Hollywood Sinners (24 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

C
ole called Marty on his way back from the function. He was furious.

Lana had been a no-show. She’d let him down again. He was enraged. Humiliated. Wasn’t the whole point that they were a freaking couple? A team, an alliance, call it what you want—they were meant to do things
together
. What else was the point of having a damn wife? If he had to attend these gatherings by himself all the time, he might as well be going it alone. God only knew what people thought.

And to top it all, Michael Benedict had been there. He shuddered, remembering how the director had watched him from across the room.

‘Hello, Cole,’
he’d said, his mottled skin slack
. ‘Have you been avoiding me?’

Cole shuddered at the memory.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew something was up with his wife. Lana had been distant for months now and pleading illness didn’t wash with him. His years with Kate had taught him to know when a woman was lying.

He’d resisted Marty’s suggestion at first, there had to be another way. Now she had left him no choice.

Cole speed-dialled his agent’s office. On his signal his driver sealed the partition glass.

Marty picked up straight away. ‘Cole, hi.’

Cole looked through the tinted glass at the grids of LA rushing by and gripped the leather armrest. He swallowed hard. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

He could hear Marty making excuses to the company he was with. Once he was alone: ‘Are you sure?’

Cole didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m sure. You start making things happen. Marty, I want her pregnant.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Las Vegas

‘W
hat is
that
?’

Jessica Bernstein grabbed a fistful of her sister’s hair and pushed it back, revealing a moth-sized bruise of a hicky just below her diamond-encrusted earlobe.

Elisabeth smacked her hand away. ‘Get off, it’s nothing.’

The sisters, along with Christie Carmen, were looking through bridal magazines at the Bernstein mansion. It was a warm March day and they were gathered on the east veranda, watching the sun flashing off Bernstein’s gold-bottomed swimming pool.

‘Gross!’ Jessica tried to get another look before being swiped away. ‘What are you, in high school? I never had Robert down as a biter.’

‘Whatever,’ Elisabeth said hurriedly. She had deliberately worn her caramel hair long and loose in an effort to obscure Alberto’s mark of passion. No amount of concealer had made the damnedest bit of difference. Trust Jessica to uncover it.

‘This one’s cute,’ whined Christie Carmen. Elisabeth’s eyes darted to the page and she cattily thought it would be a million years before those over-inflated breasts squeezed their way into a corset dress.

God, when had she turned into such a cow? She wasn’t in the least bit happy about the joint wedding—in fact, it was an atrocity—but deep down she knew it was more than that.

‘Your tits are too big,’ said Jessica bluntly, flipping the page. Christie seemed to take it as a compliment.

‘I want a dress like
yours
!’ she wheedled, looking to Elisabeth.

‘I’m already sharing my wedding, I’m not sharing my gown,’ Elisabeth muttered, pushing back her chair.

‘You’re a bitch these days,’ observed Jessica with a note of admiration. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be the blushing bride?’

‘We’re not at the wedding yet,’ Elisabeth lashed out. Dread tightened in her stomach at the thought of it, a meagre five months away. She’d sort out her head before then, put a stop once and for all to this madness. Damn it, why did she keep going back for more? Alberto Bellini was like a drug—they just had this profound connection, she couldn’t explain it.

Desperate to get away, she padded inside and fixed herself a martini, plopping in a plump green olive—she had to keep eating, after all. Her appetite had vanished these past few weeks and she was finding it hard to sleep.

Jessica tapped on the glass with a long fingernail. ‘Yes, please,’ she called, indicating the drink. Wearily Elisabeth drew out two more glasses.

After the wedding was set she had tried to cool things, really she had, but Alberto refused to take no for an answer. So had begun a dedicated wooing campaign: flowers and jewels delivered to the house, increasingly hard to conceal; champagne cocktails beneath the stars; a candlelit dinner he had prepared himself. ‘
In Sicily, we cook with love
,’ he had said that night in the grounds of his mansion, feeding her dark chocolate and then, after they had swum in silver moonlight, tasting zinging lime sorbet from that most private of places…She shuddered now when she thought of it.

And all of it behind Robert’s back.

Get your shit together, Elisabeth. You’re about to be married.

Back on the terrace, Jessica had moved on from bridal gowns and was busily flicking through a glossy celebrity magazine, looking for pictures of herself. She snatched the martini.

‘Thanks,’ said Christie, taking hers.

‘
I
went to that party,’ Jessica moaned, tapping the page, ‘
and
I had the best dress.’ She scanned the photos. ‘They haven’t even got my picture!’

Suddenly Christie piped up. ‘He’s
so
my crush right now,’ she drawled, nodding to a picture of Nate Reid looking moody outside a London bar.

