Dangerous Kiss

  Venus entered his office in a body-hugging Claude Montana purple dress, platinum hair in a straight bob, huge black shades obscuring her eyes. ‘I’m here,’ she announced.

  ‘I can see that,’ he said, getting a whiff of her exotic perfume.

  ‘I’m a walking, talking personal invitation,’ she said, with a seductive smile.

  ‘For?’

  ‘Our party tonight,’ she said, removing her sunglasses. ‘You’re coming,’ she added, perching on the edge of his desk.

  ‘Venus,’ he said patiently, ‘I explained it to Lucky. It’s too soon.’

  ‘You’ll bring Carioca,’ she said, matter-of-factly, as if it was a done deal. ‘There’ll be a special kiddies’ table. Chyna has personally requested Carioca’s presence. You’re not going to deprive your daughter, are you?’

  ‘Stop making it difficult for me,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not making it that difficult, Steven. I want you there. Anyway . . . I’ll be hurt if you don’t come.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Good,’ she said, getting off his desk and undulating her way to the door. ‘We’ll expect you both at seven.’

  * * *

  On her way back to the beach Lucky stopped by the police station. She paced impatiently around Detective Johnson’s office, waiting for him to put in an appearance.

  He arrived a few minutes later, styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, the traditional jelly doughnut in the other.

  ‘I do hope I’m not disturbing your breakfast,’ she said sarcastically, annoyed because in spite of everyone’s efforts there were still no results.

  ‘Glad you’re here,’ he said, not meaning it. Lucky Santangelo was on his case day and night. The woman was slowly driving him nuts. ‘The plate numbers are a help,’ he said, taking a swig of coffee. ‘We’re narrowing down the list.’

  ‘How about the reward?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on with that?’

  ‘We’re snowed under with false information,’ he said, settling behind his desk and clearing off a stack of papers so he could put his coffee down. ‘There was one interesting phone call, though.’

  ‘From?’

  He paused, took a bite of his doughnut. ‘A girl claiming she knows who did it.’

  ‘What makes this phone call different?’

  ‘She had details other people wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Like what?’ Lucky said, staring at him.

  ‘Well,’ he said, a dribble of jam making its way down his chin, ‘she knew exactly how the car was positioned, the dress Mary Lou had on . . .’

  ‘Are you bringing her in?’

  ‘She told me she could give us the shooter, but first she wants to make sure she gets the reward. I informed her that’s not the way things work.’

  ‘How did you leave it?’

  ‘She’ll call again.’

  Lucky attempted to curb her anger. ‘You mean you had her on the phone and you let her go?’

  ‘We tried putting a trace on her call, but by that time she’d hung up.’

  ‘Did you get her name . . . anything?’

  ‘No. But we’ll hear from her again,’ Detective Johnson said confidently. ‘She wants the money.’

  Lucky was furious. What kind of detective work was that? People were just plain incompetent, including the police – especially the police.

  She drove to the beach breaking speed records, checking in on her car phone with the private detective firm she’d hired. They were also useless. In spite of plenty of time and unlimited money they’d come up with nothing.

  The house was quiet when she arrived home; the children weren’t due back from Gino’s until later.

  ‘Lennie,’ she called out, throwing down her purse.

  ‘In here,’ he yelled.

  She went into his office and was delighted to find him positioned in front of his computer – an excellent sign, considering he hadn’t gone near it since the shooting.

  Walking up behind him, she began massaging his shoulders. ‘Working on something good?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m planning a film about violence,’ he announced. ‘Random violence on the streets today. What do you think?’

  ‘Terrific idea.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘Y’ know, one of the things that struck me most about what went down was the unbelievable hate in the girl’s voice. How did she get like that? What made her learn to take off on total strangers? It’s something worth exploring.’

  ‘I’m so happy to see you working again,’ Lucky said, kissing the back of his neck.

  ‘How about you?’ he said, turning around. ‘What are your plans now that you’ve given up the studio?’

