Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (23 page)

“Although it beats me why I sent you anything at all after you walked out on me this morning.”

She took a deep breath. “Listen, Alex—let’s be truthful with each other. We were a one-night fling. I needed to be with somebody, and you happened to be there.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

“It didn’t mean anything to either of us…. I did it to get back at Lennie. I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence.

“When I didn’t hear from you, I stayed in Vegas,” he said at last.

“What are you doing there?”

“Location scouting. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Another long silence. “Can we get together tomorrow night?”

She sighed. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Lucky,” he said persuasively, “you need me at a time like this.”

“What can you do, Alex?” she said wearily. “Hold my hand while other people take control of my studio?”

“I didn’t call you to argue.”

“What
did
you call for?”

“To say that last night was…special.”

“No, Alex,” she said flatly. “Please hear what I’m saying. It was just another one-night stand on both our parts.”

“You’re wrong, Lucky. I’ve had enough one-night stands to know when it’s special.”

Why couldn’t he just go away? She didn’t need complications. “I’m sorry if I gave you a false impression.”

He couldn’t believe she was giving him the runaround. That he, Alex Woods, was actually getting shut out by a woman. “I can tell you’re not in the mood to talk,” he said abruptly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“That’s my problem.”

She shut the phone. Alex Woods was not going to be put off easily.

Venus’s long black limousine glided through the gates of her estate. As the limo passed the guardhouse, the guard emerged, waving for the car to stop.

The driver lowered his window. “Anything wrong?”

“No, no,” the guard answered. “Please tell Miss Venus her brother’s here.”

“My
what
?” Venus said, jumping to attention in the backseat.

“Your brother Emilio, miss,” the guard said, peering into the car.

“And you
let
him in my house!” she exploded, horrified.

“Well, er…yes, he had proof he was your brother,” the guard said, taking a step back.

“
What
proof?” she demanded.

“Pictures of you together, his passport. I know your real name is Sierra, so I thought it was all right to allow him in.”

“Well, it’s
not
,” Venus said angrily. “How many times have I got to tell you people,
nobody
enters my house unless I say so.”

The guard took umbrage at her tone. “I was only doing my duty,” he sulked.

“Your
duty
is to keep
everybody
out unless I leave
specific
instructions.”

She was so furious she could scarcely breathe. Emilio Sierra. Slob brother number one. He’d sold her out to the tabloids so many times it was ridiculous. Then he’d gone off to live in Europe, and she’d hoped and prayed he’d never come back. Recently, she’d heard he’d returned, and she’d known it was only a matter of time before he turned up again.

Goddamn it! Why did it have to be tonight?

She instructed her driver to wait while she picked up the car phone and summoned Rodriguez.

“My darling,” Rodriguez said, delighted to hear from
her. “I waited by the phone all day. Nobody called from casting.”

Did he have to be so obvious? His eagerness to be in her video was a turnoff.

“What are you doing, Rodriguez?”

“Waiting for you, of course.”

“I feel like a long, sensual massage,” she murmured seductively. “Can you come over now?”

“Of course!”

“Let’s go,” she instructed her driver.

The limo rode smoothly up to her house, depositing her in front. She got out and marched inside.

Sitting in her living room, feet up on her marble coffee table, guzzling a bottle of beer while watching a cable porno movie on her big-screen TV was her dear brother.

Déjà vu
. Hadn’t this happened to her before?

“You’re
not
welcome here, Emilio,” she said, trying to control her fury at his nerve. “I can’t believe you’re back. Have you no idea what you’ve done to me?”

“What?” he asked, barely able to drag his eyes away from two blonds busily stroking each other’s silicone implants on the TV screen.

She grabbed the remote, switching the TV off. “You sold me out,” she said angrily, “time after time after time.”

Emilio lumbered to his feet, placing his beer on the marble table without a coaster. Then he attempted to turn on the charm, of which he had none.

“I was in a bind, sis,” he said in a whiny voice. “Had debts to pay off. Now I’m clean. I bin in AA, drug rehab, the whole bit. You gotta give me another chance.”

“I don’t have to give you anything,” she said, outraged that he would even dare to ask.

“Look,” he said, gesturing around her sumptuous living room. “You got everything. Me—I got zilch.”

“I worked hard for what I’ve got while you sat around on your fat ass doing nothing.”

Emilio’s small eyes turned crafty. “If our mom was alive, what d’you think
she’d
want you to do?”

“Shove it, Emilio. Don’t start with that guilt-trip shit—it doesn’t work anymore.”

“I’m your brother,” he whined, still trying. “We’re the same flesh and blood. I’m one of the few people who care about you.”

Now he was going too far. “Get the fuck out of here!” she said contemptuously.

“No,” he mumbled sulkily. “You want me out, call the cops.”

“You think I won’t?” she threatened, glancing toward the door, hoping Rodriguez would put in an appearance soon. “What happened to your big romance in Europe?”

Emilio pulled a face. “She was too old,” he said. “I wasn’t sittin’ around for twenty years waiting for the old bag to drop.”

“You really are a piece of work,” Venus said, shaking her head. “What did she do—dump you when she discovered what a loser you really are?”

