Lovers & Players (7 page)

A
my was happily doing all the things she never usually got to do, such as smoking weed, getting drunk on double lychee martinis, screaming at the trio of male strippers her best friends had thoughtfully provided, and generally letting loose.

Usually she was such a ‘good girl’, a dedicated worker, a credit to her well-connected family. Tonight she was a ‘wild girl’, egged on by her hard-living friends. Tonight she’d decided to forget about the past experiences that had always held her back, and go for it.

The strippers were a trip–three brawny Australian lads with bulging thigh muscles, lusty smiles and six-pack abs. Much to the girls’ delight, they were not shy about taking everything off. While one of them gave Amy a dangerously intimate lap-dance, Tina snapped pictures with her digital camera. The girls were screaming with laughter.

Amy was screaming along with them. She was having a great time, the best time she’d had in months, what with all the wedding preparations wearing her down.

After a couple of hours in a private room at Gatsby’s, Yolanda suggested they move into the main club where Usher was rapping on the sound system about women and sex and betrayal, and the place was jammed with a writhing, sweating crowd intent on chilling out to the loud music.

‘Order another drink,’ encouraged Yolanda, as they all squeezed onto the leather banquette in a corner booth.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Carolee, a frighteningly thin Courtenelli house model. ‘You gotta get wrecked, like,
really
.’

‘I
am
wrecked,’ Amy protested, with a small drunken giggle. ‘Anymore lychee martinis and I’m throwing up all over some lucky person.’

‘Maybe
him,
’ Dana said, with a sly glance at the ridiculously handsome man lounging in the adjoining booth. He was accompanied by a stunning six-foot-tall black woman, and a skinny white man with a ponytail.

‘Wow!’ whispered Tina, leaning forward and checking out the good-looking one. ‘Now he’s
hot!
’

‘Stop!’ Amy admonished. ‘You’re married
and
pregnant, so cool down.’

‘I can look, can’t I?’ Tina asked innocently. ‘And may I remind you that
you
can do
more
than look.’

‘Shut up!’ Amy giggled, thinking that it was about time she downed a cup of strong black coffee before she slid under the table.

And yet why would she do that when she was having so much fun?

Lounging in a booth at Gatsby’s, Jett was feeling relaxed, even though he was not drinking or doing drugs. Both activities were strictly off his agenda, but he felt mellow and chilled out all the same. Sometimes you just had to suck it up and realize there were things you couldn’t do. He’d learned his lessons the hard way, and now he didn’t miss it. No alcohol. No drugs. He understood he was an addict, therefore he had to resist. Pretty simple, really.

Sipping Diet Coke, he checked out the action. There was plenty going on. The dance-floor was alive with beautiful, sexy women. He glanced over at Chet, who was chain-smoking French cigarettes, while Beverly was busy chatting to a group of girls in the next booth. Before long he found himself joining in the conversation.

It was a kick talking to a bunch of females who actually spoke his language. Three years in Italy was a long time to be away, and the truth was he’d missed America and all it had to offer.

After a while he realized that one girl in particular kept catching his attention. She was a real knock-out in a Reese Witherspoon, Gwyneth Paltrow kind of way. She had that silky blonde hair, shy-smile thing going. And the most appealing eyes. So all-American. So pretty. So nice.

As the evening progressed, he found himself becoming more and more attracted to her, and even though she was drinking along with the others, he sensed there was something different about her. Not only was she insanely pretty, but he couldn’t help noticing that she had a great body–and great bodies were his speciality.

It didn’t take long for his jet-lag to vanish. Leaning over he asked her if she wanted to hit the dance-floor.

She was about to say no, but a drunken shove from one of her friends persuaded her to get up.

Grabbing her hand, he led her onto the crowded floor and they started to dance.

As if on cue, the disc jockey switched from Outkast to a slow Marc Anthony salsa beat. Not about to miss the opportunity, Jett pulled her close. ‘So…uh…what’re you girls doing out by yourselves?’ he asked, inhaling her perfume, a mixture of fresh soap and seductive Angel. ‘Is this a no-boyfriend night?’

‘Somebody’s getting married,’ Amy murmured, feeling surprisingly comfortable in his arms.

‘Not you, I hope,’ he joked, pulling her even closer.

And she smiled.

