by Dara Girard
“I just thought of my own cologne,” he whispered against her mouth.
“What?”
“Surrender.”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“No, I expect you to.”
“You’ll be disappointed. I don’t surrender.”
“You will.”
He smothered her cutting reply with his mouth and effectively made her forget it. Their passion was primitive and raw and they enveloped each other with wild urgency. They fell against the wall, making two pictures swing precariously and nearly tipping over a vase. They didn’t notice. They didn’t notice the phone ringing from management or the knock on the door soon after from housekeeping, who had been summoned earlier by Mariella who’d requested extra towels. All they cared about was satisfying the desire they elicited in each other, of soothing a hunger that seemed insatiable. Mariella reached for his belt, then glanced at the wall clock and groaned. “Oh, God we’re going to be late.”
“We won’t be late,” Ian said through clenched teeth, the evidence of his desire pressing against her thigh.
“Yes, we will. Look at the time.”
He buried his head in her neck. “I don’t want to.”
“You have to.” She tried to push him away, but failed so she bit his shoulder. He glared at her; she stared back unmoved. “Ian, look at the time.”
He glanced at his watch then swore.
“See?”
He slowly traced a circle around her nipple then raised his gaze to her face, his eyes full of deviltry. “We could cancel.”
She grabbed his hand to stop his distracting activity. “That would be rude.”
He lifted a sardonic brow. “Do I look like the kind of man who cares about being rude?”
“You said they wanted to see me. I want to make a good impression.”
“You do.” He bent to kiss her again. “I like you very much.”
She turned her face away. “We need to go.”
He hung his head. “Damn.” He shut his eyes and rested the palm of his hand on the wall behind her. “I just need a moment.”
She grinned, amused by his annoyance and wiggled against him. “You’ll make us late.”
He playfully traced his finger down her throat, but didn’t smile. “Don’t toy with me.”
She stopped moving.
He removed his hand. “Thank you.”
Mariella stepped away from him and quickly pulled on her dress. She watched him snatch up his shirt and angrily button it. She cleared her throat hoping to lighten his mood. “They’re your friends.”
“I’m beginning not to like them anymore,” he grumbled, tucking in his shirt.
Mariella checked her image in the mirror then grabbed her shawl and handbag. “I wouldn’t be in this dress if it weren’t for them.”
Ian stalked to the door and swung it open. “No, you’d be out of it,” he growled then softened his statement with a wink.
Chapter 10
Over a half hour later, Ian and Mariella arrived at a grand house several miles outside of Atlanta. It was a stately new home with a classic colonial feel sitting on over six acres of land. The front exterior masonry was superb, with a retaining wall made out of gleaming rocks around the circumference of the house. Large double-hung thermo-pane windows provided ample lighting and elegance.
Inside a two-story foyer and center hall greeted them and the housekeeper showed them into the large family room furnished with black granite, wood-paneled gas fireplace and enormous windows.
The Stantons lived well, but had an easygoing manner that took Southern hospitality to another level. Though dressed in expensive designer clothes their greeting was anything but subdued. Mariella wondered how they could know Ian who looked and seemed so dark and brooding in his customary black. But they embraced him like relatives would and although Ian’s reply was more tempered, it was clear that he was glad to see them.
Following a sumptuous five-course meal, they retired to the formal living room, an oversize room with a ten-foot vaulted ceiling, stone fireplace trimmed with Italian marble and gleaming wood flooring.
“So tell me how things are going?” Yolanda’s husband Gregory asked, pouring each of them a glass of white wine.
“Well, Mariella is getting a handle on things,” Ian said.
“Everything is perfect,” Mariella countered.
The conversation soon turned to photography and became a lively discussion. Suddenly they heard the front door slam and loud voices.
“It’s not fair!” a girl shouted. “Give it back!”
“No,” another girl replied. “I bought it so it’s mine.”
“But I saw it first!”
“Girls!” Gregory called. “What is going on?”
Two girls about fifteen and seventeen appeared in the doorway. The older girl was lanky with big eyes and her hair in Nubian knots framing her face. The younger girl had small slit eyes and a round face with an impish grin. Her face was framed by expertly woven cornrows ending in a puffed ponytail on top of her head.
“Our daughters Hannah and Tatiana,” Gregory said as though embarrassed at having to make the introduction. “Girls, say hello to our guests.”
“Hello,” they replied. Both girls instantly recognized Mariella. They were used to having famous people including models, movie stars, diplomats and others come to visit their parents and didn’t blink.
“Now what is going on?” Yolanda asked, agitated fingers stroking her impeccably groomed hair.
The older one, Tatiana spoke up. “I saw a skirt that I thought was great and I wanted to buy it, but Hannah got to it first even though she knew that I wanted it.”
“You can get another one,” Hannah replied.
“It was the only one there and it was an end-of-the-season sale,” Tatiana said, anguish clear in her voice.