“I left on my own,” he said resentfully.

“And you couldn’t
wait
to come mooching off me again.”

Fortunately, Rodriguez chose that moment to arrive. He swept in, stopping short when he spotted Emilio.

“Ah, Rodriguez,” Venus said. “Meet my brother Emilio, he was just leaving.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Emilio contradicted.

“Yes, you
are
,” Venus insisted.

They glared at each other.

Rodriguez glanced from one to the other and decided it wasn’t prudent to get involved.

Venus was not allowing him that privilege. She turned to him, giving a short, impassioned speech. “I
don’t speak to my brother,” she said hotly. “I don’t even
like
my brother. Now he’s here in my house. How do I get rid of him?”

Rodriguez shrugged.

“How about throwing him out for me?” Venus said hopefully. “I’ll have the guard help you.”

“Throw me out, little sis, and you’ll regret it,” Emilio warned. “If you think what I’ve done up until now is bad, just you wait. I’ll give the tabloids somethin’ that’ll blow your cushy life to pieces.”

She could see she was getting nowhere. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you fifty bucks—go get yourself a hotel room for the night. Then tomorrow, find yourself a job.”

Emilio’s expression turned cunning. “Make it a thousand and I’m outta here.”

“This is
not
a negotiation,” she said coldly, close to losing it.

He scratched his chin. “I don’t get it, a thousand’s nothin’ to you. You buy shoes cost more than that.”

Rodriguez drew her to one side. “Give him the money,” he suggested. “Then maybe he’ll go away.”

“Emilio will
never
go away,” she moaned.

“At least it’ll get him out of your house.”

He was right, getting rid of her brother was the important thing.

“You don’t happen to have a thousand bucks on you, Rodriguez?” she asked.

He didn’t even bother answering that one.

Leaving the two of them downstairs, she hurried up to her bedroom safe, closing the door behind her, remembering the time Emilio had gotten hold of her combination, stolen pictures of her and Martin Swanson together, and blackmailed her.

She took out a thousand dollars in cash and returned downstairs.

Emilio practically had his hand out.

She gave him the neat stack of bills. “Good-bye,” she said with a cold stare. “Don’t come back.”

He shoved the money in his pocket, shaking his head as if
she
was the bad one. “Little sis,” he said sadly. “You don’t have a good memory, do you?”

“For what?”

“Our childhood. The good times.”

Who was he kidding? Four brothers and a father to look after. She’d been their unwilling slave, and they’d all treated her like shit.

“Good-bye,” she repeated, hustling him to the door.

She needed a good night’s rest, tomorrow was her test with Johnny Romano, and she had to impress Alex Woods. But Rodriguez being there was okay—sex would give her that special glow—better than makeup any day.

When Emilio was gone, she took Rodriguez’s hand, leading him upstairs to her bedroom. “Tomorrow I must look relaxed and beautiful,” she said. “So…I’d like it if you made long, leisurely love to me and then went home. Can you oblige?”

“My princess,” he said, passionate Latin eyes boring into hers. “You are asking the right man.”

“
MORE CHAMPAGNE?” MICHEL SUGGESTED
.

“Thanks,” Brigette said, allowing him to refill her glass.

The two of them were alone in his apartment now. All the guests had departed, including an angry Robertson. Brigette had overheard them having a heated discussion at the front door.

“You make me sick,” Robertson had said in a low, furious whisper. “You remind me of a randy old dog.”

“Don’t say foolish things you will regret,” Michel had replied, remaining calm.

“The only thing
I
regret is that I moved in with you in the first place,” Robertson had said. Then she’d left, slamming the door in his face.

Brigette knew she was intruding on another female’s territory, but she couldn’t help herself, she found Michel hypnotically attractive even though he was old enough to be her father.

She sat on the couch in his living room, waiting to see what kind of moves an experienced older man made.

A waiter removed several used glasses from the coffee table and left the room, discreetly shutting the door behind him.

“A toast to you, Brigette,” Michel said, raising his glass and clinking it with hers. “We do it the French way,” he said. “Twist your arm around mine—like so.” She tried to do as he asked. His arm slipped, accidentally nudging her breasts. She giggled. “Is something amusing you?” Michel asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling the effect of several glasses of wine and now the champagne. “You, me, here. A few weeks ago I couldn’t even get an interview with you. Now you’re my agent, and I’m sitting in your apartment.”

“I will tell you what I like about you, Brigette,” Michel said, lightly touching her cheek with his fingers. “Your naiveté. It is so refreshing.”

She didn’t tell him that her mother had been a famous heiress, and that her stepfather was Lennie Golden. She didn’t tell him about growing up surrounded by luxury and riches, or that she was also an heiress, due to inherit millions of dollars when she reached twenty-one.

She certainly didn’t tell him about Tim Wealth or Santino Bonnatti. These were
her
secrets, and she was not about to reveal them to anyone.

“I’m not naive,” she objected. “I’ve been around.”

“You haven’t been anywhere, my darling girl. You know nothing of life. You have no idea what will happen when your name is famous and your face is everywhere.”

