The A-List Collection: Hollywood Sinners / Wicked Ambition / Temptation Island. Victoria Fox
father has always done what is best for you.’ Alberto leaned closer. ‘He wanted to try and make up for what happened–I know that, I was witness to it. Maybe he has gone too far, it is possible. After your mother died, we all—’ ‘Do you think he still loves me?’ she asked.
‘St Louis?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am not best placed to judge it,’ said Alberto honestly. ‘You know how I feel.’
Elisabeth swigged her drink. She looked at him kindly, like she was seeing him for the first time. ‘Funny how you’re the only person who understands,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been there. I’ve never said so before, but I appreciate it.’
His voice was a whisper. ‘I had to be.’
‘No, you didn’t. You always cared for my mom, that’s why you care for me. She’d like that.’
‘Perhaps.’
A pause. ‘I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t talk to me any more, not properly, not like before. I’ve never seen Robert like it. He was always so there, you know; so with you. Now it’s like he’s on a different planet most of the time.’
‘St Louis does love you.’ It pained him to say it.
Her voice cracked. ‘So what’s changed?’
Alberto didn’t say anything.
Her eyes switched to his. ‘Do you think he’s having an affair?’
Leaning in close, Alberto placed a hand on her knee. On each he wore several chunky gold signet rings, one which cloistered an almond-sized emerald jewel. Elisabeth shivered inwardly when she imagined what those hands might be capable of–Alberto had been in Vegas when the mob ruled town.
‘I cannot answer that.’
‘I wish I could.’
He kept his hand where it was. ‘What I do know is this: St Louis is crazy. You are beautiful, Elisabeth. You are strong and you fight and you are good.’
Elisabeth’s heart swelled. She met Alberto’s eyes and fell into their rich dark pools. Suddenly she felt faint. The potency of his ardour was dizzying.
She pushed him away. ‘Bellini, you mustn’t.’ But she had to force the words out. ‘There are people here who will talk.’
‘Let them.’
His eyes held hers for what felt like an eternity.
‘Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She almost retracted it–she might have had he given her any opportunity.
‘You go,’ he said hoarsely. She thought she saw his hands shaking. ‘I will follow.’
Fifty storeys up in his private suite, Alberto was like a man possessed. Pushing Elisabeth hard against the wall, he ripped open the front of her gown with his bare hands, sucking at her neck, her earlobe, mauling her skin with his huge paws. It was the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to her in her whole entire life.
Shrouded in a cloak of darkness, his lips dived to her breasts, sucking hard on their peaks. She fumbled to turn on the light, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, but he restrained her arms behind her back. He felt different from Robert: his tongue drier and more abrasive, like a cat’s.
‘Elisabeth, my sweet Elisabeth,’ he moaned, his voice smothered by the task. He muttered something in Italian then he was kissing her on the mouth. He took his time exploring, grinding against her, forcing a knee between her legs to bring her apart.
She tore off the rest of her dress and sent it flying across the room, a white ribbon in the pitch. Instantly he was on his knees, a shock of hair gleaming in the moonlight, bright as a swan. Using both thumbs to open her up, his tongue darted to find her wetness. Elisabeth hooked a leg over his shoulder and pulled him further in, little sounds escaping her mouth as he feasted with growing enthusiasm. As the pleasure mounted, she reached down and took his face in her hands.
‘Wait,’ she breathed, all of her crying out for more, ‘not yet.’
With shaking fingers she released the catch on her diamond necklace, the one Robert had given her. She held the gems up a moment, their bright lights winking in the darkness. Then she dropped them to the floor.
Alberto took her hands and led her to the bed, laying her down and kissing her over and over. She heard him undress, the buckle of his trousers; the shiver of material as he shrugged off his shirt. Silently he mounted her. She groped for his hardness, a quick flash of disappointment that he had none of Robert’s size, and slowly began to stroke, guiding him in. It was as if she were looking down at herself from above, as if none of this was actually happening. This is Alberto Bellini. A man older than your father. But her heart was racing and her head was swimming and her body was all aflame.
When he entered her she screamed out loud. Her nails raked lines down his back. As he moved on top, beginning the climb, she tightened her legs around his waist and surrendered herself to the inevitable. Tonight she belonged to another man. And there was nothing Robert St Louis could do about it.
Santa Barbara
The happy couple were married on a rugged bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Press swarmed across the coastline like ants, not just to catch Danielle and George Roman but the host of stars they had invited to celebrate their day.
‘I’m delighted you could both come,’ said Danielle after the ceremony, kissing Lana and Cole on both cheeks. The fashion designer was resplendent in her ivory fishtail wedding gown, a great satin meringue studded with rhinestone and crystal.
Lana smiled. ‘It was really beautiful,’ she said. The bluff gave on to the wide azure water that glittered in the late-November sunshine. It was the perfect spot.
‘It reminds me of our wedding day,’ observed Cole, slickly hooking an arm round his wife’s waist.
Lana didn’t see why: their wedding three years before had been an extravagant affair held at a sixteenth-century castle in Europe. This had a much simpler charm about it.
However, the observation pleased Danielle, who clasped her hands together with glee.
Lana plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘I think it’s quite different,’ she said. Cole shot her a look.
‘It’s where George proposed,’ trilled Danielle, ‘a year ago today.’ On cue her much older husband joined her. He had a caddish forties look about him, a handsome, clean-cut movie producer with the Midas touch. George had been married when they’d met and he’d left his first wife, one of the most esteemed actresses of her generation, in a hive of controversy.
‘Darling,’ he crooned, ‘we’re needed for photographs.’
You could say that, thought Lana, looking across at the gathered press. It was bizarre to invite so many strangers to such a private day–but then she’d done it, hadn’t she? And why not? Her wedding to Cole had been a work engagement, there had been no intimacy to compromise.
A photographer swooped in and snapped the four of them together.
‘Please excuse us,’ said Danielle graciously, taking her husband’s hand. ‘Oh, look, there’s Kate!’
‘Darling …’ George gave Cole a ‘What are women like?’ look and trailed after her. Cole gave a weird sort of salute to indicate he knew exactly what women were like and laughed too loudly.
‘Kate looks well,’ observed Lana, watching Danielle drift over to greet Kate diLaurentis and her husband. The women were working together on a new fashion collection.
Cole