HOT SET: Playing with Fidelity (A romantic suspense novel) (9 page)

Amelia was incensed; she was being blamed for her own rape
. She may have stupidly got into his car but what happened to “no means no”? She didn’t consent, so why was Bill not being blamed for what he did? Why weren’t they rushing off to arrest the perpetrator? She sat in the chair, still feeling her virginal blood trickle into her underwear and she knew he’d get away with it.

It was rare that
a rapist didn’t.

Four weeks later, she scored
her first walk-on as an extra for a car commercial. This was thankfully followed by another commercial for feminine hygiene products, again as a walk-on. In the tampon commercial, she made every effort to be nice and helpful to the director, who succumbed to her charm and finally admitted he had several more commercials lined up and soon she was in a toothbrush ad followed by the lead in a women’s store commercial.

With her small income, Amelia enrolled in a ju-jitsu class. No man would ever take her forcibly again.

During filming, Amelia was called by the detective who handled her rape case. Bill had denied any wrong doing, it was only hearsay. Because the alleged event occurred only a few days before her 18
th
birthday, the Californian Age Of Consent law had been broken and she could press charges if she wanted to. Amelia knew it would be a painful, long and drawn out process and she’d have few supporters, so with a broken heart, she said, “no”. The voice in her head told her she’d have more success doing it herself.

She has just turned 19 when
, with well-contained glee, she accepted a low-level role in an obscure cable television sitcom as one of the lead’s ditzy girlfriends and held it for twelve months. During this time, she showed her face at every party and audition possible until she was offered a larger part in a high school drama sitcom and two-years after that, at 22, she scored a speaking part in a movie. Her film commitments grew rapidly and now, five movies and 2.5 years on, she had recently resigned from her job at the high school sitcom and was earning more per film than she could have earned in three years in Chicago. She was starting to build up her power and reputation, manipulating the tabloids for publicity until she was a semi-recognised face. She was now 24-years old.

Having flatted with others
for most of this time, at 23, she moved into an apartment of her own; a large, two-bedroom place with a huge bath, a small ensuite to the master bedroom, big wardrobe for her ever growing collection of designer clothes and a good sized living room. She decorated the apartment in white and black fittings, unconsciously portraying the cold automaton she’d become. It felt like the first home she’d ever had.

Amelia had
also continued with her ju-jitsu, had attained the grade of brown belt and was currently training weekly for her black. She liked the serenity of her dojo and although remaining distant from her fellow students, she felt safe in the expansive space and would train early in the morning before most people arrived. This gave her a strong discipline, fitness and built up her self-respect with every technique she mastered.

In addition to her training, she
worked very hard at her image and never went anywhere without perfect make-up and the latest clothing. Amelia had never hit the worst-dressed list and she spent thousands of dollars developing the perfect wardrobe. She presented an ice-queen façade to the world, which effectively she had become. She used contacts to get into parties she wasn’t invited to, threw parties of her own and slept with those who got her further into the centre of the scrum.

In the
eight years since she’d left Chicago, Amelia had written, on average, one letter a month to her mother, tucking in money as she could afford it. Karen responded infrequently and Amelia could read between the lines that Sam was still being abusive. Amelia felt so useless. Then, the freedom was palpable when Amelia was called by her mum informing her in an emotionless voice that Sam had committed suicide an hour before by rolling his chair off a platform in front of a train. Amelia received one week’s leave from her current film and travelled to Chicago for the funeral; more for her mother than for the man who’d started the assembly line of her life. She felt nothing as she watched her father’s coffin being lowered into the ground; it may as well have been a stranger.

A few days later
, Amelia purchased a little cottage in an outer, leafy suburb and moved Karen in. Her mum, now no longer struggling to pay housing and medical costs, took a low-paying and much-loved job in a library and was finally able to rest after more than 20-years of struggle. She rarely thought of Sam again.

That done,
it just left the revenge.

