Double Lucky (6 page)

She'd soon realized that her new boyfriend was not the greatest lover in the world—although he obviously thought he was. Most men did.

Emmanuelle refused to disillusion him, for she'd met generous men before, but Anthony was in a class by himself and she was partial to luxury goods, especially when they came with a major price tag. This meant that although Anthony Bonar wasn't her usual type, she played him all the way.

In spite of the blond curls and fake tits, Emmanuelle had a head for business, and she knew she had Anthony hot enough to buy her almost anything she wanted. The downside was that he put nothing in her name—not the Mercedes, not the lease on the apartment he'd set her up in, not even the jewelry he'd gifted her with. If she ever left him, it all had to come back to him, he informed her. Or else.

Anthony was big with threats. Emmanuelle didn't like that, but even so she'd decided to stick it out for the time being until she could figure a way to persuade him to start putting things in her name. After all, if he broke up with her, it wasn't fair that she would walk away with nothing. And since he was enjoying the many and varied pleasures of her fabulous body, not to mention her extraordinary oral expertise, he
should
pay, there was no doubt about it.

Emmanuelle knew she was right.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Baby!” Venus murmured, wrapping her well-toned arms around Billy Melina's neck and kissing him on the lips. “I missed you so much. How'd it go today?”

“Alex Woods is a workaholic freakin'
asshole
,” Billy complained, shrugging off his Chrome Hearts leather jacket and flinging it on Venus's oversized bed.

“Everyone knows that,” she agreed, kneeling on top of the bed looking sexy in a barely-there black lace teddy. “However, at least he's a
talented
asshole, which so many of them aren't.”

Billy was inclined to disagree. It was almost midnight and he was wiped out. He'd had a bitch of a day what with the sex session out by his pool with the girl from Tower Records, then working endless hours on the street faking tough-as-shit choreographed fight scenes. Alex Woods was king of the “Let's go for another take” school of directors, and it drove Billy nuts. How many times was he supposed to get punched in the head and thrown over the hood of a car? Oh sure, he had a stand-in, but Alex insisted that
he
be front and center for most of the action, and when he objected—even a little bit—Alex berated him in front of the entire crew. “Our
actor
doesn't want to get down 'n' dirty,” Alex jeered. “Let's get a chair for our fucking actor so he can put his fucking feet up. Wouldn't want to
overwork
him.”

At which point Billy had agreed to shoot the scene himself. No stand-in required.

Man, he felt totally shattered. When they'd wrapped for the night, all he'd really wanted to do was go home and soak in his hot tub. Instead he'd been obliged to rush over to Venus's palatial mansion in Beverly Hills, because she'd called him on his cell four times insisting he come by when he was finished, and he didn't want to disappoint her.

“It'll be late,” he'd warned.

“I'll be waiting,” she'd answered. “Keeping the bed warm for you, baby.”

If anyone had told him eight years ago that Venus Maria, one of the most famous women in the world, would be keeping the bed warm for him, he would've laughed like a freakin' loon.

Venus Maria. Platinum-blond superstar. A woman so famous she was now known by only one name: Venus. Everyone knew who she was. They bought her CDs, flocked to her movies, wore the hottest jeans in town with her name emblazoned on the label, sprayed themselves with her latest signature scent, and worshipped at her live stadium performances.

Venus was a freakin' icon. And
he
was her boyfriend. Her much
younger
boyfriend—well, not
that
much younger, thirteen years. And that meant nothing. It wasn't as if he was some snot-nosed boy toy—he was a very successful movie star in his own right. He had a house, plenty of money, and a sizzling career. He didn't
need
Venus's fame to tag on to; he had his own.

Besides, if the situation were reversed and she was thirteen years younger than him, nobody would give a rat's ass. Hollywood was awash with old geezers whose wives and girlfriends were decades younger than them, and nobody said a word. Unfortunately, he and Venus got the treatment. Front page of the tabloids always carrying on about their age difference. Was she going to marry him? Was she pregnant? Were they breaking up? Was she too rich for him? Was he famous enough for her?

