Sidney Sheldon's Mistress of the Game (20 page)

“Happy birthday, young man. I trust you’re enjoying the party?”

Max turned around. He wiped the bored expression off his face and greeted the two Kruger-Brent board members warmly. He knew that his mother would be watching.

“Of course. My uncle’s gone to a tremendous effort. And you, are you both well?”

Tristram Harwood nodded. “Very well. Business is booming.”

For a sixteen-year-old, the boy sure had an adult way of expressing himself. Such maturity. Such poise. Everyone at the firm knew that Kate Blackwell’s will favored Alexandra’s offspring over Eve’s. But when the time came to vote for a new chairman, all board members would be consulted. If they unanimously voted for Max, it would be difficult for the family to ignore their position. And really, how would a deaf woman ever manage to run one of the biggest multinationals in the world? The very idea was laughable.

Eve watched her son schmoozing with Harwood and Marshall and smiled contentedly. She was seated alone in a corner of the living room, next to the French doors that opened onto the veranda. In a full-length black shift, with an exquisitely hand-painted Venetian mask covering her ravaged face, she sat as still and unnoticed as a black widow spider while the party ebbed and flowed around her.

Good boy. Reel them in.

Tristram Harwood had always been a shameless opportunist. Years ago, he’d tried to seduce Eve on almost the exact same spot where he now stood sucking up to her son. Eve had toyed with him a little, until her grandmother stepped in.

“He’s a married man, Eve, and a vital asset to the company. Leave him bloody well alone!”

Stupid old bitch. As if she, Eve Blackwell, would be interested in a lowly, chinless drone like Tristram Harwood!

Just then, Lexi appeared on the veranda. She had run up from the bottom of the lawn, followed by a ravishing boy. Her flawless cheeks
were flushed from laughter and exertion. Eve felt her heart tighten and a ball of hatred swell in her chest. It was like looking in a twenty-five-year-old mirror.

She looks exactly like me. She’s stolen my beauty. My youth. My power. Everything that was taken from me has been given to that cripple. Alex’s spawn.

“Holy moly,” Logan Marshall whispered to Tristram Harwood. “Somebody’s grown up fast.”

Max looked on as both men turned to admire his cousin. Lexi was indeed looking stunning. The dress his uncle Peter had bought her clung to her teenage body like shrink-wrap. Her hair, worn up for once and held loosely in place with a vintage diamond-encrusted comb that had once belonged to Kate Blackwell, was escaping in sexy tendrils around her beautiful face. Max felt the beginnings of an erection.

I hate her.

Just then, a loud crash from the boathouse caught everyone’s attention.

“What the hell was that?”

A skinny, blond man with incredibly long legs and a long-lens camera slung around his neck was limping toward the harbor. Judging from the hole in the boathouse roof and the debris scattered across the grass, he must have been hiding behind one of the gables and somehow lost his footing.

“Get security!” A grim-faced Peter Templeton emerged from inside. “Someone go after that guy.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” said Lexi as Danny Corretti hurled himself into a waiting motorboat and roared off into the night. “It’s only paparazzi. I’m used to them.”

“Yes, well. You shouldn’t have to be used to them,” said Peter. To Tristram Harwood he added: “These lowlifes follow my daughter around like a pack of hyenas. It’s a disgrace.”

Max’s eyes were glued to Lexi.

A disgrace? Bullshit. She’s loving every second of it.

A liveried butler emerged from the living room.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is served.”

Robbie sat next to his godfather, Barney Hunt.

Barney asked: “So, are you going to play for us tonight? A live performance from the great Robert Templeton?”

Robbie spooned another meltingly good piece of Black Forest chocolate cake into his mouth and shook his head firmly.

“Uh-uh. No way. I’m off duty. Anyway, Dad hasn’t asked me. He’s got the entire evening choreographed down to a tee. I wouldn’t want to upset him any more than I do already. You know, by existing.”

It was said in jest, but Barney Hunt picked up the undertone of sadness.

“Come on. Your father loves you. He just…”

“…wishes I weren’t gay. I know.”

