Highly Strung (13 page)

In the taxi on the way out of town, Milan and Evgeny pointed out every tourist attraction they passed, despite the darkness that had fallen over the city. Eventually, though, the buildings grew sparser, the road wider. They were heading into the woods, somewhere hidden and remote.

Chapter Nine

The car turned down a bumpy track road, under canopies of branches, winding and twisting through the pitch-black forest until they arrived at a set of huge gates.

Milan took out his phone and punched in a brief message.

The gates opened, slowly and mechanically, and Lydia looked along a driveway of half a mile or more to where a handsome rectangular Schloss stood at the far end. Its tall, thin windows burned with golden light and she could see vague shapes flitting inside.

“It really is a palace,” breathed Lydia.

“What did we tell you?” said Evgeny smugly. “Werner is one of the richest men in Austria.”

Milan and Evgeny helped Lydia from the cab and up the steps, where a splendidly uniformed man waited by the giant front door.

In German he asked for their names, which Milan was happy to give in the same language. Then they were led inside to a place of chandeliers and cherubs, pillars and porticoes, pink plaster and golden ornamentation.

At the entrance to a busy drawing room, the guests were announced.

Every eye fell on their trio. Lydia calculated that that made about fifty eyes in total, for there were between twenty and thirty other guests. Most of the men, like Milan and Evgeny, wore formal evening dress, though one young man sported only leather shorts and a leash around his neck.

The room glowed a glamorous gold, and its female occupants seemed to carry the theme over to their outfits, most of them in some form of metallic, shiny garb. Lydia surmised that there must have been a dress code that Milan had not seen fit to explain.

Drawing closer, she was shocked to recognise a pair of very famous, married movie stars and she dropped her eyes, fearing that she might not be able to stop staring if she didn’t. As for the rest of the people in the room, they represented varying ages and nationalities, but most were attractive and all were groomed to perfection. She felt a very poor specimen beside the modelesque women in their diaphanous column dresses, but Milan squeezed her hand at exactly the right moment and she tried to dismiss her insecurities. She was here with one of the most famous violinists in the world.

A man with a red sash across his dress shirt strode forward, arm extended.

“Milan! So good to see you again.” His accent was distinctive but not thick, and he wore small-framed, wire-rimmed glasses over his large nose. “Though I keep reading about you in the international press. Your stock is rising, it seems.”

“Werner.” Milan and his friend exchanged brief embraces with back slaps. “You remember my friend, Evgeny?”

“Ah, we all remember him. It’s a pity our friend the gymnast couldn’t be here tonight. He was very taken with your Evgeny the last time you visited. And who is this charming young person?”

Lydia blushed and looked at her gold-shod feet as Werner’s sharp eyes rested upon her.

“This is Lydia, one of our violinists at the WSO. She’s an open and curious girl. She wanted to see what happens at your parties. I’m hoping she’ll find it to her taste.”

“So am I, so am I.” Werner held out a hand, which Lydia shook shyly, a little disappointed that Milan hadn’t introduced her as something more than a work colleague. “Welcome, Lydia.”

All eyes in the room watched as she accepted a flute of champagne along with her escorts. They drew her into the midst of the crowd, Milan making confident small talk with everyone while she and Evgeny eyed each other. He seemed almost as overwhelmed by it all as she did, she thought. Did he feel like some kind of gilded accessory for Milan, the way she did?

As she nodded acknowledgement to the beautiful female movie star, a horrible thought occurred to her. Milan had said it was fine to just watch. But what if he wanted to join in? Could she really sit there and watch him make love to that Hollywood goddess over there? And, if he could have her, surely he would not want a meek, middle-of-the-road mouse like Lydia any more?

“Hey,” he whispered, turning suddenly to her after a baffling conversation with a famous flamenco dancer about some mutual friend of theirs, “are you okay? You’re very quiet.”

“I’ve never been anywhere like this before,” confessed Lydia. “And I can’t get over the Linberghs being here! I mean, he was voted the world’s sexiest man last year, wasn’t he? And I’m in a room with him.”

“Oh, don’t be starstruck,
miláčku
. He’s a pompous bore. And she’s a spiteful diva. You’re worth ten of them.” As an afterthought he added, “They are good in bed, though.”

