Trade (2 page)

“I’m more than Damon Fitz.” The
money wasn’t an issue, but credibility was. More than anything, he wanted to
prove he was not just a pretty face. He was an actor. A good actor. Playing
Damon Fitz had brought him to the lusting attention of much of the female
population but it wasn’t a challenging role—he’d been seducing women all his
life. He wanted a role he could really get his teeth into. Sure, he’d had his
teeth into Caro’s delectable butt in
After Ecstasy
, but there would be
no Oscars handed out for either of their performances.

“As you suggested, I invited him
to the premiere. He agreed, and I’m sending a limo to pick him up.”

The tension left Sholto’s
shoulders. Once he had Jasper Watson at the premiere as his guest, he’d charm
him into considering him for the role. “I want him seated next to me—the whole
VIP treatment.” There wouldn’t be much time to talk, but he needed an
opportunity to personally connect with the director.

“I know. I’ll get everything set
up.” Larry’s expression was earnest. “If anyone can talk him around, you can.”

Larry was as tense as a turkey at Thanksgiving.
His fingers were gripping his drink so tightly his knuckles were white. He
worked hard as Sholto’s agent, and prided himself on being able to deliver
everything his client desired. Not being able to secure the screen test must
have been a blow.

“You did well to get him to come at
such short notice.” Sholto smiled.

Larry relaxed a fraction. He took
a sip of his drink.

“Have you any other news for me?”

“I received another three scripts
this week, but I told you that in an email last night. The office is swimming
with sacks of fan mail—the girls in the office opening and replying to it
report that quite a lot of the letters enclosed panties.” He grimaced. “Oh, and
I got a telephone call today from a woman who said she knew you and wants you
to get in touch.” His lips curled. “I know, she was probably bullshitting—but
she sounded convincing so I thought I’d check. Her name’s Maxine Goode.”

Maxine Goode.
The mention
of her name was enough to propel him back through the years, to a day he’d
tried hard to bury.

Now, Maxine wanted to renew their
connection?

How much humiliation could one
girl stand?

*****

Max didn’t expect it to be easy to gain access to Sholto
Kincaid. His agent’s response to her call had been beyond chilly, almost glacial.
No doubt he was bombarded with requests for Sholto’s phone number, so she’d left
her number instead.

But Sholto was unlikely to ring.
No one wanted to revisit the most shameful episodes in their life, and even
though Sholto Kincaid seemed to be as full of himself as he’d been a decade
ago, she still held out hope that perhaps he’d matured a little.

Making the phone call was just
step one in her campaign.

Step two presented itself out of
the blue with a phone call from a client. She was seated at her desk going
through paperwork, when the phone buzzed.

“Hi, I have Jasper Watson for
you—he says it’s an emergency.”

“Put him through.” Jasper was a
regular client, a repeat client, the type of client she wanted to keep. His
tastes were unusual, and some of his fantasies were definitely out there, but
he was a straight up guy, and he always paid promptly. “Jasper, good to hear
from you.”

“Max, thank God. I have a problem.”

Max parked her pencil behind her
ear. “What’s up?” She hoped to hell it wasn’t crisis management.

“I have to go to a film premiere
tonight, and I need a date.”

Max breathed out the breath she’d
been holding. She’d stepped off the dating treadmill months ago after
everything had gone so badly wrong. Jasper was a client she couldn’t afford to
snub, but she hadn’t ever expected he would want to date her.

Before she could formulate a
reply, he elaborated.

“The press will be there. I don’t
want to take anyone who might misconstrue the situation—might think I’m
inviting them because I want a relationship. I need someone who will look sexy
but not slutty, be charming, and make me look good, without all the
complications. I need someone I can trust. I need you, Max. Are you free
tonight?”

The tension left Max’s shoulders. She’d
be breaking a date with her TV and a bottle of wine—a date well worth breaking.

“Sure. What’s the film?”

Jasper made that sound, a half-laugh
filled with embarrassment. “It’s
After Ecstasy
. I don’t really want to go,
but…”

Sholto’s film? Max leaned back on
her office chair, and swung her legs up onto its edge. Her mouth stretched into
a wide smile. Could anything be more perfect? “What time will you pick me up?”

After Jasper’s call, she did a
quick, mental inventory of her closet. She had the perfect dress, but needed to
buy drop-dead gorgeous, fuck-me heels to match. Tonight was a night for pulling
out all the stops.

She snatched her bag off the
floor, powered down her computer, and was on the point of leaving the office
when her cellphone buzzed.

An unknown number.

Curious, she answered.

