Double Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  “Certainly. Uh … how about coming upstairs to my room and I’ll prove it to you.”

  “Will your girlfriend be there?”

  “My girlfriend’s long gone.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m dead sure.”

  She gave him a bold look. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  He threw money on the table, stood up, and offered her his hand. “Nothing I can think of,” he said.

  * * *

  Lucky did not want Armand Jordan to be forewarned that she was on her way to pay him a visit. Surprise was the name of the game. A nice big fat surprise.

  It wouldn’t be a physical confrontation, not like the time she’d visited an investor in one of the Santangelo hotels who’d refused to pay up. Ah yes, she’d visited him in the middle of the night while he was sleeping and held the cold steel of a knife next to his balls. The following day, the money was forthcoming.

  Lucky smiled at the memory. God, she’d been a wild one—and even though she was now a happily married woman with grown kids, deep down she was still a wild one.

  Armand Jordan would soon find out. She’d warn him to stop shooting his mouth off about something that would never happen, and if he didn’t comply and she heard any more stories about him supposedly buying her hotel, then he too might experience the touch of cold steel on his precious balls.

  * * *

  The instant they hit the elevator, it was on. Throwing Denver up against the wall, Bobby inserted his knee between her legs, rendering her helpless, then began kissing her. Wild, hungry kisses that she immediately responded to.

  He had her pinned; she couldn’t escape, and since she had no desire to do so, it was fine with her. She kissed him back, loving the taste of his mouth, loving the feel of his body pressed tightly up against her. God! She loved everything about this man.

  After a few moments he reached up, roughly ripped the top of her dress, exposing her breasts, then bent to suck and bite her fully erect nipples.

  The unexpected excitement of what was happening filled her with fire. His mouth on her breasts, his hard penis jammed against her. Completely forgetting where they were, and that a security camera was probably recording their every move, she quickly unzipped his pants and started caressing him. He felt so damn good.

  The elevator was on the move, but neither of them cared.

  Bobby’s hand crept up her thigh, reached her thong, and tore it off. Then he lifted her so that her long legs were clasped around his waist, and without stopping, he began thrusting inside her.

  Sex between them was usually passionate enough, but this was different. This was a sweaty, hot, crazy, out-of-body carnal experience.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened at a floor. Both of them heard the shocked gasp of a woman before Bobby leaned over and pressed the Close Door button.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be—” Denver managed before Bobby pressed his hand over her mouth to stop her from talking. Then he fondled her breasts again, pushing them together, tweaking her nipples, all the while still thrusting into her.

  She moaned with pleasure as the thrilling climb began. Nothing mattered except being there with Bobby. He was her soul mate. He was everything she’d ever wanted. She loved him desperately.

  “Oh … my … God!” she cried out as she felt herself approaching orgasm. “This … is—”

  “Insane!” Bobby yelled, finishing the sentence for her as he shuddered to a mind-blowing climax at exactly the same moment.

  The elevator stopped again, the doors opened, and a group of elderly tourists from Florida peered in at them in stunned silence.

  Quick as a flash, Bobby zipped up, took off his jacket and threw it around Denver’s shoulders, grabbed her hand, and exited the elevator.

  “Honeymoon,” he explained to the dumbstruck tourists. “Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.”

  * * *

  Without Billy by his side, Kev was getting nowhere fast. Every time he tried to chat up a girl, her eyes wandered, searching the room for a more likely prospect.

  Until Ellie.

  Ellie wasn’t his dream girl, although she was cute enough in her torn jeans and blue T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt tied around her waist. She was sitting at a bar he’d stopped at, drinking a beer and doodling on a notepad. Not the type of girl he usually went for, but this was Vegas, so spending the night by himself was not an option.

  “Pretty girls should never drink alone,” he said, settling himself on the stool next to her.

  After giving him a cursory glance, she went back to her scribbling.

  “Writing a book?” he joked.

  “Working,” she snapped, not in a friendly fashion.