They stayed on the dance-floor a long time before he managed to steer her over to the other side, away from her friends. Out of sight, he edged her into a corner and began kissing her.

‘You’d better stop that,’ she murmured, attempting to push him away.

‘Why?’ he said teasingly. ‘You’re not into kissing?’

‘I…uh…’

He pulled her close again and kissed her some more. This time she didn’t push him away. She had soft lips, so soft and inviting that he felt the beginning of a hard-on just kissing her.

Amy was as into it as he was. Earlier she’d smoked a joint, drunk too much, and now her inhibitions were at a dangerously low level. Besides, this guy was
so
good-looking, with his tousled dirty blond hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. Maybe Tina was right. One last fling…

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he whispered in her ear, after twenty minutes of serious tongue action.

‘I…I don’t know you,’ she responded, feeling confused and excited but becoming more turned on by the minute.

‘Hey–I don’t know you either,’ he said, caressing her silky blonde hair. ‘But, believe me, I’d like to.’

‘Yes?’ she asked tentatively, shivering slightly.

‘You bet,’ he said, kissing her again.

She felt dizzy. Soon she’d be a married woman. Forever faithful. No more opportunities to explore.

Only right now she was single, free, she didn’t have to answer to anyone, and this might be her last chance to do something totally out of character. Something completely and utterly crazy.

Tina
was
right. One wild fling before the doors of matrimony closed and she became the good, faithful wife.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered, feeling light-headed and suddenly quite bold as he steered her towards the exit.

‘I’ll think of somewhere,’ he answered, a strong possessive arm firmly round her narrow waist.

Outside on the street he waved down a cab and bundled her inside.

‘And we’re going where?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Now, now, don’t get paranoid, I’m not kidnapping you,’ he joked.

‘That’s not funny,’ she said, sinking back against the cracked leather seat, quickly shutting out the bad memories that threatened to flood back.

He didn’t get it. Of course he didn’t. He had no idea who she was. Poor little rich girl. Poor little
engaged
rich girl. Why
would
he know?

He kissed her all the way to Sam’s loft in Soho.

They didn’t speak. Not a word.

She was well aware that she’d had too much to drink: her head was spinning, but somehow it didn’t bother her. She
wanted
this. It was her choice, nobody was forcing her to do anything.

Once they arrived, he paid off the cab driver, then pushed her up against the wall outside Sam’s building and started once more with the kissing.

She could barely breathe. It was as if they couldn’t keep their mouths off each other, and he was such a
great
kisser.

Are you out of your mind?
a stern inner voice suddenly yelled inside her head.

Yes!
she fired back.
And I don’t intend to stop
.

You’d better!

Says who?

He unlocked the downstairs street door, urgently pulling her inside. She came with him willingly. He led her straight to a tiny elevator where he crowded her into a corner. Within seconds his hands were everywhere.

She knew that this was the moment she should tell him to stop, reveal the truth about her situation and beat a hasty retreat. Because if she didn’t do it now there was no turning back.

‘You’re so freakin’ beautiful,’ he whispered, leading her out of the elevator and into the apartment. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

No, she didn’t know it. Max never told her. Max was polite and proper, always the perfect gentleman. Max plied her with expensive presents that she didn’t need and didn’t want. Max was safe. This guy wasn’t.

Inside the small apartment their kissing marathon continued, both of them totally into it.

After a while Jett began undressing her, slowly at first, then becoming frantic.

She responded by ripping at his shirt, pulling down the zipper on his pants.

They were kissing and fumbling with their clothes, laughing, until suddenly he picked her up as if she was weightless, and carried her into Sam’s bedroom where he placed her gently on the bed.

This is it!
she thought.
This is it. It’s time to stay or run
.

Before she could make up her mind, he began to kiss her again, sucking her bottom lip, moving down to her breasts, positioning himself over her, stroking her skin, which was so soft and smooth–like fine cashmere. His lips found her nipples and she threw back her head with abandon and thought she might melt with pleasure. She didn’t want him to stop. Ever.

And when he moved on top of her, she gave a long, deep sigh, opening herself up to him.

He started to push inside her, when he suddenly realized she was a virgin. It was a shock. ‘Damn!’ he muttered, abruptly pulling away.

‘Don’t stop,’ she said, reaching out to guide him back. ‘Please don’t stop.’

