Dangerous Love: The Bold and the Beautiful

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Dangerous Love: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 8

by Ros Baxter


  And she would, she swore she would do one of those things—in just a moment.

  “Let me look at you.” Ridge’s voice was like dark honey, the kind you buy from roadside stalls in small towns, pure and molten and sweet as it comes. And his eyes were even darker. “I’ve been going mad, thinking about you in that lingerie, ever since I saw it spilling out of your case this morning at the airport. Every time I shut my eyes on that plane . . .”

  Donna opened her mouth to speak, to tell him that he couldn’t, that they mustn’t, but he put a finger to her lips.

  “Please, Donna,” he said, his voice husky with intent. “I just want to look at you. I promise, for now, that’s all I want to do.”

  She didn’t believe him.

  And he saw it on her face. She could tell by the way he pressed his lips together and seemed to make a decision. “Alright then,” he said, sighing. “How about this? I keep my hands down here.” He was kneeling beside her and he balled his hands into fists and dropped them down away from the bed. “You just let me look at you, right now, and I promise I won’t touch you at all. With my hands.”

  The last three words were so ominous Donna had to stifle a gasp. “Why should I let you do that?”

  Ridge shrugged and then smiled, showing even white teeth. “Because you want to.”

  Donna started to shake her head.

  “And why not? Who can it hurt? I’ve already seen you after all, haven’t I? I’ve already seen this surprise package you prepared so carefully?” He gestured at her body in the pink lingerie. “All I want is a closer look. Who can it hurt?”

  Who? How about me? How about Eric?

  But then she knew the latter wasn’t right. Eric was not even aware of how she was feeling, not yet. She had no allegiance to him, except in her mind. But it was ridiculous; the idea of lying here and letting Ridge look at her. Totally ridiculous.

  She should get up and walk out. Put her gown on and return to her room. Totally ridiculous, except her legs weren’t moving, her mouth wasn’t objecting. Totally ridiculous, except she wanted it. Badly.

  So she lay there, and Ridge’s eyes widened. He kneeled beside the bed and watched her carefully, starting at her face.

  Donna watched as he took in her eyes, meeting them levelly; then his gaze lingered on her lips, his own mouth opening slightly as he looked at them. His gaze moved down, over her neck, where goosepimples were creeping up from her breasts. As he started down her body, he lowered his face very close to her skin, and inhaled deeply, just like he had on the plane.

  “My God, Donna,” he breathed. “You smell like heaven.” He chuckled. “Except I’m almost sure I’m never going to get to heaven, with the thoughts your body is making me have.” His nose dipped lower, tracing a clavicle, and then ran down across the soft skin of her breasts where they pushed out of the lacy bra. His nose pressed harder into her as it traveled down the bra, brushing once, twice, three times across the place where lace met nipple.

  Donna’s stomach went into freefall and she knew she had to stop him.

  But he wasn’t done.

  This time his lips took up the journey. They traced a line of fire from underneath her breasts down to her navel, and lower, until they reached the top of the elastic of her panties. Ridge licked along the coral-pink line and murmured, “I’d love to see you without these, Donna.”

  The words startled her out of the daze she had fallen into under the assault of his nose and mouth and the appreciative, wandering of his gaze.

  She sat up quickly. “Oh no, Ridge,” she said, swinging herself from the bed and this time making it to the gown before he could waylay her. “We can’t—I didn’t mean for this to—” She wrapped the gown quickly around herself as Ridge stood and faced her, a lazy smile playing around his mouth. “I have to go,” she said, turning to flee the room.

  As she dashed from Eric’s suite, her heart beating an erratic tattoo, she could hardly believe what she had almost done. It’s not too late, she told herself. I can still get away from this.

  She shut the door to her own apartment hard behind her, as though it would help ward off demons. She kept repeating one phrase to herself, in her mind, under breath. She figured if she said it enough times, she might make it true again.

  “It’s Eric I want.”

  Chapter Six

  Ridge scanned the harbor for any sign of her. The captain of the Stephanie was tapping his foot impatiently.

  “Bad weather projected for later this afternoon,” he said, in perfect English with only the faintest hint of a French accent. “We need to be setting off, sir. Is she coming?”

