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  Why didn’t I do it? she thought. Why didn’t I tell him to take a hike the first time I suspected he was being unfaithful?

  Because you’re a pushover.

  No. I simply believe in second chances.

  And third ones and fourth ones . . . Richard hadn’t known when to quit.

  They’d met when he’d directed her in her third movie. Although by that time she was a star, she was still impressed at meeting the great Richard Barry—a man with quite a reputation. He’d moved in on her immediately. She was twenty-four and by Hollywood standards a total innocent. He was forty-six and difficult. Their wedding at her agent’s house in Malibu made headline news, with helicopters hovering overhead and paparazzi lurking in the trees. It was a media circus, which pleased neither of them. The divorce had been even worse.

  “We’re going to Tetou tonight,” Nikki announced. “I hear the bouillabaisse is to die for.”

  Lara shook her head. “I can’t. I have lines to learn and sleep to get, otherwise I’ll resemble an old hag in the morning.”

  Nikki raised a disbelieving eyebrow. The irritating thing was that Lara acted as if she looked like any other mere mortal, even though she was certainly the most beautiful woman Nikki had ever seen. “You’re coming,” Nikki said determinedly. “I’ve already checked—you have a late call tomorrow. It’s about time you forgot about this damn movie and had some fun.”

  “Fun—what’s that?” Lara said innocently.

  “Exactly how long is it since you’ve gotten laid?” Nikki asked, cocking her head to one side.

  “Too long,” Lara muttered.

  “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, y’know,” Nikki offered. “How about a one-nighter? There’s some hot-looking guys on the crew.”

  “Not my style,” Lara said softly.

  “You gotta have a man’s mentality,” Nikki said, with a knowing wink. “Fuck and run. / used to—before I married again.”

  Richard was Nikki’s second husband. She’d wed her first—Sheldon Weston—when she was sixteen and he was thirty-eight. “I was searching for a father figure,” she often joked. “And I got stuck with an uptight shrink.” They had a fifteen-year-old daughter, Summer, who lived in Chicago with her dad.

  “You’re different,” Lara said. “You can do that and get away with it. I can’t. It has to be a committed relationship, or I’m not interested.”

  “Whatever,” Nikki replied vaguely, not understanding at all. “But you’re definitely coming tonight.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  JOEY LORENZO BURST INTO MADELAINE Francis’ Madison Avenue office as if he had every right to be there, even though he didn’t have an appointment and hadn’t seen her in six years.

  An angry secretary chased after him, her ample hips encased in a too-short miniskirt.

  “What the hell is going on—” Madelaine began to say. Then her bleak eyes, hidden beneath tinted prescription glasses, recognized Joey, and she quickly waved her secretary away. “It’s all right, Stella,” she said with a weary sigh. “I’ll handle this.”

  “But, Miss Francis,” Stella said, full of outrage, “he told me to”—she hesitated for a moment, two bright red blobs coloring her chubby cheeks—“the F word off.”

  “Thank you, Stella,” Madelaine said, dismissing her. “You’re excused.”

  Still glaring at Joey, Stella backed out of the well-appointed office, while he threw himself into an expensive leather chair opposite Madelaine’s large antique desk, draping his long, jean-clad legs over the arm.

  “I’m back,” he said, with an insolent grin.

  “So I see,” said Madelaine, shifting uncomfortably, wondering what wrong deed she’d committed to have Joey Lorenzo reappear in her well-ordered life.

  Six years ago they’d been living together—the forty-eight-year-old agent and the twenty-four-year-old actor. Ari unlikely combination, but for eight months it had worked. Then one night she’d arrived home to find Joey gone, along with seven thousand dollars in cash she’d kept in her safe.

  Now she was fifty-four and he was thirty and the bastard was back.

  “What do you want?” she asked, her voice a tight coil of buried anger.

  “You’re pissed, aren’t you?” Joey said, nonchalantly, as if he’d merely popped out for cigarettes and a beer. “Really pissed.”

