“You said your stepfather helped you.”
“He lent us fifteen thousand euros and some of his friends pitched in, too. They’ve made their money back several thousand percent, I’m glad to say. They took a risk.”
“And you and Laura are still friends?”
“Of course. She and James are coming here in a couple of weeks. I won’t be here, though. I lend them the house every summer. We’d better get a move on, Pearl, or we’ll be late.”
I now saw Alexandre in a whole new light. He was not the philandering, “woman in every port” type, at all. He was loyal and a good friend. He was prepared to stick by Laura even when she was crippled, not out of a sense of duty, but for love. He was a kind person who cared about people.
I wanted this man and his baby more than ever.
COUGAR
PEARL
WE ROLLED UP to the party in the Murciélago, black as night. I would have felt self-conscious in such an outrageously flashy car, were it not matched by vehicles almost—but not quite—as impressive lining the driveway. I could already spot some movie stars. I felt as if I was in Hollywood at an Oscar party, not a place in the middle of the French countryside.
Alexandre walked over to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I eased myself out, careful not to expose my panties to the world . . . didn’t want any paparazzi to take an unflattering snap of my crotch.
My insecurities were assuaged when Alexandre introduced me to the host and his friends, saying, “This is my girlfriend, Pearl.”
The house was slicker than Alexandre’s; more luxurious, but that was to be expected of Hollywood royalty. I marveled at the guests. Is that Charlize Theron I see over there? Beyond stunning. And is that Susan Sarandon, looking so elegant in a black sequined dress? The candlelit rooms were milling with the bold and the beautiful spilling into the garden. Alexandre held my hand and led me around.
Once in the swing of things, and after a few glasses of champagne, I felt completely at ease. After all, my main job as producer was communication. Chatting with people was easy for me and we’d had a few stars doing narration and voice-over work for us at Haslit Films. I was not intimidated by fame.
After a while we meandered our separate ways. I got chatting to a woman from LA—shop talk, really, and Alexandre got distracted by one of his neighbors—they talked about their vines and lavender production. Before I know it, someone who looked oddly familiar had joined us, and he soon overtook the conversation. Who was he? That’s the problem with actors. You think one is your neighbor or even your old friend, because you feel you’ve known that person all your life but then you realize you’ve seen them on TV or in a movie and you are a total stranger to them! Who was this man? Anyway, the woman had slipped out of sight by now, and I found myself discussing Haslit Films with him, and my next, hopeful project. He was smiling away and I was smiling away, too. Finally, he asked my name and I told him.
“And your name is?” I asked. He looked surprised as if I should know, and then said, “Ryan.” He was thirty-something, blond, blue eyes. Handsome in a classic way, although not my type. Funnily enough, he reminded me somewhat of my ex.
We were just beginning a conversation when I felt Alexandre grab my wrist from behind. “We have to leave,” he said briskly.
“What, already? I feel as if we just got here.”
The movie star was looking awkward so I introduced him to Alexandre. Alexandre nodded and murmured in a husky tone, “Pearl, we have to go.”
“Bye,” I said. “Nice meeting you.”
“I was having a good time,” I hissed at Alexandre. “Why are we leaving?” Was he jealous?
As we were walking out the front door, an elegantly dressed woman gave me a look of disgust, like a dagger being thrown into my face. I recognized her but I couldn’t place her. As I passed her, I heard, “fucking cougar,” and wondered if the insult was directed at me.
Alexandre bundled me into the car and screeched out of the driveway. I felt like Batwoman in this vehicle. My boyfriend was no longer in a happy mood, and I feared that I’d upset him by unwittingly flirting with that famous actor, although what he was famous for, I had no idea. Alexandre was silent, staring ahead at the road.
“You were right about your dress,” he said in a cold voice. “It drew too much attention to you. It was too garish.”
“I wasn’t flirting. At least I wasn’t conscious of doing so.”