“Can’t you share it?” Gregory asked.
They looked at their father as though he’d grown antlers. “No!” they screamed.
Tatiana reached for the bag. “Tell her to give it to me.”
“I won’t.” Hannah moved it away. “I bought it fair and square.”
“You’re always ruining things for me.”
“Let’s see the skirt,” Mariella said.
The two girls were stunned at first then moved closer and Hannah pulled the skirt out of a large overstuffed bag and held it up. It was an orange bias-cut silk A-line skirt, framed with ruffles around the hem.
“Oh, is that it?” she said, bored. “Let her keep it. It’s not your color anyway and the cut is all wrong. Your younger sister only bought that to spite you.”
Hannah’s gaze sent daggers at Mariella.
Ignoring the seething teenager, Mariella rose from the couch and put her arm around Tatiana. She pulled her to the side.
“Now, it appears you’re going to be going off to college soon,” Mariella said pointing to the large sign that read Congratulations Graduate and a framed picture of Tatiana in her cap and gown. “And I’m sure you’ll want to make a good impression. I suggest you get your hands on Moira Mason’s Fashion Guide for the College Girl and start new. Moira is an associate of mine. Incidentally, her grandmother was Miss Jamaica in the ’60s. Anyway, not everyone is born knowing how to dress. It’s an art that few people study. But with practice it becomes effortless. If you have any questions, feel free to call me. I’ll give your mother my direct number.”
Tatiana smiled shyly. “I will.” She turned to her younger sister. “And she’s right, that skirt wouldn’t have looked good on me anyway.” She lowered her voice. “And it will look even worse on you.” Tatiana left.
The younger sister sent them all an evil glare then flew up the stairs pounding her foot on each step.
Yolanda looked at Mariella surprised. “Well, I wouldn’t have handled it that way, but it sure got results.”
Mariella shrugged. “I grew up the eldest of four sisters. I became adept at putting out fires.”
“Perhaps,” she said, grinning back.
As they drove home that evening, Ian said, “So you’re the eldest?”
“Yes, I’m the eldest just like you.”
“What makes you think I’m older than Josh?”
“You have that big brother air about you.”
He thought for a moment then nodded, “Hmm, it would have been that way except for a couple of minutes.”
She frowned. “Minutes?”
“Yes, he was born before I was.”
“By minutes?”
“Yes.” He sent her an odd glance. “Wait, you didn’t know we were twins?”
“No.”
“Hmm, I see. He doesn’t like to talk about it much.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
“My father took exactly ten pictures of him, but my face was plastered everywhere. It didn’t seem fair.”
“Is that why you hate your photograph being taken?”
“No, I told you.” He winked at her. “I’m shy.”
“You’re a devil.”
“Perhaps that, too.” He was quiet then said, “My brother is brilliant, but my father never saw it because he didn’t find him good-looking enough.”
“I didn’t think fathers worried about things like that,” Mariella responded, taking out her compact to touch up her makeup.
“With Jeremiah he loved things of beauty.”
“But he wasn’t that much of a looker himself.”
“Yes, that’s just it. Being born ‘plain’ had caused him pain. He made up for his looks with the vast amount of wealth he accumulated. His looks didn’t matter, he was a very rich man. But it also made him a target, and he didn’t want that for his sons.”
“So you made your father hate you so that he’d pay attention to Josh?”
He sent her a sly look. “I’m not that intellectually devious, but thanks for the compliment. No, it was simpler than that. I just didn’t fit in.” They were quiet the rest of the drive back to the hotel and Mariella was certain he wasn’t going to say anything else when he dropped her off at the door, but he surprised her. “Did you enjoy the evening?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He lightly touched her cheek. “And I wasn’t kidding.”
“About what?”
“I plan to make you Mariella Cooper.” He briefly kissed her then turned. “Good night.”
Mariella slowly closed the door, oddly impressed by his arrogance and pleased with yet another taste of those succulent lips. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea. She changed her mind the next day when he voted against one of her model selections. He and Donna chose a girl she thought completely wrong and wouldn’t listen to her argument for one she felt would be perfect. Determined to give her selection a chance before the young lady left, Mariella met with her and scheduled a shoot on her own time.
“This probably isn’t a good idea,” Gen said as Mariella instructed the model, Teresa, for the shot.
“I don’t care. It’s my own time. They can’t do anything to me.”
“You do realize that her face is too round.”
“Just wait until these pictures are developed, then you’ll see how perfect she is. She has a nice fresh natural look—that’s why I didn’t want to use the lighting people.”
“You couldn’t afford them.”
Mariella kept on shooting, pleased that the young woman needed minimal instruction.
Gen sighed. “That soft heart of yours is going to get you into a lot of trouble one day.”
“This is a professional decision. This has nothing to do with my soft heart, which incidentally, I don’t have.”