“Maxine.” A deep, dark, sexy voice
with a hint of Scottish accent rose the hairs on the back of her neck.

She swallowed. “This is she.” She
sat back down again.

“Sholto Kincaid.” She closed her
eyes.
Christ, he sounds delicious.

“Ah, Sholto. Thank you for getting
back to me so quickly.” She forced her voice neutral. “It’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to
talk to me again—I did try, you know.”

Against her will, despite her
assurance earned over the years since she’d been an innocent, his words jerked
her back to their shared history. Whatever he would say she didn’t want to
hear—didn’t want to be reminded of the past. She had to take control of this
conversation, and quickly.

She forced a laugh, which sounded
false as hell to her own ears. “That was all a long time ago. I do want to see
you, though. I know you’re in London, and wondered if you might have time for a
quick meeting.”

There was silence on the other end
of the line for a moment. “What is this about?”

She swallowed. “I want a business
meeting—half an hour at most. I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition—I guess you’re not
married then?” There was a hint of tease in his voice.

“Believe it or not, there are some
women immune to you, Sholto. No, I’m not married—although what my marital
status has to do with meeting me on a business matter escapes me.” She curled
her fingers into her palms. She wanted to tell him to forget it. Wanted to call
him a whole bunch of very uncomplimentary names and leave it at that, but the
memory of her mission gave her pause.

“I’m intrigued. Come to my hotel tomorrow
afternoon.” He named the most exclusive hotel in London. “I’ll tell the front
desk to expect you.”

Shall I tell him I’ll see him
tonight?
She decided that conversation was better had in person. “Okay, I
look forward to it.” Before he had time to engage in any further chat, she hung
up.

Chapter
Two

Max sat in the back of a black limousine cutting through the
streets to the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square. Her royal blue dress was a
perfect fit, swathes of chiffon artfully wrapped and sewn to flatter her figure
in a classic, strapless design that dusted her ankles. It wasn’t a designer
original, the budget wouldn’t run to that, but instead a well-made copy—one she
was sure would pass muster amongst the designer dresses worn by the red carpet glitterati.

Her fingers played with the
sapphire collet necklace her friend Kathryn Hazzard had given her for
Christmas. She’d always loved the antique Georgian necklaces with their flat,
clear gemstone ovals, and had built an enviable collection of reproduction ones.
The sapphires were paste, but they nestled around her throat looking just like
the real thing.

Matching earrings hung from her
lobes, and she’d spent an hour at the salon, having her hair arranged in a
pretty updo.

She looked good, and Jasper was
the perfect date. So why was her stomach in knots?

“Wow, look at the crowd.” Jasper
leaned near, peering out the window. Crash barriers lined the red carpet
leading into the cinema behind which crowded a couple of hundred people. “Are
you ready?”

She nodded.

“You look fantastic.” He squeezed
her hand. “You remember the drill?”

“Yes.” They’d talked as the limo
idled through traffic. Jasper had confided that Sholto would try and engage him
in conversation, and her task was to run interference—getting between them and
keeping the conversation light.

“He’ll probably try to get us to
the after-party, but we’re leaving the moment the screening ends—okay?” Jasper’s
smile was nervous. For some reason, he was determined to avoid any private time
with Sholto, and tonight, he was calling the shots.

“Absolutely. I’ll be ready to go
the moment the film is over.”

Jasper squeezed her hand. “You’re
an angel. I hate these things.”

“Unless it’s one of yours…”

“Even then. I’m more a behind the
scenes type of guy. But you know that.”

The limo slowed, joining the line
of cars depositing people onto the red carpet. Ahead, an A-list couple climbed
out of their limo and stepped onto the red carpet. The crowd went wild—the
sound of shouts and shrieks audible even in the soundproof interior.

“Here we go.” Their car edged
forward, then stopped. An attendant reached for the handle and swung the door
open.

The sound was deafening, and the
air shimmered with camera flashes. Max accepted the attendant’s hand and
stepped out into the melee.

“Smile.” Jasper joined her on the
red carpet, his hand at her waist.

She plastered on a grin, and they
set off on the long, red stripe. On both sides, actors and celebrities were
being interviewed or greeting the crowd. At the end of the carpet, at the left,
a gaggle of people clustered.

Jasper leaned close and spoke into
her ear. “Sholto is signing autographs.”

A man next to him looked up, saw
them and hurried down the carpet to their side.

“Jasper? Larry Meisner, Sholto’s
agent. I’m so glad you could make it.” The stranger’s smile was warm as he
pumped Jasper’s hand. Then he turned to Max.

“This is my date, Max.”

Larry air-kissed her cheek. “Come
and say hello.”