But he didn’t say a word. Twenty minutes of silence went by and I was aware that he didn’t take a turning I’d noticed earlier, on our way here. Half an hour later and we were still not home. He was driving fast, really fast. I could feel angry vibes emanating from every pore in his body. Jesus, if chatting with another man made him jealous, this relationship of ours was not going to work.
“Are we going somewhere?” I asked.
“I’ll get Madame Menager to send your things on. We aren’t going back to my house.”
Oh my God! I am being dumped! He’s breaking up with me for some harmless flirting. That’s my job! I have to be charming, have meetings, lunches and sometimes, yes, they happen to be with attractive men. I looked over at him and saw the rage on his face. Uh, oh. I felt scared. Maybe it’s best to break up with him, anyway, if he’s going to be like this. I don’t want some possessive psycho as my boyfriend.
“Alexandre, what’s going on?”
“I don’t like seeing you treated like that. Fuck, just because you were wearing a short red dress doesn’t give people a license to be so judgmental.”
“That guy Ryan was being perfectly friendly. He wasn’t being lecherous or rude in any way at all.”
“We are not talking about him, for fuck’s sake,” he shouted. He had never spoken to me with that tone before, and it shocked me. “We’re talking about you,” he added ominously.
I could feel myself well up. “I was just being friendly. Discussing my work. I didn’t even find him attractive.”
But he didn’t reply, just mumbled, “fucking bitch,” under his breath.
I wanted to sink through the floor of his car. If this really was the Batmobile I could press a button and be shot out into the sky or something. Tears spilled onto my dress. The dress, I realized that was causing all this turmoil. I knew I shouldn’t have worn it. Too short. Too red. It was screaming out “slut.” I felt humiliated and small. Alexandre was racing around corners like some Formula One driver. He seemed to have control, but the speed and the way his temper was flaring had me crumbling into a wreck. I started sobbing. I had nothing to wipe away my tears with but this vulgar dress. It was smeared with mascara, which was also, no doubt, half way down my panda-eyed face. He looked over at me.
“Are you crying, baby?” he asked, his voice suddenly soft.
“Of course I am,” I heaved between sobs. What the hell does he expect?
He pulled the car over in a dark layby, and turned off the engine.
“Oh, Pearl, I’m so sorry.”
“This goddam dress.”
“Well, I love that dress,” he said, unclipping his seatbelt and mine. He took me in his arms and drew me close. “You think I was angry at you?” he asked tenderly.
“You called me a ‘fucking bitch.’ ”
He let out a small laugh. “Oh shit. No, Pearl. Not you, chérie. I was talking about my sister.”
“Sophie?”
“She turned up at the party,” he explained.
Duh, I clicked. That woman I’d seen was Sophie. Sophie, who’d shot me that look loaded with poison daggers.
“She called me a cougar,” I told him.
“In my book that’s a compliment. Cougars are beautiful, streamline, elegant and intelligent creatures.”
“I don’t think she meant it as a compliment.”
“Why,” –he slammed his hand on the dashboard—“can’t she mind her own fucking business?” He stroked my hair and kissed me on the forehead, then his mouth pressed gently on my salty cheeks. “I�
��m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. That’s why we’re getting out of here—I’m really not in the mood for a scene. She’ll be staying at my house. You don’t want to be around.”
“Why does she hate me? What have I ever done to her?”
“She’s just jealous, that’s all. She feels you’re distracting me from my work.”
“But you’re still working your ass off, despite seeing me!”
“I know, but lately, she’s right, my heart and soul are not in it. Since I met you I’ve been reminded that there is more to life than HookedUp. Besides, my work there is done. All the creative bit has finished, it’s only about deals now and making more money. That’s not what I’m about. Yeah, the money’s great. I mean, look at this car, my properties and stuff, but . . . ” he trailed off, deep in thought, as if an idea had just struck him.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“I’m taking us to Cap d’Antibes. I thought you should see a little of the French Riviera, the Côte d’Azur. I’ll get our passports and anything important biked over to us tomorrow and then we’ll fly to Paris from Nice the following day.” He put my seat back so I was reclining, the seat almost making a bed. “Let’s just forget this episode, shall we? I’ll sort things out with Sophie next week. I won’t have her ruining things between you and me.”
