Lethal Seduction

by Jackie Collins

  “Really?”

  “Ya got it.”

  “Childhood dream to be champion?”

  He screwed up his face. “Never had no freakin’ childhood.”

  “How come?”

  “My old man didn’t think I needed one.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause he kept me workin’ wit’ him.”

  “And he was . . .?”

  “A freakin’ handyman to rich assholes in Mexico City.”

  “You didn’t enjoy working with your dad?”

  “I was freakin’ ten for crissakes.”

  “Tough life, huh?”

  “That’s how I learned t’kick any mothafucker’s ass.”

  “Tonio,” said his manager—a fat, middle-aged man in a crumpled suit—hurriedly stepping nearer. “Take it easy. This is a nice lady from a classy magazine.”

  “Fuck nice!” Antonio said fiercely. “Bein’ nice never got me nothin’ but dog shit!”

  “Tonio!” his manager pleaded, sweat dripping from his brow. “Calm. Relaxed. Save the anger for tomorrow night.”

  Antonio gave a crafty grin, stood up and stretched. He wore striped green shorts, a loose tank top and silver running shoes. Around his neck there were several gold chains, two of them had diamond-studded medallions hanging from them. “She don’t mind,” he said. “She be cool. Right, lady?”

  “Right,” Madison agreed, glancing around to see if Jake had arrived. It was about time he got there, because he was missing out on some good shots. Besides, even though she’d decided to have nothing more to do with him, she was still waiting to see what he had to say.

  Better concentrate on Antonio, she thought. Better not let my mind wander.

  She had a strong suspicion that if Antonio did win the title, he’d soon become impossible to deal with. He was a true character—the man who would be champ. There was no doubt that the fame and attention would go to his head and explode. The time to get to him was now, before the explosion.

  She’d arrived in Vegas late the previous night, taken a cab from the airport to her hotel and fallen straight into bed, ready for an early-morning interview at The Panther’s training camp.

  Jamie was on her mind. After Kimm’s departure, they’d sat up all night talking. “What am I going to do?” Jamie had wailed over and over. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  “Confront him,” Madison had suggested. “Go home and tell him that you know everything. Then give him a chance to explain.”

  “Explain what?” Jamie had yelled angrily. “That he’s fucking a guy?”

  “Show him the photos.”

  “He’ll only deny it.”

  “But you have all the proof you could ever need.”

  “I can’t take a confrontation. All I want is out.”

  “C’mon, Jamie, you still have to face him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you share a life together. An apartment. Possessions. Everything. You must go home and make him realize it’s over—if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.”

  “No,” Jamie had said sarcastically. “I’m longing to continue sharing my husband with a man.” And then she’d burst into tears. “Fuck him! I hate the prick! I never want to see him again.”

  She’d stayed the night at Madison’s, and when Peter had called looking for her, they’d let the answering machine pick up. Madison had taken off for the airport the next morning, leaving Jamie in her apartment.

  “You gonna bet on me tonight?” Antonio inquired, intruding on her thoughts. “ ’Cause if you do, you better bet big.”

  “I don’t bet.”

  “Howzatt?”

  “Only losers gamble.”

  Antonio roared with laughter, gold teeth catching the sunlight. “Bullcrap, baby! Bet on me an’ you gonna be a winner.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, thinking that she’d better get on with the interview.

  She never prepared set questions, preferring to let her subject take her wherever he or she wanted to go. Which is why she liked to conduct interviews over several sessions—that way the subjects became comfortable with her and subsequently let their guard down. It seemed Antonio didn’t need any persuading to do that—he was all mouth.

  He peered at her, narrowing his eyes. “You got a reputation, lady.”

  “So have you,” she countered.

  “My manager checked you out.”

  “Likewise.”

  “An’ what you find out?” he said, challenging her to come up with something new.

  “That you’re twenty-three years old and already have three children by three different women. And that you don’t plan on marrying any of them.”

