For a brief moment she was mesmerized by his legs standing over her, tanned and strong, athlete’s legs. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, so she forced herself to shift her gaze.
‘I heard yelling,’ he said, jogging in place. ‘You okay?’
‘I am now,’ she said, relieved to see him. ‘Damn coyotes looked about ready to eat me for breakfast.’
‘Bummer,’ he said, scratching his chin. ‘You hurt?’
‘It’s only my ankle. I’ll live.’
‘You need help?’
‘I guess so,’ she said tentatively, attempting to stand.
‘Right,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her up. ‘You shouldn’t jog by yourself. I tell my mom that all the time.’
His mom! She was twenty-four, for crap’s sake. Why was he comparing her to his mom? Maybe Cliff’s advanced age was rubbing off on her.
‘I jog by myself all the time,’ she said, enjoying the intense smell of fresh sweat emanating from his armpit. ‘Usually I bring my dogs.’
‘Big dogs or little dogs?’ he enquired. ‘’Cause if they’re little, the coyotes gonna wolf ’em down.’
‘Big dogs,’ she said, leaning on him.
‘Big is good,’ he said.
She wondered how many girls had uttered those words to him, for his package in board shorts left little to the imagination.
‘Yes,’ she managed, holding onto his arm and wincing as her foot hit the ground.
‘I could carry you if you can’t make it,’ he offered.
Nice one. She wouldn’t mind at all. She could sniff his armpit all the way down to the car park.
‘You’re sweet,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind me hanging onto your arm, I think I can do it.’
‘Gotcha,’ he said.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Naw,’ he said casually. ‘I was about to turn around anyway.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Chip. You?’
‘Uh . . . Lori.’
‘Okay, Lori,’ he said, placing her arm around his neck, and getting a grip on her waist. ‘Let’s do this thing.’
* * *
Lori did not answer her phone. Voicemail picked up. Cliff was not about to tell her that they’d been invited on the Kasianenko yacht until he could watch her quiver with excitement. She’d be so thrilled.
Where was she? What did she do all day when he was busy working?
Girl things, he supposed. Shopping, mani-pedis, Pilates, spinning, shit like that.
He knew she was desperate for him to get her a job as an actress, but it didn’t seem right for the star to put his girlfriend in the movie. Although he could’ve if he’d wanted to. He didn’t, had to be careful that she wasn’t using him in that way, besides – what were actresses? Nothing but egomaniacs with tits and stylists. He’d had a few, and they always ended up causing hysterical scenes and running to the tabloids with a totally made-up story.
No more actresses for Cliff Baxter. Hell, no.
Reaching for his cell, he called Enid and told her to book him a garden booth at the Polo Lounge for tonight. He’d tell Lori then, and later she could show him her appreciation in her own very special way.
Yes, Cliff Baxter didn’t do anything unless it suited him.
Chapter Seventeen
Once Jeromy was in the house, the staff scuttled around on red alert. Jeromy was a fierce taskmaster who expected perfection at all times. He was also a stickler for rules, his rules. Everything had to be just so, even the way the pots and pans were laid out in the kitchen. Every single thing had to be spotless, not a speck of dust to be found anywhere.
On the other hand, Luca was totally laid back. He couldn’t care less if the outdoor cushions weren’t arranged just so. It didn’t bother him if a painting was crooked or the bed wasn’t made to Jeromy’s strict specifications.
When Jeromy was away, all was mellow. When he was in residence – look out!
The staff adored Luca.
The staff loathed Jeromy.
After arriving from London and enjoying a Mojito on the terrace with his younger boyfriend, Jeromy flashed the coveted invitation and informed Luca that they simply had to go.
Luca checked it out and enquired who else would be on the trip.
‘How would I know?’ Jeromy said with a casual shrug. ‘Although you can rest assured that they will be people of quality.’
Luca wrinkled his nose. There were times Jeromy said things that didn’t make any sense. What did ‘people of quality’ mean exactly? It must be one of Jeromy’s strange English expressions.
