In Victorian London, artist’s model, Gina Russo is prepared to give up everything she holds dear to become Blair Dunleavy’s mistress.
Excerpt 1. “Take that off,” Blair said his voice like a growl.
“You do not like it?” Gina asked her hand fluttering to cover her bosom.
“I’m damned sure we didn’t buy that today.”
“It was a gift from my friend, Mabel. She’s a dancer in the theatre.”
Blair couldn’t contain himself. “That’s where it belongs, Gina,” he said forcefully. “Take it all off, for God’s sake.”
Gina hesitated. “Here, now, in front of you?”
He felt his breath quicken. His finger curled at his sides. “Off. Or I will.”
Gina saw the expression in his eyes and shivered slightly at what she found there. “No. I’ll do it.” She placed one foot on a chair and removed a stocking, rolling it slowly down. She shook it and hung it over the chair, then did the same with the next. This time, she approached Blair with the stocking in her hand, winding it around his neck coquettishly. He reached out and brushed one nipple with his thumb and she laughed and darted out of his grasp.
What was she playing at? Blair leaned against the door, marveling at the grace of her movements and the beauty of her lush body.
She began to remove the camisole, pulling down the straps. As the thin fabric fell away, she hesitated. Her eyes found his and he saw the uncertainty in them.
“Wait.” His voice sounded cold and indifferent as he fought against his pounding pulse and the urging of his body.
Gina flushed, holding the chemise up against her chest in a defensive gesture.
“Who taught you to do this?”
“My friend, Mabel,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Have you ever done such things for another man?”
She hesitated, before giving a quick nod.
Blair crossed the room in two strides. He drew her to him.
She held up her face for him to kiss and his mouth immediately found hers, probing with his tongue, nibbling her lips.
Blair groaned. With every ounce of his strength, he drew away, holding her at arm’s length, gazing down into her face. “Call a spade a spade, Gina, remember? Are you a virgin?”
“All right. Yes,” she threw at him, reaching for a dressing gown to cover herself. “It was just a tiny lie. Does it matter so much? I am quick to learn.”
French actress, Astrid Le Clair is to about to make a movie with the handsome actor, Dylan Shaw whose reputation with his co-stars is legend.
Excerpt 2.
A knock came on Astrid’s dressing room door. “Enter.” She continued to remove her makeup at her mirror her hair held back by a white band.
Dylan came in, ducking his dark head slightly. A gesture she recognized, one of a tall man used to living in old houses.
She met his gaze in the mirror, the brilliant blue of his irises had caused women the world over to fall in love with him.
“I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to chat before rehearsal,” he said. His voice had an attractive, Irish lilt. “I did hope to, but the flight was delayed.”
Astrid swung round to face him. “Only two takes. I thought it helped in the end, kept it fresh. Did you feel it went well?”
“Good for me. The more takes I do, the worse I get.” He grinned. “Frank Sinatra refused to do more than one take. I think he had something there.”
She expected him to be arrogant, not unassuming, or was this part of his charm offensive? If so, it was disarming. Aware her face shone with cold cream she turned back to the mirror. Grabbing a tissue, she quickly wiped it off.
“You look great without makeup.”
“Oh please!”
“No. You do, honestly. Like a kid.”
“I’m supposed to like that?” She pulled the Alice band from her long hair. “French women are not afraid to grow old.”
He laughed. “You hardly need to worry about that. Are you over here in England on your own?”
She dropped the tissue into the waste basket. Her hairdresser had been right. She would have to be careful. “I am. Why?”
Dylan leaned against the wall, his arms folded. A smile tugged at the corners of his well-shaped mouth. “I read somewhere that you and Philippe had broken up. I was going to offer my condolences.”
“That article in The Truth? Pure fabrication. Philippe considered suing them, but in the end we couldn’t be bothered.” She picked up her hairbrush. “We are still together, and very happy, thank you.”
“Then I pity all the young men,” he said, his hand on the doorknob.
Did he disapprove of Philippe? Some men did resent older men dating much younger women, she knew. “You are an actor who likes to mix work with pleasure, yes?” she said mildly. The inference that he slept with all his leading ladies hung in the air.
He frowned as he opened the door. “Not usually.”
The door closed behind him. She’d been rude, and she wasn’t sure why. She usually made an effort to get on with co-stars. It could get quite difficult if you didn’t. She shook her head. After all, he’d only been flattering her, and that might have been his way of breaking the ice.
And why had she lied about Philippe? Was it because she wasn’t ready to let him go? Or was it apprehension at the effect this man had on her. She trembled when he came near her with the same sexual thrill she felt driving through the Bois de Boulogne. |