Lisa Babbington, one of Lexi’s most beautiful girlfriends, caught Robbie’s eye and winked at him lasciviously from two tables away. Clearly, the boy sitting beside her, Grady Jones, was failing to float her boat.

“Looks like your dad isn’t the only one.” Barney laughed. “Have you had much time alone with your sister yet?”

Robbie looked frustrated. “No. Every time I get near her, she’s being whisked off to dance or for photographs. I have to fly back to Paris in the morning, but I can’t seem to pin her down.”

Barney glanced over at the top table. Lexi’s place was empty.

“Hmm. I see what you mean.”

On the floor of the boathouse, Lexi lay beneath Christian Harle trying not to feel disappointed.

Is this it? Is this really what I waited two whole years for?

She’d expected…what had she expected, exactly? Pain. That’s what all the books said. A sharp pain, followed by something momentous, some life-changing, mind-altering feeling of bliss that she would remember for the rest of her life. This was Christian Harle, after all.
Christian Harle!
The biggest catch in Exeter, the boy who had filled Lexi’s days and consumed her nights since she was fourteen years old.

After Lexi’s kidnapping, the psychiatrists had told Peter that the trauma of sexual abuse would stay with her forever. “She may marry. She may have children. But it’s unrealistic to expect her sexual relationships to develop normally.” Once again, however, they had underestimated Lexi’s willpower.

She
would
enjoy sex.

She
must
.

She would not give the pig another victory.

So why was sleeping with Christian such a terrible letdown?

Still inside her, Christian propped himself up on his forearms so
Lexi could read his lips. Sweat was dripping from his forehead. His cheeks were flushed beet red. He did not look his best.

“Is that good, baby?”

Dear God. Is he talking to me? What is this, twenty questions? Why isn’t the earth moving?

Lexi nodded, pulling him back down on top of her. She wriggled around, the way she’d seem Pamela Anderson do it with Tommy Lee on the Internet, and tried to breathe more heavily. Christian had clearly learned his technique from a different sex tape. He started doing some sort of strange, circular motion inside her, like someone vacuuming the interior of a car and wanting to make sure he got his nozzle into every nook and cranny.

At least he’s thorough. Thoroughness is an underrated attribute in a man. One can never be too thorough, that’s what my old nanny used to say. I wonder how Mrs. Carter’s doing these days?

Above Christian’s head was the hole in the roof where the paparazzo had fallen earlier.

Poor man. I hope he’s okay.

Lexi stared up at the stars. She felt the muscles in Christian’s butt and stomach tighten, then relax. The warm wetness between her legs gave her a brief feeling of triumph.
Good-bye, virginity! I won’t miss you.
A few seconds later, the warm glow faded. Lexi started shaking.

“What’s the matter?” Christian panted. “Hey, are you okay?”

He was looking at her, talking to her. But Lexi couldn’t read his lips or see the concern on his face. All she saw was a pig mask.

One word and I’ll slit your throat.

She screamed.

Christian Harle started to panic. Lexi’s cries were unearthly and getting louder. She wouldn’t stop screaming.

What’s wrong with her? One minute she’s all over me, squirming around like a fish on a hook. The next she’s acting like I raped her.

“Stop it, Lex. Please! Someone’ll hear.”

Not knowing what else to do, he slapped Lexi hard across the face.

Miraculously, it worked. The screams stopped. Lexi watched, dazed, as the pig mask faded away. She found herself looking deeply into Christian Harle’s terrified eyes.

You’re just a boy. A kid. You’re as lost and scared as I am.

What did I ever see in you?

She got to her feet, silently straightened her dress, and walked back to the house.

Peter looked worried. “Where have you been? Rachel says you went off to the ladies’ room and never came back.”

Lexi signed angrily: “I went for a walk. I needed some air, that’s all. Rachel worries too much.”

“Yes, well. The dancing’s about to start. I thought it’d be nice if you and Max kicked things off.”

Lexi looked at him incredulously. “Me and Max?”

“You are the joint hosts, after all.”

“He’s a freak.”

“Lexi, come on now. He’s your cousin.”

“No. No way. Why can’t I dance with Robbie? He’s my brother.”