Sholto’s head was bent over a
magazine that bore his face on the cover. He scrawled his autograph, and handed
it back to the breathless fan.

“Sholto. Jasper is here.”

He looked up.
Damn, he looks
good.
He’d always been tall, but when she last saw him he was rangy to the
point of skinny. Now, he was all muscle. His navy tux fitted perfectly over his
wide shoulders and powerful chest. He wore a white shirt and a blood red tie
and even though every inch of his body was covered, it was a body women sighed
over. Hair dark as pitch tumbled over one eye and curled over the neckline of his
jacket. His attention was focused on Jasper as he shook his hand and said
something she couldn’t hear over the calls of the crowd.

Then Jasper took her hand and
tugged her forward.

And he, finally, looked at her.

Had his eyes always been that
green? Dark forest green. The echoes of the boy he’d been were evident in the
slope of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth. But his eyes were different
now, the expression in them more calculating, more direct.

“This is Max,” Jasper said.

She waited for the eye-widening
moment of recognition—even if he hadn’t thought of her in years, they’d spoken
mere hours before—but it didn’t arrive. Instead, his mouth curved in a smile,
and he held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Max.”

Did he really not recognize her?
She placed her hand in his, and shivered as his cool fingers curled around
hers.

“I need to sign a few more
autographs. See you inside?”

She let go of his hand, and forced
a tight smile.

Jasper took her arm, and walked
her into the cinema. “Cat got your tongue?” he teased. “I guess all the things
they say about the effect Sholto Kincaid has on women are true.”

“What’s that?” She accepted a
glass of champagne from a waiter circling the foyer.

“The Daily Mail said he stuns
women with his sexual aura…that no matter how immune to him women think they
are, once they get within a five yard radius they turn to jelly, and stop
functioning. They call him a sexy EMP.”

She smiled. “Okay, I confess. I do
feel sort of fried.” Her hands trembled. No wonder Cam wanted to bring him to
the reunion, up close and personal he was the ultimate trophy date. She’d only
touched him for a moment, and her palm still tingled.

There was movement from the
doorway—the actors were being positioned in front of a banner featuring the
movie’s title, and a cluster of photographers were readying their cameras.

Larry walked over. “They’ll be a
couple of minutes. Let’s take our seats.”

They followed him into the
theatre. “Sholto would like you to sit here, next to him, Jasper.” He indicated
a seat. He glanced back to the door. “Enjoy the movie. I’ll see you later.”

Max waited for Jasper to move. He
didn’t. “Are you going to sit?” Patrons were filing into the cinema now, and
she didn’t want to keep standing in the aisle.

“I don’t want to sit next to
him—he’s bound to try and talk business.”

Business?
Before she had a
chance to investigate that further, Jasper patted her arm. “You sit next to
him—running interference, remember?”

She was here as Jasper’s guest,
and she’d promised. “I remember.” She started down the row and took the seat
earmarked for Jasper.
Great
. Not only did she have to deal with the
unexpected attraction to the guy who’d humiliated her years ago, she now had to
sit next to him while his on-screen self screwed his gorgeous co-star in a
movie critics were saying was so hot it would set women’s panties on fire.

Good thing she wasn’t wearing any.

*****

Jasper’s date wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room.
Nor the one showing the most skin. His co-star, Caro Michaels, was wrapped in a
long black dress with cutout panels. The sheer panels skated between the curves
of her breasts, revealed her smooth stomach, and then swerved just above the
cut of her bikini line to reveal the entire side of her hip and a hint of butt
before skimming down to the floor. She looked as though half of her dress was
missing.

As the photographers competed to
take the perfect photograph, she held herself erect, careful not to reveal too
much.

“That’s one hell of a dress,” he
murmured as they stood close together before a battery of flashes.

“Jesus, tell me about it,” she
whispered through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why I let them talk me into it.
Walking is a nightmare—half my butt is hanging out. I can’t even wear a thong
in this thing; it would show up on the hipline. You guys have no idea how lucky
you are to get away with just a suit.”

His gaze skittered around the
room, finally finding Jasper and his date again. Her dress was strapless,
revealing just the top curves of her breasts, and it wrapped her narrow waist
and hips before falling to the floor. It was timeless, elegant, and way sexier
than Caro’s in what it hinted at, rather than revealed. She was sipping from a
flute of champagne, smiling at something Jasper was saying. Her blonde hair was
arranged up, with a plait across the top, which made her look young, sweet, and
totally approachable.

Shame she was another man’s date.

“Time to go.” Caro’s arm tightened
on his. “Stick to me like glue, I don’t want a wardrobe malfunction on rerun.”