‘Hey…’ he mumbled, wondering why he was suddenly turning into Mr Nice Guy. ‘You’ve had a few drinks and, uh…I’m not about to do something you might regret in the morning.’

‘Who says I’ll regret anything?’

‘This
is
your first time, right?’

‘Of course not,’ she lied, wishing he’d just continue what he’d been doing, because even though the room was doing a slow spin she was beyond caring: she needed this tonight, and nothing was going to stop her now. ‘Keep making love to me,’ she said softly. ‘I want to feel you inside me.’

Oh, Jesus, she was so gorgeous and he was totally hooked, why
would
he stop?

Resuming his position, he made love to her for what seemed like hours, until finally she fell asleep wrapped in his arms, warm and soft and so very lovely.

He’d never felt so totally at peace and satisfied. Within minutes he, too, was asleep, breathing in her sweet, sweet smell, totally content.

When he woke in the morning there were drops of blood on the sheets and the girl he’d spent the night with was gone.

It was then that he realized he didn’t even know her name.

U
nable to sleep, Max considered it Mariska’s fault. She’d purposely summoned him to her apartment, pretending Lulu was sick just so that she could ruin his night. He was sure she’d assumed he was with Amy.

Wrong. As usual.

And what exactly had that muttered ‘maybe’ been about when he’d said, ‘She’s my daughter, isn’t she’.

Surely Mariska wouldn’t stoop
that
low, intimating that Lulu might not be his child.

Yes. Mariska was a prize bitch, capable of anything. The woman would stoop as low as she had to if it meant getting his attention.

He truly loathed her, and he had good reason to. Several weeks ago a man had turned up at his office, a scruffy man with obviously dyed black hair and a sparse moustache. Clad in an ill-fitting suit and scuffed fake alligator shoes, the man had reeked of cheap cologne as he’d waylaid Mrs Barley, Max’s executive assistant, and informed her that he had personal and sensitive information regarding the
ex
-Mrs Diamond, and that Max could either see him or read about what he had to say in the
National Enquirer
.

After Mrs Barley had appraised him of the situation, Max had opted to see him. And what a tale he had listened to regarding his dear ex-wife.

The man, Vladimir Bushkin, claimed that Mariska–whose real name he informed Max was Paulina Mari Kuchinova–had entered America with a false identity and a false passport. And how did Vladimir know this? Well, apparently he was her legal husband. And her marriage to the poor hapless American accountant,
and
to Max, were both acts of bigamy.

At first Max hadn’t believed him: the man’s story was beyond preposterous. However, when Vladimir produced photos and documents, including a marriage licence, Max had realized that it was more than likely he was telling the truth. The woman in the wedding photos was certainly a younger, not at all polished Mariska, and the name on the wedding licence was indeed Paulina Mari Kuchinova.

‘She was prostitute,’ Vladimir announced casually, as if this was not particularly interesting news. ‘I was her pimp.’

‘Christ!’ Max exploded, already imagining the headlines if this ever got out.

‘She double-crossed me,’ Vladimir continued. ‘Picked up stupid American at hotel bar in Moscow. Gave him good sucking and got him to marry her. She already had false papers in place. The scheming sow had been planning to get out of Moscow for a while. One day I woke up, she was gone. I vowed to track her down. It wasn’t easy task, but here I am.’

‘What do you want?’ Max had asked, his stomach churning.

‘Plenty,’ Vladimir had replied, with an evil laugh. ‘Whatever I deserve to keep mouth tightly shut.’

And Max had realized he was caught in a devastating trap.

After a good night’s sleep Chris was up early, ready to rock ’n roll and face his father. He was pleased, because usually he didn’t sleep well in hotels. He had an ongoing fear of being trapped in a burning building, and a high-rise hotel in Manhattan seemed just the right venue for that to happen, especially after 9/11. He still couldn’t shake the images of those poor souls jumping from the windows of the towering buildings. It was his recurring nightmare.

After watching Jonathan do his I’m-just-a-regular-guy act with Matt Lauer on the
Today Show
, he had breakfast downstairs while reading the newspapers, which was quite relaxing until he came across an item about one of his clients on Page Six in the
New York Post
. Lola Sanchez, Latina diva supreme, had supposedly been spotted making out at Gatsby’s with her latest co-star, a young blond hunk.

