•
PATRICK’S LURID COVER STORY in Truth & Fact was a hit with the hungry public. The magazine had its biggest circulation of the year. Belinda’s imaginary best friend was quoted liberally, while Deidra recounted the sorry story of her almost rape by Lissa Roman’s ex-husband.
Patrick and Belinda rekindled their off again/on again romance. There was nothing like a shitload of money to bring two people together.
•
GREGG FOUND THAT NOBODY wanted to know him. His CD came out and was a flop. The money he got in the divorce settlement did not last long. He invested it all in technology stocks and soon lost everything—including his Ferrari. He was finally reduced to appearing in a soft-core porno movie with an actress whose silicone tits completely obliterated his presence on the screen.
So much for stardom.
•
ANTONIO AND THE Contessa De Morago returned to Spain and Bianca’s fortune. Every day Antonio thanked God that Nicci had survived her terrible ordeal. Antonio considered himself a lucky man, his daughter was safe, and he was married to a woman who could keep him in the style he’d always craved.
Shortly after returning to Spain, he met a twenty-five-year-old female bullfighter, and fell in lust.
Antonio would never change.
•
CAROL’S PREGNANCY turned out to be a false alarm. “I’m so sorry,” she told Michael.
“That’s all right,” he said, relieved and yet strangely disappointed at the same time.
For a moment he considered giving her the speech, and then he thought better of it. Carol was a nice woman, she deserved the truth. So he told her about Lissa and their affair, and she thanked him for being so honest.
They parted friends.
•
LISSA AND MICHAEL fell in love. Happily, deliriously in love as if it were the first time either of them had ever experienced such an emotion.
“I’m taking a year off,” Lissa informed him. “I want us to be together, so we can do whatever we feel like doing.”
“I don’t know . . .” he said uncertainly. “You have a major career to take care of. And we—”
“Yes, I know,” she interrupted. “We live in different worlds, lead different lives, you’ve told me a hundred times.”
“I have?”
“Yes, Michael. Now when are you going to realize that you can’t get rid of me?”
“Like I would want to.”
“Maybe you would. I’d better warn you, I’m not easy.”
“Did I mention that I wasn’t either?”
“Well,” she said, with a cunning smile. “You were pretty easy in Vegas. I had the whole thing planned, you know.”
“You did, did you?”
“Uh-huh. Yeah,” she mused. “I’d say you were pretty easy.”
“Tell you what,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“Go put your disguise on and let’s catch a movie.”
“No,” she said. “I have courtside seats for the Lakers. And . . . I’m going as myself.”
“Courtside? Are you kidding? They’re impossible to get.”
“You see,” she said triumphantly. “There are some advantages to being me.”
“Oh, yes!”
“We’re not hiding anymore, Michael. We’re coming out, so prepare yourself for an onslaught of press.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I got a strong suspicion I’ve been fighting this for too long,” he said. “So here’s the deal—from this day on, I’m all yours.”
“You are?” she said, her blue eyes gazing into his.
“I am.”
“And about time too,” she said, smiling. “Because that’s exactly what I’ve been waiting to hear.” A beat. “Oh yes, and one other thing.”
“What?”
“You are going to be a daddy. So . . . I guess you’d better start getting plenty of sleep, ’cause I’m not leaving my bed at 4:00 A.M.”
“You’re not, huh?” he said, beaming.
“No way.”
“Then I’ll just have to marry you and turn you into an obedient wife.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Forget it, Michael. I’m not the obedient wife type.”
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”
And they fell into each other’s arms, blissfully happy.
They were a perfect match.
SIMON & SCHUSTER PROUDLY PRESENTS
Deadly Embrace
Jackie Collins
Turn the page for a preview of Deadly Embrace . . ..
BOOK ONE
Chapter One
THURSDAY, JULY 10,2001, LOS ANGELES
The American Airlines plane from New York was three hours late arriving in L.A., and Madison Castelli was not pleased. She’d planned on going straight to her best friend, Natalie DeBarge’s, house. However, Natalie had informed her they were meeting her brother, Cole, in a restaurant at eight, so since the plane was late, Madison decided to go directly to Mario’s—a small Italian restaurant on Beverly Boulevard.