They were escorted into the
cinema, and took their seats. Sholto’d arranged to have Jasper seated next to
him—there was time before the start of the feature to schmooze, but to his
annoyance, Jasper and his date had switched places. There was nothing he could
do about it, so he plastered on a smile, and took his seat.

“I hope you enjoy it,” he said to
the straight-backed woman beside him.

“Enjoy?” She frowned. “Ah, the
movie. Yes. I’m sure I will.” She darted him a look beneath her dark lashes. Her
cheeks went pink. Her hands were clasped together in her lap.

The lights dimmed, and the opening
credits started to roll. Sholto took a deep breath. Within the next ten
minutes, he would be screwing on screen in the presence of a packed audience.
He wasn’t shy, but boy, he wished he were somewhere else right now.

Music played over a sweeping
aerial view of the New York skyline, finally arriving at a skyscraper and
zooming in to a sole window—the window of Damon Fitz’s office. Then it cut to
the office’s interior, to Damon sitting behind his desk. It was easier to think
of himself as the character—the only way to get through this was to distance
himself from his performance. With a critical eye, Sholto appreciated the
cinematography, but once his on-screen persona spoke, he grimaced. Many actors
liked watching themselves on screen, but he hated it. The opening scene was to
give an impression of Damon’s world; he met with colleagues, and directed his
empire as any good billionaire should. In the next scene, he’d meet and seduce
Caro’s character, Bette, with very little preliminary. The director’s intention
was to shock. It would be interesting to see how the scene translated to the
screen.

Ten minutes later, Damon was
sliding down Bette’s zipper and stripping off her dress. His lips were on her
neck as his hands cupped her breasts. It looked damn hot—even though it had
been anything but with dozens of crewmembers around.
Movie magic.

A movement caught his eye. Max was
crossing her legs. His gaze swept up to her face.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Damon
said onscreen. At this point, his hands were unfastening her bra and removing
her panties. But Sholto wasn’t watching; Max held his complete attention.

Her chest rose as she breathed
deep. She chewed her bottom lip in a way that sent a bolt of sensation directly
to Sholto’s cock. Her hand rose to touch her jeweled necklace, then rested
below it, on the creamy expanse of skin between the necklace and the curve of
her breasts. She was captivated by the story unfolding before her. She ran the
back of her fingers over her neck, caressing her skin in a manner instantly
recognizable.

She was aroused by what his celluloid
doppelganger was doing on screen.

The cinema seats were narrow.
Their arms were almost touching. It was ridiculous to feel jealous of the man
on the screen, but the urge to touch her, to stroke his fingers over her arm
and have her direct that attention to him, in person, was strong.

Watching her was voyeuristic, but
he couldn’t look away. No doubt there were others in the cinema caught up in
the erotic storyline—but she was the only person he was interested in. Her hand
drifted down and her palm flattened on her thigh.

She sighed.

Jasper will be getting some
tonight
. Anger followed the thought that he was acting as the opening act,
the fluffer who would prepare her for another man’s bed. He must have made a
sound, for her head turned and eyes, blue as the sapphire crystals that
glittered around her neck, met his.

For a moment, time seemed
suspended.

She looked at him in the same way
as she’d watched the screen. Her tongue swiped the corner of her mouth, and her
eyes blazed with heat. She was another man’s woman, but right now she looked as
though she wanted to be naked with his cock pulsing inside her.

Politeness dictated he did
something to break the mood.

Fuck politeness.

Sholto deliberately looked at her
mouth. His hand moved a fraction, and the tips of his fingers traced the soft skin
of her arm, butterfly wing light.

She didn’t move away. Her lips
parted. The exposed upper swell of her breasts rose and fell in response to her
shallow breaths. Her arm twisted, revealing the inner curve of her elbow,
making the pale underside from elbow to wrist available to his fingers.

Then Jasper said something to her.

The mood was broken. She turned
away from Sholto, crossed her arms, and angled her knees toward Jasper,
eloquent body language in action.

She didn’t uncross her arms or
look his direction until the final credits rolled. Didn’t acknowledge him when
the lights came up, instead, hurrying to the end of the aisle and getting
behind Jasper as if Sholto was a wild animal she feared might ravage her.

There were so many people wanting
to talk to him, Sholto was distracted. When he looked back, Jasper and Max had
left.

“Larry.” He grabbed hold of his
passing agent’s arm. “Tell me Jasper will be at the after-party.” He had to
keep his attention on business, on getting that role, but his body didn’t seem
to have received the message. It wanted to get up close and personal with Max
again.