  ‘It’s not that I’ve given it up,’ she explained. ‘It’s simply that I’m not interested in doing that any more. Eight years running a studio, dealing with everyone’s egos on a daily basis. It’s a goddamn lifetime, and frankly I’ve had it.’

  ‘I know you, Lucky,’ he said. ‘You’ll never be happy sitting around doing nothing.’

  ‘I do have kind of an idea . . .’ she said, wandering over to the window and gazing out at the ocean.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  She turned around and faced him. ‘I was thinking I might produce a movie.’

  He laughed derisively. ‘You don’t know anything about producing.’

  ‘I ran Panther for eight years,’ she said, frowning. ‘I know plenty.’

  ‘Physically producing a movie is completely different from sitting in an office greenlighting other people’s projects,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Are you saying I can’t do it?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.

  ‘You can do anything you set your mind to, as long as you realize it’s not as easy as it seems.’

  She hated it when Lennie tried to tell her what to do, but since she was on a mission to make him feel better about himself she held back a snappy retort. ‘Hey,’ she said, being nice, ‘how about you write me a movie and I’ll produce it?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said, shaking his head like it was the worst idea he’d ever heard. ‘Working together, the two of us – bad, bad idea.’

  ‘Why?’ she said, trying to stay reasonable even though he was beginning to irritate the hell out of her.

  ‘Because I hate every producer I’ve ever worked with,’ he said shortly. ‘They try to cast people I don’t want. They’re always trying to cut my budget – not to mention screwing with my actors. They get in my way. No, no, no, let’s not get into that.’

  ‘Then how would you feel if I produced a movie with someone else?’ she asked, thinking of Alex.

  ‘Hey, that’s your decision.’

  It was always her decision until he didn’t like it. Lennie was difficult that way. ‘I’m trying to discuss things with you, see how you feel about it,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Whatever you want, sweetheart.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. Oh, and, Lucky,’ he said, giving her a little more attention, ‘thanks for this weekend. It was beyond great.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ she said, smiling at the memories of wild hotel sex. ‘When we’re good, we’re very, very good.’

  He began to laugh. ‘And when we’re bad, we’re a freaking mess.’

  She laughed too. ‘No, you’re a mess.’

  ‘No, you are.’

  ‘No, you,’ she countered, playfully punching him on the chin.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘Think you can fix me one of your great tuna sandwiches?’

  ‘What am I? The cook?’ she said, exasperated.

  ‘You do know that in most civilized countries wives fix husbands lunch?’

  ‘Screw you!’ she said affectionately. ‘Make your own sandwich.’

  ‘Love you, too,’ he said, grinning. ‘Easy on the mayonnaise.’

  ‘Lennie!’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Just this once.’

  ‘Thank
s, babe,’ he said, turning back to his computer.

  And, as much as she loved her husband, Lucky knew that being a homebody was not for her.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Lunch with Carlo, and Brigette thought that she played him pretty smoothly as they sat side by side in San Lorenzo, a fashionable Italian restaurant in Knightsbridge.

  What are you doing?

  Getting my revenge. Just as Lucky taught me. Because revenge is sweet. And then I’ll worry about being pregnant.

  Carlo was continuing with his well-worn line about how the moment he’d set eyes on her he’d known his engagement was a sham and that he would have to end it immediately. He wasn’t exactly smooth, corny was more like it.

  But she pretended to fall for it, all the while watching him carefully, wondering how such an attractive man could be such a rat.

  ‘Fiona seems nice,’ she said carefully. ‘However, if you’re sure this is the way you feel . . .’

  ‘When I returned to London after meeting you,’ he said, ‘I knew I must finish with Fiona and move to New York.’

  ‘But first you had to break your engagement,’ she said, twirling spaghetti around her fork.

  ‘I’ll do it now.’

  ‘What about her father and the business you were discussing?’

  ‘It is not important.’

  She picked up her wine-glass and took a sip. ‘Will you tell her what happened between us in New York?’

