Temptation Island. Victoria Fox
as ever, not to notice.
‘I gotta go, baby,’ said her father, in a rich Texan drawl which years in LA hadn’t completely washed out. He ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘Be good, OK?’
‘Always am,’ she replied.
Tom raised an eyebrow. Once upon a time that line might have worked, but given her recent disgrace it didn’t say a great deal.
‘Where’s Mom?’
‘Out.’
‘Isn’t she going with you?’
Tom made a non-committal gesture. ‘She’s got a session with Lindy.’
Lindy was her mother’s therapist. Sherilyn had been seeing her since the couple discovered—shortly after Aurora was born—that they were unable to have any more children. Aurora found her continued reliance on Lindy and whatever psychobabble she regurgitated a touch offensive. Wasn’t Aurora enough? She was enough for Tom.
‘When’s she back?’ Aurora was pleased at the thought of an afternoon alone in the mansion. Maybe she could invite Farrah round, see if she had goodies to share. And maybe Boy-Band-Christian had an older brother.
Tom didn’t know. It amazed her how career-wise her parents did everything together, but when it came to personal stuff they seemed to live practically apart.
‘I mean it,’ Tom said, trying his best to be stern. ‘Behave.’
Aurora gave him her most winning smile. ‘I’ll be good, Daddy,’ she said innocently.
Tom wasn’t convinced, and who could blame him? Two months back Aurora had passed out at the wheel of her vehicle with a cocktail of drugs in her system. She could have died. The cops had arrived at the scene, realised the state she was in and taken her immediately to hospital, where she’d had her stomach pumped and been sick into a tray until her insides ached. Then came the inevitable arrest—and that photo. It had been splashed across the world’s media: little Aurora Nash, once the bouncing blonde baby of two of America’s most famous, most conservative and most clean-living country and western stars, was, now, at fifteen, a bleary-eyed mess, doped up on who knew what and, so it was widely reported, moments from death. But it was the attitude that seemed to shock people: the hard-edged glare in her eyes, the been-there-done-it-all weariness so at odds with her youth.
The Ferrari had been trashed, its hood concertinaed like an accordion. At first Tom and Sherilyn had been angry—well, as angry as they’d ever be. She’d been grounded for a week, but with Jenna’s help had sneaked out on the second night. They never noticed. Tom had bought her a replacement car, though she’d had to wait a month—and she still wasn’t permitted by the authorities to drive. Who knew how long she’d be without a ride! She was going out of her head.
‘This has got to change,’ Sherilyn had told her, but more with sympathy than rage. Sometimes she wished her mom had more balls. ‘Perhaps you should come see Lindy.’
God! Seeing Lindy was a fate worse than death. She’d probably make them have mother/daughter sessions or something equally horrific. No, she’d handle this herself in the same way she always had: sweet smile, big eyes, promises to be good. Bingo.
‘See you later, kiddo,’ said Tom now, bending to kiss her cheek.
‘See ya, Dad.’
After he’d gone, Aurora unclasped her bikini top and lay back down, slipping her earphones back in and letting her mind wander back to the sexy guitarist and the pool.
The next thing she knew, it was cold. Shit—she must have fallen asleep. The sun was fading and the temperature had dropped. How long had she been out?
She checked the time: almost seven.
Gathering her things, she padded through the vast sliding doors and into the Nash/Rose mansion. It was a huge ranch-style place, with a mix of LA grandeur and Tom’s more earthy Texan roots. She grabbed herself a glass of lemonade from the refrigerator. Tom’s avocado facemasks littered the vegetable compartment.
The second the door shut, she jumped.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
A man—at a guess he was only a year or two older than her—was standing in the doorway, arms laden with brown grocery bags. He was dark-skinned and dark-haired, short, with green eyes and a young, smooth-skinned face. He looked as startled as she did.
Aurora became aware that she was topless. She folded her arms across her breasts, but could see the effect her nakedness had already had on him. The boy’s cheeks were aflame.
‘Er … I am … My mother is …’ His English was bad. Distantly Aurora remembered the Mexican housekeeper her parents had hired recently.
‘You’re Julieta’s son?’
‘Yes,’ he said, relieved, but still not knowing where to look. ‘She not well today … I come to help … The lady boss says is fine …’
‘You’ve spoken to my mother?’ Aurora demanded. She let her hands drop as she sipped the lemonade. It was cool inside, the air con made it so, and she felt her nipples stiffen.
The boy nodded swiftly. He dumped the bags on the central island.
‘I will leave. You are busy …’
‘You’re not going to help me tidy these things away?’ Aurora asked, gesturing at the groceries. ‘I thought you’d come to help.’
He nodded. She’d never seen a blush under such dark skin before. He was five-six at a push, not the calibre of man she would normally go for, but something about him was attractive and she felt a stirring ripple through her. She wondered if he was a virgin.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Sebastian.’
‘Well, Sebastian,’ Aurora said, setting her glass down and slinking round the counter. Her bikini briefs were tiny and she leaned over the bags, pushing her ass out for him to admire. ‘Shall I show you exactly where I want you to … put things?’
He rustled pointlessly with the bags.
Aurora smiled, lifted herself up on to the counter and crossed her legs. His eyes were level with her breasts. ‘Do you play pool?’ she asked.
The boy gulped, gaze darting to the water outside.
‘Not that sort of pool,’ Aurora clarified, though she imagined they could have several entertaining games out there as well. Instead, she took his hand. He didn’t object. She drew it to her right breast and felt his fingers cup tentatively round the soft flesh. His eyes were transfixed on her body, his mouth slightly open, in fear, desire or disbelief it was impossible to say. When she drew her own hand away, his remained. They stayed like that for several moments, the groceries between them. Sebastian’s touch became firmer, beginning to knead, before his other hand seized the second breast and then he was pushing them together, squeezing and releasing. Abruptly he leaned in, took one of their peaks between his lips and sucked.
‘Come,’ she told him, slipping off the counter and leading Sebastian through to an adjacent games room. Centre stage was a magnificent green-felt pool table, the triangle of gleaming balls laid out in perfect arrangement and two slim wooden cues down each side.
Aurora settled on the edge of the table, enjoying the smooth, glossy veneer beneath her bare thighs. ‘Strip,’ she told him. When he looked confused, she added more softly, ‘Take your clothes off.’
Fumbling, Sebastian removed his T-shirt, unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his jeans. He had a broad chest, muscular, and stocky, virtually hairless legs. The hard-on visible through his underwear was modest, but sufficient. Aurora raised an eyebrow. He peeled them down and over his ankles, kicking them to one side.
She appraised his dick. It was rock-hard and reasonable in length, his balls ripe and buoyant in a nest of dense black hair. Slowly