  Something murky twisted in Ridge’s gut. Where was Donna? Was she avoiding him because of last night? The memory of her face, her skin and her body tormented him even now, but it was hard to say he regretted what he had done. The feeling of her body against his as he had slid into bed had been exquisite. And maybe he had been a fool for really believing she had been waiting there for him, or maybe he had just wanted that to be true too much.

  “Prepare to cast off,” Ridge ordered, scanning the marina one last time before turning back to make the final preparations. He was surprised that Eric had said he could not make the first day of shooting out on the harbor, but then his father had been preoccupied. Almost jumpy. Ridge wondered what was playing on his mind. He had assumed it was business, but his absence today suggested otherwise. Ridge had been so lost in his own troubles these last few months he hadn’t spared enough time to check how his father was doing. He knew Eric had been through a tough time of his own since the split with Taylor. Perhaps Ridge should have been paying more attention to his father’s needs, and less wrapped up in his own pain.

  Well, the least Ridge could do today was make sure this shoot went well. He moved to the back of the boat to give some last-minute instructions to the clique of swimsuit-clad models lounging on the deck. Holding court at the center of them was the quite remarkable Gigi Divine. Her star had been rising rapidly these last few years, and it was almost unbelievable that they had managed to secure her on such short notice.

  He shook his head. Eric had told Ridge that it had been Donna who had managed that impressive feat. Donna.

  She was everywhere—in his head, on his skin, in his nostrils; he couldn’t seem to escape her.

  Gigi smiled coquettishly up at him. She was the sole brunette in the center of a group of tan blonds and the effect was startling. Donna was right; she was the perfect foil, the perfect focus for this campaign. She was the essence of French glamor: milky skin, black hair, curvy body. While the other women sported tiny, modern swimsuits, she wore an elegant black one-piece that somehow only served to emphasize her buxom beauty. She looked so good it was almost pornographic.

  “Mr. Forrester.” Her breathy smile and sweet, accented lisp would have melted the heart of any man, but Ridge was used to beautiful women. And right now, all he could do was compare her to Donna. Gigi’s gaze was not as shrewd; her skin didn’t look like warm honey; her eyes were the wrong shade of green.

  “Yes?” He was impatient to be going. If Donna wasn’t coming, they needed to get this show on the road.

  Gigi unfurled herself from her acolytes and stood in front of him, her impressive body inches away. “Are you sure this swimsuit is the right color?”

  “Huh?” Ridge didn’t care if she was wearing a tent right now.

  “This swimsuit,” Gigi repeated, running her hands along the soft lines of her belly to make her point. “This one I am wearing now. You think black is right, for the day?” She gestured at the bright sun overhead. “You don’t think it will be too ’arsh?”

  Ridge’s fashion instincts kicked in and he narrowed his eyes as he considered her question. Of course, he was aware what she was doing; she was used to every available man focusing on her, and right now Ridge wasn’t. But her question was a good one. He looked up at the sky and then back at her suit. He turned her around and considered her again, lined up against
the other girls.

  “You’re right,” he conceded. “I think the green one is going to work better.”

  As he made to turn away, Gigi purred. “You’re so right,” she said. She began to strip the swimsuit off in front of him. None of the photographers or models milling around the deck batted an eyelid; there was little modesty on a shoot. And now she thought she could embarrass this uptight American; anything to keep the focus on her. Well, Ridge refused to give in to her game. He stood where he was, raising an eyebrow at her before continuing to survey the scene.

  Just as Gigi had managed to completely divest herself of her suit, Ridge felt someone approach behind him. He turned to see Donna, wearing dark glasses and a simple black shift dress. She looked cool and elegant, but somehow vulnerable.

  “Enjoying the show?” she said quietly, before adding more loudly, “Good morning, Ms. Divine, lovely day for it.”

  Ridge smiled at her effortless cool.

  Gigi grinned. “Donna!” she squealed, moving to wrap Donna in an enthusiastic and very naked hug. “You came!”

  “Of course I came,” Donna said neutrally, disentangling herself from the model. “Now,” she went on, turning the woman toward the clothes chests. “Which swimsuit have we settled on?”

