by Abby Gordon
Model Fantasy
by
Abby Gordon
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Model Fantasy
COPYRIGHT Ó 2011 by Abby Gordon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, January 2011
Published in the United States of America
The author of this work of fiction
acknowledges the following trademarks:
Lexus: Toyota Motor Sales, Inc.
Chanel: Chanel, Inc.
Lufthansa: Deutsche Lufthansa AG
Mercedes: Damler AG
Dedication
Mom and Dad - thank you for roots to grow
and wings to fly, and showing how
real love stories never end.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Abby Gordon
AND HER BOOKS
“I was enthralled with this story from the very beginning… Abby Gordon writes a wonderful and sensual story that should not be missed.”
~Reviewed by Gabrielle
http://goteroticromance.blogspot.com/2010/04/beck-and-call-by-abby-gordon.html?zx=a715334048608b79
“You get an emotional journey that merges with unexpected twists and turns. The result is something that captures your attention and entertains throughout. A definite must for the TBR list, especially for fans of the BDSM genre. Be sure not to miss Beck and Call.”
~Reviewed by Fern http://whippedcream2.blogspot.com/2010/03/beck-and-call-by-abby-gordon.html?zx=1b79a2c5c4eda0f2
“Beck and Call is a sizzling hot romance with an edgy BDSM theme… I thoroughly enjoyed “Beck and Call” by Abby Gordon and look forward to her next masterpiece.”
~Reviewed by Delenn http://www.nightowlromance.com/nor/Reviews/Delenn-reviews-Beck-And-Call-by-Abby-Gordon.aspx
Chapter One
Raising his glass, Grant Franklin sipped his water and nodded to a business associate at a nearby table. Everywhere he looked at the high-end, damn-near-impossible-to-get-a-table restaurant were people who came to see and be seen. Elegant furniture, classical music, polished silver, linens pressed to perfection, and fresh flowers on every table. It was the perfect setting for those who wanted their business and social peers to consider them just like everyone else.
People like those at his table.
“Damned near drove off the road into the mailbox,” Ben Hancock was saying. “Thank God I was going slow. The bump as we hit the curb gave me enough time to straighten out.”
“You mean,” Grant’s cousin Bronson laughed. “Thank God there was no one on the sidewalk at two in the morning.”
“You didn’t tell him where he was headed?” Ben’s older cousin Brian frowned.
“I didn’t have a clue where we were going. I was too damn busy looking at the damn billboard!”
The men all laughed.
“And she wasn’t a brunette? Bron, I’m impressed.” Grant grinned, leaning back in his chair.
“God, what a woman.” Ben shook his head, picking up his glass.
With impassive faces, two waiters smoothly cleared their soup bowls and set their entrees before them. Keith MacLauren nodded. “I heard that it’s already in the top ten downloads of all time,” he offered his expert opinion, having an international innovative software company. “It nearly crashed the servers in Japan.”
“No woman’s that beautiful.” Grant finally shook his head. “You have to be exaggerating.”
“Actually,” Brian spoke up in his heavy Boston Brahmin accent. “They’re not too far off the mark.” He reached down and lifted the old-fashioned leather briefcase he used. Flipping it open, he pulled out a heavy business journal and handed it to Grant. “Open and drool at your own risk.”
Giving the younger man a sardonic, yeah-right look, Grant lifted the front cover, blinked and promptly turned the magazine to get the full effect. Slender, blonde, and a come-get-me-if-you-think-you’re-man-enough expression on the most perfect face he’d ever seen, with roses strategically placed on her breasts and the juncture of her thighs.
“And God created woman,” he breathed. “I’ll take one, please.”
“I saw her first,” Ben objected with a laugh.
“What’s her name?” Grant wondered.
“Francine,” Keith told him. “Lincoln, but I think she’ll only need to use her first name from now on. The Journal’s the only magazine with a two-page spread of the advertisement and…”
“Ad? Who gives a fuck what she’s selling?” Bron grinned.
“This is how to get a hard-on,” murmured Grant as he felt the beginnings of one stir in his slacks. “Can you imagine having her in your bed? You’d never leave. Never get any work done.”
“Just your bed?” Boone queried in his low rasping voice.
“Good point.” Grant nodded with a slight smile. “Having her in your bed might be an afterthought.”
Those at the table chuckled. They were all members of an exclusive, secretive club that had been founded over fifty years earlier for those with certain sexual tendencies. While the Club catered to a variety of tastes from the mild to the extreme, the men gathered leaned toward sexual domination. Grant had been sponsored by a maternal uncle and, in turn, had sponsored the others dining with him. All highly successful in their professional lives, they helped each other maintain the façade of normalcy with public appearances, including their weekly lunches.