Elisabeth frowned. Nate Reid, who in some shots looked barely a day over eighteen, was possibly the furthest from Frank Bernstein she could possibly think of. She couldn’t imagine her father was ticking all the same boxes.

‘He’s an asshole,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Didn’t you hear about his girlfriend dumping him? Turns out he’s a cheat with bells on.’
You can talk!
her inner voice screamed.

Jessica shrugged. ‘He likes to party,’ she said smugly. ‘And I’d know. Because
I’ve
had him.’

‘Really?’ Christie’s eyes bugged.

‘He’s wild, all right,’ she said, giving Christie a meaningful look. ‘
Very
wild.’

‘Like how?’

‘Must we listen to this?’ Elisabeth interjected. ‘Get over him, Jessica.’

Jessica bristled. ‘I’m not hung up.’

‘Sure you are.’

‘Am not.’

‘Are.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Besides, I read he’s hot for Kate diLaurentis. Met her at Danielle Roman’s wedding.’

Jessica laughed nastily. ‘Come
on
. Isn’t she a granny by now?’

‘Hardly: she’s only a few years older than me.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You’re a bitch.’

‘Takes one to know one.’ Jessica pouted. ‘Anyway, she’s married.’

‘Who?’

‘Kate diLaurentis.’

‘That hardly makes a difference.’

Christie Carmen looked between the two like she was watching a tennis match.

‘Will it make a difference to you?’ Jessica’s eyes flashed.

Elisabeth’s mouth went dry. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just asking.’

‘Well, don’t. It was a stupid question.’

‘Oh,
sorry
. I guess it can’t freak you out that for every single night for the rest of your life you’ll be sleeping with
the same fucking person
.’

‘Not if that person’s Robert,’ said Elisabeth loyally.

‘Bullshit.’

‘Get your own life, Jessica.’

Elisabeth’s cell shrilled to life, ending the spat. She checked the display under the table. It was Alberto. Despite herself, her heart leapt.

‘Hello?’ she said as neutrally as she could, slipping back inside. Once she’d closed the patio doors she hissed, ‘What are you doing, calling me? I could have been with Robert.’

‘Are you?’

‘No.’

‘Then we can talk.’

She put a hand to her head. ‘Bellini, we’ve talked before. Please. We must put a stop to this. Don’t make it harder than it already is—’

‘Somebody knows,
bellissima
.’

Elisabeth was quiet. ‘What did you say?’

‘Somebody knows.’

Horror clawed at her. ‘Knows what?’ she squeaked.

‘Perhaps we were not so careful as we thought…’

‘Bellini,’ she snapped, ‘what exactly are you saying?’

‘I have received two anonymous phone calls,’ he explained. ‘I could not identify the voice, I think it had been—how do you say…modified. It could have been a woman or a man. Both calls came direct to me at the Desert Jewel.’

‘Well?’ Elisabeth demanded, panicking, ‘What did they say?’ She turned to check her sister and Christie were still safely outside.

‘My darling, it is not good news for us. You must tell St Louis—or they will.’

Elisabeth clamped her hand to her mouth.
What? Was it someone she knew?

‘I can’t,’ she spluttered. ‘Just pay them, anything it takes.’

‘
Bellissima
, I regret that it is not so easy. I cannot capitulate, I have a reputation to consider.’

‘And my reputation?’ Elisabeth squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Have you thought about that?’

‘Of course, my darling, I am always thinking of you.’

She was shaking. They had been careful—who the hell was it? More important, just how much had they witnessed? She felt violated.

‘How could this have happened?’ she whispered.

‘My darling, we could never have hidden our true intentions for ever. My desire for you is alive, panting at my feet like a beast. It is there for all to see.’

‘Then put it away!’

‘I cannot.’

Elisabeth felt a cool shudder. Something in Alberto’s voice wasn’t right. ‘Aren’t you worried about this?’ she asked.

‘Of course I am worried,’ he said smoothly. ‘St Louis is a powerful man and he is my friend. It would be much better coming from you than from these thieves.’

Elisabeth shook her head. ‘I’m not telling him.’ Her eyes pricked with tears when the full force of her betrayal hit. ‘There’s no way. We’re getting married.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I love him.’
He’d never believe it. Even if he did find out, he’d never believe it.

Alberto gave a soft chuckle. ‘Then we have a problem,’ he said. ‘For I love you.’

‘Please, Bellini…’ she faltered. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘It is true. Elisabeth,
mi manchi
.’

‘You must stop.’

‘You must tell him.’

‘I can’t.’