  *

  Donna’s heart thumped murderously as she chatted and helped to dress the naked Gigi. She could feel red heat rising on her face as the sight of Ridge speaking casually to the naked supermodel played over and over in her mind. He really was a player. Here she was, exhausted from lack of sleep after the night before, and it had obviously meant as little to him as the sight of one of the world’s most beautiful women cavorting naked in front of him. The nerve of the man.

  Donna settled the straps on the back of Gigi’s elegant green one-piece, and turned her around to check positioning. The sight was breathtaking—no wonder Ridge had not been able to resist. Gigi had been a burlesque dancer before she had become the face of a luxurious sports car brand. Now she was synonymous with all things lush, beautiful and expensive. And Donna could see why. The green set off her Snow White good looks, and the cut of the suit emphasized her daintiness and the kittenish way she moved. Donna felt like an Amazonian warrior in comparison.

  Gigi pouted up at Donna. “’Ow do I look?”

  Donna almost groaned. The sexy little French accent was nearly a bridge too far. She wondered if it would be unprofessional to slap her, especially since she had worked so hard to get Gigi here. For Eric, she recalled, not for Ridge’s salacious pleasures.

  The thought pulled Donna up. Where was Eric? She hadn’t seen him this morning at breakfast and she had assumed she’d catch up with him on the boat. She was looking forward to talking to him, sharing their excitement over the shoot, remembering why she was here—which certainly wasn’t to get herself all bothered and confused over a Lothario like Ridge.

  “Gigi,” she said, as she turned to survey the boat and came up Eric-less, “have you seen Mr. Forrester?”

  “I certainly ’ave,” Gigi smiled, a coy look playing around the edges of her mouth. “And I think ’e saw me too, a few moments ago, don’t you?”

  “Ah no, Gigi,” she said. “Mr. Forrester, senior. Eric. Have you seen him this morning? On the boat?”

  Gigi frowned, looking so cute Donna understood why every man on the planet wanted to marry her or make love to her. “Er, come to sink of it, no I ’aven’t.” She eyed Donna shrewdly. “Everything okay, I ’ope?” She raised her eyebrows. “With the shoot?”

  “Of course.” Donna laughed breezily. “Perfect day, all going to plan. We’ll be pushing off soon, I’m sure.”

  A horrible thought occurred to Donna, and she felt the bottom fall from her heart. Could Eric possibly know about last night? About her with Ridge? Would Ridge have . . .? No. She dismissed the thought. Surely not. Eric would not appreciate hearing such tales from his son, and on reflection, she decided it really wasn’t Ridge’s style. Could Eric have seen them, perhaps? Or maybe seen Donna, exiting his apartment, and put two and two together to make six? She was going to have to try to corner Ridge to see what he knew. Although, truth be told, she didn’t fancy it, not after witnessing his cool appraisal of Gigi.

  “Good,” Gigi said, flicking her hair back gaily as a gust of light breeze caught it. “I ’ave an excellent feeling about today.”

  Something in Gigi’s tone stopped Donna short, and she watched the younger woman carefully as she turned to head back up the deck to the captain and Ridge. As Donna watched her pert round bottom sashay away, the model suddenly turned.

  “Donna,” she said in a slow drawl, her voice imploring and her eyes turned to full seduction mode. “I wonder if you could ’elp me out with a little advice about Mr. Forrester . . .?”

  Donna had a presentiment of doom. She steeled herself. “Sure,” she said. “For you, anything.”

  “Oh, goody.” Gigi clapped her hands, and danced back to where Donna was standing, feeling the warm breeze whip her face lightly and thinking the day was about to get even worse. “It’s just . . . I was wondering. I know you know the Forresters very well, and Mr. Forrester . . . Ridge . . . ’e is your . . .” Gigi frowned again, seeming to struggle for the right word. “. . . son, yes?”

  “No.” The blunt retort was out before Donna could squash it.

  Gigi frowned again, still prettily, but Donna was sure she saw a flicker of calculation in its brilliance. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she went on. “It is so confusing, this English way of explaining relationships.” She shrugged, and flicked her hair. “’E was your son, yes? When you were married to Mr. Forrester senior?”