She ran into
Bill occasionally at parties or launches and every time would smirk, letting him know he was still a target. Each time he’d look away or would visibly avoid her. In the years since he’d raped her, Luminous Pictures had grown substantially after producing several block buster hits, making him a strong player in the industry and consequently harder to bring him down. He was now extremely wealthy. She needed to be bigger than he was and that meant finding another human step to stand on. The first time Amelia had seen Rhys Bradford in the flesh, it had been like a shot of electricity pulverised her to the spot. He was so handsome, tall and magnetic; he made every other man around him look dumpy. Of course she’d seen him on screen, he and his cronies had been players for several years now, but they first officially met on the set of the artifact movie in which she had a supporting role.

Here
was her next step up the ladder and if she could find a way to attach herself to Rhys, she’d get into more parties and magazines than would take years of manipulation to get to. Amelia had been trying to find a way to seduce him for weeks and it was that night in the hotel, she finally succeeded.

A week later, laying in that now—
cool bath, Amelia realised she was hooked for more than just his power. He was the first man who had treated her gently and with consideration and she was determined to discover what dating a man like Rhys would be like.

Rhys was sitting on Amelia’s
white Natuzzi couch, furiously bashing out an email to his mate, Michael, with his two pointer fingers, his eyebrows furrowed into a W-shape in concentration, his shoulders hunched awkwardly over Amelia’s small laptop keyboard. He was wearing his typical dark t-shirt and jeans combination and his hair was long and messy, tucked behind his ears, the scruffy hair complementing his two-day stubble. The room was darkened, the light from the screen lit up his face and Amelia studied his broad shoulders and handsome screen-lit profile while leaning against her bedroom doorframe. Amelia’s chest tightened and she gave him a secret, tender smile.

I
t was now mid-August and two months had passed. If it were possible, she was even more drawn to him, to the point where she was thinking about him far too often for her own good. They made love often, always turning her to putty every time. She showed him more affection than she’s shown anyone and although he did return it, her ‘spider’ senses told her he was withholding.

Rhys
had hesitated making their relationship public. He said he wanted to keep her to himself for the time being, which she accepted. She found herself agreeing with most conditions he put on their relationship, only admitting to herself it was because she was scared to lose him. He was a heady, addictive mix of chivalry, handsomeness and pure masculinity that was intoxicating and Amelia had no intention of either letting him go or another woman near him.

Rhys
, not aware of her perusal and mental conversation, clicked send on his email, closed the little silver laptop and slid it onto the glass coffee table. He stretched and saw her.

“
Can I help you?” A cheeky grin split his face and her long-abused heart kick into gear.

“
I’m helping myself.” She walked across to him, her short, sky-blue dress swishing softly against her bare thighs and sat in his lap, sighing softly when he wrapped his arms around her. She rested her cheek on his forehead.

She spoke
carefully. “Would you come with me to a party tomorrow night? It’s at The Urn.”

“
Hmph. If it’s at The Urn, it’d be one of Gary Litchfield’s mob I guess.”

“
Yeah, Steve Ty. So, do you want to come?” She chewed her lip above his head, not wanting him to see her fear that he might say no.

“
Sure. Why not.”

Amelia felt giddiness swim behind her eyelids and she kissed him thoroughly in thanks
.

Finally, they’d be seen in public and everyone
will see who she had become. This will bring her more publicity than anything she’d ever done with the added luxury of being tied with one of Hollywood’s sexiest bachelors.

Within moments, her
kisses changed from happy little pecks to devouring his mouth and without breaking contact, Amelia slid across his lap to straddle his legs, pushing hard against his crotch. Rhys threaded his fingers through her loose hair, holding her in place while he kissed her, sliding his tongue along hers. Amelia felt him grow hard under her and she rocked suggestively against him while Rhys sucked gently on her lower lip. She was wearing a dress exactly for this purpose; it was now racked up against her hips, her sexy thong on show from behind, both of his hands covering her small bum, guiding her rhythm. Rhys stopped for a moment to get a condom from his wallet and then resumed position, pushed her thong aside and slid her onto him. They rocked together, her lifting and lowering at his command while his fingers worked their magic and it wasn’t long before she orgasmed around him, slumping over his shoulder and breathing deep breaths.