As the conversation swirled about him, Grant sipped his water and studied the model. He could just imagine her in his penthouse playroom. That slender body draped over a spanking bench as she waited for whatever discipline he’d decided on. Or secured to the St. Andrew’s cross, with the cascade of gold hair framing her face as he teased her with a soft leather crop. Or slung in his newest addition—a swing that left her pussy, ass, and mouth available, depending on how he wanted to fuck her.
“Back to earth, Grant,” Bronson murmured. “Having her would garner a helluva lot more attention than you like.”
Grant’s body stiffened at his cousin’s words and he gave him a hard look with blue eyes that had been compared to the Titanic’s iceberg. His cousin knew better than to refer to the hell Grant had been through five years earlier. A former girlfriend had created a scandal by claiming she was pregnant with Grant’s child. The paparazzi had surrounded the entire Franklin family like piranha for weeks. Their younger cousin Heather was just now emerging from the shell she’d retreated into. Bronson had turned the event into a reason to make stalkers and paparazzi cases his priority and Grant had withdrawn from society completely. These lunches were practically the only time he went anywhere besides the Club.
“Yeah, it would.” He slowly nodded. He closed the magazine. “She probably wouldn’t be much anyway.”
“Hey, Brody finally decided to show up.” Ben smiled, seeing the last of their group weaving his way through the tables.
Collapsing into his chair between Grant and Brian, Brody reached for the drink they’d had waiting for him.
“Mondays should be outlawed,” he growled.
&nbs
p; “Let me show you something to cheer you up,” Grant suggested, starting to open the magazine.
“Seen it, not interested.” Brody shook his head.
“What’s your problem?” Brian wondered.
“Rose moved out.”
“So? She’s eighteen now.” Bronson frowned. “It’s only natural that your sister would want to move out on her own.”
“She moved in with Lily,” elaborated Brody, finishing the drink and raising the glass to signal for another.
“One of her trustees and a secondary guardian.” Bronson nodded. The lawyer of the group, he shrugged. “At least you know she’ll be well supervised.”
“Not hardly,” snarled Brody. “Lily’s pregnant and says it’s mine.”
None of the men moved. Grant’s eyes skimmed over the stunned expressions at the table. Pulling from his memory, Grant tried to recall Lily’s face and could only picture her with her arms around Rose at the funerals for Brody’s parents.
“I don’t even remember seeing you with her in public,” Grant said slowly.
“That’s who you’ve been with at the Club,” Ben whispered, dark eyes widening in shock. “Your father’s financial protégée? Shit, Brody!”
“It’s not mine,” stated Brody firmly. “I’ve been told by someone I trust implicitly that she hooked up with someone in Tahoe when she went there…”
Grant held up a hand and Brody fell silent. He took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. God knew he’d been innocent against Sheila’s accusations, but if Brody had actually taken Lily to the Club and been seen with her by Ben and probably others, then there was a chance she was telling the truth. Grant knew better than to automatically paint her in the same light as Sheila.
“Brody, let me get this straight. She went to Tahoe to take care of your sister after your parents were killed in a helicopter crash, and you’re saying she fucked someone and is trying to pass the baby off as yours. I get that right?”
“In a nutshell, yeah.” Brody nodded.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Brian asked him, his shock as obvious as everyone else’s. “How can you be so damned sure it’s not yours?”
“I just know, all right?” insisted the man as a second drink was placed before him. “Better bring another now,” he told the waiter.
“Of course, sir,” came the quiet murmur.
“I know I’m not the father,” Brody whispered. Grant could see the anguish in his eyes. “Yeah, Ben, I took her to the Club. We knew we had to keep it quiet, but…” He downed the drink. “I sure as hell never expected her to do this. And for Rose to take her side.” He shuddered, but Grant couldn’t be sure if it was from the drink hitting his stomach or the emotional pain. “I’m not sure which hurts more. My sister, for crying out loud!”
“Shh,” Grant warned him, glancing around as a few heads turned. “I haven’t heard about any of this, so I’m assuming Lily’s keeping it quiet.”
“For now,” Brody replied, mouth twisting. “Until she realizes that having Rose will cost both of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just talked to the other trustees. We’re reducing Rose’s allowance by half.”
“I sure hope your source is right,” observed Bronson. “Because if Lily sues for a paternity test and it’s proven that you are the father, then both Rose and Lily will have your ass.”
“It’s not mine,” Brody said quietly.
Grant could hear the pain and conviction in his voice.
“All right.” Grant shook his head at Brian who had opened his mouth. Ben looked like he was also in shock. The Hancocks were a tight family who put each other first, and he could see how upset the three were with the situation. Brian and Ben seemed pissed on Brody’s behalf, but Grant was surprised to see Boone glaring at Brody. “We get that, Bro. What next?”
“Next?”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Get drunk,” Brody replied with a sigh, apparently already feeling the alcohol.
“Sounds like a good idea.” Ben nodded. “There are times in life when getting stinking drunk is the only logical action. I think this might be one for Brody.” His gaze swept the table. “I don’t have anything planned so I’ll stick with him.”
