such a handsome boy.’ Fenton kissed his hair over and over. Scotty thought he would drown in happiness. ‘I’ve missed you more than you know.’
‘I do know,’ Scotty said as he sighed, ‘because I’ve felt the same.’ He reached under the covers for the other man’s hand, holding it tight. ‘Fenton, I have to tell you…’
He stalled, frightened that the words wouldn’t come back to him; that they’d just hang there, embarrassed in their solitude, and his declaration would ruin every thing.
‘Shh.’ Tenderly Fenton stroked his back. ‘You don’t need to.’
Scotty could hear his manager’s heartbeat beneath his cheek. When he was with Fenton it was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. They could be anywhere so long as they were together; it was cliché, but true. In Fenton’s arms he was no longer Scotty Valentine, poster boy for teenage dreams and squeaky-clean advocate of healthy whole-bran pop; he was simply Scott, the man behind the media machine. He could let his guard down, be adored for the person he was, not the person he was imagined to be.
From beneath a heap of clothes on the floor, his cell buzzed for the eighth time that evening. It would be Kristin. He had promised her he would make Bunny’s party but it was almost ten and things would be wrapping up by now. He’d made all her other ones over the years: he deserved a break, didn’t he? Shit. Who’d have a girlfriend? Fenton never put demands on him—at least not any he wasn’t happy to meet…
‘Shouldn’t you get that?’ Fenton murmured. ‘It might be important.’
Scotty tilted his head to kiss him. ‘Let’s pretend a little while longer.’
‘Is it Kristin?’
‘Probably.’
Fenton winced. No matter how many times Scotty reassured him that he felt nothing for his girlfriend, her name still twisted like barb between them.
‘I don’t desire her,’ comforted Scotty. ‘You know that.’
‘How can you want me,’ Fenton replied. It wasn’t a question, merely an expression of how he felt. He wasn’t after reassurance because no matter how much of that Scotty gave him, he never took it in. Scotty’s affection for him was a miracle he couldn’t understand.
‘I’m old,’ he went on. ‘And I drink too much.’ Fenton motioned down to his belly, covered in a downy fuzz of hairs. ‘Then there’s you. Exquisite. Radiant. Adonis.’
‘Come here,’ Scotty choked, overawed with love. Why wouldn’t Fenton believe him?
The men lay together, bodies entwined, every so often sharing a sweet, fragile kiss, until Fenton’s attentions grew fiercer and his mouth moved lower. Scotty hardened, stiffer and stiffer till he thought he would burst. Fenton’s moustache grazed his balls, his tongue wrapped around Scotty’s length, teasing the tip of his erection and using his hands in a rhythm of almost unbearable intensity that sent ripple after ripple of unfettered pleasure chasing up Scotty’s spine. Delirious with yearning, Scotty groaned as his dick slid into paradise. His ardour, as always, was tinged with envy. How many other men had Fenton done this to? At his age he must have had countless boyfriends, and it tore Scotty apart to picture him for one second with anyone else. Fenton was the only man he’d been with.
‘I have to be inside you,’ croaked Scotty, extricating himself. Obligingly Fenton turned and Scotty set to work, dipping his fingers into his own mouth before using them on Fenton, and then, with a single, hard thrust, he entered, both of them crying out and plunging forward on the sweat-bathed sheets. Scotty gripped Fenton’s buttock with one hand, snaking the other round to grasp his manager’s hard-on, working it up and down as he built a rhythm, feeling his abdomen contract and the pleasure rushing through him like liquid flames…
He didn’t hear the door open.
But he saw. As Fenton bucked to ejaculation beneath him he saw the shape in the entrance. It was Kristin, a sharp blank look of shock slapped across her stricken face.
‘Fuck!’ Fenton cried in orgasmic frenzy.
‘Fuck,’ Scotty replied, frozen with horror. The blood drained entirely from his face and in that second he knew it was over. Everything. Over.
17
Turquoise regularly took on ten-thousand-strong audiences and thought nothing of it. She made TV appearances in front of millions and didn’t bat an eye. She’d addressed royalty, politicians and the world’s elite, holding her own against the most powerful on the planet.
But sitting through lunch with Cosmo Angel was a summit she could not climb.
‘I’m not feeling great,’ she told Donna Cameron that morning. ‘Can we postpone?’
‘Not really,’ came the curt reply. ‘This is the only opening you have.’
‘I think I’m contagious.’
There was a pause before Donna said, ‘Turquoise, what’s up? You’re never contagious. Come to think of it, you’re never ill. I can’t remember the last time you got sick. What’s going on? You’ve been lukewarm about this project since the start. Is it Cosmo?’
‘No,’ she cut in. ‘Of course not.’ She felt tangled in a web of lies. It was too late to back away; the decline would mean too much, the sacrifice of her future. My little star…
‘Then help me out.’
Every excuse was a weak one. She had changed her mind. She wanted to focus on her music a while longer. She didn’t feel ready, despite the role Sam Lucas described in London having her name written all over it. Only the truth could save her, and in the same blow spell total destruction. She had been abused and degraded and forced to endure untold suffering at the hands of Cosmo Angelopoulos, and it had all come to a shattering head when they had buried a young corpse in the desert one night…one dark, lonely, terrible night…
Now he had her trapped all over again.
‘It’s OK.’ The words took all her strength. ‘I’ll grab a coffee, see if that sorts me out.’
‘Good girl. Il Cielo, one o’clock.’ The line went dead.
His wife was with him. She hadn’t expected that.
When Turquoise entered the bustling restaurant it was with a mixture of distress and relief that she spotted Ava Bennett rising to meet her. Ava looked lovely in a pale shift dress, her silky white-blonde hair secured in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. It was impossible to imagine her in bed with Cosmo. Had he grown out of his perversions? He must have.
‘Hope you don’t mind me coming along.’ Ava grinned. ‘Only this is so exciting! When Cosmo told me you were on board I couldn’t believe it…’
‘Turquoise.’ Sam Lucas stood to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Gorgeous, as always. Come and sit down. We’ve ordered champagne.’
Cosmo didn’t stand. She was aware of his dark, brooding presence and the conflict of wills she had known would take place. To anyone else just a few seconds; to her an unspoken stalemate. Cosmo still saw her as a seventeen-year-old whore getting screwed on all fours by anything he set her up against. It didn’t matter how famous she got. She was still that girl.
And he wouldn’t deign to speak to her first.
‘Cosmo, a pleasure to see you again,’ she said hollowly. He got to his feet, an amused smirk on his face, and leaned in to kiss her. His lips hit the skin by her ear lobe, sending a grisly chill racing down her spine.
‘You’re glowing.’ His black eyes flashed. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’
‘Exactly what I said!’ trilled Ava, but she waved him down all the same. ‘Come on, don’t embarrass her.’
‘I’m not embarrassing her. Am I?’