‘Sure we can go,’ he said, leaning back on his lounger. ‘I’m not in the recording studio until September, so it works for me.’
Jeromy was delighted. ‘We should go shopping,’ he announced, eyes gleaming at the thought of an entire new wardrobe of clothes. ‘The Valentino leisurewear this year is divine. We must both get fitted out. Perhaps matching white tuxedos?’
‘Why not?’ Luca said.
Jeromy nodded, fantasizing about how great they’d look in matching tuxedos.
‘Maybe I’ll call Bianca an’ see who else is going,’ Luca said. ‘Could be they’ll have room for Suga and Luca junior.’
Jeromy sat up ramrod straight, almost spilling his drink. Had he heard correctly? Was Luca mad? Did he honestly think he could inveigle an invitation for Suga Tits and the child?
No. It simply wasn’t right. Luca had to be stopped immediately.
‘That’s not acceptable,’ he said, the words almost sticking in his throat. ‘It would . . . ah . . . make me most uncomfortable.’
‘Uncomfortable?’ Luca questioned, trying to ignore the fact that Jeromy couldn’t stand Suga. ‘How’s that?’
‘You were married to the woman,’ Jeromy said with a supercilious sneer. ‘Her presence on the trip would definitely make me feel awkward. Besides, it’s not etiquette to start adding guests. This is obviously a very special trip, and I am sure everyone who’s been invited was hand-picked by our host.’
Luca shrugged. ‘I thought it would be a welcome surprise for Suga,’ he said, not thrilled by Jeromy’s attitude. ‘She needs cheering up.’
Cheering up, my English arse, Jeromy thought with a bitter twist. The bitch could light up Picadilly Circus with her phony smiles.
‘Exactly why does she need cheering up?’ he asked through clenched teeth.
‘Her ticket sales are down,’ Luca explained. ‘Kinda a blow to her ego.’
Huh! Jeromy thought. It would take more than a blow to crash that woman’s enormous ego. It would take a nuclear explosion.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said tightly. ‘Surely you can think of something else to lift her spirits?’
‘Like what?’ Luca said blankly.
Like who gives a damn.
‘I don’t know,’ Jeromy admitted. ‘We should think about it. Between us we’ll come up with something.’
Luca nodded, although he wasn’t sure he trusted Jeromy to do the right thing.
Meanwhile, Jeromy had no intention of coming up with anything. The annoying diva wasn’t his problem.
Then, deciding a change of pace was in order, he leaned over, gently tweaking Luca’s nipple. ‘Did you miss me?’ he cooed. ‘Were you a well-behaved boy?’
‘Were you?’ Luca retorted. He might be the super-star in this relationship, but he more than suspected that Jeromy was the slut. It didn’t bother him, because he knew that Jeromy was into things he wasn’t. He simply hoped that Jeromy was careful and never came home with any kind of disease to pass on.
‘I would never cheat on you, my little pumpkin,’ Jeromy crooned, completely out of character, his long thin fingers caressing Luca’s oiled abs.
‘Sure you would,’ Luca said mildly, feeling the beginning of a hard-on. He stood up. It wouldn’t be cool to have Jeromy suck him off while there were staff lurking around. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he suggested.
‘I’m
right behind you,’ Jeromy said, thinking of the young boy in London, the young boy with the talented tongue and surly attitude.
In Jeromy’s relationship with Luca he’d found that it was always he who had to perform fellatio on Luca, it was always he in the subservient position.
But that’s what Luca was into. And since the one with all the money held all the power, then ultimately it was Luca who called the shots.
Jeromy had yet to challenge him.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Surely you realize that you have it all?’ Clare, Sierra’s sister, said with an envious sigh. She was a pretty woman, but nowhere near as lovely as Sierra. Clare’s hair was brown, not golden-copper. Her eyes were quite close together, not widely spaced like Sierra’s. Clare had compensated by honing her intellectual skills, and creating a warm and wonderful family life. ‘And on top of everything,’ she went on, ‘you’re about to take off on an incredible trip.’