The other men nodded. Lunch continued, a bit more solemn as everyone kept an eye on Brody. Leaving the restaurant, Grant, Keith and Brian walked the four blocks to the building Keith had inherited from a maternal great-aunt. MacLauren Computing occupied three floors from the thirtieth down, while Grant’s executive headquarters for Franklin Enterprises had the two below. Below were other offices, including Bronson’s legal suite. Above the business section were elaborate apartments and penthouses. The New York contingent of their lunch party lived there. Brian lived in Boston, while Boone preferred his cabin in the Connecticut woods.
“Good afternoon, sirs,” the doorman greeted them, stepping aside as he opened the door.
“Hello, David,” Keith returned. “Anything new happening?”
“Mr. Henderson just arrived with Mr. Ashby and Miss Traydon.”
“Excellent,” nodded Keith as they entered the building. “Henderson’s been in California for a month.”
“Expanding again?” Grant wondered.
“Lots of opportunities out there,” the younger man told him. “I’m surprised you’re not out there already.”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” Brian warned him. “I’m not sure how he keeps track of everything as it is.”
“Delegation, my dear boys,” Grant replied with exaggerated pomposity, placing his hand on his chest. “Delegation, a firm priority list, and regular visits to the Club to relieve stress.”
“I’m not at the point where I’m so big that I need to delegate,” Keith smiled. “Serena, hold the elevator!” he called to a slender blonde ahead of them.
Her head swiveled and Grant saw the startled recognition in her eyes.
“Speaking of stress relief,” Brian murmured as the woman stepped in and reached out to hold the doors open. “Who is she?”
“Serena Traydon,” Keith replied as they joined her. Two other men were already inside. “Serena, Grant Franklin and Brian Hancock. Tom Ashby and Jake Henderson.”
There were greetings all around and the conversation turned to business. Grant glanced at the young woman who had retreated to a back corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, wearing a pale green shirt-dress that skimmed her curves. Quietly, she tracked the discussion, eyes moving from one man to the other. Those sea-green eyes though lingered on Keith.
Grant smothered a smile. If she had any idea what Keith preferred sexually, she’d be screaming to get out of the elevator. That thought reminded him of the model. Would a woman who posed like that be interested in sexual submission? He doubted it. That would really make her too perfect.
Chapter Two
Four years later
Francine shivered outside JFK terminal and hailed a cab. Hesitating only a heartbeat, she gave the driver Kevin’s address. It wasn’t too late, she smiled, relaxing in the seat. She could surprise him, they could make up, and everything would be all right. Still imagining Kevin’s surprise and delight, she misunderstood the startled look by the doorman at Kevin’s building. Of course he was surprised. She wasn’t supposed to be back from Fiji for another week.
“Hello, Thomas,” she greeted the elevator operator, stepping into the car. “Mr. MacLauren’s floor, please.”
Pulling her wheeled suitcase, she exited the elevator and pulled the key out. Inside the door, she left her suitcase and slipped off her shoes and coat. From the direction of the bedrooms, she could see a light and dimly heard music and voices. Puzzled, she moved silently down the hall and peered through the half-open door.
She stared in disbelief. Kevin, her fiancé, was on top of a woman. Fucking her. And not just any woman. Strawberry blonde hair streamed across the snowy white pillowcase. Francine’s hand covered her mouth. Delilah. Kev
in’s hips slammed back down and the up-and-coming model cried out. One more up and down and Kevin’s shout jolted Francine out of her stunned stupor.
Unable to breathe, she backed away and shuddered. Impossible. Inconceivable. She had to have imagined it. She took a step back toward the door and heard his voice.
“God, you’re good! Better than that Ice Queen I’ve been trying to thaw.” He snorted. “It’s a thankless task, but the publicity of dating Francine has been worth it.”
Unable to bear anymore, Francine whirled and rushed back down the hallway. Snatching up her shoes and coat, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and fled the apartment. In the elevator, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Only now did she realize tears were sliding down her cheeks.
“You all right, miss?” the operator asked, his finger hesitating over the button to close the door.
She was in public. Appearances had to be maintained. Taking a deep breath, she wiped at her face and looked at him.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Thomas.” Seeing knowing expression in his eyes she felt her pride shatter around her. “Obviously, I will not be coming by anymore to see Mr. MacLauren.” He nodded. She saw the wariness in his eyes, as if he expected hysterics. She would not give anyone, especially Kevin, that satisfaction.
“I’ll need a taxi,” she told him. “Would you call down and ask to have one waiting?”
“Yes, miss,” he replied, picking up the elevator phone.
On automatic pilot, she put on her shoes and coat. By the time they reached the ground floor, the only sign of her tears were faint tracks on her high cheekbones. The doorman had a cab waiting for her.
“Where to, miss?”
Francine hesitated. She couldn’t bear the thought of going to her apartment. There were pictures of Kevin everywhere and memories… She shook her head.