  ‘That is not a good idea,’ he said, thinking that it was an extremely bad idea. What if, by some fluke, things didn’t work out with Brigette? He had to have Fiona to fall back on. And her father. And her father’s money. ‘When do you leave?’ he asked.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Then tonight I shall come to your hotel, and we will make it a night to remember.’

  Oh, yes, Brigette thought. We certainly will.

  * * *

  Breakfast at the Bel Air Hotel in the dining room.

  ‘You got the part,’ Max Steele said, as Lina sashayed in and sat down, causing most people to stare. In a town filled with stars, Lina still stood out.

  ‘I know,’ she answered, with a wicked grin. ‘All eight inches!’

  Max spluttered out a mouthful of coffee. ‘So it’s true about Charlie?’

  ‘For an old man, ’e rocks,’ she said, winking roguishly.

  Max took another gulp of coffee. ‘Don’t ever let Charlie hear you call him old.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ego. It’s big.’

  ‘Just like his—’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Max interrupted. ‘I don’t need details. The good thing is he thinks you’re perfect for his movie. Doesn’t even want to see you on video.’

  ‘I can finally say it, Max,’ she said, with a Cheshire-cat grin. ‘I slept with a star an’ got a role in ’is film.’

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference whether you slept with him or not,’ Max assured her. ‘It’s a done deal. He likes you.’

  ‘What about money?’ Lina asked, making eye-contact with a hovering waiter who was undeniably cute.

  ‘Leave that to me. It won’t be a lot but, at this stage in your career, exposure is more important than money.’

  ‘I’ll ’ave to trust you on that,’ Lina said, abandoning her mild flirtation with the waiter and concentrating once more on Max.

  ‘Tomorrow you’ll meet with the wardrobe people,’ he said. ‘My assistant will set a time.’

  ‘It’ll ’ave t’ be early,’ she said, gulping back a yawn, ‘’cause I’m flying to Milan in the evening.’

  ‘What a life!’ Max said admiringly.

  ‘It beats packin’ plastic raincoats, which was my first job. We called ’em the wankers’ special!’

  ‘I started in the mail room at William Morris,’ Max said.

  ‘Didn’t we do well!’ she said, with another Cheshire-cat grin.

  Max signalled for a refill of coffee. ‘Charlie’s leaving this afternoon,’ he said. ‘You got to him just in time.’

  Lina picked up a muffin and took a healthy bite. ‘I always ’ad great timing,’ she said, favouring the waiter with another quick glance. He was quite delicious in an early Brad Pitt sort of way. If only she had a few moments to spare . . .

  ‘I believe it,’ Max said.

  ‘So tell me, Max,’ Lina said, a predatory look in her saffron eyes, ‘what are you an’ I doin’ tonight?’

  ‘You don’t believe in sitting around, do you?’ he said. He’d been around Hollywood for years, but this girl was something else.

  ‘Why waste a great opportunity?’ she said, with another wicked grin. ‘Unless, of course, you’re busy . . . or scared of comparisons . . .’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Got a hunch I can handle any comparison you have to offer,’ he boasted.

  ‘Oooh, good. I’m gonna get lucky twice, huh?’

  ‘If you feel like it,’ he said, ‘there’s a party tonight you might enjoy.’

  ‘I love parties. Who’s giving it?’

  ‘Venus Maria and Cooper Turner. They’re celebrating their anniversary.’

  ‘I met Cooper when ’e was single,’ Lina said. ‘Chased me all over Paris ’e did.’

  ‘Did he catch you?’

  She rolled her eyes mysteriously, remembering a long drunken night of great sex. ‘Wouldn’t you like t’ know.’

  ‘You’d better not remind him of it.’

  ‘I’m a big fan of Venus Maria,’ she said. ‘Used to dress up like ’er when I was a kid.’

  ‘How old are you?’ Max asked, waving at a fellow agent who was breakfasting with Demi Moore.

  ‘Twenty-six.’ She pulled a miserable face. ‘That’s old, ain’t it?’

  ‘Twenty-six is not particularly old,’ he said. ‘Only don’t go telling people in Hollywood you admired them when you were a kid – it’s the worst thing you can do. This is Ego City, everyone wants to be perceived as young.’