A pause. ‘Do I mean so little to you?’

She reached for a stool and sank on to it, trying to steady her breathing. ‘Of course not,’ she said quietly. ‘I…I can’t stop remembering you.’

‘Then do this.’ His voice was gravelly.

There was a long silence. Each sat listening to the other.

‘You know what you have to do,’ said Alberto finally, softly. ‘Call me when it is done.’

The line clicked dead and he was gone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Los Angeles

T
he sun woke Chloe, spilling through the blinds in lemon-yellow ribbons. Tentatively she blinked against the light.

A gentle snore was emanating from the other side of the bed. She rolled over, pulling she rumpled sheet up to cover her breasts.
Shit.

‘Wake up.’ She nudged the man. When he didn’t respond she nudged him harder.

‘What time is it?’ he asked groggily.

‘Gone eleven.’

Sleepily the man stretched his long, muscular body, lithe as a panther’s, and opened his eyes. ‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Hey.’ She gave him a smile.

It was Mateo, the model she’d shot a fragrance campaign with the previous afternoon. After the shoot he’d invited her to a bar, then hours later, somehow, they’d ended up back at her place… It was hopelessly unprofessional.

‘You’re beautiful in the morning,’ he said, reaching for her.

She resisted. ‘Thanks. I’ve got things to do, you’ll have to go.’ She slid out of bed and padded towards the en suite.

Hungrily he watched her naked body, marvelling at the way her jet-black hair fell so smooth, right down to the dip of her ass where it cut off in a blunt line. ‘So soon?’

‘Yes, so soon.’ She grinned. ‘Last night was fun—let’s leave it at that, OK.’

He sat up. ‘I’m sad.’

‘Don’t be.’ She grabbed a towel.

Dragging his jeans on, Mateo fought down his erection. Chloe French made him indescribably horny. He approached her from behind, burying his face in her hair.

‘You were incredible,’ he murmured, his hands moving down her body. She smelled like sex. ‘Last night blew my mind.’

She pulled him off and wrapped the towel around her. ‘Mateo, I mean it. It’s late and I’ve got things to do. Go.’

When she came out the shower he’d gone, his number scrawled on a scrap of paper he’d left on her chest of drawers. She looked at it, smiled, tore it in half and threw it in the bin.

* * *

An hour later her phone rang. She was in the fitting rooms at Fred Segal and had to fumble, half-dressed, to free it from her bag.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Chloe?’

She frowned. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Jimmy Hart.’

Unexpectedly her stomach did a somersault. In the three-way mirrors she could see her top half, clad only in a lacy pink bra, from every conceivable angle. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling exposed.

‘We met at Harriet’s dinner party in December,’ he went on. She could see the glint in his eye when he added, ‘Please tell me you remember.’

‘Of course,’ she said evenly. ‘Hi.’ She’d thought about Jimmy intermittently over the past three months, vaguely impressed that he hadn’t yielded to another extra-marital temptation and yet slightly disappointed that he hadn’t. The episode with Nate had taught her one thing: men couldn’t be trusted and fidelity didn’t exist. In the game of love and war, if you didn’t become a player you ended up getting played. Kate diLaurentis knew it as well as she did.

There was a pause. ‘Are you busy today?’

‘Yes,’ she said smoothly.

‘Tomorrow, then.’

‘I’m busy tomorrow as well.’ She fingered the label on a six-hundred-dollar blouse.

‘The day after.’

‘Busy.’

‘The day after that.’ There was a grin in his voice. ‘I should warn you, this could go on a while.’

Chloe met her own gaze in the opposite mirror. She could see her other selves looking on.

The old her.
Jimmy’s married. He’s a father. It’s the wrong thing to do.

The new.
Grow up, Chloe. This is the real world. It’s how things are.

‘Actually, I can meet today,’ she said quickly, before she could change her mind. Any twinge of regret she might feel for Kate diLaurentis was quickly replaced with antipathy when she remembered how horrid the woman had been to her when they’d first met. She owed her nothing.

Jimmy’s voice deepened. ‘Come on over,’ he said, ‘I’ve got the place to myself.’

Chloe knew the deal. It was sex, pure and simple. Nobody else in this city thought twice about it—why should she? In this town, it was survival.

‘You like risk, don’t you?’ she flirted, enjoying her new-found confidence.

‘Never get bored.’

‘You won’t with me.’

‘I’ll bet,’ he choked. Hurriedly he gave her the address.

After a moment she said, ‘I’ll be there. And, Jimmy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t keep me waiting again.’