  Kev did what he did best: he played his trump card. “Me too,” he said. “Just left my boss, Billy Melina. What a guy! What a slave driver! Can you believe it’s past midnight an’ I’m only now off the clock. Movie stars! They dance to their own tune.”

  Oh yes, surprise, surprise, he had her interest now. Billy’s name scored points every time.

  “Billy Melina is here?” she said, tapping her pen on the bar. “In Vegas?”

  Kev nodded. “’S right,” he said. “In all his movie-star bullshit.”

  She gave him an intent look. “How do I know you’re not making this up?”

  “Why’d I do that?”

  “’Cause.”

  “’Cause here’s the proof,” he said, pulling out his phone and clicking on a few choice photos of him and Billy at play. “Take a look at me an’ my master.”

  Ellie scrolled through the photos, then snapped her notebook shut. “How’d you like to make a couple of thousand bucks?” she said.

  “Doing what?” Kev asked, his curiosity aroused.

  “Nothing illegal.”

  “Then what?”

  “Come with me, and I’ll tell you what.”

  * * *

  “It’s not that I want to go, but I guess I have to,” Max said reluctantly, her head cradled on Billy’s bronzed chest.

  “How’s that?” Billy said, gently brushing a lock of hair off her face. “There’s nobody waiting up for you—right?”

  WRONG! Ace will definitely be waiting up for me, and what am I supposed to say to him?

  “Uh … no,” she lied. “Only I don’t think my mom would be thrilled if she heard about me staying out all night.”

  “You’re eighteen now,” he pointed out. “She’s got no say anymore, you can do anything you want.”

  “Yeah,” Max said unsurely. “But, uh, being with you is definitely going to create waves.”

  “More like a tsunami,” Billy said, laughing.

  “It’s no joke,” she admonished, sitting up. “You were married to my mom’s best friend.”

  “Shit!” he quipped. “How did that happen?”

  “It’s not funny,” Max said. “Actually, it’s kind of creepy.”

  “Are you callin’ me creepy?” Billy said, mock serious.

  “Not you,” she said quickly. “The situation. I mean, I can’t tell them we’re seeing each other. You’re not even divorced yet.”

  “Almost.”

  “Doesn’t cut it.”

  “You’re a tough little piece of work.”

  “I’m a piece of work?” she said, indignantly. “You’re the movie star.”

  “How does that make me a piece of work?”

  “’Cause that’s how movie stars roll. They’re catered to by everyone, and it stops them from acting like normal people. Believe me, I saw it all when my mom owned Panther Studios.”

  “So now you’re tellin’ me I’m not normal?” he said, amused.

  “You’re Billy Melina. How could you be?”

  He laughed again and grabbed her leg. “You’re not normal,” he said. “You’re too freakin’ pretty an’ sexy an’ hot to even think about bein’ normal.”

  “You calling me sexy?” she asked, secretly thrilled.

 
“Yeah, Green Eyes, I’m callin’ you sexy. So forget about runnin’ out on me, an’ let’s see what tricks I can teach you next.”

  “Don’t bother. I got tricks of my own that’ll blow you away,” she said confidently. “You might’ve taken my virginity, but I’m not exactly Miss Innocent, so there, Mister Movie Star.”

  “Feisty. I like it.”

  “Do you?” She sighed, wondering if this was what falling in love felt like.

  “You bet your ass, Little Miss Green Eyes,” Billy replied enthusiastically. “I like you a whole damn lot. So we’re gonna have to figure out a plan, ’cause I’m not givin’ up on you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. And her heart skipped a beat, because maybe, just maybe, this could be the real deal.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Loud music was emanating from the villa at the Cavendish. Too loud for comfort.

  “Sounds like a party,” Randy said, standing outside the door, not at all disappointed. One thing about Randy, he was always up for a party.

  “No party,” Mike growled, narrow eyes behind dark shades checking out his surroundings. “We’re here for business. Got it?”

  “I got it,” Randy said. It was never a wise idea to argue with Mikey. The last time he and Mikey had gotten into a physical altercation, he’d ended up losing two teeth, a painful memory.

