by Havana Adams
“Wow,” Simone muttered under her breath.
Talia took a large gulp of the drink in her hand, barely tasting the liquid as it burnt down her throat. She looked away sure that there must be some mistake but when she looked back up again, Max Maguire was still there, still staring unwaveringly at her from across the room and then he started to pick his way through the crowd, coming towards her, his eyes never once leaving her face.
“He’s coming over…” Talia said flustered.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Simone replied and before Talia could stop her, Simone was gone, already weaving away in the opposite direction. Talia turned back and standing smiling before her was Max. As he stared down at her there was a look in his eye that stopped her short. It was a look of intent that seemed almost calculating and then it was gone and Max finally spoke.
“Talia Blake, isn’t it? Just the woman I was looking for.” Max smiled and Talia felt herself being pulled in by the charisma behind that smile. Her momentary doubts were swept away and she returned Max’s smile with a dazzling one of her own.
Across London, another party was in full riotous swing. A party that would be talked about for the rest of the school year and which would make Sasha Romanov a legend and propel her to the cover of Teen Vogue. It was the kind of party that every girl dreamed of. The invites had been dispatched to Sasha’s school friends in waves. First an email had been sent with save the date instructions. And then thick envelopes with paper invitations had been dispatched by post. The actual key, guaranteeing entry to the party would not arrive until the day itself. This key, a silver and diamond Tiffany creation would serve as both entry key and memento of the day. By the time the date of the party finally arrived, the pupils of Dame Francis Wesley School were excited to fever pitch level. In a school that counted the scions of Hedge fund millionaires, Foreign diplomats, Knighted popstars and even the daughter of a Rolling Stone amongst its pupils, Sasha Romanov’s party was still predicted to be something truly era defining. Girls waited at home for their Tiffany invitations and boys usually too cool to bother about such things, hired personal shoppers to pick out their outfits. One girl suffering from appendicitis was said to be on suicide watch, for to miss what was being called the party of their generation was a fate worse than death. Parents secretly longed to be in on this party of parties.
The birthday girl herself, like her guests, had been told of a time and a place but few other details. Sasha’s first gift from her father was a made to measure couture Stella McCartney gown. Vassily had watched Sasha come down the stairs dressed and ready to go, with pride and sadness – his daughter was all grown up. On his arm Tamara, resplendent in a one-off Vera Wang, smiled – her efforts had not been in vain; she knew the night would be a triumph. Already the tabloids and several magazines had been speculating about the party – there had been rumours about the party favours, which bands would be flown in to play, but the veil of secrecy had held. As Vassily’s car finally reached the destination, Sasha stepped out first, Tamara and Vassily following behind. They had hired out Doomsday, a Private Members club in Central London and as Sasha entered, a spotlight hit the stage, and her favourite R&B singer began to sing Happy Birthday. He was drowned out by the shrieks of delight and disbelief that ran through the room. Sasha gasped and turned to her father.
“Oh my god!".
“Anything for my girl,” Vassily responded as his daughter enveloped him in a hug. Sasha turned to Tamara and hugged her too.
“Thank you so much.”
“Go. Enjoy yourself, there’s a lot more to come.”
And there was, Tamara mused – two international bands, cakes from the Hummingbird bakery, Macaroons from Paris and even Sasha’s favourite Russian dessert flown in especially from St Petersburg. All night there would be free flowing non-alcoholic cocktails in addition to acrobats from Cirque du Soleil, a toned-down burlesque performance, not to mention appearances by Pink and Beyonce followed by several celebrity DJs. The goody bags too would be unforgettable – an iPad, 3 months membership to The Gaslight Members Club and £500 in iTunes vouchers. By Monday, Sasha Romanov would be a legend.
Tamara watched as Sasha was surrounded by a group of her friends and they took to the dance floor. She felt Vassily’s eyes on her, felt the heat of his gaze.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growled. Tamara laughed and gave him a light, teasing smile.