“I’ll see you there,” she said, speaking to Natalie on her cell phone as she strode through the airport.
She was looking forward to getting together with her friends. The truth was that she couldn’t wait to hash out the ruins of her life. Over the last few days everything had fallen to pieces. Her father, Michael, was being accused of a double murder. His estranged wife, Stella (Madison’s stepmother), and Stella’s live-in lover had been shot execution style. Now there was a warrant out for Michael’s arrest, and he’d managed to mysteriously vanish.
As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, her boyfriend, Jake, was also on the missing list. Jake. Her wonderful, sexy, smart Jake—an ace photographer who’d been covering a drug cartel in Colombia with a couple of colleagues—had not been heard from in ten days, which was pretty damn worrying. Kidnapping was rife in Colombia, and so was murder.
All of this was on her mind as she collected her luggage, hailed a cab and headed for the restaurant.
When she arrived she was happy to find that Cole was already there. A personal trainer, Cole was an extremely good-looking black man in his twenties, with a powerful physique and a killer smile. He was also gay, and proud of it.
They kissed and hugged. “You look hot, babe,” Cole said, checking her out.
“Not me,” she said ruefully. “And you’re sounding very L.A.”
“Could be ’cause I live here.”
“So that’s how the men in L.A. speak to their women,” she teased.
“No,” he said, grinning. “That’s how I speak to the guys. Keeps ’em comin’—if you know what I mean.”
“You’ll have to teach me,” she said, sitting down.
Madison was, at thirty, a striking woman. Tall and slender with full breasts, a small waist, and exceptionally long legs. She usually attempted to play her good looks down, but her green, almond-shaped eyes, sharply defined cheekbones, full seductive lips and clouds of black hair marked her as a beauty. A very smart beauty, because she was a well-respected journalist who specialized in insightful profiles of the rich, famous, notorious and powerful.
“Where’s Natalie?” she asked, glancing at her watch.
“Late as usual,” Cole responded. “What else is new?”
Minutes later Natalie came rushing in looking glowingly pretty as usual. She was short and sassy with a curvaceous body and luscious lips. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” she exclaimed, grabbing Madison in a bear hug. “Gettin’ out of the studio was a total nightmare. Wow!” she added, flopping into a chair. “I need a drink.”
“Me, too,” Madison agreed, signaling a waiter.
The waiter came over. He was slim and very Italian looking, with big soulful eyes and an appealing accent.
“Wine,” Natalie sighed. “I’m desperate.”
“Red or white, signorina?”
“House red for everyone.”
“Good idea,” Madison said.
The waiter hurried off.
“Hmmm . . .” Natalie said to his retreating back. “Nice booty.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Cole said. “Wonder what team he plays on.”
“Mine!” claimed Natalie.
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Cole said, grinning again.
“You two!” Madison exclaimed. “Nobody’s safe around either of you.”
“That’s not true,” Natalie objected. “Old people, and anyone under fifteen.”
“Shocking!” Madison scolded.
“No, merely honest,” Natalie said.
Suddenly their attention was taken by a huge commotion at the front desk, and then the unthinkable happened. Four men burst into the restaurant brandishing guns.
“Doncha move, assholes, or I’ll blow your mothafuckin’ heads off.” The chilling words, yelled by a heavyset, ski-masked male waving an Uzzi machine gun threateningly in the air, immediately silenced the busy restaurant.
Madison looked up in disbelief. It had been a tough week, and now this. No way, this couldn’t possibly be happening.
But it was, the restaurant was under siege, and they were right in the middle of it as the four armed bandits, dressed all in black with face- and head-covering knit ski caps, commandeered the room, blocking both exits and the entrance to the kitchen.
“Jesus Christ!” Cole muttered, while Natalie sat perfectly still, frozen with fear.