I took a deep breath and was placated, at least for the moment. No more tears.
He ran his eyes along my body and said, “You look amazing in that little red dress. Did you see how you were like a magnet? Everyone was looking at you. The best looking men in the room couldn’t keep their eyes off you.” His hand moved its way between my legs and he pushed them apart gently. “And you know what turns me on? They want you. But you’re mine. All mine.” The next thing I knew, he brought out the feather from his pocket. “It’s had a bit of wear and tear,” he said, “but it might make you feel more relaxed. Close your eyes, chérie. Think of lavender and rolling waves and just relax.”
I lay back and he began to trace the feather around my ankles and along my calves, and he tweaked my nipples with his fingers, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. I could feel the pulse between my legs and I splayed them open. He leaned over and kissed me, flicking his tongue on mine and then kissing me hard on the mouth. I moaned and started jiggling about in my seat. He traced his finger down my navel, around my bellybutton, and down to my panties. He pressed the palm of his whole hand over my core, holding it there, still. I could almost hear the throb of it like a heartbeat.
“Are you feeling better now,” he asked. “More relaxed?”
“Yes.”
He pressed my clit ever so lightly through my panties, and held it down for a second. I started pushing up against on his firm hand. But then he took it away and started the engine.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, longing for him to take me right here in the car.
“I’m hungry. It’s a good hour away yet, and I want to get us there in time for dinner.”
“So French,” I moaned. “Your belly comes before anything else, even sex.”
He laughed. “I know how to handle you, Pearl Robinson. I may be greedy for food but you’re greedy in other ways. I’m just whetting your appetite—just making sure my chick is still clucking.”
I’m clucking alright. “You bastard,” I exclaimed, pounding his thigh with my fist. “You can’t leave me here like this, worked up between the legs, tingling all over.” I saw the huge bulge in his jeans and it made me catch my breath. Why does he insist on this torture?
He had a knowing smirk on his face as he drove off, the car noisy like a racing car. “You just sleep now, baby, we’ll be there soon. Dream of me, and remember—be prepared, because I’m going to get you to get on top of me later. See how hard I am? That’s all for you.”
ALEXANDRE
THAT NIGHT one of my fears materialized. We went to a party nearby, given by my friend Ridley. Sophie appeared like a bat out of hell, wearing a black slinky dress, her hair loose and sleek. I had an ominous feeling she might show up.
Everybody’s eyes were on Pearl in her sexy red dress. I mean, everybody, including my sister. As we walked in they were playing Can’t Take My Eyes off of You—the perfect song for Pearl. Charlize Theron was there, and people were getting them confused—that’s how good Pearl looked. Some movie star was chatting her up, without any qualms at all—some blond guy, Ryan, who had been in a romantic, Kleenex type of tear-jerker movie—female film goers wailing with emotion at every scene. I knew this because of Elodie; she’d taken me to see it. That was before Elodie had become an Angry Young Woman. Now, it seemed, she eschewed the male sex in general, so I doubt even this Ryan character would have done it for her. And there he was now, brazenly hitting on my Pearl.
It was obvious to me that Pearl could get any man she chose. She didn’t look a day over thirty. When I say thirty, I mean a beautiful, hot, sexy thirty. She looked amazing: tall and slim, but with killer curves in all the right places, especially her ass. Her skin and body glowed with health and fuckability. I know “fuckability” isn’t even a word, but it should have been coined just for Pearl because she oozed it from every pore. She was confident, self-assured, elegant. Despite her hot little dress.
Then Wonderful Tonight was playing and it couldn’t have been a better song to describe how I felt about her.
But I knew I had to get her out of that party ASAP. Away from Ryan the megastar and away from Sophie and her sharpened claws.
While Pearl was being flirted with, I located my sister, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her into the kitchen, where I hoped we could be masked by a little privacy.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Sophie?” I demanded, with a smile on my face. The HookedUp CEOs. My what a lovely sibling team they are! They get on so well.