  Donna nodded, feeling now where this was heading. “In law,” she added unnecessarily.

  “Good.” Gig clapped her hands again like she was encouraging a small, slightly slow child. “So maybe you could perhaps tell me some things about ’im.” She raised an eyebrow at Donna. “I find ’im very . . . What is the American word? ’Ot. That’s it. I think he is ’ot. I desire him. But I am confused as to whether ’e is . . .” She waved her hands in that expressive way only Europeans can pull off so convincingly. “Available.” She waggled her eyebrows at Donna in a gesture so comic Donna almost laughed. But she wasn’t finished. “I think ’e ’as this woman, this wife.” She tapped her temple like she was trying to remember. “Brooke!” She clapped again. “That’s right, Brooke.” She studied Donna carefully. “Is she still a part of the picture?”

  Donna smiled at Gigi’s turn of phrase, then shook her head. “No, Gigi,” she said, realizing perhaps this gorgeous young thing was the answer to all her problems. Once Ridge realised Gigi had set her sights on him, surely he would forget any lingering and misplaced desire he may have been feeling for Donna. “He’s a free agent.”

  Gigi frowned, and Donna explained: “Single. All yours.”

  The young model bestowed a dazzling smile on Donna, and turned on her heel.

  *

  Ridge parked himself at the little table in the crew’s quarters, staring down at the sandwich he’d made with such gusto a few minutes before but now he didn’t seem able to muster the appetite to eat. He had been avoiding Gigi all morning, and the kitchen was one place he was sure he was safe from any of the models. If there was one thing they hated more than fraternizing with the lowly crew, it was being near food. And that suited him just fine.

  All morning Gigi had pursued him across the ship. And if she wasn’t leaning on him, asking for his help with a bathing suit strap, or giggling in his ear, she was pouting up at him from her position in one of the shots, looking straight at him as the exasperated photographer tried to keep her attention. Eventually, Francois, who was paid a sizeable daily fee to know what was going on for everyone on the shoot, convinced Ridge to stand beside him, muttering: “If she’s going to give you those come-hither looks, at least we can try to catch them on camera.” Ridge had chuckled and agreed. For a while.

  But right now he wanted to get away. All morning
he’d been after some space so he could try to sort through what had happened last night. He had been so sure Donna had feelings for him, but her swift escape, and then her apparent fury at him today, belied that. He really was a fool. But even now, staring at this sandwich, all he could think about was the sight of her lovely body, stretched out on the bed like a willing cat, delightful in coral pink lace. And her confused blue eyes, drugged by lust one moment and filled with uncertainty the next.

  Ridge was feeling things he had stopped himself from even thinking about since his split with Brooke. He wanted to help her relax, take that confused look off her face. And most of all, he wanted to put to bed this idea that she was somehow going to end up back with Eric.

  Sure, Ridge got it. Eric was a great guy. And Ridge loved him. But he wasn’t the right one for Donna.

  Ridge picked up his sandwich and bit into it, chewing carefully. Except Ridge couldn’t explain, not even to himself, exactly why he was so sure that was the case. He knew Eric couldn’t make Donna happy—not the way he, Ridge, could.

  Ridge almost choked as he realized what he had just thought. He didn’t seem to be considering this as some casual thing. If he had been, he would have enjoyed the advances of Ms. Divine out on the deck. He would have flirted right back. He would have forgotten all about Donna after it became clear that it was his father she had been waiting for last night, and certainly after she had turned tail and run for the hills.

  But no, here he was, thinking about her, thinking about how to get close to her, talk to her, maybe touch and inhale the sublime scent of her skin again.

  Oh, man.

  And then, like an apparition from a dream, she appeared in the little galley. She didn’t look happy but it didn’t seem to matter to his synapses, which had fired up and were shouting their approval in her direction. She looked utterly beautiful right at this minute, stepping in from the deck. Her long golden legs appeared first, the short black dress swinging around her toned thighs. Then her torso, blond hair hanging loose over her full breasts. He tried to make out what she had on under that shift—it could have been underwear or a black bikini, but then he closed his eyes and tried to think gentlemanly thoughts. No doubt she already thought him enough of a cad after his actions last night.

 

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