Lethal Seduction

by Jackie Collins

  Yes, she’d take Leon over Joel any day. But for real pleasure, she’d take Eduardo. Oh, how she loved the smell of a very young body. To her it was the ultimate turn-on.

  She got off the plane, helped down the steps by Leon. Joel and Marika trailed behind.

  Two limos waited on the tarmac.

  “Carrie, you’ll come with me,” Leon commanded, contented as only an old billionaire can be when in the company of a young, luscious supermodel. “Marika, you and Joel ride together.”

  Fuck, Joel thought. My old man is falling in lust! There had to be some way of using this to his advantage.

  Marika was not a happy prison guard as she climbed into the second limo and positioned herself stiffly next to Joel. “Your father,” she snapped. “Always swayed by a pretty face. Perhaps he’s under the impression you’ll marry this one. Are you planning to, Joel?”

  “Hey,” Joel answered as casually as he could. “You and Dad never married, and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got the right idea. So why would I do it?”

  Marika glared at him even harder. Marriage to Leon Blaine was her ultimate goal. Being Leon’s mistress did not carry quite the same cachet as being his wife.

  The two limos separated on their drive into town, and by the time Joel and Marika reached the hotel, Leon and Carrie were nowhere to be seen.

  Joel checked in at the reservations desk. “We’re with the Blaine party,” he said.

  “Ah yes, sir,” the reservation clerk said, practically bowing. “Mr. Blaine has already arrived. I’ll have somebody show you to your accommodations.”

  If he’d thought Marika was livid before, now she really showed her true wrath. “This is rude,” she hissed, her mouth a tight, scarlet line of disapproval. “Leon should have waited.”

  “It’s just Leon being himself,” Joel said, shrugging. “He’s always been a selfish son of a bitch. Mom used to complain about him all the time.”

  “I’m not your mother,” Marika said coldly.

  “Not even my stepmom,” Joel agreed.

  She threw another glare in his direction, and as he turned around to conceal a self-satisfied smirk, he spotted Madison Castelli walking toward him.

  “Well, well,” he exclaimed, delighted to see her. “What are you doing here?”

  It took her a second before she realized who it was. “Oh, hi,” she said, thinking, Just my luck to run into this moron. “I’m uh, here on business.”

  “What kind of business goes on in Vegas?” he asked, turning on what he considered his irresistible charm.

  “I’m writing a piece for Manhattan Style,” she answered vaguely.

  “Interviewing someone?”

  “Antonio Lopez.”

  “I’m betting on the other guy, but nothing like talking to the loser.”

  “He won’t be a loser, Joel,” she said. “Spend a few hours with him and you’ll understand.”

  “You think he’s gonna win?”

  “He does. I don’t know much about boxing, but Antonio is extremely confident.”

  Joel moved in a little closer. “You look hot.”

  Her eyes darted around the crowded lobby, searching for a way to escape.

  “What’s your plan tonight?” Joel inquired.

  “Uh . . . meeting friends.” A quick glance at her watch. “And dammit—I’m running late.”

  “Maybe we’ll catch up with each other later?”

  “Maybe,” she answered vaguely, thinking, Not in this lifetime.

  Marika, observing this little exchange, obviously expected to be introduced. “Hello,” she said.

  “Uh . . . Madison, do you know Marika? My father’s . . . uh . . . what do you call yourself, Marika? Girlfriend sounds kind of unimportant.”

  “I’m Mr. Blaine’s partner in life,” Marika said, snapdragon eyes flashing major danger signals. “Mr. Leon Blaine,” she added, in case Madison made the foolish mistake of thinking she was actually with Joel. God forbid!

  “Hi,” Madison said. “Madison Castelli.”

  “I read you,” Marika said. “You have a distinctive style.”

  “That’s always good to hear,” Madison said politely.

  “Yeah,” Joel said, joining in as if Madison were his best friend. “This is one smart woman.”

  “Thanks, Joel,” Madison said, dying to add, I didn’t know you could read.