  “Yes, Joey, I am,” she said, removing her tortoiseshell glasses and staring at him bitterly. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Guess you must have wondered what happened to me,” he mumbled.

  “Yes, I wondered—about you and about my money.”

  “Oh, yeah, your money,” he said, groping in the pocket of his weathered leather jacket and producing a packet of hundred-dollar bills neatly held by a rubber band. “Here’s three thou. I’ll get the rest to you in a coupla weeks.”

  She couldn’t believe he was returning her money. It wasn’t all of it, but three thousand dollars was a start, and more than she’d ever expected to see again. She continued staring at him. Six years had done him nothing but favors—he was more handsome than ever. His hair, thick and black, touched the back of his collar—too long, but it didn’t matter. His body was nicely muscled, and she could detect a washboard stomach. He had grown into a man, with knowing black eyes, full, sensual lips and a smile that would melt stronger women than she. She remembered that smile. She also remembered his cock, even though she tried not to. Perfect. Like the rest of him.

  Shame he was a thieving sonofabitch.

  “What do you want?” she repeated, keeping her voice on the hard side, knowing time had not been as good to her as it had to him. Her reddish hair was flecked with gray. Lines and wrinkles abounded. And she’d put on fifteen pounds of disgusting fat.

  “Here’s the thing,” Joey said, fixing her with his intense eyes, seeing right through her. “Before I took off, you’d gotten me two movie roles.”

  “That’s right,” she said coldly. “Your career was just about to happen. You ran out on that, too.”

  “Somethin’ went down that was outta my control,” he said restlessly.

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of begging for an explanation. “I don’t care, Joey,” she said, shuffling a stack of papers on her messy desk. “If you return the rest of my money, we’ll leave it at that.” She paused a moment, remembering the first time he’d walked into her office—a cocky kid from the Midwest, with way too much attitude. She’d seen the potential and decided to help him. There’d followed eight months of craziness and great sex. Eight months she’d never forget.

  “I didn’t go to the police,” she said slowly, “even though it’s what I should’ve done.”

  He nodded, his face sincere, the faint stubble on his chin adding to his sexy look. “Y’know, Maddy,” he said, “I wouldn’t’ve taken your cash unless it was an emergency.”

  She was silent. How many times could she ask him what he wanted from her now? Obviously it wasn’t money.

  He broke the silence, placing his hands on her desk. Long, artistic fingers, pianist’s fingers. She noticed his nails were manicured, which surprised her, considering Joey had always favored the macho look. “I need to get back into the business,” he said. “An’ you’re the person can do it for me.”

  She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “Here’s what I’d like,” he continued. “Another movie. Not TV. I’m not into TV. Fuck that ER shit. I gotta be back on the big screen.”

  Well, nobody ever said he didn’t have nerve, Madelaine thought. But surely he didn’t expect her to resurrect a career he’d run out on?

  “Joey,” she said, deliberately pacing her words, watching his face as she spoke. “You blew your career, such as it was. You had your shot and you ran.”

  “No fuckin’ way!” he shouted, banging his fist on her desk, his dark eyes clouding over. “Don’t you get it? If you did it for me once, you can do it again.”

  She felt a moment of pure satisfaction. “
I have a reputation to uphold,” Madelaine said. “And I am not about to ruin it by sending you up for anything.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he muttered.

  “You’re unreliable,” she continued, quite enjoying putting him down. “And worse than that—you’re a thief. No, Joey,” she continued, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I can’t recommend you to anyone, so do yourself a big favor and get out.”

  She waited for his anger to deepen, remembering his sometimes violent temper. But this time she wasn’t frightened. Besides, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her in her office.

  Instead of more anger, he went the other way. Little boy lost. So handsome and alone. She’d never been able to resist that, and he knew it. Joey could turn it on like nobody else.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said, pushing his hand through his thick hair. “I’m like yesterday’s news. Nobody’ll hire me. Guess I may as well go back to drivin’ a cab.” He got up and went to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Can I buy you dinner? Try to explain what happened. I owe you that.” His intense eyes tracked her from across the room. “Can I, Maddy?”