Sure, Sierra thought. Incredible.
‘I wish I was going,’ Clare said wistfully. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it. Oh yes, and be sure to keep a daily journal. I need to know everything, all the details.’ Another long-drawn-out sigh. ‘You’re so lucky.’
No, you’re the lucky one, Sierra thought. You with your comfortable house in Connecticut. Your teddy bear of a husband and your three terrific kids. Not to mention a successful writing career.
‘Um, yes,’ Sierra murmured. ‘I will.’
‘Do you have any idea who else is going?’ Clare enquired, leaning across the restaurant table, agog for some juicy news.
‘Not a clue,’ Sierra said, taking a sip of her martini. A bold move for lunch, but what the hell – getting drunk could be exactly what she needed. Oh yes, Hammond would love that, she thought, stifling an inane giggle. A drunken wife on his arm. A wife dressed to impress and totally loaded.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Clare wanted to know.
The insanity of my so-called perfect life, she thought.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered vaguely. ‘Nothing. Everything.’
‘For God’s sake, please do not drift off into one of your weird moods,’ Clare begged. ‘And why are you drinking in the middle of the day? What’s that about?’
‘Because I am a political wife,’ Sierra retorted grandly. ‘We shop. We drink. We shake hands. We pick up babies. That’s what we do.’
Clare shook her head disapprovingly. ‘I don’t know what’s up with you today,’ she said, frowning. ‘You’re not yourself.’
‘I wish,’ Sierra murmured, sotto voce.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Nothing,’ Sierra said, taking another sip of her martini.
‘Any news on the baby front?’ Clare asked. It was the same question she’d been asking ever since Sierra had married Hammond.
‘I guess I’m just not fertile,’ Sierra said, unwilling to tell her sister that she and Hammond never had sex. He didn’t want her in that way, and she certainly didn’t want him.
‘Or maybe he isn’t,’ Clare suggested. ‘Sometimes it’s the man’s fault.’
‘May I remind you he already has a child?’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Clare said, intent on getting her point across. ‘He should still get tested.’
‘I’m not sure I even want a family,’ Sierra murmured, gulping down the rest of her martini.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Clare said firmly. ‘Of course you do.’
Sierra felt herself losing it. Why couldn’t Clare leave the subject alone? ‘You know what?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I wish you’d do me a big favour and stop bringing it up all the time.’
Clare knew when to change the subject. ‘I got a text from Sean,’ she said, lowering her voice and glancing furtively around as if the middle-aged waiter standing nearby was even remotely interested.
‘What did he want?’ Sierra asked, thinking about their twenty-nine-year-old drop-out brother who lived in a run-down beach shack with a forty-two-year-old Puerto Rican divorcée in Hawaii.
‘What do you think he wanted?’ Clare said pointedly. Then answering her own question she added, ‘Money, of course.’
Actually, on reflection, Sierra realized that she quite envied Sean. How relaxing to do nothing but sit on a beach all day and beg for handouts from your family.
‘I sent him five hundred two weeks ago,’ she said.
Clare’s frown deepened. ‘I thought we agreed that we weren’t sending him any more money.’
‘He told me that he had a dental problem and was in horrible pain. I couldn’t ignore him. What was I supposed to do?’
‘Oh my God, Sierra, you’re so gullible,’ Clare scoffed. ‘How could you fall for that? You know he’s a blatant liar.’
‘Yes, I do know, but show some heart, Clare. He’s also our brother.’
‘I am not sending him one more red cent,’ Clare said, with a stubborn shake of her head. ‘I don’t care how much he begs. He’s a grown man, it’s about time he started acting like one. Furthermore, you should stop enabling him, because that’s exactly what you’re doing.’
‘I’m not enabling him,’ Sierra objected. ‘I’m helping him.’
‘No, you’re not helping him at all,’ Clare argued.
Sierra was too tired to fight with her sister. She had a strong urge to go home, crawl into bed and sleep. Depression was creeping over her like a black cloud, she could feel it coming on. Once life had held such shining promise. No more.
