Tease (5 page)

Happily, the past couple of weeks Tiger had seen an almost nurturing side to him with the way he agreed to take Sienna under his professional wing. It was an attractive quality; Tiger daren’t admit to herself she felt the
stirring of feelings that she had suppressed for so long. She knew that she could have any man she wanted – not that she often took advantage of that – but if she tried her luck with Rex? Well, as she had to remind herself so frequently, apart from ruining their work relationship, it was just such a darn cliché. Moreover, Tiger’s last long-term relationship had ended just over a year ago, and badly. He had wanted commitment; something Tiger had been unable to give. Since then Tiger had been wary of getting tied up again. And Rex really should come with a warning label. With his history of womanising any relationship with him was probably just a heartbreak waiting to happen. She couldn’t take the risk of falling for him and getting hurt again. Besides, if he really got close to her; well there were things in her past she could never take the risk of him, or anyone, finding out. Only Blue had that particular key, and Tiger felt secure in the knowledge that he would keep that box firmly locked.

Feeling suddenly sombre Tiger drained her gin in a ladylike fashion and looked around for Blue. She could see the party was more than in full swing, and was by the looks of things about to get messy. The Krug had obviously been finished off some time ago. Georgia and all the Starrlets were shitfaced. Even Tiger’s dear, elderly choreographer Pepper appeared to have drunk the bar’s sherry reserves dry. Lewis would be thrilled. Tiger finally spotted Blue, deep in flirtation with a tall, lean busboy, sloshing the Martinis everywhere as he haha’d, and
darling’ed loudly at every opportunity. Tiger sighed inwardly and assumed he wouldn’t be helping her home tonight. Having her best friend live in her enormous house was originally designed so Tiger wouldn’t feel like she was rattling around on her own of an evening, but the reality of living with a gay man meant that they still felt like ships in the night when he was in the mood to play away – which was most of the time.

‘I think I need to get to my bed, Rex,’ Tiger announced, deciding another drink would definitely be her downfall.

‘You sure I can’t tempt you with one for the road?’

‘No, not here, too many photographers outside for me to be seen trashed after my own show! I’ll save that behaviour for private time.’

‘You want me to call your driver?’

‘No, it’s okay, I already sent a message to the doorman for him to wait outside for me.’

‘At least let me escort you to the car. It’s swarming with paps outside.’ It was one of the increasing problems of being a single woman with such a glamorous career – it came with an unwanted trail of journalists and paparazzi, eager to be the first to catch the next piece of gossip column fodder. Running the gamut of photographers was the last thing Tiger fancied now, after an exhausting night.

‘Sure. Thanks, Rex, I appreciate the thought.’

‘That’s what you pay me for.’

‘Oh. Yes, I suppose you’re right. Well I should quickly say my goodbyes.’

‘No, babe, there’ll be a big fuss if they all think you’re off. You just slip out, I’ll tell the guys you’re doing interviews or something. You’ve spoken to everyone by now anyway.’

‘Okay, boss, you know best. Meet me at the door in three minutes.’

Tiger rose and slipped out to the lobby unnoticed. The cloakroom attendant nodded appreciatively and brought over Tiger’s royal purple Yves Saint Laurent cape. With a flourish he swung it over her shoulders.

‘Oi, careful, mate, you nearly had my eye out there.’

Tiger looked up and gasped. There stood Lance de Brett before her – tall, striking, and with an indecipherable expression. The cloakroom attendant bowed quickly, muttering apologies as he retreated to his cubby hole.

‘Lance,’ Tiger said nervously, shocked to see him popping up at her private club. ‘Lovely to see you tonight,’ she said coolly.

‘Yeah, just been sittin’ in the
fumoir
with Michael Caine. I’m covering his preparations for his latest role.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ she replied politely, standing tall, pulling her shoulders back.

‘Yeah it is actually. Better than the shit I saw earlier at any rate. Some burlesque show at the Savoy. Know anything about it?’ Lance moved in on Tiger, manoeuvring her up against the wall.

‘Ha, ha,’ Tiger responded slowly, rising to the bait like a cornered wildcat. ‘And what show were you
watching exactly? The bar staff?’ Tiger resisted the temptation to unleash a torrent of curses at him, before continuing. ‘Oh Lance, darling, that’s what I love about you. I know I can always rely on you for a great review of all my finest performances, and I mean
all
of them.’ She smiled enigmatically.