* * *

Later that afternoon Chloe arrived at the Bel Air mansion, her trademark hair tucked up under a Yankees cap and dark glasses obscuring her face. She buzzed the gates and was let in immediately, making her way up the massive drive towards the house. Palm fronds rustled in the warm spring breeze, their shapes reflected in a sheet of curved glass at the front of the building.

Kate’s got the right idea
, she thought.
Make sure you see ’em coming.

Jimmy met her at the door. He was not as handsome as she remembered, thinner and with less hair, but nevertheless the attraction she’d felt at Harriet’s remained. His brown eyes sparkled with promise.

‘Good to see you,’ he said with a crocodile grin. ‘Come in.’

‘Thank you.’ She stepped inside, pulling off her cap and tossing her raven hair loose. Her jacket peeled away to reveal tight black jeans above a pair of wicked-red ankle boots, and a tight lead-grey top displaying plenty of cleavage. Jimmy’s eyes raked over her.

‘You look good,’ he said throatily.

Chloe made her way slowly and casually round the expansive hall, running a finger over the surfaces, pausing here and there to touch vases, ornaments, an antique china figurine carrying a basket of what looked like eggs, or potatoes, she couldn’t tell which.

So this was what it was like to be the other woman. As she bent to examine a family photograph, smiling faces on a beach somewhere, Jimmy’s pale chest alongside his wife’s golden tan, she realised what the overriding feeling of it was: it was one of power.

‘You’re sweet,’ she said in an echo of his words at the dinner party. She turned to face him. He wondered how long it would take to get her knickers off.

Jimmy realised his palms were sweating. He’d brought plenty of girls back to the house, but none who took it in with such concentrated interest as Chloe French. He remembered her differently, as more shy, more timid somehow. They needed to get down to business—this was making him nervous.

‘Where’s Kate?’ Chloe asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She crossed her arms. Jimmy observed the generous curve of her breasts as she turned to one side.

‘At a meeting,’ he said gruffly. Then he added, a sparkle in his eye, ‘I’ll have the place to myself a fair bit, she’s in London this week.’

Chloe raised an eyebrow. ‘Looks like we’ve done a swap.’

There was a long silence. Jimmy gulped. ‘I’ll fix us a drink,’ he said, not wanting to continue this particular line of conversation. ‘Cocktail?’ He moved towards the kitchen.

But Chloe was quick. Silent and agile as a cat, she leapt, pushing him up against the wall.

‘Forget the tail,’ she purred. ‘I can think of something else I’d rather get my mouth around.’ With one hand she unzipped his jeans.

Jimmy was delighted. Grabbing her waist, he pulled her towards him, running his hands over her ass, kissing her sweet red lips. He heard her gasp as she freed his hard-on, her touch trailing the length of it, shocked, as all ladies were the first time, at the size of him.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth, taking her chin in his hands and moving against her, sliding through her fingers, feeling her grip tighten. She tasted of strawberries, fragrant and sugary. With a fist he clenched a knot of her hair, smooth as a river of black silk, and all he could think about was having its softness wrapped around his dick, taking him all the way.

‘Stop.’ Jimmy forced himself to ease her off. ‘Not yet.’

He kissed her again, feeling for her breasts, pleased to find she wasn’t wearing a bra. Tucking his hands beneath her top, he stroked her soft, ripe skin, feeling the shape of her, the hard peaks of her nipples. She moaned and threw her head back, exposing her long white throat. Sliding her top up he peeled it over her arms, revealing a pair of luscious, all-natural tits crowned with delicious pink. He bent his head to taste them, taking one between his teeth and biting gently till it stiffened. With both hands he tugged down her jeans, slipping a hand past her knickers and into a soft nest of hair, plunging two fingers into the tender fold.

She gasped, pushing herself on to him, kissing him, sucking his bottom lip, slick with desire. Riding against him, she felt the hot swell in her gut, rising like an unstoppable tide, bringing her to the point of no return. She raised her knee to bring him further, faster, deeper, then more of him entered her, plugging her in, until the wave crashed down and, panting, she climaxed with a shriek.

When Jimmy could bear it no longer, he withdrew his hand and applied a little pressure to the back of Chloe’s head. Obligingly she sank to her knees, her lips parting to receive him. As the majority of his cock vanished into her mouth, she let out a strangled groan. He cradled her and drew himself in, ploughing on with grim determination. Lights flashed before his eyes and he shouted out, cresting the swells of unadulterated pleasure, one after the other. On he thrust, his cock aching with the promise of release, till she was pushed back, her palms flat on the floor. With a final choke he came fiercely, his heart thumping in his ears; his breath coming in short, sharp rasps.

Neither of them heard the car pull up outside, or the front door close with a slam.