  “Marriage is shit,” he said, looking disgusted.

  “Why?”

  “You’re a smart lady—you gotta know why.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Things get stale.”

  “Really? How would you know that?”

  A sly grin. “Who wants ta fuck the same woman night after night?”

  His manager audibly groaned.

  “Were your parents happy?”

  “Happy. Shee . . . it,” he said. “My mama worked her ass inta the grave, an’ my old man did the nasty wit anyone he could.”

  “So it seems that their relationship colored your view of marriage?”

  “Huh?” he said blankly.

  She changed directions. “What about love?” she asked coolly.

  “Love?” Antonio laughed derisively. “That’s somethin’ wimmen made up. Like some big freakin’ fake trip.”

  “So you’ve never been in love?”

  “I love my kids,” he said indignantly. “They part of me.”

  “The good part?”

  “Mebbe,” he said, throwing her a suspicious glare.

  Out of the corner of her eye she observed Jake pulling up in his truck. He had a girl with him, a young blonde with a body to die for and cute little pigtails. The girl jumped out of the truck and began unloading camera equipment.

  Antonio took one look at her and exaggeratedly licked his thick lips. “Momma! Momma!” he crooned. “Who’s the foxy cooze in the ass huggers?”

  Never one to miss out on a pertinent question, Madison quickly asked, “Do you prefer your women black or white?”

  “Long as they got a cunt,” Antonio snickered.

  Nice quote. She would use it.

  “Hey—” Jake said, strolling over and zeroing in on her. “You came without me. Thought we were supposed to do this together?”

  “Sorry,” she answered vaguely. “I was under the impression you’d be arriving earlier.”

  “Why?”

  “I just was.” And before she could help herself, she found herself saying, “Who’s the girl?”

  “Oh, Trinee, she’s my temporary assistant. Daughter of a friend of mine. It’s her first job.”

  “How nice,” she said, thinking, Trust Jake to hire an assistant with a body that belongs in Playboy.

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” he said, grinning. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Are you insane?”

  Before he could answer, Antonio’s manager stepped between them. “You the photographer?” he inquired. Jake nodded. “Make sure there are no right profile shots,” the manager ordered, still sweating profusely. “Catch him from the left. And no crotch shots.”

  “Excuse me?” Jake said.

  “He’s overendowed in that area,” the manager explained, sotto voce. “Let’s not emphasize it.”

  “Of course,” Jake said, winking at Madison, letting her know exactly what shot he’d go for—and when Antonio saw it, he’d probably love it.

  “Hey, cutie,” Antonio said, attempting to make time with the pigtailed blonde, who was now busy stacking film. “How’d you like to play sucky face wit’ the future champ?”

  The girl blushed, a genuine pink-cheeked blush.

  “I could show you things you a
in’t never gonna see through a camera,” Antonio continued with a lewd wink.

  The blonde blushed a deeper red; she couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

  “Antonio,” Jake said, introducing himself to the young boxer, “I’m Jake Sica—taking photos for Manhattan Style. Any objection if I just keep snapping away while you talk? Then maybe we can plan a more formal shot for later today.”

  “Yeah, man, go for it,” Antonio said, beaming. “I got that photogenic thing goin’. Even my ass look good.”

  “How fortunate for you,” Madison interjected dryly, thinking that this was turning out to be not such an ordinary interview after all. Antonio was setting himself up—she wasn’t putting the words in his mouth.

  By noon she had more outrageous quotes than she could handle. And Jake was capturing some interesting shots as Antonio went about his business—flirting outrageously with the pigtailed blonde, working out with a sparring partner in the outdoor ring, jogging around the property with two of his handlers, then eating a hearty late breakfast of steak, eggs and a mountain of fruit.

  After a while, Antonio’s manager suggested that Madison and Jake return later. “He’s in training for the biggest fight of his life,” the man explained. “Gotta make sure he concentrates.”