Mariella instructed Teresa to remove the detachable skirt, revealing a pair of ravishing long legs. Mariella knew Gen didn’t see what she did, but she was certain once the photos were developed she would.
The remainder of the day went as planned. Donna showed up at the shoot, Mariella wasn’t sure why and didn’t care to ask. She ignored her and by the end of the day felt completely satisfied with the pictures she had taken.
Later that evening, Mariella stopped by a rental studio, which Gen had contacted earlier to develop some of her photos. The owner, Campbell Watkins, was more than happy to oblige her, having seen Mariella’s photos when she was with Desire. She agreed to take a picture with him that he would later blow up and frame. After using his darkroom, Mariella left that evening pleased with her work and nearly crashed into Ian as she exited the studio.
“What are you up to?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the photos you took of Teresa.”
She didn’t care to ask how he’d found out. “I took her photos on my own time.”
“Let me see them.”
“I did both film and digital.” She handed him the black-and-white photos she had developed.
Ian looked through them then took out his checkbook. “How much did you pay her?” When she told him, he gave a low whistle. “Tell me next time.”
“So you’ll use them?” she asked with growing excitement.
“No.”
Her heart fell. “What?”
“They’re good, but Jeremiah would not have used her. You and I know that. This is about him. Not you. You can keep these pictures for your own personal collection and try to stay focused.”
“He has a point,” Gen said as they sat in a late-night restaurant. “This is about Jeremiah’s vision, not yours.”
“Jeremiah would have listened a little. Not much, but a little.” She sighed. “I guess I just feel that everything is out of my hands. And I don’t like being out of control. Like I’m just a hired hand.”
“But it’s going perfectly. We’re on schedule. We’ll be in Vermont soon and then the project will be over and soon you’ll have your name associated with Flash magazine and doors will open wide.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right. So how is Josh?”
Her gaze fell. “He’s fine.”
“I’ve noticed you haven’t been available for dinner recently.”
Gen sipped her drink.
“Or lunch.”
She continued to sip.
“And sometimes even breakfast.”
She colored.
Mariella shrugged. “As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am.”
“Have you told him yet?”
“No. Mariella, please don’t bring that up. It’s hard as it is.”
“I’m sorry.”
A woman passed by their table, then stopped and stared at Mariella. “I know you.”
“Really?” Mariella said, used to such statements.
“Yes. You’re the bitch who killed my daughter.”
Chapter 11
Mariella’s skin turned to ice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My daughter was fine until she wanted to be like you. Glamorous. Beautiful. Thin. She starved herself to death. How does it feel to sell little girls lies? Huh? You’re a disgrace. You sleep around with old men and take drugs. Don’t you care about those that look up to you? Of course not. You don’t care about anyone. You’re scum and should rot in hell.” She grabbed a glass of water and threw it in Mariella’s face.
Mariella wiped her face with a napkin, then slapped the woman so hard the woman went reeling back and crashed into a table. Mariella stood. “I suggest you get on some sort of medication to help you with your delusions.”
“You evil bitch!”
Mariella went toward the woman, who was now sprawled on the ground but Gen grabbed her arm. Although still seething with anger, Mariella held her head high and left. The two drove back to the hotel in silence. But chaos broke loose when Ian read the paper the next day. He called Mariella to his hotel suite where he and Josh were waiting.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded, waving the paper, fury tingeing his words.
Mariella sat looking demure in an overstuffed Chippendale chair, swinging her foot determined to stay distant and cool. “Nothing.”
Josh’s gaze darted between them.
Ian read the headline. “Ex-Desire Model ‘Mad Mariella’ Attacks Fan.” He tossed the paper down in disgust. “You consider that nothing?”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing that needs to be repeated. Don’t worry, this will all die down.”
“This doesn’t put Flash magazine in a good light. We can’t be known for working with photographers who attack people.”
“It wasn’t my fault. She—”
“I don’t care what she did. It’s your behavior that’s the problem. You cannot act this way. I know you’re used to having your diva behavior splashed around in New York but when you work for me you’d better learn how to control yourself. If I see an incident like this again…”
“You’ll fire me?” she finished.
“No,” he said with a cold grin. “I don’t want to reward you for bad behavior. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
She jumped to her feet. “If you’d just listen.”
“I’m through listening.”
“You don’t understand.” Mariella began to walk over to a large window. Ian startled her by grabbing her arm and turning her around.
“Really? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be attacked. Look, I’ve been spat at, called names, had my life threatened and worse, but my name was never found in the gossip columns because I know how to handle myself. I did my job and that was it. Learn to control your temper.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You’re free to go. I have to get this mess cleared up. Unless you have some great ideas you’d like to share.”
She glared at him then her eyes turned cool. “All right,” she said simply and calmly walked out.
Ian stared at the closed door, his anger turning into worry. That exit wasn’t like her.
But Josh was thrilled. “Man, you really threw it at her. For a moment she looked mad enough to hammer nails into the wall with her fist.”