“Dinner, I think,” she replied with a small smirk, ignoring Vassily’s groan of frustration. Tamara had had to call on all her reserves of discipline but somehow she had managed to hold Vassily at arms length since the night they were interrupted. She had not allowed herself to be lured back to his bedroom. They had turned a corner, she admitted to herself, he had let her into his life, made her a part of his daughter’s life – but still a woman could not be too careful. Sex was the key, she had decided and she would not make it easy for him. She would make him wait because this time, Tamara would settle for nothing less than marriage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex was seeing red.
Specifically, the image that confronted him of Max Maguire teasingly stroking a finger down Talia’s neck was enough to make him lose control. He had arrived at the party and mingled with old friends and past co-stars, leaving Declan to network. Alex had quickly found he had little energy for the scene. Across the room a woman made deliberate eye contact with him and he gave a vague smile unable to place her face. He could memorise lines in minutes, had an almost photographic memory when it came to scripts but with faces, especially women’s faces, Alex found that it had become harder and harder to keep the names and faces straight. He was in no mood for small talk and even less interested in the model turned actress Tallulah who had followed him into the toilet. As he’d made to leave, she had pinned him to the door and for a moment Alex had let her tongue run over his lips before he’d gently pushed her away.
“Seriously I’m not in the mood," he’d said. Tallulah had given a tinkling laugh.
“Wrong time of the month,” she’d enquired teasingly.
“Something like that,” Alex replied dryly and headed for the exit. He’d seen the look of shock on Tallulah’s face.
“Alex, we have fucked before,” she’d snapped at him. He had winced then. He’d forgotten that. He’d continued away from the toilet briskly, Tallulah had a terrible temper and at that moment he’d known she might launch her cocktail glass at his head.
As he’d drifted aimlessly through the vast warehouse space from the jazz room, to the beach-themed room and even onto the roof terrace, Alex had found that there was always someone wanting to talk to him, network or press against him, he couldn’t stand it. Eventually he had sought peace in a mellow Moroccan themed room, where two beautiful women were giving massages as party guests reclined on beds and cushions and smoked from hookahs dotted around the room. Alex closed his eyes; his head leaned back against a plush cushion when he heard the giggle. He rolled his eyes and then a sixth sense made him turn. He looked towards the small intimate bar inside the Moroccan section, picking out a couple standing close together. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he realised that the stunning creature in the dynamite lace dress was Talia. He felt a kick in his groin of pure, unadulterated lust. He wanted her. Even as he processed this realisation, his eyes zeroed in on the man. A man who was standing close to her, too close and who now reached out a hand and stroked Talia from just beneath her jaw, down her neck until his fingers rested on her collarbone. Max Maguire. This realisation launched Alex from his reclining position and he was across the room almost upon them before he’d even thought about what he would say.
“Alex,” Talia gasped the words out in surprise. Alex watched Max’s eyes dart to him. There was a flash of irritation, which Max quickly concealed.
“Talia, Max,” Alex drawled with satisfaction. Max was already standing down.
“Hey Man, I was just keeping your friend company,” Max said and yet Alex could not mi
ss the irritated thread beneath Max’s words.
“Thanks for that,” Alex replied thinly. There was no pretence at warmth; he’d had enough of this upstart. The silence lengthened.
“Good talking you Talia, maybe see you around,” Max finally spoke.
Alex turned to Talia, barely noticing as Max melted away. Close up he could see how incredible she looked in the dress. The scoop neck at the front pushed her breasts up and when she turned to pick her drink off the bar, Alex gulped – there was nothing but Talia’s bare back on display. He watched her sip her drink a drop escaping her lips and slowly trailing down her chin. He clenched his fists and fought the desire to lean forward and lick the droplet off her chin.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Talia said startling Alex from his thoughts. Her voice was slightly slurred and she was, he realized, taking extra care to form her words.
“You’re drunk,” he said in surprise.
“I think I am,” she replied and gave a deep laugh. “I’m glad you’re here.” She held her drink out to him before turning to the barman. “More drinks,” she said. And Alex took the drink from her downing it in one gulp. The night had suddenly got interesting.