“Ridley invited me,” she said in a singsong voice.
“Where are you staying?”
“At your place, of course.”
“You can’t just turn up to my house whenever you feel like it! Especially when I’m there with company.”
“Company? I can’t believe you’re still fucking that cougar! In her slutty red dress, drawing so much attention. You have seen her, haven’t you, Alexandre, doing the rounds, ‘networking’ as the Americans like to call it.” She added in a whisper: “Four-tee. A cougar if ever there was one—I wonder what poor creature she’ll hunt down tonight.”
“Sophie, let me tell you something,” I enunciated, pinning her against the fridge. “40 is just a number, forty is just a word. In five year’s time you will be forty. In several year’s time, every single young woman out there will be forty—that is, if she’s lucky enough and doesn’t get run over by a bus first. And most of these women, I guarantee you, will not look as hot as Pearl ever during their whole lifetime, let alone when they’re forty. Stop pigeonholing people, especially Pearl. She’s my girlfriend and that’s final. Do. You. Understand?” I glared at her, my eyes burning through her and the smirk on her face. I had never felt this protective about a girlfriend before. Ever.
“Ooh, the Toy Boy’s getting touchy! Have I hit a nerve?” She threw her head back and cackled.
No, but Pearl has. Pearl has hit a nerve. Every single nerve in my body.
I answered, “Sophie, I haven’t felt this wide awake for years.” It was true; every emotion of mine had been stirred. Anger, jealousy, fury, passion, desire, sympathy, compassion . . . Pearl had done that to me. Pearl had woken me right up.
“It’s just a faze, Alexandre; you’re just in lust with her, that’s all. Mark my words . . . oh look, there’s Ridley; I must go say hello. Please, dear brother, could you kindly unleash my wrist?”
“With pleasure,” I said. And I got the hell out of her way.
I exited the kitchen and went on the prowl for Pearl. The party was in full gear. Glamorous people glittered everywhere. Champagne flowing. A wild boar was being roasted on a spit in the garden; the aroma wafting through
the open doors. Everybody seemed delighted, chatting in French or English, even Frenglish, clinking glasses and blowing air kisses. Everyone, except me, that was.
I located Pearl through a sea of floating gowns and penguin suits, marched over to her and pulled her away from the blue-eyed movie star. I nodded at him in a gallant, This is my woman, move aside, type of way.
I took her gently by her hand. “Pearl, we have to leave.”
She shrugged her smooth, golden shoulder. My eyes scanned down to her peachy ass, accentuated by her red silk dress. I’d have that ass later.
Meanwhile, I was hatching a plan in my head. We couldn’t go home because of Sophie. We’d drive to a hotel. In fact, I’d take her somewhere really special—the French Riviera, the Côte d’Azur. To a stunning place on the southern tip of the Cap d’Antibes: the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc.
And I’d fuck her senseless in that little red dress.
TIPSY
ALEXANDRE
MY PLAN TO FUCK Pearl out of her mind backfired. By mistake, I got her drunk. We had enjoyed too many vintage wines with dinner, and by the time we were finished, I had to carry her to bed. The wine, I think, was Pearl’s way of blotting out the unpleasantness earlier that evening. As we were leaving Ridley’s party, Sophie appeared at the doorway, vampire fangs out. Pearl hadn’t even recognized her but knew something was up when my sister practically spat at her: “Cougar!”
I felt so ashamed. Embarrassed. I suppose I hadn’t understood the extent of Sophie’s possessiveness toward me. She had attacked Laura in the same way, but when Laura and I split up, Sophie suddenly decided the sun shone out of Laura’s ass. Very convenient. But I hadn’t felt the same sense of fury with Sophie concerning Laura that I was now feeling with Pearl. Pearl was bringing out my protective side.
I needed to deal with my sister, fast. Before she really fucked up my love life for good.
Hooked Up: Book 2 Page 8