Madison knew why. Ten years ago, when they were college roommates, Natalie had experienced a traumatic gang rape. She’d gotten over it and gone on to succeed in her profession as a celebrity interviewer. Now this random holdup had put her into shock.
“Stay cool, both of you,” Cole warned. He was ready to deal with anything, but even he knew it wasn’t smart to argue with a gun.
Automatically Madison leaned over to comfort Natalie, murmuring, “I don’t believe this,” as she pushed back her long, dark hair, her green eyes darting around the room, her journalist’s mind taking in every detail.
“You’d better believe it,” Cole said in a low voice. “This is L.A., shit happens.”
“Shut the fuck up!” yelled the leader, the one with the Uzzi. He was nervous and jumpy, moving around on the balls of his sneaker-clad feet like a stoned runner at the end of a particularly invigorating race. Madison noticed his eyes staring at them through the slits in his mask. They were angry eyes filled with undisguised hate. She reckoned he was young, probably still in his teens.
Young, agitated and pissed off at the world. Just what they needed.
“Empty your fuckin’ purses, get your jewelry shit off, an’ do it now!” he screamed.
A second bandit, armed with a handgun and a crumpled black garbage bag, began running from table to table collecting money, wallets, watches, rings, cell phones, anything of value.
Madison willed herself to remain calm, but her heart was already pounding. She had no desire to be a victim, but she was in the mood to do something, anything—not just sit there and hand over her stuff like an obedient sheep.
The elderly woman at the table next to them was attempting to remove her pearl necklace. Her hands were shaking so much that she couldn’t quite manage it. The younger woman with her leaned over and tried to help.
Whack! The bandit collecting the loot hit the younger woman in the face with the butt of his pistol. She slumped over, blood pumping from a vicious cut to her temple.
“Oh my God!” gasped the elderly woman. “What have you done to my daughter!”
Madison couldn’t help herself, it was an unprovoked act of violence and she wasn’t about to stand for it. “Coward,” she hissed at the ski-masked robber. “Big man with a gun in your hand.”
“Don’t go there,” Cole managed, his voice an urgent command. “Stay cool—stay quiet.”
Too late, the guy turned on Madison, waving his gun recklessly in her face. “Keep outta my bizness, bitch, an’ gimme your watch.” He jerked his gun toward Natalie. “You too.”
Natalie was still frozen to the spot, her brown eyes wide with fear.
“Give him your watch, Nat,” Madison urged in what she hoped was a calm and steady voice.
Natalie didn’t move.
“Come on, sweetie, do it,” Madison cajoled.
Natalie still didn’t move.
Without warning, the gunman grabbed Natalie’s arm, tearing the gold Cartier watch off her wrist.
Natalie screamed, a loud, piercing scream that almost drowned out the sound of police sirens in the distance.
“Mothafucker!” yelled the leader, turning on Cole, eyes glinting dangerously through the slits in his mask. “Which one a you shit ass fucks called the cops?”
“Hey, man,” Cole said evenly. “Don’t look at me.”
As he spoke, the burly-looking man at the next table made his move, suddenly producing a pistol from under his jacket and aiming it at the ringleader.
“Drop your weapon,” the man commanded in a salty voice. “Give it up now before you get into even more trouble.”
For a second, Madison thought the ringleader was going to comply and instruct his gang to do the same. But no—even though the lights of police cars now flashed outside the shuttered front windows, he was not prepared to give up. “Drop your fuckin’ weapon,” he sneered. “Or you got any fuckin’ idea what I’m gonna do?”
The burly man stood his ground. He was a retired detective ready to make his final stab at being a hero, and no punk with a gun was going to stop him. “Now don’t be dumb—” he began in a patronizing tone with the slightest hint of an Irish accent.
The word “dumb” triggered immediate action from the gunman, who let loose with a sudden burst of fire. Women screamed, and the burly man dropped to the ground, a look of complete surprise on his face.
“Who the fuck’s dumb now?” sneered the leader, waving the Uzzi threateningly around the room. “Not me!”