At first he'd got off on all the attention, then after a while it started to get to him. He was a star, too; he didn't appreciate all the trash talk he had to endure.

Venus loved him, he knew that. The big question was: Did
he
love
her?
Or did he love everything she represented? The extreme fame and superglamor. The adulation and nonstop fan worship. Sometimes he simply wasn't sure whether it was love or infatuation.

And if he
really
loved her, would he cheat on her the way he had that afternoon?

For a moment he flashed onto the young girl who'd followed him up to his house in her rundown truck with the broken taillight. She'd followed him willingly, and he'd given her exactly what she expected.

Screwing her was a trip. Her lips, so soft and sweet, not to mention the sticky tightness between her legs.

And yet … he couldn't help feeling guilty.

Sort of … because if he caught Venus screwing another man, he'd go ape shit. Venus was his girlfriend—
his
freakin' girlfriend—and if she played around on him, it would mess with his head big-time.

Not that he was possessive—at least he didn't
think
he was. Venus was the possessive one. She could be bossy, a bit of a control freak, but she could also be supportive and loving, the way she was tonight. Although … from the look in her eyes, he knew she expected sex, and man, tonight was not the night. After Alex's brutal workout his body was bruised, wrecked, and beaten.

“Come to bed, baby,” she purred. “I'll give you a back rub, you know how you like that.”

Yeah, sex was
definitely
on her agenda, and what was he supposed to do about
that?

Nothing, because a sane man didn't turn down a superstar, not if he wanted to continue being her boyfriend.

“A back rub sounds kinda hot,” he mumbled.

“Of
course
it does,” she murmured, husky-voiced and ready for action. “'Cause
I'll
rub you, then
you'll
rub me.…”

“That's a plan,” he said, pulling off his T-shirt. “Only first I gotta shower.”

“Why?” she asked, reaching up and stroking the back of his neck. “Funky works for me.”

“How about
skunky
funky?” he said, extracting himself from her touch. “Look at me—I'm in sweat overdrive, babe, an' I got a hunch you won't go for that.”

“Okay, take a shower,” she sighed. “But hurry up, you
know
how impatient I get.”

She wasn't kidding about
that
. Miss
I want it now!
Venus never let up when she had her mind set on something.

“You got it, ma'am,” he said, reverting to his former self, the dumb-ass kid who'd hit Hollywood eight years ago thinking all women deserved respect.

How green was
he?

Green and fortunate, because after several months of bumming around trying to make something happen, working as a waiter and sleeping on a friend's floor, he'd found himself an agent who'd sent him on an interview for an NBC sitcom. He'd scored the part, been in six on-air episodes, and just when he'd imagined himself as the second coming of Matthew Perry, the show was canceled and he was back where he'd started—waiting tables at the Cheesecake Factory in Brentwood.

Two months later he got a call from his agent informing him that Alex Woods wanted to see him. Alex Woods—mega producer/director/writer supreme! Holy shit!

The day of his interview with Alex was forever etched in his mind. He'd walked into an imposing office nervous as a virgin on a date with a porn star. And there she was, standing around as if she had nothing better to do. Venus.
The
freaking Venus. She of the platinum-blond hair, sexy stance, and out-of-this-world bod.

“Hi, Billy,” she'd said, as if she actually
knew
him. “Thanks for coming in today. I'm a big fan of your work.”

Thanks for coming in! Big fan of his work!
Was she freakin'
kidding!
He would've done anything for a meeting with Venus—she was the jerk-off queen of all his fantasies.

Alex Woods was slouched behind a large untidy desk, speaking on the phone. He'd glanced up and waved distractedly in Billy's direction.

“Sit down, Billy,” Venus had said, indicating a sprawling couch.

Billy sat. Venus sat.

He'd thought he was freakin' dreaming it was all so surreal.