‘Well, I hear the Vegas mob were watching tonight?’ Lance raised his arm above Tiger’s pink curls and leaned against the wall, bringing his face close to hers. ‘You should be so lucky! That tired old stripping act may work over here but Vegas is way out of your league. And if you think I’m bad, you wait ’til you get any press coverage there. You’re out of your depth, you’ll get buried alive. Now that’s a show I’d pay to watch.’

Tiger merely shrugged calmly, praying he couldn’t hear her heart rattling out of her dress. It was strange to think that her relationship with this man had been the longest of her life – and the closest she had ever come to letting someone near her heart. Now all that was left was bitterness and anger on his part. Tiger had hoped they could have both moved on by now, but she simply wasn’t going to let him push her around any more. Ignoring the lump in her throat she pressed onwards bravely. ‘Nice to see you in a good mood, Lance. You been getting it lately?’

‘Now there’s a question. Tell you what, I can’t read the time on my watch, could you do the honours?’ Tiger locked her eyes on Lance’s as she slowly pulled his wrist towards her face. Tiger knew if Blue had been watching he would
have cursed her for ever having given Lance that watch as a ‘Dear John’ letter. She glanced at the expensive Rolex before looking back into his eyes, breathing deeply, and bracing herself to knee him squarely in the—

‘Lance?’ came Rex’s booming voice. ‘Mate! Good t’see ya! See the show tonight? Fuckin’ genius!’

Lance spun round.

‘Yeah, me and Tiger were just having a nice cosy chat about it. I was just asking her the time in fact.’

‘Well, it’s time for bed,’ interjected Tiger, wringing her trembling hands behind her back, out of sight. ‘Come on, Rex, let’s dash. Nice to see you, Lance, as always. Have a lovely night.’ Rex looked on bemused as Lance skulked off towards the gents. As usual, only Blue had ever known about Tiger and Lance’s history …

‘You okay, doll? You coulda cut the atmosphere with a knife just then.’

‘Oh you know. Lance loves to see anyone doing well.’

‘Ah he’s a pussycat really,’ lied Rex, ‘he obviously just needs a shag. You sure you’re okay, doll? You seem shaky.’

‘Oh don’t be silly! I’m just peachy, thank you,’ Tiger purred. ‘Right, brace yourself, darling,’ she added, smoothing out her cape over her hips and rearranging the fabric over her
décolletage
in anticipation of the paparazzi. In one swift movement she grabbed the door and stepped into the night.

The whole sky was lit up in a glare of photographers’ flashes as the paps caught their first glimpse of pink hair.
The cameras clicked frenetically, flashes strobing around them, the paparazzi hollering and cat-calling like market traders. Tiger kept her eyes low and her smile serene, and concentrated on keeping her balance. Rapidly the paps closed in on the pair, jostling with each other as they grunted and hollered. Tiger staggered on her skyscraping Guiseppe Zanotti heels as she felt a rough push to her shoulder. Her smile turned to fear as her eyes darted about the lenses closing in on her. Lance had well and truly shaken her up back there and she wasn’t ready for a bear pit of photographers. Suddenly taking her upper arm in a vice-like grip, Rex rushed ahead of her, shoving forcefully through the horde and dragging Tiger to her waiting limo behind him.

‘Get in!’ he hissed, opening the door and holding his coat open to shield her. Cameras still flashed through the blacked-out windows as the Towncar pulled seamlessly into traffic with them both safe inside.

Silence fell between them. Tiger was still catching her breath. As she looked out of the window at the trailing lights of Piccadilly Circus, images of camera lenses swam on her retinas, merging with the mutating faces of Lance de Brett, Lewis Bond and Liberace, the effect making her feel a little dizzy.

‘Let’s get you home, little one,’ said Rex quietly. Without warning, Tiger felt the familiar tug of lust towards him. Before she could give herself time to talk herself out of it as she had done countless times before, she lunged and
grabbed firmly at his thick neck. She sank her tongue deep into his mouth, kissing him so hard he could taste the gin of her last drink.

‘What the fuck—’ Rex pulled away, but didn’t have a chance to finish as Tiger straddled him, attacking him like a caged animal, ripping her cape off and sinking her mouth down on his for the second time. This time he reciprocated, kissing her hard, urgently thrusting his crotch up towards her. She clearly wasn’t wearing underwear, and Rex could already feel her wetness through his trousers. He pushed her up against the privacy screen of the limo and pressed his weight against her, her thighs still gripping him. Feeling her nails clawing at his back and neck, Rex reached for his flies. Her instincts taking over, Tiger made a grab and pulled out his hot thick cock. Thank fuck he’s got a good one, she thought to herself with relief.