Then he began yelling at his minions to lock the doors and get everyone into the center of the restaurant.
“Christ!” Cole muttered. “We’re screwed.”
And Madison had a gut feeling he was right.
THURSDAY, JULY 10, 2001, LAS VEGAS
Vincent Castle watched his pretty wife, Jenna, through hooded eyes. Jenna wasn’t merely pretty, she was a true peach, with soft as satin skin, natural honey-blond shoulder-length hair, wide apart pale blue eyes, real breasts and extraordinarily long legs.
Vincent was no slouch in the looks department himself. Six feet three inches tall, with dark curly hair, intense black eyes, a straight nose, dimpled chin and worked out body. Women creamed themselves over Vincent Castle. Not only was he a partner in the extremely successful Castle Hotel and Casino, he was also hot, rich and still only thirty-six. Unfortunately for the women who continually circled this fine prospect, he was married to the delectable Jenna.
And even more of an obstacle, he was faithful.
Of course, they had not been married a year yet, so there was still time.
“Jenna seems happy tonight,” the woman sitting next to Vincent in the red leather booth said in a sly, seductive voice, placing an elegant hand on his thigh. Her name was Jolie Estradido, and she was the wife of Vincent’s business partner, Nando. Jolie was also a beauty. In her early thirties, she had catlike, amber eyes, turned-down sensual lips and long, raven hair.
Vincent knew that if he wanted to, he could avail himself of everything she had to offer. He didn’t, because other men’s wives was not his style, and he would certainly never go near his partner’s wife. Besides, Nando—who was half Colombian and half French—had an out-of-control temper. He’d once cut off the ear of a rival he believed had screwed him in a deal. Unfortunately, the man had almost bled to death, causing Nando to think three times before losing his violent temper.
“She admires movie stars,” Vincent said, casually shifting his leg so
that Jolie was forced to move her hand.
“Ah, but no movie star is as gorgeous as her husband,” Jolie murmured, flattering him—which was her way.
Vincent gave a thin smile, keeping his rising anger under control. Jenna was disrespecting him the way she was draping herself all over Andy Dale, a one hit movie wonder with lank dirty-blond hair and a boyish grin. Andy Dale was in town for the big fight taking place the following night. He was accompanied by Anais, a surly black supermodel who was quite obviously coked out of her head and couldn’t care less who he came on to. Nando had invited them for dinner and then promptly left, making the excuse that he had a business meeting.
Lately Vincent was beginning to wonder if he’d made a wrong move marrying Jenna. She was a very young twenty-two-year-old, and had not had much experience. Unlike him. He’d covered the waterfront, exactly like his father, Michael, had taught him to. At the age of thirteen Michael had set him up with an eighteen-year-old call girl in a suite at the MGM Grand for twenty-four hours, all expenses paid. What a deal! What a dad!
The young girl had taught him everything he was supposed to know about pleasing a woman, and although at the time he had not appreciated sticking his tongue between her legs and eating her out, he’d soon learned how much girls got off on it.
“Good looks are not what’s gonna get you places,” his dad had lectured him. “You have to be the fastest an’ the smartest in business, and you gotta know how to treat a woman in bed. That way you’ll have the world by the balls. Believe me, son, that’s what makes a man.”
Michael Castelli was a man who did indeed have the world by the balls. Vincent worshiped him—in spite of the fact that Michael had never married Dani, Vincent’s mom.
Vincent had not yet heard about the arrest warrant and his father’s disappearance. He was hardly in contact with his half sister, Madison, whom he’d met only once, several months ago under strained circumstances. Michael had called him up and said he needed a favor. Naturally Vincent had obliged.
Some favor. Madison was locked up in a Vegas hotel room with her girlfriend, Jamie, and the dead body of a billionaire’s son. Jamie had apparently screwed the poor guy into an early grave. It was Vincent’s task to discreetly dispose of the body, which he did. No questions asked.
Hollywood Wives--The New Generation Page 44