“You know you’re much more fun when you’re drunk.”
Alex said the words teasingly as Talia slumped on his shoulder in the back of the taxi as they made their way back to Hampstead. It was just after six and dawn was starting to break revealing streaks of blue sky and the beginnings of a sunny morning. They had dropped Simone off at her flat, Alex having taken charge of her and Talia as they had clearly drunk far too much of the free-flowing cocktails.
As the cab pulled up outside the house, Alex leaned forward to speak to the driver.
“Give me a few minutes mate and then one more stop.” Alex felt Talia’s head shake against his chest.
“No,” she muttered. “Stay.” Alex began to shake his head but she turned her eyes up to gaze at him reproachfully.
“Fine,” he said. Talia laughed.
“Softie.”
As he paid the cab driver, Talia clambered out of the cab and walked up to the front door. By the time he had reached her she had already got the door open and stepped into the hallway.
“Are you ok?” He asked, even as he tried not to notice that one strap of her dress had slipped down her shoulder. He fought the urge to reach out and slip it back up into place. He caught a look in her eyes, a question and Alex stepped back. A pulse beat erratically in his neck. He needed a drink or several. He took a deep breath and moved away from Talia, away from temptation. He turned and headed into the sitting room. Staying had been a mistake. Gathering his composure, he turned back to her.
“Good party tonight,” he said wincing inwardly at the false note in his voice. Her reply caused him to freeze.
“Night’s not over yet.”
Shit. Alex slumped onto the sofa as Talia continued to stand in the doorway her eyes watching him, eating him up, and causing havoc in his brain. He closed his eyes and then felt his skin prickle as he felt her arm on his as she slowly sank down onto the sofa next to him.
“Look at me,” she urged and reluctantly Alex turned sideways to face her. Talia was making not attempt to hide the desire in her eyes.
“I want you,” she said baldly. And Alex groaned. Fuck. This was a bad idea.
“Talia you’ve had a lot to drink.”
Talia smiled now. “I’ve never been clearer about anything before,” she said with a determined look in her eye.
Helena was out for blood. All afternoon and long into the night on the final part of the shoot, Gabe had ignored her. From a professional point of view, Helena had acknowledged that things were going well, very well. The initial photos had already been emailed to Tobias, who’d telephoned her with a ringing endorsement. This shoot would make the Époque special edition a sensation. And yet for once, it was not work that consumed her. Even as she’d smiled and posed in various locations around the Pompidou Centre, it was Gabe that had been on her mind. In the week since they’d slept together and since Sula had finally turned up, his detachment had started to get to her and never one to play games – once again Helena decided she would confront him.
The early morning sky had been bright and blue as she’d jogged alongside the Seine but for once running hadn’t had the desired effect, it hadn’t calmed her thoughts or clarified her thinking. Gabe was fucking with her brain and she didn’t like it. Still in her running clothes, she stalked down the corridor towards Gabe’s 15th floor room at the Ritz. Her face was flushed not so much from the exertion but from the simmering cauldron of emotions that she had been keeping so tightly under control.
At Gabe’s door she immediately banged hard on the heavy wooden door. She waited a moment and then began to knock again when suddenly the door gave way under her hand. Self-consciously, she let her arm fall limply to her side as she took in Gabe wearing only a towel, standing in the doorway.
“Gabe…” Helena watched Gabe’s look of shock. He looked surprised to see her. Surprised and not very happy.
“This isn’t…” he began. And suddenly Helena understood. She didn’t need him to spell it out to her. His wet hair, his awkwardness. Gabe had already moved on.
“Sorry, I should have guessed,” Helena began and then stopped as her eyes zeroed in on something on the floor behind Gabe.
“What…” She started but found she could not get the words out. Without thought, she pushed Gabe aside, entering his hotel room.
“Look Helena. I didn’t mean...” Gabe trailed off as Helena stooped down to pick up the vintage silk Hermes scarf that had been carelessly discarded on the floor. Helena looked at it for a moment and then up at Gabe. His ashen face told her everything she wanted to know and yet, she wanted, needed to see it for herself. Helena turned and stalked towards the bedroom door, Gabe leapt and grabbed her arm but she shook him off with a glare.