  “I especially enjoyed your piece on Hollywood call girls,” Marika said. “Most informative. And rather sad.”

  “Well,” Madison said, anxious to get away from both of them. “Nice meeting you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run.”

  And she was on the move before Joel could say another word.

  CHAPTER

  45

  AGE HAD NOT WITHERED KRIS Phoenix. At fifty-something, he was as raunchy as ever—a rock star for the ages, with per-oxide blond hair; intense, ice-blue eyes; a fake tan and rakish good looks. He was wearing well, this rock icon who was once a talented lad called Chris Pierce from Maida Vale, London. Kris still reigned supreme, with hit records, sold-out concerts and a loyal fan base. Plus the women. Old, young and middle-aged—they loved him. They lusted after him. He was their fantasy.

  Currently he was involved with Amber Rowe, a coltish young actress who had recently won an Oscar. Amber was tall and lanky with straight brown hair, amazingly long legs and absolutely no tits. In spite of the more than thirty-year age gap, Kris felt he had finally found his match and was seriously considering asking her to move in.

  Surrounded by an ass-kissing entourage, he held court in the outer room to his dressing-room suite before his one-night-only Vegas show, which was to take place in the ballroom of the recently refurbished Marigiano Hotel.

  Reluctantly, Madison trailed Natalie and her camera crew into the room. Natalie was all aglow in a short, white Versace dress and python jacket. “It’s my rock-star special,” she’d said with a wild giggle. “Since I don’t get to cover real news, I plan on grabbing as many good times as possible doing this crap.”

  “Go for it,” Madison said, fading into a corner as Natalie began to do her stuff.

  Amber Rowe moved into the corner right after her. “I loathe this publicity circus,” Amber remarked, chewing on her stubby fingernails. “It’s bad enough being me, but add Kris, and we’ve got a major problem. We can’t do anything without a trail of paparazzi. It’s such a bummer.”

  This was not the first time a total stranger had confided in Madison, it happened all the time. People seemed compelled to talk to her—often revealing much more than they should.

  “You could stay home,” she suggested.

  “Ha!” exclaimed Amber, blinking nervously. “Try telling Kris that. He can’t stand staying home. Always thinks he’s missing out on something.”

  “Then you must insist. Two or three nights a week wouldn’t kill him.”

  “Good idea!” Amber said with a girlish grin. “I’ll try it.”

  Across the room, Natalie flirted outrageously with Kris on camera. He played the flirting game well, but when the interview was over, they both knew what to do. Kris immediately began conferring with his publicist, while Natalie huddled with her cameraman and producer.

  Madison and Amber made idle conversation until Natalie finally came over. “Okay, girl,” she said breezily. “We’re outta here. E.T. is in the room, and that makes me want to leave!”

  “Will I see you at the concert?” Amber asked Madison, a touch wistfully.

  “Hey—” Natalie said, zeroing in as soon as she realized who the skinny girl was. “Can we talk on camera?”

  “Sorry,” Amber answered quickly. “I only do movie PR. And since I have nothing out now, it’s a definite no.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Natalie said, flashing her best persuasive smile. “How about a couple of comments about Kris?”

  “Can’t do it,” Amber said, shrinking away from Natalie, who sometimes came on too strong—especially when chasing an interview.

>   “An’ what’s goin’ on ’ere?” Kris asked, strolling across the room, all tight pants and spiked hair. “You after my girl?”

  “Why not?” Natalie said boldly, with a brilliant smile. “You two are together. Can’t we talk about it?”

  “No, luv,” Kris replied, shaking his head. “Amber don’t like to kiss an’ tell, so leave her alone, okay?” Taking his young girlfriend’s arm, he moved her firmly out of Natalie’s way.

  “You got it, Kris,” Natalie called out to his retreating back. “See you later, after the concert.” A beat. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Can we get out of here?” Madison suggested.

  “We sure can,” Natalie said, signaling her producer that she was leaving.