  She was well aware that, if she accepted, she’d look like a pathetic old fool . . .

  It didn’t matter, because there was no way she could resist.

  • •

  Joey knew exactly what he was doing, every move thought out way ahead. Dinner at a small Italian restaurant; a bottle of house red wine—three quarters of it drunk by Madelaine, who didn’t realize he wasn’t keeping up. Intimate conversation, mostly about how much he’d missed her, and how great he thought she looked.

  Lies, lies, but what did she care? By the time they took a cab back to her apartment on Sixty-sixth Street, she was feeling sexy and womanly and very horny. Joey had fed her some story about a sick aunt in Montana and a family business he’d had to single-handedly save. She didn’t believe him, but so what? He was paying her more attention than anyone had shown her in six years, and she desperately wanted him to make love to her.

  Joey didn’t disappoint. His lovemaking was even better than she remembered. Prolonged foreplay; leisurely oral sex; and then long, steady penetration until she cried out in a torrent of ecstasy.

  She didn’t feel over fifty and fifteen pounds overweight. Joey made her feel like a beautiful, desirable woman.

  He stayed overnight, making love to her again in the morning, his hard body pressing her flesh in the most incredibly exciting way. She knew she was hooked again. One night of lust made up for six years of anger.

  “Why didn’t you call me? At least let me know where you were?” she asked plaintively, her fingers trailing up and down his smoothly muscled back.

  “I’m here now,” he responded. “Isn’t it enough that I came back?” And his lips pressed down on hers, weakening her crumbling resistance until it ceased to exist.

  Two days later he moved back in. A few days after that she asked him to drop by her office.

  “I’m sending you up for a small role you could be right for,” she told him. “If you get it, that’ll be a start in the right direction.”

  “You’re the best, Maddy,” he said, smiling the irresistible Joey smile.

  And she knew she was probably being used, but somehow—once again—it didn’t matter.

  CHAPTER

  3

  TETOU WAS A FAMOUS FISH restaurant perched above the sandy beach between Eden Roc and Juan-les-Pins. Popular for many years, it was an expensive hangout for rich locals and affluent tourists—but then nothing in the south of France was cheap.

  Nikki had also invited Harry Solitaire and Pierre Perez to join them. Pierre was a French actor with brooding eyes and a dreamy smile—he’d flown in from Paris that morning and was due to start work on the movie in two days.

  “Pierre’s not married,” Nikki whispered as they sat down. “Not even engaged. Use a condom and go for it.”

  “Will you stop!” Lara said crossly.

  Pierre was as charming as Harry was persistent. Richard glared at them both disapprovingly. He was extremely protective of his ex-wife; she might be a famous movie star, but she was fragile and needed nurturing—only he knew how much.

  “Why did you invite these two assholes?” he muttered to Nikki, as Lara parried the attention.

  “To piss you off,” Nikki muttered back, grabbing his crotch under the long tablecloth.

  “Quit that!” he said sternly.

  She grinned. “Why? You know you love it.”

  “There’s a time and a place.”

  “The time is now,” she said, attempting to unzip his fly.

  He couldn’t help smiling as he shifted her hand. Nikki never gave him time to think about other women; she was always up to something.

  When dinner was over and they were lingering over coffee, Harry leaped to his feet. He lived for locations. A legitimate separation from his wife was one of the perks of being an actor. “Let’s go dancing,” he suggested enthusiastically. “I know a terrific place in Monte Carlo.”

  “Count me out,” Lara said quickly.

  “Why?” Harry persisted, his eyes saying, You like me, don’t you? You’re attracted to me—so come on, let’s get down and dirty.

  “I have lines to go over,” she demurred.

  “Perhaps five minutes in the casino?” Pierre suggested.

  She glanced at Richard for help. He rallied immediately. Now that he wasn’t her husband he was forever her knight in slightly tarnished armor. “As Lara’s director,” he said, sounding a tad pompous, “I have to agree with her. We’re taking her home.”