  ‘I wrote Venus a fan letter once,’ she admitted.

  ‘I repeat,’ Max said sternly, ‘don’t tell her.’

  ‘’Ow old is she, anyway?’

  ‘Only a few years older than you and, trust me, she would not appreciate you informing her that you used to admire her when you were a kid.’

  ‘Girls say that to me all the time,’ Lina said, fidgeting restlessly.

  ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘’S okay if they’re twelve!’ she said, blowing a kiss at Frank Bowling, who was hovering at the door with a group of Arab dignitaries. ‘Gotta go shopping,’ she said, pushing her chair away from the table. ‘Must buy something knock-out for tonight. Will the party be jammed with movie stars?’

  ‘Who do you want to meet?’ he asked, amused.

  ‘Let me see now . . . Hmm . . . I’ve always fancied Robert De Niro. ’Course, I love Denzel too. An’ I wouldn’t kick Jack Nicholson out of bed.’

  ‘Into older men, huh?’

  ‘Experience an’ stamina. Turns me on every time.’

  ‘Didn’t you say tonight was my night? You’re not dumping me for a movie star, are you?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  He clicked his fingers for the check. ‘You’re quite an operator, Lina.’

  A final grin as she headed towards the door. ‘So I’ve been told.’

  * * *

  The scene was set. Soft music, candlelight, and Brigette in a silver slip dress that left nothing to the imagination.

  Carlo was exactly on time, which was good, because she’d counted on him being prompt. He called from the lobby, and she asked him to come straight up to her suite.

  He arrived at the door a few minutes later.

  Pity he’s such a bastard, she thought, as she let him in, because he is extraordinarily handsome, in an arrogant kind of way. And under other circumstances . . .

  He brought her red roses, naturally. No imagination.

  She took the sweet-smelling blooms from him and placed
them on the hall table. ‘How lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll call the maid to put them in a vase.’

  ‘You look exquisite,’ he said, touching her arm.

  ‘I ordered champagne,’ she said. ‘Will you open it?’

  He followed her into the living room where the bottle was sitting in an ice-bucket on the table. ‘Ah . . . Cristal,’ he said, picking it up. ‘Excellent choice.’

  ‘And there’s caviar over there.’

  ‘Brigette,’ he said admiringly, ‘for an American girl, you are very sophisticated.’

  Yes, she thought. So sophisticated that I fell for your little trick of slipping a knock-out pill in my drink. How clever is that?

  She couldn’t help wondering why he had to drug women, anyway, since he could probably take his pick. He was tall, blond and handsome, with a title – what more could any man possibly need? Lina would’ve jumped into bed with him in a flash. So would a hundred other girls.

  ‘How long have you lived in London?’ she asked, moving over to the fireplace.

  ‘Eighteen months,’ he answered, popping the champagne cork. ‘I do not like it here, the English are too cold. I’m Italian. We Italians are more warm-blooded.’ He gave her one of his long, lingering looks, obviously a Carlo speciality. ‘You know what I mean?’

  ‘I hope I’ll find out tonight,’ she murmured seductively.

  He continued to look at her with lust in his eyes. Not only was this delicious blonde due to become one of the richest women in the world, she was also one of the most desirable.

  He revelled in the thought that soon she would be all his. He would be in control of the Stanislopoulos fortune. He, Carlo, who’d never been in control of anything in his entire life, would be in charge of a billion-dollar fortune. Watch people kiss his ass when that happened.

  ‘Come over here, my little angel,’ he said, beckoning her towards him.

  She walked over and allowed him to kiss her. He had a most insistent tongue that darted in and out of her mouth in a practised way as his hands began moving over her body, coming to rest on her breasts.

  After a few moments she gently pushed him away. ‘I’d like to make a toast,’ she said, slightly out of breath.

  ‘Please, allow me,’ he said, moving over to the champagne bottle, filling two glasses, and handing one to her. ‘To the most beautiful girl in the world,’ he said, raising his glass to her.