  Even though Randy was younger, bigger, and stronger, Mikey had moves that came out of nowhere, moves that could flatten a man in less than five seconds, which was why Randy refused to fuck with him. Mikey was the Man.

  Randy hammered on the door, and it fell open.

  Automatically Mikey reached for his piece. One thing about Mikey, he was always cautious, always alert.

  Gingerly, Randy stepped into the room, Mikey right behind him.

  The scene that greeted them was quite something. Seducta was sprawled naked and out for the count on the couch. Armand sat next to her in a shirt and tie, no pants, his legs akimbo. Luscious was positioned on her knees in front of him, her mouth and slightly buck teeth enveloping his engorged manhood, her head bobbing up and down.

  Loud rap blared on the sound system. Mounds of coke were piled on the coffee table, while empty bottles of champagne, along with miniatures of scotch and vodka, littered the floor.

  “This is some shit-hole,” Mikey stated grimly, still fingering his piece. “Someone turn the fuckin’ noise off.”

  Luscious stopped what she was doing, turned off the music, and jumped to her feet. She hadn’t expected Randy to bring Mikey—with Mikey involved it meant less money for them. She was pissed. Why share when they didn’t have to?

  Blurry-eyed, Armand took in the new arrivals. Had he invited them? Who were they?

  He shook his head, trying to think straight, and stood up.

  “For crissakes, put your junk away,” Mikey snarled.

  Randy was glad Mikey had said it; he was embarrassed by the sight of another man’s equipment. Jeez! Some people had no sense of modesty. This wasn’t a porno shoot, this was real life.

  Luscious wiped her hand across her mouth and snatched up Armand’s pants, which she then handed to him.

  He put them on and regarded his visitors. “Who are these people?” he demanded of Luscious. “Why are they here?”

  “It’s only my boyfriend, Randy, an’ his brother, Mikey,” she said, retrieving her skimpy tank top and short skirt from the corner and slipping them on. “They’re gonna take care of that stuff you wanted done. Remember?”

  “What stuff?” Armand asked, realizing that if the room didn’t stop spinning, he was likely to lose his balance.

  “You know,” Luscious said, nudging him. “Money’s-no-object stuff.”

  “Ah…” Armand said, stumbling slightly.

  Then it occurred to him that he’d actually done it; he’d hired himself a hit man. Or two.

  While they were talking, Randy edged closer to Luscious.

  “Why you gotta bring Mikey with you?” she whined.

  “’Cause Mikey knows what he’s doin’.”

  “An’ you don’t?”

  “Who d’you need takin’ care of?” Mikey said, stepping toward Armand. “An’ be aware, it’s gonna cost you, friend. Plenty. I don’t work cheap.”

  Once again, Armand attempted to gather his thoughts. This was not the usual way he conducted business. And this was business. Urgent business.

  Where was Fouad when he needed him? Fouad always took care of the details.

  “I have the money,” he said. “Whatever the price for your services.”

  Mikey gave a hollow laugh. “Twenty-five grand for the job. Cash. You got that kinda moola sittin’ around?”

  “Of course,” Armand said with a lofty nod.

  “Half up front. The rest when it’s done,” Mikey said. “Who’s the target? You got a picture? And I’ll need t’ know where to find ’em.”

  Armand stared at him blankly.

  Mikey was beginning to tense up as he waited for an answer. His body language screamed that he was about to do someone harm for dragging him out of his house and away from his big-screen TV, where he’d been watching a program about killer whales.

  He noticed Seducta, moved closer to her, and kicked her off the couch with the tip of his snakeskin boot.

  She bounced to the floor and surfaced in a groggy stupor.

  “Put your clothes on,” he ordered. “We’re outta here.”

  “Huh?” she muttered.

  Luscious suppressed a triumphant smirk. Randy could see for himself what a piece of trash his brother had married. Maybe he’d stop coming on to Seducta now that he’d observed what a skank she really was.

  “We’re goin’,” Mikey repeated.