This was not a good thing because Lola was currently engaged to Oscar-winning film director Russell Savage, and Russell would not take kindly to his so-called fiancée hanging out with another man, especially a sexy macho actor.

Chris sighed. Knowing Lola, she’d deny everything and insist that he sue the newspaper, which he would not advise because it was probably all true. Lola Sanchez was a man-eater–she simply couldn’t help herself–show her an attractive co-star and she would gobble the man up for lunch, dinner and morning coffee.

It was too early to phone his office in L.A. and alert them to expect her call, so he decided not to worry about it for now.

Further down in the column there was a blind item, which he was sure referred to Birdy Marvel.

Nice. How long before
that
particular movie turned up on the Internet?

Didn’t these girls ever learn? Although he knew exactly what Birdy would say: ‘It didn’t do Paris Hilton or Pamela Anderson any harm, did it?’

He tried calling Birdy on his cell, just to warn her that if there
was
a video she should make sure it was kept under lock and key and that nobody could get their hands on it–especially Rocky.

Her road manager informed him she was asleep, and couldn’t be disturbed.

He finished his egg-white omelette, signed the check and left the hotel. It wouldn’t do to keep Big Daddy waiting.

As Jett strode along Park Avenue heading for his father’s house, his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop thinking about last night and the girl with the silky blonde hair. When he’d worken up she was gone, vanished. And he hadn’t even asked her for her name. She was amazing, and he was in love or lust or something along those lines.

The truth was that he couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off his face, and that indicated she wasn’t just another one-night stand. God knew, he’d had enough of those.

He had a strong suspicion that this could turn out to be the real thing, so if he was serious and
really
wanted her, there was no way he should crowd her. That meant that even though he was hot to hook up with her again, experience told him it was probably better to wait a day or two, give her space, let her think about him and wonder.

It occurred to him that he might have taken advantage of her because, even though she’d denied it, she
had
been a virgin, he had no doubt about that.

Then he thought, hell, no. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. Besides, he’d acted like a gentleman, offering to stop, only
she
hadn’t wanted him to.

Now what? She shouldn’t be too hard to track–someone from the club would know who she was. And if they didn’t, Beverly would soon find out for him, because Beverly knew everyone. He called her on his cell and left a message. After that, he thought about contacting his mother, then decided to put it off until after he’d met with Red. Who knew what the old man would have to say? And Edie–if she was sober enough–would want to know every detail. Besides, Edie had no idea he was back in town, so there was no hurry to reach her. It wasn’t as if they shared a traditional mother-son relationship, and last time he’d seen her they’d parted on really bad terms.

Thinking about his mom was a real downer. She had been so vibrant and beautiful, but Red had made her into a neurotic, needy drunk. Not that he could criticize: in his own way he’d been worse than her, but at least he’d allowed his friends to save him. Edie didn’t care. Once her life with Red was over she’d moved to an ocean-front house in Montauk where, over the years, she’d entertained a series of younger boyfriends and existed on a steady diet of cigarettes and vodka, which had soon killed her exquisite looks.

Jett had been thirteen when his parents split. Like his brothers before him, he’d been packed off to a strict military school, which he’d hated. He’d run away a couple of times, been caught and severely punished by Red, who’d sent him off to a tough-love camp in Arizona for difficult boys. Two years of that and he was ready to explode. College was never even an option: he’d wanted his freedom and, since Edie didn’t relish the thought of him living at home, she gave it to him. On his seventeenth birthday she granted him an allowance and told him to go do his thing. Which was exactly what he did. New York was waiting, and he was ready.

Sex, drugs and rock ’n roll. Until his rescue, Jett had been the master.

Right now he didn’t want to think about Edie–he’d do that later. He preferred to dwell on the girl from last night.

Things had a way of happening fast. Here he was, back in America for only a few hours, and he’d met someone very special. How out there was
that?

Then he got to thinking that maybe this was the way it was supposed to be. Fate. Yeah, fate. He was
meant
to be in the club last night, just like he was meant to go to Italy and clean up his drug and booze-addicted ways.

Not that he was religious, but maybe this was God’s way of saying, ‘You did good, so here’s your prize. Handle her with care.’

Now all he had to do was find her.