She felt a little more confident then, pushing back her shoulders and lifting her neck. So many eyes were upon her, sizing her up, drinking her in. She had never been looked at this way—so boldly, so blatantly—before. It gave her a sense of power. She was wanted and desired, and she could take or leave the wanters and desirers. No wonder people were so concerned with their appearance, if this feeling was the result of looking good. She had never understood it before, but now she began to see the appeal.

“I just need to speak to Sir Anthony.”

Milan’s fingers left her elbow and she felt abandoned, cast adrift on a spangled sea. She hid in her champagne glass, drinking too quickly, but then Evgeny offered unexpected refuge, materialising beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder.

“The first time is a head trip,” he said. “I remember.”

“Have you been here many times before?”

“Only once.”

“What happens, Evgeny? What will happen later?”

“There will be dinner, conversation, then…entertainment.”

“What’s the entertainment? Sex?”

“Yes.”

“Did you…do it?”

“I watched. Last time. I think I’ll have to take part tonight.”

“Have to? Don’t you want to?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure I do. Of course.”

Lydia wasn’t convinced, but she had no chance to pursue the conversation as a gong sounded, indicating that dinner was ready.

She was relieved to find herself placed beside Milan, but Werner sat on her other side and she had the feeling he would pride himself on being an attentive host.

She wasn’t wrong.

“How long have you and Milan been friends?” he asked.
Friends?

“Since I joined the orchestra—in January.”

“Not long. What do you think of my little place here?”

“Little place? It’s vast! And very beautiful.”

“Thank you. I like it. So many things have happened here, Lydia, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Every single act man and woman, or man and man, or woman and woman, or multiples thereof, can possibly do together. It’s all happened here. Do you have experience of parties like these?”

“Er, not really.”

“Oh, that’s good. So we can teach you a few things. We do love fresh blood.”

The female movie star, Natasha Linbergh, chimed in.

“Just as long as the old guard get their fun too.”

“Darling Natasha, you know you’ve never left my premises unsatisfied.”

She laughed throatily. “I guess that’s true. Milan, do you remember that time with the sex swing in the garden?”

Lydia tried not to pinch her lips, but it was hard. Something gave her the impression that Ms Linbergh was playing footsie under the table with Milan as well. She moved her foot sideways a little and hit a flexing calf. Bitch!

Milan, gratifyingly, moved his legs back and tucked them under his chair.

Ms Linbergh pouted and shot a daggers glare at Lydia before discussing her latest waxing with the man on her left.

The food, Lydia assumed, was exquisite, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to swallow more than a couple of forkfuls.

“So, Milan, will you and your guests be performing for us tonight?” Werner asked.

Lydia stiffened.

“We haven’t decided yet,” he said, putting a hand on her thigh. “We’ll see what the evening brings.”

The evening brought a move into a large drawing room behind the banqueting hall, and the guests seated themselves on luxurious chaises longues and divans while fruit and petits fours were passed around with the postprandial liqueurs.

“Who will be first?” asked Werner from a throne-like seat in the corner of the room. “Who has prepared something for us?”

Lydia sat on a cushion at Milan and Evgeny’s feet, leaning back against Milan’s shins while he stroked her hair.

She twisted her neck to grin knowingly at him when the Linberghs were first to volunteer. Who would have guessed?

She relaxed her muscles and prepared for a show. The Linberghs, stunning and sexy, wouldn’t be hard to watch, at any rate.

To applause, they strode into the centre of the room, where a velvet- and silk-covered divan, piled high with cushions, awaited them.

Mr Linbergh—Ross—took Natasha in his arms and they swooned into a passionate kiss, just like so many of their movie clinches, perfectly photogenic and calculated to arouse.

On breaking the embrace, Ross turned to the audience and spoke.

“You know how much Natasha and I love to get down and dirty for you, and we’ve been looking forward to tonight ever since we both wrapped up our latest projects. But tonight we want to add a little something to the show.”

Lydia’s heart started racing. Why were they looking at Milan?

“Tash has never forgotten the time she and Milan gave the triple-O performance some of you might remember.”

Some enthusiastic nodding and muttering broke the fascinated silence.

“So I’d like Milan to join us,” Natasha said, beckoning a finger. “If that’s okay with you, honey?”