  “He doesn’t seem to think he’ll have any problem winning,” Madison remarked.

  “My boy’s had thirty-three fights an’ never lost,” the manager said proudly. “Knocked his opponent out every time. This kid’s like a meteor rising. He’s gonna make it all the way.”

  “Well, I’m very flattered you allowed us to be here today,” Madison said.

  “Come back around four,” the manager said. “You can talk to him some more while your photographer gets the cover shot.”

  Hmm . . . Madison thought. Victor has promised them a cover. Well, the way Antonio’s talking, there is no doubt that’s what it will be—winner take all, including the cover.

  While Jake’s cute assistant was packing up, he made his way over to Madison. In spite of herself she liked the way he looked—lean and lanky and sexy. No, she told herself sternly. Don’t even think about it.

  “Where are you off to now?” he asked.

  “Meeting Natalie for lunch,” she said, trying to avoid contact with his appealing brown eyes.

  “Natalie’s here?”

  “She’s covering the fight for her show. Right now she’s over at the champ’s training compound.”

  “Can I join you for lunch?”

  “I don’t think so, Jake,” she said, shaking her head. “Natalie and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “I’m still being punished, huh?” he said.

  She threw him a quizzical look. “Punished?” she said. “For what?”

  “I know how mad you were the other day. And you’re right, we did have a great time together. And maybe that’s why I didn’t call.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s difficult, Madison,” he said restlessly. “Every time I get close to somebody, something bad happens. And I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

  “Oh,” she said coolly. “That’s a new one. Usually it’s ‘I can’t see you again because you’re too good for me.’ How come you didn’t use that one?”

  “Listen to me,” he said, staring at her intently. “I’m sorry I left, even sorrier I didn’t call. I know I made a big mistake. How about we get together for dinner tonight and talk about it?”

  For a moment she was flustered, her immediate desire was to say yes, but every instinct warned her not to. “Look . . .” she finally said. “We’ll meet back here later and discuss it then.”

  “I guess that’s a no,” he said ruefully.

  “It’s a maybe,” she countered.

  He stared at her intently. “How do I turn a maybe into a yes?”

  “You had your chance, Jake.”

  “Yeah, I know, and I had a chance in L.A. too, and I blew it. Now I get a second chance in New York, and I blow that one too. How about making Vegas the lucky charm?”

  “We’ll see,” she said, getting into her rental car, thinking that he had no chance because she wasn’t about to get hurt a second time. And he would hurt her. He was obviously that kind of guy.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said.

  “Sure,” she said, with a dry smile, adding a silent, I won’t hold my breath.

  •

  Jamie bestowed one of her special smiles on the portly man behind the reservations desk, and even though the flight was overbooked, he managed to find her a seat.

  “Thank you,” she murmured graciously, a vision dressed in her long, blue cashmere coat, and with her faintly tousled short blond hair and her luminescent skin.

  The man nodded and wondered what it would be like to bed this Modern Day Princess with the high cheekbones and luscious full lips. He watched her walk away, sadly acknowledging that he would never find out.

  Jamie boarded the plane and found herself sitting next to a black woman who was deeply engrossed in a book on supernatural powers. She was relieved, for she knew without a doubt that had it been a man seated next to her, he would have come up with some lame excuse to talk to her all the way to Nevada.

  Yes. She was on her way to Vegas. And Peter didn’t know. Peter had no clue. Peter, without whom she hadn’t made a move since they were married, was in for an enormous shock.

  She’d stayed in Madison’s apartment after Madison had left. Peter had called several times looking for her, but she’d ignored his messages on the answering machine. Let him sweat. She didn’t care; she was too furious to care. He was such a lying, cheating, dishonest son of a bitch! And she didn’t care if she never saw him again.

  Not only had Kimm supplied photographs, but there were also tape recordings of his intimate cell-phone conversations with his male lover, whom, she’d found out, was a young up-and-coming Wall Street broker named Brian.