  When they got outside, Natalie was steaming. “Let’s go get a drink while I tell you how much I hate what I do,” she complained.

  “You coanchor your own very successful show,” Madison pointed out. “What’s so terrible about that?”

  “Talking to ego-inflated assholes, that’s my gig,” Natalie said gloomily. “Gossip. Crap. Is Ricky Martin gay? Who’s had a face-lift? Who’s screwing who? I don’t care! I wanna cover hard news—not so-called celebrities.”

  “Join the club,” Madison said wryly, as they made their way through the crowded casino.

  “At least you get to pick and choose your victims,” Natalie remarked.

  “With a little help from Victor,” Madison said as they entered one of the many cocktail lounges and sat down at a table.

  “I need a drink before I have to sit through his show,” Natalie said, snapping her fingers for a cocktail waitress.

  Madison wondered where Jake was and what he was up to. Damn! Why couldn’t she get him off her mind?

  She ordered a frozen margarita from a jaunty redhead in a fringed minidress and tried to forget about Jake altogether and concentrate on Natalie, who was still busy putting down her TV show and all it involved.

  “The problem is the way I look,” Natalie said, pouting.

  “So now pretty is bad?”

  “I look too sexy.”

  “You’d be pissed if you didn’t.”

  “No I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes you would. You get off on attention.”

  “I do not,” Natalie said indignantly.

  “And anyway,” Madison continued, “if you wish to be taken more seriously, you’d have to change your image.”

  “That’s impossible. Where would I hide my boobs?”

  “Hmm . . . let me see. Well, for starters you could have breast-reduction surgery.”

  “Get fucked.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Okay, then what do you suggest?”

  “It’s easy for guys. Matt Lauer is sexy, and he’s taken seriously. I want to be more like Matt Lauer.”

  “So turn white, grow a dick and cut your hair.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  And as they were doing that, Jamie slid up behind them and shouted out, “Surprise!”

  “Holy shit!” Natalie exclaimed, jumping up. “Where did you come from?”

  •

  Carrie Hanlon had a dilemma, and she was confused. In the space of a few hours she’d been offered everything she’d ever dreamed of. Not that she didn’t already have everything. She did. Fame. A successful career. Money. Adulation. What more could a girl ask for?

  Only deep down, Carrie possessed a nagging fear that one day it could all be taken away—just like that. Poof! Gone! And once again she’d be poor little Clarice O’Hanlon from the wrong side of town. And that thought petrified her.

  Carrie had experienced her share of rich men willing to offer her anything, but none of them had been anywhere near as rich as Leon Blaine. And quite frankly, none of them were quite as fascinating. There was something special about Leon Blaine. Something powerful and exciting.

  He obviously felt the same about her, because before they were halfway to Vegas, he began propositioning her. And it wasn’t the usual—I’ll buy you a Bentley, or Harry Winston’s entire stock, if you just glance in my direction. No, this was different.

  “I’ve been around a long time,” he’d said to her. “I’ve traveled the world and seen many things. But, Carrie, I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”

  She’d heard that before, but it was his next words that intrigued her. “You are the woman who is capable of inheriting my fortune.”

  “Excuse me?” she’d said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “May I remind you that we only just met.”

  “I’m a man of impulses,” Leon had said. “That’s how I made my money. And for the last ten years I’ve been looking for someone to leave everything to.”

  “Really,” she murmured.

  “You see, my dear,” he continued, “Joel doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Why not?”

  “My son is a pathetic joke. He has a trust fund from which he’ll inherit a few million to gamble away. But we’re talking about billions, and I need them to go to the right person.” A meaningful pause. “You could be that person, Carrie.”

  Billions! Carrie had millions, not very many of them, but Leon was speaking of billions! This was worth listening to.

  Her eyes sparkled. “And what would I have to do to inherit your fortune, Leon?” she’d asked, leaning closer.

  “Have my baby. My true heir.”