Lydia held her breath.

“You’re putting me on the spot,” demurred Milan. “Lydia?”

Lydia had no idea what to say. She knew she didn’t want to watch Milan fucking Natasha, but, on the other hand, she didn’t want to be the one responsible for dampening the party spirit.

Ross seemed to pick up on the reason for the hesitation.

“If you want young Lydia to join in, that’s cool. Lydia, I’d be honoured.”

His gleaming movie star smile beamed right at her. Ross Linbergh, the Oscar-winner, was inviting her to take part in a foursome. Every woman in the place stared at her with jealous expectancy, along with several of the men.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” whispered Milan.

“But then you—”

“I don’t need to fuck Tash Linbergh. I’ve done it before. We can sit this out, it’s fine.”

But Ross Linbergh’s piercing blue eyes and his tousled beach-blond hair were just feet away, his vibrations of desire radiating towards her, the vibes joined by the almost tangible waves of Natasha’s need for Milan. When would a chance like this come again?

“I’m not scared,” said Lydia, half to herself, half to the room. “I can do this.”

“I’m very proud of you,” murmured Milan, hiding his words in the gale of applause that greeted their rising to their feet.

Lydia was lightheaded as she crossed the rug to where the golden couple awaited them. Natasha was first to seize her and crush her against her bosom, which felt surgically enhanced inside its Grecian column dress. The scent of priceless crushed flower petals emanating from the movie star dizzied Lydia, who accepted a voluptuous kiss on the lips while the room’s approval buzzed in her ears. Then she was handed over to Ross, who turned her out to face the room, clasping strong arms around her until his fingers found the hem of her tiny dress. Once they’d curled inside, he began to flip it teasingly up and down while his lips dug into the soft flesh of her neck.

She could see Milan grabbing a fistful of Natasha’s hair and tilting her head back for a fierce kiss. It looked so hot she almost forgot Ross’s manipulations and the eyes of the audience on her, until she noticed Evgeny’s face.

Thunder.

Oh, dear.

She shut her eyes then, willing the sight out of her brain so she could concentrate on letting her nerves dissolve into the sizzling steam of sensuality. Ross brought her around so that her face was pressed into his shoulder, then tipped her chin up to claim a kiss. A movie star kiss, she thought, trying to deconstruct it for signs that it came from no mere mortal. But it was simply a good, workmanlike kiss. It didn’t set off any of the stars or fireworks Milan could charm out of her, but it was perhaps more like one of Evgeny’s kisses—urgent and hard and a bit over-eager.

His big hands rested on her bottom, pulling at the skirt until Lydia knew that the lower portion of her cheeks must be visible to all. He squeezed them with those movie star hands and delved between her thighs, making her stand with them slightly parted.

“Very nice,” she heard someone in the room say. “A sweet little pussy made to be fucked, there.”

“Nice bum too,” remarked a woman. “No cellulite, lucky bitch.”

With his other hand, Ross pulled aside one of the flimsy triangles of chest-covering fabric, so that one breast with its rosy nipple, tight and stiff, popped out and brushed against his suit jacket.

When Ross freed her mouth, she couldn’t help but dart a glance over to Milan, who had Natasha on the bed already, hovering over her and covering the exposed parts of her with flicks of his tongue.

“Hey, a guy could feel hurt,” teased Ross. “You’ve really got it bad for Milan, haven’t you?”

“He’s the one,” she whispered.

“But I can make you feel good too, sweet thing. Let’s get that dress off you and show you how.”

Somebody had put some music on, something primal with a low, thumping bass line. The rhythm worked on Lydia like hypnotism and she followed its lead, swaying as she held up her arms so that Ross could slip the tiny dress over her head.

She felt fingers dancing down the hollow of her back and she shivered against Ross’s body, craving a firmer touch, which he was happy to give. She ground her hips against him to the music, rubbing against the fabric of his expensive dress trousers.

Milan and Natasha had both stripped naked and were kissing passionately on the divan, their long, lean limbs sensuously entangled. The way his hair hung down over Natasha’s face sent a stab of intense jealousy to the centre of Lydia’s being. This was how he must look when he was kissing her. Why wasn’t he kissing her now?