Not for the first time, Peter was glad that so few people understood sign language. Lexi could be incredibly rude when she wanted to be, not to mention stubborn. He tried to make excuses for her. Her deafness must be horribly frustrating. Even so, it embarrassed him at times.

“Robbie’s playing piano. Uncle Barney roped him into it. Look, Max is coming over now. I’m warning you, Lexi, don’t make a scene.”

So many bodies in a confined space had made the house stiflingly hot. Max had removed his tie and jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. With his tanned skin and jet-black hair, he reminded Lexi of a pirate.

All he needs is the cutlass between his teeth.

“Would you like to dance?” He spoke deliberately slowly, as if Lexi were incapable of comprehending ordinary speech. He knew how much it irritated her, and was delighted to see the flash of anger in her eyes as he led her onto the floor. At a nod from Peter, Robbie began playing, Strauss’s “Blue Danube Waltz.”

Lexi was aware of hundreds of eyes watching them as Max guided her expertly around the room. She disliked dancing. Letting a man lead went against her nature anyway. Being deaf and unable to hear the music meant she had to place even more trust in her partner than other girls did. Lexi did not trust Max Webster as far as she could spit.

“Just relax. Lean into me.”

He overenunciated every word.

Lexi thought:
I loathe you
. Pressed against him, she breathed in the scent of his body. He smelled of sweat and aftershave. She was horrified
to find herself feeling aroused.
Why didn’t Christian Harle turn me on like this? What’s wrong with me?

The waltz ended. Robbie began playing another, and couples started drifting onto the dance floor. Lexi made as if to leave, but Max pulled her back.

“One more dance.”

It was not a request. It was a command. Lexi contemplated storming off, but they were already moving, swept up in the rhythm of the waltz. Max spun her around so she could read his lips.

“I know what you’ve been up to.”

Lexi ignored him

“You reek of sex.”

The words were so unexpected, at first she thought she’d misread what he said.

“What?”

“So, who was he? Anyone I know?”

This time there was no mistaking him. The sneer on Max’s face spoke a thousand words.

“Why don’t I take a guess? Christian Harle. Am I warm? Everyone knows you’ve had the hots for that Neanderthal since seventh grade.”

Lexi blushed furiously.
Did everybody know? How?

“Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. I guess it could’ve been anyone, right? You’re probably as much of a slut as your mother was.”

How dare he talk about my mother!
Lexi felt sick. Violated. She tried to wriggle free but Max’s grip was like iron. She could feel the friction burns forming on her wrists.

“Not so high-and-mighty now, are we?” Max taunted her. “What’s it worth for me not to tell your doting daddy what his princess has been doing tonight? Or should I say
who
she’s been doing? How about we go somewhere quiet, you suck my dick like a good little girl, and I’ll forget I know anything?”

Max laughed, spinning Lexi around and around till she felt nauseous. Someone tapped her on the back. It was one of her girlfriends, Donna Mastroni.

Thank God!

“Lexi, some guy’s here to see you. He says it’s important. Security stopped him at the gate, but he won’t leave.”

With Donna standing there, Max had no option but to let Lexi go.

With a parting look of purest hatred, Lexi followed Donna into the night.

The man was short and sallow-skinned. In his midfifties, he wore a cheap, shiny blue suit. His shoes were worn and scuffed with age. He introduced himself as Tommy King and handed Lexi a ratty-looking business card with visible thumb smudges at the corner.

KING & ASSOCIATES

Investigations

(212) 965–1165

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Lexi whispered: “We can’t talk here. Far too dangerous.”

Tommy King followed her to a secluded corner of the grounds, far from the prying eyes of the security guards.

“Can you do the job?”

Tommy King smiled, revealing a crooked row of teeth more gold than enamel.

“I can do the job, princess. But it might take a while. You haven’t given me much to go on.”

Lexi cut to the chase.

“How much?”

“A hundred bucks a day. We bill monthly. You get a progress report at the end of each month, photographs, any other material we’ve managed to dig up. Expenses are extra.”

Lexi nodded.

“I’ll need a deposit to get started. Seven hundred plus five hundred for expenses.”

“You can have five hundred today. No more. I’ll pay you the rest when I get your first report.”