Double Lucky (71 page)

“You
gotta
be shittin' me,” he exclaimed.

“Now, why would I do that?” she asked innocently.

“Jeez!” he said, his mind taking off in many different directions. “Thought I recognized the house. I must've been here a couple of times. Where's Lucky and Lennie?”

“Lucky's in Vegas. Lennie's shooting a movie,” Max said, slightly breathless because this was Billy Melina, and along with Johnny Depp and Robert Pattinson, he was one of her favorites. She'd harbored a secret crush for months, ever since seeing his latest movie.

“Don't tell me this is
your
party?” Billy said, gesturing up toward the distant house where music was blaring and lights were flashing. Someone had added fireworks to the mix, so every few minutes the sky lit up and the noise was out of control.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she admitted. “It's a total bad scene, right?”

“Let me get this straight,” Billy said, somewhat perplexed. “So even though it's your party, you're down on the beach because…?”

“'Cause I just told you—it's a freaking nightmare,” she said with a helpless shrug. “I made a daring escape. Can you blame me?”

“Hmm…” he said, giving her a long quizzical look. “Do Mommy and Daddy know you're entertaining?”

“What do
you
think?” she replied, gazing directly into his electric blue eyes.

“I'm taking a wild guess an' saying they don't.”

“And you're
so
not about to tell them, are you?”

“Hey,” he said with a casual shrug. “We're hardly on speaking terms, what with Venus bad-mouthing me big-time.”

“Oh yes,” Max said tartly. “Auntie Venus.”

“Shit!” Billy mock-groaned. “Don't say that, you're makin' me feel old.”

“You
are
old, aren't you?” she said boldly.

“Thirty, chicken. An' you?”

“Eighteen,” she answered, which wasn't
such
a huge lie, because there were only three more days to go.

They exchanged a long look, one that sent shivers up and down her spine.

Was this really happening?

Yes. Absolutely.

“Hey,” he said, breaking the look. “Wanna take a walk?”

She nodded. Like it was Billy Melina; there was no way she'd turn
him
down.

They started strolling along the sand, close to the shoreline, and after a while, Billy began to talk. The more he talked, the more she found herself really liking him. He told her about the movie he was shooting and a whole load of interesting and funny stories to do with the cast and crew. Soon she began telling him about her plans to move to New York and start a new life away from her parents, and the cool thing was that he actually listened to her, told her it sounded like a great move to make and that she should definitely do it.

Yes, he was way hotter offscreen than on. In the past she'd seen him from afar several times with Venus, and she vaguely remembered watching him laughing and joking with Lucky and Lennie at the opening of The Keys. He'd never taken any notice of her before, but this time was different. This time they were two people with an awesome electric current buzzing between them.

She wondered if he could feel it too.

Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to touch him, feel his skin against hers, experience everything he had to offer.

Oh God! Could this be it? Had she finally met The One?

Billy Melina.

Soon-to-be ex of her mom's best friend.

Red-hot movie star.

What better way to lose her virginity?

*   *   *

Sometimes Frankie got into fights. He had his enemies. A club promoter he'd butted heads with in the past was coming on to Willow and her naked nymphs in the pool, calling them names and generally being obnoxious.

Sitting in a lounge chair with a giggly and very stoned Cookie, Frankie felt perfectly content until Cookie hissed in his ear, “Do something!”

So he did, and almost got coldcocked for his trouble.

“Goddammit!” he exclaimed, nursing his jaw. When had he become the protector of dykes? “That prick could've knocked my fuckin' teeth out.”

“Well, he didn't,” said an unconcerned Cookie as “that prick” was escorted off the premises by two macho gay guys who worshiped Willow Price and would do anything for her.

“Where were they when I needed them?” Frankie grumbled.

“Never mind,” Cookie cooed, getting up and leading him into the house. “Let's go do some more blow. You know that'll make you feel
way
better.”

It was almost four
A.M.
and the party was starting to wind down. There were only a few stragglers left in the living room. Harry was around, helping the deejay pack up.

Cookie had no clue where Max was, and she didn't care. It was time for Frankie to give it up, and not only the cocaine.

Cookie was one very happy camper.

*   *   *

“Maybe we should get back up to the house?” Billy suggested after a while.

“Sure,” Max said, totally aware that something powerful was going on between them, an unstoppable attraction.

“Or…” He moved toward her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “We could stay here.”

Yes, he senses it too! Oh crap!

She leaned a touch closer to him. “Maybe we
should
stay here,” she managed.

“Maybe you're right,” he countered.

Then, before she could think of anything else to say, his lips descended on hers, insistent and strong.

She kissed him back, shudders of excitement racing through her body, an excitement so intense that she couldn't wait to rip her clothes off, or have him do it for her.

After a few moments he began unknotting her shirt, pulling it off her, then touching her breasts with his fingertips, pushing them together before bending his head to suck ever so slowly on each nipple.

“Billy,” she murmured, rubbing her hand between his legs, stroking him the way Ace liked her to do—although he wasn't Ace, with whom she'd only gone so far. He was Billy Melina, movie star, friend of her parents, soon-to-be ex-husband of Venus.

She didn't care. She didn't care about anything except having him close to her.

Hurriedly, he ripped off his T-shirt and threw it down on the sand, then somehow he maneuvered her on top of it and he lay on top of her. Within minutes they were both naked and enthralled with each other.

Billy was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be making this move with Lucky's daughter. If Venus ever found out, she'd go nuts. But jeez, he hadn't felt this way since the first time he'd had sex with his high school girlfriend. There was something very special about Max. She wasn't just another casual pickup.