It was after her heart slowed she realised he hadn’t come and insult snaked into her head as she felt him slipping out of her
. No man had ever done that and she looked into his face, the accusing words starting to form.

“
For later, sweet.” He looked apologetic and he kissed her quickly while that little voice in her head sent repetitive warnings. She stood up and stomped into the bathroom.

The party was only starting when they arrived at The Urn. It was 9pm and the crowds were still thin when they went through the door.

Amelia purposely stood close to
Rhys once inside, her anger of yesterday forgotten. She noticed heads turn towards them and felt a glint of satisfaction. His arm didn’t go around her, as she had fantasised, but he didn’t move away and the proximity gave every proof needed there was more going on. There was a blinding flash as a tabloid photographer delightedly captured them and Amelia put on her cool camera face, leaning her head suggestively towards Rhys while he stood immobile. There was no hint to what Rhys was feeling but as he was there, she was happy.

She
was wearing a short, silver mini dress with masses of tiny chains looped through the fabric, lending the dress to shift like water. A few more chains hung longer than the skirt, brushing the shimmering stockings that highlighted her long legs that ended in high, silver closed-toe stilettos. She was wearing hoop earrings, her hair parted in the centre and straight and her eyelids coloured a smoky grey with silver highlights that made her blue irises shine alluringly under the straight fringe.

Rhys
put his hand on her back, the cuff of his black leather jacket catching momentarily on the chains. He pulled back and at the loss of contact, Amelia perused her handsome lover over her shoulder. Rhys was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a light blue V-neck knit and a well-cut black and brown leather jacket that sat on his shoulders perfectly. He’d tied back his hair and left the trademark stubble.

God, that man’s gorgeous
.

The large room
was designed to mimic a sunken Greek bath house with the dance floor in the lower level where the bath would traditionally be. The area set aside for dancing had a diameter of 10 metres and had a blue, shimmery floor installed with small optic fibre lighting that rotated like waves. Suspended securely from the ceiling was a multitude of strobes, mirror balls, colour beams and LED wall washers.

The
dance floor was ringed on all sides by four stairs (and one small ramp) that led to the wide middle level which circled the dance floor on all sides and contained the cloak room, tables, booths and bar. The entrance was on an even higher platform, on purpose, so that the patrons could scrutinise every incoming guest, and vice versa.

The décor was a gaudy clash of purple, cream and gold
. Huge Grecian-style columns lined the steps leading to the sunken dance floor and were painted in a stone hue. Along the walls were enormous urns an artist had decorated with lewd orange and black images of people procreating. Large purple curtains draped the walls and gold filigree was pressed into the decorate ceilings moulded into reliefs of grapes, capitals, cupids, lions and vines.

When people first
entered the club, most questioned why it was so popular. But Gary Lichfield, the owner, managed to secure the hottest DJs in L.A. and poached the best bartenders he could find. By midnight every Friday and Saturday night, the place heaved with patrons.

Amelia raised an eyebrow at
Rhys, smiled then moved off the entrance platform. He obediently followed through the crowd a few metres until an acquaintance clapped him on the shoulder and Rhys turned to talk. The acquaintance ignored Amelia and she felt terribly slighted, even more so when she pulled on Rhys’s arm and he resisted her urgings. Offended, she turned and trudged down the stairs to the half-full dance floor, expecting him to follow.

Getting there early was a good idea,
Amelia thought, as made her way up the stairs at the other side, found a booth and slid in. A good-looking waiter appeared at her elbow and she disdainfully raised her eyes at him, immediately recognising that desperate look of an actor. She ordered a vodka martini. The drink arrived five minutes later and Rhys still hadn’t.

Amelia’s temper was at the edge of rationality
. She was his lover! How dare he leave her on her own like this! It was humiliating. Her imagination had pictured them snuggled in the booth, his face close to hers and then dancing for hours slowly and sensuously with the night ending in a thorough shagging in the car.