  “I thought you were married,” she’d said, gesturing across the plane at Marika, who was watching her intently.

  “Marika is more like my personal assistant,” he’d said. “Yes, we’ve been living together for a time, but do you really imagine I want that woman to inherit everything? Do you think I want her to be the mother of my son?”

  “You’re a cold man,” Carrie had said.

  “And you’re probably a cold woman,” he’d answered. “But your beauty and youth are what I desire. And a son. If you can give me a son, I will see that the two of you get everything. Consider this a business proposition, Carrie.”

  “A business proposition?”

  “Yes. There will be a contract drawn up by my lawyers, and in the contract it will stipulate a certain period of time for you to get pregnant.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You will be enormously compensated.” He paused again. “I understand you might find this to be a bizarre offer. However, when you walked onto my plane this morning, I knew at once that you were the one I’ve been searching for.”

  His words had haunted her. Now she was pacing around her suite at the Mirage in total confusion.

  Joel had called five minutes earlier to inform her he’d be picking her up in an hour. “What for?” she’d asked blankly.

  “We’re all going to the Kris Phoenix concert over at the Marigiano,” he’d reminded her.

  “Oh, yes,” she’d answered vaguely, remembering her fling with Kris Phoenix a year earlier. She’d soon discovered he wasn’t her type. Rock stars expected to lie there and be ministered to. Well, she had news for him, so did models. The two of them had lain side by side on a giant water bed in the Bahamas—both expecting the other to make the first move.

  It had not been a magical experience.

  Eduardo had been waiting in her suite when she’d arrived. She was so shaken by the unexpected turn of events on Leon’s plane that she’d sent him away. “Come back later,” she’d said.

  “What time?” he’d asked, disappointed that she didn’t want to make love to him immediately.

  “Around midnight,” she’d said, quite uninterested.

  Leon had given her the weekend to make a decision. And the truth was—wild as it might seem—she was very tempted.

  •

  “You’re bad,” Madison said.

  “I’m bad,” Jamie said indignantly, her cheeks flushed. “How about the prick I left behind?”

  “What is that dress?” Natalie asked, surveying Jamie, who was cl
ad in a sleek black dress with a neckline that plunged all the way to Cuba. “Girl, your boobs are out there.”

  “Some welcome,” Jamie said. “I flew here to be with you guys, and this is the greeting I get?”

  “Will somebody please tell me what is goin’ on?” Natalie demanded.

  So they did. Madison started the story, and Jamie finished it.

  “Man!” Natalie exclaimed when they were done. “This is unbelievable shit. Peter and another guy.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Unfuckingreal.”

  “I’m never going home,” Jamie remarked matter-of-factly. “I’ve made up my mind.”

  “What are you planning to do?” Madison asked. “Take up residence in Vegas?”

  “No,” Jamie replied, very sure of herself. “Tonight I’m going to fuck Kris Phoenix.” A languid pause. “And then we’ll see.”

  CHAPTER

  46

  WHILE ROSARITA WAS IN THE bathroom, Dexter sat on the side of the bed in their hotel room, trying to work out how he could contact Gem. She had mentioned the restaurant she worked at, and he was desperately straining to remember the name of the place. Finally it came to him. Quick as a flash he picked up the phone, dialed information and got the number. He knew he had at least another ten minutes before Rosarita emerged from her nightly beauty routine. First she took a long, leisurely bath, after which she applied many expensive creams to her face to keep her skin soft and supple, and then it was the turn of the body creams and lotions.

  Rosarita was proud of her skin. “It’s flawless,” she’d often told him. “Absolutely flawless.”

  And so it should be, considering she visited the best and most expensive dermatologist in New York twice a month.

  He tried the number. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman who answered. “You have a waitress working there . . . um . . . I’m not quite sure of her surname, but her first name’s Gem—do you know who I’m talking about?”

  “This line is for bookings only,” the woman replied. “We don’t accept personal calls for staff.”

  “Is there a special staff line?”