Later he'd read a scene with her in front of Alex and Lucky Santangelo, another producer on the movie.

He was good; in fact, he was
better
than good—in his mind he'd nailed the part and then some. And why not, with Venus as his inspiration standing opposite him in dangerously low-cut yoga pants and a belly-baring top? Not only was she this freakin' worldwide superstar, she was also surprisingly friendly and nice. She actually treated him like an equal. She actually
talked
to him before he had to read. Who'd've thought?

Two weeks later his agent called with the words every actor yearns to hear. “Congratulations, Billy. You got the part.”

He remembered stammering, “I got the
what?
” And then he'd hit the clubs with a few of his buddies—including his closest friend from back home, Kev, whose floor he'd been sleeping on for the past few months. He'd gotten bombed out of his mind and ended up with a forty-year-old Puerto Rican stripper who'd called him Blondie Pie, and given him a mild dose of the clap.

A week later he was on the set of Alex Woods's new movie,
Seduction
, acting opposite Venus. It was the start of his ride. And what a ride it had turned out to be.

Shower over, Billy returned to the bedroom bare-assed naked. Venus gave him an appreciative once-over and beckoned him to join her on the bed.

Fortunately, the Donkey King—the name a former girlfriend had bestowed on his penis—was up and at 'em, at the ready to do whatever his master bade.

“Come here, you crazy sex maniac,” Venus crooned.

Yeah, like
she
could talk.

He headed for the bed, and the soft, sexy, comforting warmth of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend he'd cheated on earlier that day.

Shit! Better make it up to her,
he thought, quickly forgetting about his bruised and battered body.
Better be ready to rock and roll all night long.

*   *   *

And while Billy was making out with one of the most famous women in the world, Alex Woods was drinking Jack Daniel's on the rocks at a bikers' hangout somewhere in the mountains off the Pacific Coast Highway. He didn't feel like going home to his architecturally perfect house situated on a prime piece of Broad Beach property.

He didn't feel like staring out at the black ocean or switching on his movie-size TV screen.

He didn't feel like making conversation, or anything else for that matter, with Ling, his Asian girlfriend—a twenty-nine-year-old lawyer with a serene attitude and amazing sexual skills.

What
did
he feel like doing?

He felt like being by himself, getting drunk, and thinking about Lucky Santangelo.

Lucky was always on his mind. Always …

So that's exactly what he did.

Tomorrow was another day; he could forget about her then and resume life as he knew it.

Only that never happened. Lucky was his secret obsession, and as long as Lennie was around, he knew it had to stay that way.

 

CHAPTER NINE

If it wasn't for Lucky Santangelo, Henry Whitfield-Simmons might have been a big star. Or at least that's what
he
believed. He knew he was far superior to Billy Melina, the actor who had stolen his role in the Alex Woods film that Henry had been so sure he was about to get.

Henry considered Billy Melina to be an inferior human being, with no acting ability whatsoever. He'd seen his movies. He'd sneered at his movies. It was a travesty that Billy Melina had been hired in his place, and gone on to become a famous star.

Even though his failed audition had taken place many years previously, Henry brooded about it on a daily basis. He knew for a fact that if it wasn't for Lucky Santangelo,
he
, Henry Whitfield-Simmons, would have been the one up there on the screen with Venus Maria in
Seduction
. Even now, although the day of his audition was eight long years ago, Henry had never forgotten nor forgiven. Lucky Santangelo, a producer on the film, was the one to blame;
she
was the one who hadn't wanted him. He was positive of this because while auditioning, he'd observed Lucky sitting across the table with the casting people, staring at him with her black unfriendly eyes while tapping her fingertips impatiently on the table. Alex Woods wasn't present that day, nor was Venus Maria.

Henry was about to read a second scene when he'd noticed Lucky signal to the casting people that she'd seen enough. How unspeakably rude!

Henry was justifiably angry, for not only was she rude, Lucky Santangelo had ruined his future. She'd taken his one chance and thrown it away with her careless actions.