More people had arrived and se
veral had even greeted her but she was still sitting on her own at the back of the club, disgusted at being alone and blaming Rhys completely. Damn her infatuation with him. She hated herself at that moment, her mortification ripping as she drained the last of her martini glass.

Finally
, she saw Rhys’s distinctive face moving towards her through the now thick crowd that was moving in rhythm on the dance floor. The music was pumping rebelliously and the faces were illuminated disjointedly by the systematic flashes of strobes sparking across the surging pack. She detachedly watched him, carefully keeping any sign of her infuriation hidden and as he moved up the stairs, she realised immediately why he’d been held up and immediately felt remorse.

Like a barnacle on a ship, a scantily clad
, peroxide blonde groupie wearing little more than a short purple tutu skirt, a black bikini top and black knee-high boots had fastened her fingers onto his designer jacket and was not letting go. Rhys saw Amelia and he smiled in relief at her, instantly evaporating all hostility in her like ice onto fire. He rolled his eyes and once again tried to extricate himself politely from the iridescent purple claws glued to his elbow.

Amelia saw the cue and climbed from the booth, strolled over to
Rhys and in a possessive movement that stunned the groupie and onlookers, slid her arm around his neck and pulled him down into a hot, open-mouthed kiss. The groupie’s purple lips opened in astonishment and she dropped his arm quickly, stumbling two steps backwards into a group of partiers behind her, losing her footing and dropping onto her butt with an undignified screech. The tutu skirt bent sideways, revealing hot pink knickers and a red garter.

Rhys
was gentleman enough to stop the kiss and he bent to help the groupie to her feet. She accepted and leaned weightily into him, stumbling again when he let her go. Sparing the hopeful woman no more than a quick glance, he followed Amelia into the booth and just like her fantasies, he wrapped his arm around her and nibbled her ear. She literally purred with delight, the public affection a powerful aphrodisiac. Amelia hoped everyone on the deck was watching.

“
Thanks for the rescue” he yelled into her ear.

“
Any time.” Any time indeed, the pleasure had all been hers.

Patrick
Dester, one of the actors in the artefact movie, found them and plonked down. Amelia turned to glare at the unwelcomed visitor until she saw who it was and smiled.

“
Allo-ello! Since when did you two get it on?” he questioned with a big grin. Patrick was the movie’s good guy and although Amelia resented the intrusion into her couple bubble, she liked Patrick and pulled away enough so they could talk. Rhys leaned back against the cushion but still kept his arm around Amelia to her ever-growing gratification.

She smiled as she
said, “none of your business.”

“
Hah!”

Amelia had chosen her words carefully
. Patrick adored a good gossip and this bit of news was sure to hit the ear of every tabloid journo by tomorrow, 8:30am precisely. The less she gave him, the more he’d say.

On the other side of the booth, Patrick surreptitiously watched Amelia
. He didn’t like her much, too predatory, but he thought the world of Rhys and hoped he knew what he was doing. Studying him slumped back against the booth with his eyes half closed, he wondered if he really did. There was something different about Rhys tonight, something sinister and Patrick suspected it was the blonde woman possessively stroking his leg. He sent up a little prayer for his friend.

Later in the back of the car with Amelia leaning on his shoulder,
Rhys was wondering the same thing. Amelia was gorgeous and his ego certainly liked having her on his arm, yet when he analysed why he couldn’t let go with her, there wasn’t an answer. He did like her; that was for sure.

He
wasn’t threatened by Amelia’s rapaciousness because he’d seen her look vulnerable, bewildered and uncontrolled straight after a massive climax. He knew there was a soft person under that disciplined façade. She was bossy and expectant but didn’t demand much more than sex from him, which he was happy to give. He’d enjoyed showing her off at the club tonight.

He looked down at her face leaning against his sh
oulder and with her eyes closed she looked very young and defenceless. Protectiveness swept through him and he hugged her closer, wondering what had made her so angry at the world. There was something about Amelia that he resonated with. He was sure one day he’d figure out exactly what.