  As soon as she’d made up her mind what her next move was, she’d called Anton at the office.

  “Where are you, dear heart?” he’d said. “Peter is having a cow. I understand you did not go home last night, you naughty little girl.”

  “Tell Peter,” she’d said slowly, “that maybe his good friend Brian will be able to find out where I am. And you can also tell him that he’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

  “What is going on?” Anton had asked, ears lighting up.

  “I’m taking a leave of absence,” she’d replied. “Don’t expect me back in the office for a while.”

  “But darling—” Anton had started to object.

  “Trust me,” she’d said firmly, because nobody was changing her mind. “I need this break.”

  Now, as she sat on the plane, she knew exactly what the break was going to consist of. One wild weekend in Vegas, where she’d celebrate Madison’s birthday and, when she was finished partying, she would fuck Kris Phoenix.

  Jamie was a girl who knew how to get the perfect revenge.

  CHAPTER

  42

  ROSARITA STARED AT THE GIRL in the blue cashmere coat, sitting across the aisle from her on the American Airlines plane, and hated her. She was the kind of blonde who really considered herself hot shit. The kind of blonde Joel might like to hang with.

  The thing that infuriated Rosarita more than anything was that the girl was obviously a natural blonde. Bitch!

  Rosarita picked up her glass of champagne and orange juice and downed it. Then she buzzed the flight attendant to bring her another one. Dex was snoozing beside her. How could he sleep on a plane? Didn’t he know it could crash, hurtling them all to a fiery and unwelcome death? What a moron. She’d be so glad to be rid of him.

  Chas and Varoomba were sitting one row in front of them. How dumb of Chas to bring his stupid live-in stripper slut. Didn’t he know Vegas was jam-packed with strippers? Bringing Varoomba was like taking a Hershey bar to a chocolate factory.

  Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!

 
They were going first to L.A. because Chas had decided he wanted to spend the night there and have dinner at the fabled Spago in Beverly Hills.

  “There’s a Spago in Las Vegas,” Rosarita had pointed out.

  “Not the same,” Chas had replied. “In Beverly Hills we’re gonna see movie stars.”

  Big fucking deal. Rosarita didn’t need to see movie stars, she’d already bagged the son of one of the richest men in America.

  She wondered what Joel was doing now. Missing her? He probably hadn’t even realized she’d left.

  But he would. And when she returned to New York—if all went according to plan—she’d finally be a free woman. And then she could really start living.

  •

  Joel sat in the limo, grinding his teeth with frustration, waiting for Carrie Hanlon to put in an appearance. Twenty-five fucking minutes he’d sat there, waiting patiently like schmuck of the year.

  He’d made his driver buzz her apartment three times, and each time the same answer, “I’ll be right down.”

  When she finally appeared, it was worth the wait. Miss All-American Sexy Supermodel, with the mane of shining auburn hair, glowing skin, long limbs and big, white teeth.

  Passersby on the street stopped to stare. Joel felt a frisson of pride. She was hot and she was with him.

  Only temporarily. Soon she would be with some teenage delinquent stud. No accounting for some women’s taste.

  “Hi, Jack,” she said, climbing into the back of the limo.

  Jack! Was she fucking kidding? Jack! Jesus H. Christ, the stuck-up bitch couldn’t even remember his fucking name. What kind of shit action was this?

  “Joel,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Whatever,” she said, exploring the stash of liquor in the side compartment. “No champagne?” she complained, a small frown creasing her smooth forehead.

  “It’s nine in the morning,” he said.

  “So?” she said.

  “You want champagne?”

  “Cristal.”

  Joel tapped on the tinted-glass partition separating them from the driver and told the man to stop at the next liquor store. If the spoiled bitch wanted Cristal, that’s what she’d get.

  •

  “Baby!” Natalie’s wide grin lit up the outside patio of Spago in Caesar’s Palace.