“Get your hands off me.” As he let go, Helena marched into the bedroom. She kicked the door open and stopped in the doorway as a wave of nausea shot through her, momentarily winding her. In Gabe’s bed was her mother, wearing nothing more than a smile.
“Darling,” Sula trilled, “this is hardly appropriate. Give Gabe and I some privacy.”
Helena was gripped by a cold lick of hate and she bit her lip for a long moment until she drew blood. She moved towards the bed and looked down at her mother. For the first time, there was concern in Sula’s eyes. Helena stared at her, her eyes boring into her mother’s until eventually Sula dropped her gaze. Helena did not hide the disgust or the disappointment or the hurt. In the sea of betrayals and disappointments, Sula had finally crossed the line
“Darling…” There was an imploring tone in Sula’s voice. But it was too late for that and Helena cut her off.
“We’re done,” she said with finality and as she strode out of the room, she tossed the silk scarf in Gabe’s face.
“Helena!”
Helena heard Sula calling out to her but she didn’t stop. She walked up the five flights of stairs to her floor and she did not stop until she was in her room and alone. And finally, only just reaching the bathroom in time, she hurled up the contents of her stomach.
Alex was at war with himself. And as Talia swung her leg over his hips to straddle him, he thought that someone up there must have a sense of humour. Alex “lock up your wives” Golden was trying to do the right thing, was trying to be a better man but Talia was having none of it. She ground her body into him so that her breasts were crushed to his chest and his rapidly growing erection was right where she wanted it. She pressed a kiss to his lips, her tongue teasing his mouth open. Alex pulled his head away, turning so that all she had was the side of his face. But that was no deterrent, he felt her tongue dart around his ear and then her teeth nip gently at his earlobe.
“This is not a good idea,” Alex groaned, even as his good intentions were rapidly evaporating. Even as he said the words he was gripping her hips to
grind her onto him.
“Sound like you mean it,” Talia teased as once again her lips found their way to his.
He tried to pull away, he tried to recite his nine times table, he tried to keep Helena’s words in mind; Talia wasn’t his type, they weren’t right for each other, not by a long shot. But he could not hold on to these reasons, not when Talia was climbing off his lap to stand before him. With a confidence he didn’t know she had, she slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and pushed the dress down. Alex froze as once again he was confronted with her large, round breasts and those dark nipples that were now hard as pebbles begging for his tongue. All reason and logic and caution were gone and his cock leapt in his painfully confining trousers. He watched her push the dress down her waist and then she did a little shimmy to push the dress down over her hips until it fell to the ground. Slowly her eyes rose back up to meet his and Alex felt the full heated beam of her gaze. And yet there was something else in her eyes too – a look of uncertainty and then Talia bit her lip and the expression was gone. She stood clad in only the tiniest of lace underwear and she held her hand out to him.
“You coming?” She said with as much bravado as she could muster. Alex watched her bite her swollen lower lip and then he reached forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her back into his lap.
“Too fucking right,” he replied before he kissed her hard as all the pent up sexual tension finally exploded between them. He kissed her until she was breathless and begging and then he rose, with her almost naked in his arms and stalked up the stairs to the bedroom.
Talia’s eyelids felt heavy, as though they were weighted down but nothing, absolutely nothing would make her close them. Not when Alex Golden, was slowly taking his clothes off, just for her. She watched him rip his shirt open and she swallowed, her mouth dry as he flicked open his belt and slowly eased his zipper down. He moved towards the bed as he kicked of the trousers and Talia smiled – no boxers. It figured. In a second he was on her, pinning her to the bed and Talia welcomed the weight of him. Christ it had been too long. Almost a year, well more than a year really, but it was time to stop counting now. Talia leaned into Alex but before she could really savour the feel of him – his smooth chest flattening her breasts, the friction of his hard cock as it made contact with her stomach - he had spun them, so that they lay side by side on the bed facing each other.