Oh yeah, on one hand he knew being with her would cause nothing but trouble.

On the other hand, he didn't give a flying fuck.

Max felt the same way as she gave in to the feelings that were completely overpowering her. This was it. This was the man she'd been saving herself for, and as far as she was concerned, nothing was going to stop the inevitable, and to hell with the consequences.

He began to make love to her, slowly, surely, taking it easy.

She closed her eyes and fell into his rhythm.

He smells so good,
she thought.
Like a strong, fragrant soap mixed with his masculine body smell.

She smells like sweet sin,
he thought.
And it's a smell that turns me on to the highest degree.

He has a body to die for.

She has the kind of body I dream about.

Smooth skin.

Taut surfaces.

Erect nipples.

Hers—deep rose.

His—black like the night.

I think I'm in love.

I think I'm in lust.

First time.

Tactile touches.

A rush of pure sweat.

An avalanche of desire.

Plunging into heaven.

Going all the way.

Feeling his power.

Feeling her acceptance.

Working together.

So gentle.

So soft.

And hard.

Breathless.

Wow!

Amazing.

Forbidden fruit.

Barely ripe.

Heady.

Intoxicating.

Falling into ecstasy.

And finally

Together.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Arriving back in New York, Armand was escorted through security by an airport representative, then ushered to a limousine parked at a private entrance where Fouad was waiting. Most times he accompanied Armand to Akramshar, but this time Armand had chosen to go alone.

Before Fouad could say a word, Armand demanded to know what was happening with The Keys.

Typical Armand
, thought Fouad.
No time for pleasantries; straight to business.

“We have a meeting in Vegas tomorrow,” Fouad said, clearing his throat. “It was not easy arranging it. As I told you before, according to her lawyer, this Santangelo woman is not interested in selling, so I informed him that we were thinking of perhaps financing future projects she might be open to. Her lawyer seemed to entertain the thought of unlimited investment capitol.”

“For God's sake!” Armand snorted derisively. “Why did you say that?”

“It was the only way I could arrange a meeting,” Fouad explained.

“Such a fool,” Armand muttered.

“In the meantime I had a dossier compiled on Lucky Santangelo,” Fouad said, handing Armand a thick manila envelope. “I thought you might find it interesting. I know I did.”

“‘Interesting,'” Armand sneered. “Show me an interesting woman and I will show
you
a freak of nature.”

“She is not your average woman,” Fouad said evenly. “I would read it if I were you.”

“Unfortunately for you, you're
not
me,” Armand replied with a note of disdain, tossing the envelope on the floor of the limo.

Fouad wasn't surprised. Over the past few months, Armand had become even more arrogant and difficult. Fouad realized that this was due to Armand's escalating use of cocaine, and it worried him. At first Armand had used it as a recreational drug, but lately it seemed he needed it all the time.

Fouad deeply disapproved of any kind of drug use, but when he'd tried to tell Armand that the habit he'd acquired was turning into an out-of-control addiction, Armand had thrown one of his angry screaming fits.

There was a time Fouad had enjoyed working with Armand, but ever since Fouad had gotten married and created a life for himself, Armand had treated him less like an equal and more like an employee. Fouad did not like it. Armand continuously disrespected him, it was as simple as that.

“Your mother wishes to speak with you,” Fouad said, keeping his expression impartial, because he knew Peggy, Armand's mother, was the only woman on Earth that Armand felt he could not control.

“Did you not tell her I was away?” Armand said, his voice a hostile missile.

“She knows that,” Fouad answered quietly. “She is well aware of the date you visit our country each year.”

“Your point?”

“She asked that you call her immediately upon your return.”

Armand scowled. But he took out his cell phone and made the call anyway.

*   *   *

Since the death of her husband, Sidney, Peggy Dunn was beginning to realize that without a rich husband by her side, she was just another lonely Manhattan widow. At first her friends had rallied, making sure that she was still included in dinner dates, events, and parties. But as the months drifted past, she began to notice that the calls became less and less frequent, until she was fortunate to receive one dinner invitation a month. One a month! For a woman who was used to going out five nights a week, this was shocking. She was sixty years old, a decade younger than Raquel Welch, and, like Raquel, she was still an attractive woman. Not as beautiful as the eighteen-year-old girl King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan had plucked from the chorus of a Vegas show and whisked back to Akramshar to become his fifth wife, but beautiful all the same. Thanks to one of the best colorists in New York, her hair was still flaming red. Her skin, smooth and pampered from weekly facials and twice-a-week massages, was still impeccable. Her body was passable, in spite of an extra ten pounds she couldn't seem to lose.

When Sidney died, she had expected to meet someone else, but that hadn't happened, and being alone did not suit her.

She was angry at her only child, Armand, a man who had made quite a name for himself in business—and only because of the money the king had given him on his twenty-first birthday, plus Sidney's counsel and advice about how to invest it wisely.

Armand was a billionaire simply because of the two men in her life. He had
her
to thank for his good fortune. And how had he repaid her? Not in any way she could see. When Sidney was alive, the three of them had dined together every few weeks, but since Sidney's unfortunate demise she'd hardly seen her son, and every time she called him, he seemed to come up with a work-related excuse. Furthermore, Armand had never married, and therefore had no children. At forty-two years old, he was still single.

Peggy did not think it was right that he had not presented her with grandchildren. For a while she and Sidney had feared he might be gay, but then they'd run into him at various events around town and he'd always had a pretty girl on his arm, so that had assuaged their fears.