  “Christ!” Nikki muttered under her breath. “Why?”

  “What?” Richard said irritably.

  “Let her go,” Nikki insisted, glaring at him.

  He returned her glare with one of his own. “Lara’s free to do as she likes. She wants to come home with us.”

  “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Lara interrupted, sensing tension.

  “You have an early call,” Richard said possessively. “You should come home.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Lara retorted, a glint of annoyance suddenly surfacing.

  Harry got the picture and quickly helped her up, gallantly escorting her to the door. “Your ex still has a hard-on for you,” he said in a half-amused, half-pissed-off voice.

  “Excuse me?” she said coolly.

  “It’s obvious,” he said as they stood outside the restaurant, the warm Mediterranean air ruffling her honey-colored hair, now freed from the excruciating curls she’d worn earlier.

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

  “Oh no I’m not,” he said, grabbing her hand and running her across the busy coast road to the parking lot.

  “I am not going dancing, Harry,” she said firmly.

  “Don’t be foolish, Lara,” he said, still flirting. “I give you my word as an Englishman that I will not attack you.”

  “I’m so relieved,” she replied with a sarcastic edge. They held a long, steady look, then the others joined them.

  “Come along, sweetheart,” Richard said, taking her arm and hustling her toward his car.

  Lara didn’t like his proprietary attitude, and she noticed Nikki was not thrilled either.

  “You know what,” she said, loosening Richard’s grip. “I’m taking Pierre up on the casino idea. Not that I gamble, but I’d enjoy seeing the inside of a French casino. Is it like Vegas?”

  Pierre smiled his dreamy smile. Harry scowled. Richard began to object, but Nikki stopped him. “Have a good time,” she said with an encouraging wink, giving Lara a little shove toward Pierre’s car. “And don’t worry, we won’t wait up!”

  • •

  The casino in Monte Carlo was not like Vegas at all, it was an imposing building located in a busy square close to the sea. Accompanied by Pierre and Harry, who’d insisted on coming too, Lara walked around, watching the avid players intent on losing their money. Old women in beaded evening gowns, bede
cked with expensive jewels, played next to obvious rogues busy piling stacks of chips on their lucky numbers as the roulette wheel turned; steely eyed card sharks sat next to stone-faced blondes at the blackjack tables; craps, chemin de fer and other games abounded.

  “It’s so . . . unbelievably grand,” Lara said, groping for the right description. “Almost from another era.”

  “Rather decadent,” Harry said with a jolly laugh. “I like it!”

  An alert floor manager with shoe-polish black hair and a matching dinner jacket swooped down, landing on Lara with an ingratiating smile. “Mademoiselle Ivory, it is a pleasure to welcome you to our casino,” he said in velvety tones. “Would you and your friends care for a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” she said, introducing Harry and Pierre.

  The manager’s whiter-than-white smile was in overdrive. “Anything at all we can get for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  She smiled back.

  “You are a wonderful actress, Mademoiselle Ivory,” the manager added, his English impeccable.

  Lara dazzled him with another smile. “Thank you.”

  He was on a roll. “And may I say that in person you are even more beautiful.”

  Excessive compliments bothered her. Even after all this time, she still felt a deep flush of embarrassment when people singled her out. They had no idea who she really was. Nobody knew the true story—not even Richard, and he’d gotten closer to her than anybody.

  “She certainly is,” Harry said, hanging in because only he knew the way to her villa, so good-bye, Pierre.

  “Will you be playing tonight?” the casino manager asked. Finished with her beauty and talent, he now wanted her money.

  She smiled sweetly. “Perhaps another time.” The manager drifted away. She turned to Pierre. “Shall we go?”

  Pierre took her arm. Harry moved protectively in on her other side. Together they escorted her to the door.

  Lurking on the steps outside the casino were several paparazzi. They sprang into action, yelling her name, flashguns bursting with light all around her.

  Automatically she shielded her eyes, as Harry quickly distanced himself, making it appear that she and Pierre were a couple.