How had she allowed herself to reach such a miserable place?
Was it because she’d married Hammond?
They were all questions she could answer if she wanted to. However, it was simply easier to forget.
* * *
‘How old are you, dear?’ Hammond asked, leaning back in the chair behind his desk, his eyes inspecting every inch of the latest intern to join the staff.
Skylar blinked rapidly. She couldn’t believe that she was in Senator Patterson’s presence, that he actually knew she existed. It was all so exciting. Earlier that day she’d been introduced to Mrs Patterson, and now this!
‘Uh . . . I’m going to be nineteen next week,’ she said, fidgeting nervously. ‘And uh . . . may I say that it’s such an honour to be working here. I am a big admirer of yours, Senator, and of course your wife too.’
‘That’s nice,’ Hammond said, his honest brown eyes shifting into X-ray mode as he skilfully removed her clothes. He noted that she had large real breasts and wide hips. Not perfect like Sierra. Not a beauty, but attractive enough.
And she was young. He preferred them young.
As he sat behind his desk, he imagined placing his penis between her big breasts, then slowly moving up and coming all over her startled face.
After the initial shock, she would love it – they all did.
‘Well, Skylar,’ he said, pressing his fingers together, forming a little arc, ‘welcome to the team. We all believe in working together here. Sometimes late into the night.’ A long beat. ‘Does that bother you?’
‘Excuse me?’ Skylar said, still blinking.
‘Does working late bother you?’ Hammond asked patiently, thinking this one seemed a little slow.
‘No, no, not at all,’ Skylar said, full of enthusiasm. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’
No, Hammond thought, what you’re here for is to satisfy me sexually. And you will. Oh yes, you will. Your turn will come. And soon.
Chapter Nineteen
Divorce is never easy, but Aleksandr Kasianenko was prepared to give Rushana, his wife of seventeen years and mother of his three daughters, whatever she wanted. Unfortunately, what Rushana wanted was to stay married to him, so she and her lawyer were making things as difficult as possible, unnecessarily so.
Aleksandr was beyond irritated. He had offered Rushana everything she could desire, and yet there always seemed to be another roadblock.
The divorce wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t pla
nned on falling in love with Bianca, only it had happened, and Rushana should simply accept it.
Aleksandr was determined that on the forthcoming yacht trip he would propose to Bianca. He was doing it whether he was free or not. He’d already purchased the ring, a two-million-dollar rare emerald surrounded with diamonds. It was a ring fit for the woman he planned to marry. Bianca would love it, just as she loved him.
He’d never met a woman like Bianca before. So beautiful and yet so independent and strong. And passionate. In the bedroom she fulfilled him in every way.
Yes, Aleksandr enjoyed everything about her, although he could do without her fame. The pesky photographers who followed her everywhere. The annoying fans who had no sense of keeping their distance. The hangers-on who often surrounded her. And the Internet, where people made up ridiculous stories every single day.
After a year with his love, he’d learned to ignore the chaos around her. Bianca was his, and nothing could ever change that.
However, he would be lying if he said he didn’t relish the peace when Bianca was in another country. He could walk down the street unmolested, and be happy that there were no photographers trailing him.
His faithful bodyguard was always in attendance: Kyril, a solid brick of a man who watched his every move, for one could never be too careful. Aleksandr was well aware that he had enemies, it came with the territory. He was a billionaire businessman, who along the way had attracted his fair share of haters. People who were jealous of his wealth. Business rivals. His wife’s two needy brothers who felt that he should’ve done more for them. It wasn’t enough that he’d bought them both houses and given them jobs at which they’d both failed. Was he supposed to support their lazy asses forever?
No. With the divorce came freedom from Rushana’s clingy family.
The only regret Aleksandr had was that he was no longer living with his three daughters. They’d remained with their mother, and rightly so. He could see them whenever he wished to, but since they resided in his former home fifteen miles outside of Moscow, it wasn’t that easy to make the time.
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