  “You can’t leave,” Luscious said quickly. “Arnie here wants t’ make a deal. Doncha, Arnie?”

  “A non fuckin’ disclosure agreement,” Mikey grumbled. “What the fuck. This shit’s not for me. This is a handshake deal, or I’m out.”

  Luscious tugged on Armand’s arm. “You told me you wanted somethin’ done,” she whined. “I got these guys here special. Which means you gotta tell ’em what you want, an’ work it out, otherwise they’re leavin’. An’ you don’t want that, do you?”

  No, Armand decided, he didn’t want that. There was a job to be done, and he understood that money had to exchange hands.

  He was a businessman.

  A prince.

  This could all be settled to everyone’s satisfaction.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Emerging from the shower with a towel wrapped around her sarong style and a smile on her face, Denver walked right into Bobby as he let himself into their suite.

  “Hey,” he said, feigning surprise. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

  “That’s perfect,” she answered brightly. “’Cause I was hoping the same thing.”

  “Were you now?”

  “Yes indeed.”

  They grinned knowingly at each other.

  “So…” Denver continued. “Where were you?”

  “Well, I finished up at the club,” Bobby said, scratching his head. “Then I came directly here.”

  “Directly?”

  “Kinda. Had a little detour on the way.”

  “A detour?”

  “Met this beautiful woman at the blackjack table.”

  “Really? And who might she be?”

  “I think her name was…” He thought for a moment. “Uh … Chicago.”

  “Chicago, huh?”

  “Right. Gorgeous woman, with real breasts, long silky hair, fantastic legs, and best of all, a taste for adventure.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “I dunno. It depends. Where were you?”

  “Ah,” Denver answered mysteriously. “I ran into a tall dark stranger with mad sexy moves and a hard … body.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “It was. We had sex in the elevator.”

  “Hmm,” Bobby said lustfully.
“Tell me something—did he make you come the way I’m about to make you come?” And with a deft flick of his wrist, he removed her towel.

  They both burst out laughing as the towel dropped to the floor.

  “Oh my God!” Denver exclaimed, still laughing. “You’re insatiable.”

  “You bet I am, and don’t you just love it,” Bobby said, steering her into the bedroom and onto the bed.

  She smiled up at him as he began to kiss her very deliberately. Then, at a slow pace, his tongue started moving down her body until he gently spread her legs and began going down on her.

  Throwing her head back, she luxuriated in his touch. His hands were on her thighs, holding them apart. Once again she felt deliciously trapped.

  After a few minutes, he came up for air. “You’re making me forget about Chicago,” he said. “That woman is becoming just another distant memory.”

  “And that’s exactly the way it should be,” Denver murmured dreamily, thinking that this was definitely turning out to be a weekend to remember.

  * * *

  On the one hand, Kev felt guilty; on the other hand, he thought—screw it—he was entitled to make some decent money. Billy was rolling in it, bathing in it. Billy was a friggin’ movie star, and who was he? Poor old Kev who tagged along for the ride, and then got kicked to the curb like some beaten-up old dog, without even a decent explanation. Oh yeah—So long, Kev. Book yourself a room, Kev. Charge it to me, Kev.

  Was Billy forgetting the months he’d camped out in Kev’s apartment when he’d first made it to Hollywood? Billy Melina had not had a pot to piss in, and he, Kev, was the one who’d been paying all the bills, putting food on the table and supporting Billy all the way.

  So fuck it. He had a chance of making some real money, and who could blame him for taking it?

  It turned out that Ellie was more than just a pretty girl sitting at a bar scribbling in a notebook. Ellie was a freelance photojournalist who was in Vegas to dig up as much dirt as she could on the many famous celebrities flocking into Vegas for the big fight.

  “Y’know,” she informed Kev after they’d shared a couple of beers, “the right photo of a hot celeb can fetch up to a hundred grand. And with your boss going through such a public divorce, well … if I can get an exclusive photo of him with someone new—bingo! We’re in the money. You arrange it, and you’re in for half.”