Pushing him back into the seat, she lowered herself onto him without hesitation, and with a yelp of pleasure shoved his face into her magnificent breasts. She held on to the headrest behind him so she could pull herself hard against him and get him as deep inside as possible.

‘Jesus!’ grunted Rex, cupping her arse cheeks and parting them gently in his hands in time to her rhythm. ‘Oh god, I never thought …’ Rex’s words trailed off as, feeling her sopping cunt start to pulse and tighten around him, he pulled Tiger firmly by the hair so he could watch her beautiful, exquisite face as she came all over him.

‘Oh yeah, faster!’

‘God—’

‘No talking, just do it!’

‘Uhh.’

‘Oh yeah, don’t stop!’

‘Aagh!’

‘Yeah!’

‘Ah ah ah ah!’

‘Go on!’

‘Uhhhhhh.’

‘That was, like, twenty seconds faster than last time!’

Blue climbed off the treadmill, heaving gulps of air and tossing a filthy look over at his personal trainer Emily. He must have sweated all the alcohol out by now, he thought grumpily.

‘Fantastic, we’ll have you doing the marathon this time next year at this rate.’

‘I’m not sure exactly what marathon you’re thinking of, Em, but I reckon I already broke the Martini endurance record with flying colours.’

‘Good party last night then?’ asked Emily cheerily. ‘I saw Tiger all over the papers this morning, they’re
all raving about the show. Everyone was there!’

‘Oh the show was fabulous! Camp as tits. The party would have been fab too if only I could remember it,’ Blue puffed, fanning his sweaty cheeks. ‘I found someone’s number in my pocket this morning, you know.’

‘Good catch?’ asked Emily.

‘Hardly, I rang it first thing this morning expecting one of the young studs from the theatre and you know who I got through to?’

Emily looked blank.

‘Alco-fuckin-holics Anonymous!’ squealed Blue, most of the gym turning to stare. ‘Honestly, can you bloody believe it? Must have been that barman I was chatting up. Cunt.’

A loud gasp escaped from the little old lady power-walking on the next treadmill.

‘Sorry, madam, I cunt believe that just slipped out,’ apologised Blue over his shoulder, before leaning in to Emily. ‘Well, with friends like that who needs enemas, eh? I must be losing my touch in a big way. Emily, do you think I’m … am I turning into an old queen?’

Emily looked aghast. ‘Blue, you wrote the rulebook!’ ‘Thought so,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll end up on the shelf, I know it. I can feel it in my bones. My problem is I’m just weak when I get a dirty Martini down me. It clouds my bullshit detector. I should stick to champagne.’

‘Okay, sweetheart, I can see it’s your time of the month. Listen, why don’t you finish off on the mats yourself,’ sighed Emily with resignation.

‘That’s a good girl, I owe you one,’ said Blue, planting a big kiss on her cheek before mincing off to the crash mats, monogrammed towel slung artfully over his shoulder.

Blue wasn’t actually sure why he had a personal trainer. It had been Tiger’s brainwave originally. Blue always said he wasn’t actually that fussed about training, claiming that as a stylist he had cultivated permanent pecs from always lugging around so many heavy shopping bags. Besides which, he preferred to create perfection in other people. Needless to say Tiger didn’t buy his excuses. Anyway, she fancied having an occasional gym buddy to keep the boredom at bay while she was sculpting her own curves. Tiger simply loved her food, and the Catholic girl in her meant she was a sucker for the ritual of indulgence followed by penance in the gym. She also had this romantic idea that Blue would find the love of his life between the exercise bikes and the weights bars. Truth was, the only gay men who Blue ever saw at the gym he’d either already shagged, or wouldn’t touch with Elton’s.

‘Hey, darling, how’s it hangin’!’ came a strained voice as Blue settled on a mat. Looking over he recognised his old make-up artist pal Dave Bourgeois who was sweating and trembling in a side plank. They had tried getting it on one boozy night years ago, never to be repeated since. It was a chemistry thing. That is, far too many chemicals.

‘Oh get away, Davey, you’re making me tired just watching you,’ grumbled Blue.

‘Wow, what a way to greet an old friend. Somebody get out the wrong side this morning?’

‘Very funny. No, I’m just still pissed, and I’m a miserable drunk,’ grunted Blue, making a feeble attempt at a press up.