in his hand while his confused mind dreaded up intimate fetishes of her and him together. He untied his robe belt and inserted his palm inside the diagonal opening slit in his boxer shorts. He found his limp manhood and began to entice its course of action for a private spasmodic climatic eruption.
“Oh I love you so much; I’m going to make you all mine someday, all mine.”
Hayward squeezed his manhood tighter as he pumped it faster.
“You are mine...”
He threw his head back and self-released his bursting fulfillment. The pearly liquid contents spilled over onto the female’s photograph.
Hayward’s body repeatedly convulsed.
With each down spiraling erotic pulsation. He thought about the day when she would be sitting on top of him, and each one would be feeling unconditionally love for the other.