Bingo! He
was
the man of her dreams, sent to protect her.

“Are you a virgin, Brigette?” he asked in a fatherly, concerned voice.

She sensed he required a yes. Not that it was any of his business.

“Sort of…” she lied. Tim Wealth had taken her virginity when she was fifteen. Maybe one day, when she knew Michel better, she’d tell him the story.

“How charming you are,” Michel said, moving closer.
“Charming and so very sweet. Untouched by the dark side of this business.”

“What’s the dark side?” she asked curiously.

“A lot of the models do drugs. Uppers, downers, cocaine…even heroin.”

Big secret. She knew about drugs, her coke freak fiancé had taught her plenty. Not that she’d ever indulged, she was too smart. Drugs had killed her mother.

“Does Robertson? Is that why she’s so thin?”

“Too thin,” Michel said without responding to her question.

“I wouldn’t mind being thinner.”

“No!” he said forcefully. “You are a peach ready to be split open so the right man can gently suck the virgin nectar.”

She shivered as his arm enclosed her shoulders, long, sensitive fingers gently stroking her skin.

He was moving very slowly, too slowly, for she felt a sudden rush of desire. It was eighteen months since she’d broken up with her fiancé. Eighteen long months since a man had been anywhere near her. She wanted him to touch her breasts without waiting another moment.

She leaned back against the couch, feeling quite light-headed. Michel bent to kiss her neck.

“That’s nice,” she murmured encouragingly, smelling his strong aftershave and the faint whiff of garlic on his breath.

He reached behind her, clicking off the light. Then, without any warning, he rolled on top of her and began pulling at her skirt, attempting to push it above her waist.

“No!” she said sharply, sitting up. He was French—weren’t Frenchmen supposed to be incredible, experienced lovers? Especially
old
Frenchmen. Michel was behaving no differently than any other male. Five minutes of romance—then bingo—he was on an unstop
pable mission to score. She hadn’t waited eighteen months for a fast roll on his couch.

“Something the matter?” he asked, his crinkly blue eyes not quite so kindly.

“I…I don’t want you to do that,” she said, drawing away from him.

He stood up, placing himself directly in front of her. She could see his erection straining his dark gray pants, it was practically in her face.

“Am I going too fast for you?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if there were a certain procedure they had to follow.

“Yes,” she said, averting her eyes.

“Then I apologize,” he said, picking up the champagne bottle and refilling her glass.

She waited patiently. The neck kissing was very pleasant, more would be acceptable.

He rubbed his erection as he sat down beside her. “Drink up,” he said.

“No more, thank you,” she said, thinking that maybe it was time to go home.

“I frighten you, don’t I?” he said, his voice sounding strangely thick.

“No…why would you?”

“Sex…growing up…the unknown…it’s always frightening. I can teach you many things….”

A warning voice sounded in her head. Michel was not the man she’d imagined; it was definitely time for a fast exit. “I think I’ll be going now,” she said, trying to sound casual.

She went to stand up. With one swift, unexpected move he grabbed both her wrists, pinning them together and raising them above her head. Then he lay half on top of her, crushing her body beneath his on the couch.

“What are you
doing
?” she yelled, trying to push him off.

Reaching down the side of the couch, he produced a long silk scarf with which he expertly bound her wrists together.

“Stop it!” she shrieked, truly alarmed.

“Initiation can be harsh,” he said as if speaking to himself. “Later, when you realize what gratification you’ll get from the things I will teach you, you’ll thank me.”

Oh, God! Just like Santino Bonnatti, he was some weirdo sex freak.

Stay calm
.

Don’t panic
.

“Get…off…me…” she said, striving to shift his weight. “If you release me now, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Brigette,” he said in a kindly tone, “surely you must be eager to learn?”

“Stop it, Michel. I’m warning you—”

“Warning me of what,
ma chérie
?” With another swift move he pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her breasts. “Ah…” he sighed. “Just as beautiful as I imagined.”

Then he picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and carried her into the bedroom where he threw her down in the center of his oversized four-poster bed. Before she had a chance to move, his strong hands clawed at her panties, ripping them off.

She attempted to kick him, but he was too fast for her. With a firm grip on her left ankle, he tied it to the bedpost. Then he did the same with her right one.

She began to scream.

“This is the penthouse, my
petite coquette
. The staff have left. There is no one to hear,” he said calmly.

Except for her dress bunched around her waist she was completely naked and exposed.

Oh, God! He was going to rape her, and she was totally helpless. Tears filled her eyes, rolling silently down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he said, his voice gentle. “You have my solemn promise I will not touch you.”

“Why…are…you…doing…this?” she sobbed.

“It is better this way,” he said soothingly. “You look so sweet…your furry little pussy begging for attention, so pink and ready.”

“Let me go,” she begged. “Please…it’s not too late.”

He walked to the door, throwing it open. Robertson entered the room wearing a short Roman toga and nothing else.

“Thank God!” Brigette gasped, thinking rescue was at hand.

“Now,” Michel said, settling into a chair angled so he could comfortably view the bed. “You will learn what real pleasure is all about.”