The Modeliser (12 page)

“Signorina Fearson, you do us an honour.” He smiled, speaking
with a flamboyant and no doubt wholly fake Italian accent and Tamara smiled
back, flattered that he had immediately placed her. Princess Diana had been a
regular diner at the restaurant and even now as she cast her eye casually
around the dining room, she could see that it was filled with It Girls, older
couples and wealthy tourists. Vassily was nowhere to be seen. For a moment Tamara
paused, it was already 8.20, she had made sure to be fashionably late. She
turned back to the Maitre De.

“I will be dining with Vassily Romanov,” she said, hoping
that perhaps there was a private room where Vassily might be waiting.

“But of course, this way please.” The maitre de led her to a
table in the centre of the dining room. “Our best table,” he murmured as he
pulled a chair out for her. “The gentleman isn’t here yet,” he said. Tamara
gave a studied smile, hiding her irritation, she hated being kept waiting.
“Anything to drink, while you wait? The man asked.

“A glass of Champagne,” Tamara replied smartly. “Something
festive.”

“But of course.” The Maitre De smiled back knowingly. He had
seen it all before, women who punished their lovers by ordering the most
expensive thing on the menu. “How about the Dom Perrignon 1968?” He asked.

“Sounds perfect,” Tamara replied. At £900 a bottle, Vassily’s
tardiness was certainly going to cost him, but as she sat back in her chair
taking in the murmur of conversation, watching the affluent, well-heeled
clientele, Tamara reasoned, that he could certainly afford it.

“Can
I get a picture?”

The nervous voice grated through Alex’s pounding headache as
he sat at the bar at The Lanesborough hotel in Central London. He continued to
stare into the glass of whisky hoping that it might deter this fan. “Hey, can I
get a picture?” the voice came back again. With a burst of tension, Alex
slammed the highball glass down onto the bar.

“No!” He growled without looking up. There was a moment of
silence.

“You’re a real dick,” the voice snapped back and then
mercifully, the sound of retreating footsteps. Alex looked up as the bartender
came to stand in front of him.

“Another?” He asked. Alex shook his head, jumping to his
feet. Reaching into his pocket he removed a wad of pound sterling and slapped
down three £50 notes on the bar. It was one hell of a tip and the bartender
could barely contain the wide grin that sparked across his face.

“Wow, thanks man.”

“No problem,” Alex replied as he turned and walked out of the
bar aware that too many eyes were on him. He emerged into the lobby of the
hotel and made a beeline for the lifts, keeping his head down. His grandfather
had just been buried for chrissake, he had no desire to sign autographs or take
pictures. The lift was empty as he rode up in silence to the penthouse suite
that Shay had reserved for him. He could have stayed at his grandfather’s or
even at Helena’s and yet as he always did when in London, Alex had elected to
stay in a hotel. Especially now, the thought of being around his sister or
surrounded by his grandfather’s things made him feel guilty and uneasy.

Though it was after midnight London time, Alex felt wired,
drunk and wide awake, in LA it was still mid afternoon. He crashed onto the
sofa and flicked the TV on, immediately muting the sound. He walked across to
the floor to ceiling windows and looked out onto a view of Hyde Park at night.
Morosely he turned back to face the room. Alex tracked through the massive sitting
room into the bedroom and crashed onto the bed, as the events of the afternoon
came flooding back. His sister’s accusation that he was turning into their
mother didn’t sit easily with him. Turning into flighty, irresponsible Sula was
the last thing he wanted and yet he knew that there was some truth in Helena’s
words. Didn’t he shut people out when he grew tired of them? Hadn’t he slowly
drifted away from his family, getting caught up in LA life? Alex climbed off
the bed pulling off his shirt, which he dumped carelessly on a chaise lounge.
He unclasped the Rolex wristwatch from around his wrist and turned it face down
in his palm to read the inscription. His grandfather had given him this watch
for his 21
^st
birthday. Alex felt a shaft of pain as he thought about
him; he should have been by his side when he died. In the dim light of the
hotel room, Alex thought about Sula hitting him up for money after the funeral.
As it turned out being a cultural icon didn’t really pay enough for the kind of
lifestyle she lived and yet another lover appeared to have taken advantage of
her. Alex stood up with a sigh. He shucked of his jeans and decided on a cold
shower, the whisky was finally starting to get to him.

Tamara
was boiling with rage.

It wasn’t the usual cold anger that she had perfected for
dealing with her enemies. This was real, impotent rage that took her back to
childhood. Vassily Romanov had stood her up. At first she had sat with a fixed
smile, sipping the expensive champagne that she had ordered, but as the minutes
had ticked by, a gnawing anxiety had set in. She’d glanced at her phone,
obsessively making sure it was switched on. She’d started to do those stupid
things that women did: perhaps he’d been in an accident. Perhaps she was
sitting in the wrong restaurant, perhaps... Then she had stopped herself, there
was no perhaps. She had been played. Tamara ignored the lascivious looks that
some of the men around the room were throwing her and she glared at the women
with their pitying glances. She nodded at a waiter.

“The bill please.” The waiter a young man looked confused.
“But you haven’t eaten,” he questioned.

Tamara’s blue eyes were like chips of ice as she caught and
held his gaze. “Bring me the bill now.” The waiter jumped as though a pistol
shot had been fired at him.

“Yes Madam,” he replied scuttling away quickly.

As
she left the restaurant, her head held high, Tamara had wrapped her cashmere
shawl around her shoulders, noting how few taxis there were in sight, it was
after all a Saturday night. She tapped a number into her mobile phone.

“Casey, I want a cab at the top of Beauchamp place in 5
minutes, or you’re fired.” She ended the call before Casey could give her any
excuses. She stared at her phone for a moment and then tapped in another number.
She waited while it rang, until eventually a strong, lightly accented voice
picked up the phone.

“Romanov,” he said.

“You bastard.” There was silence on the line and then he
spoke again.

“Tamara,” he said, “I trust you had a nice dinner?”

“You’re playing games with me?” She snapped, his calm voice
riling her further.

“You inveigle your way into my launch and you disrupt my
opening. It is you who should learn not to play games, especially not with me.”
And at this there was a click on the line. He had hung up on her. Tamara
resisted the temptation to smash her phone to the ground and stamp her feet.
She watched as the car that had dropped her off approached, pulling up in front
of her. Tamara didn’t wait for the driver to come out. Instead she opened up
the door herself and dropped into the back seat of the car. She leaned her head
against the headrest and wisely the driver did not try to engage her in
conversation. It was a long time since anyone had bested her and Tamara felt
self-pitying thoughts rise up in her. She’d been mad to play around with
someone like Vassily Romanov. The man was a billionaire with a shady reputation
to boot; she was out of her league. For a moment Tamara waded in this pool of
self-pity and then she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the car window and
something in her snapped. She was Tamara Fearson. She sat up straight in her
seat and barked out an instruction to the driver. She knew exactly what she
needed tonight.

Alex
was awoken by the sound of a hard insistent pounding on his door. For a moment
he lay disoriented in the bed, a mix of jet lag and whisky having finally taken
their toll on him. There was another hard rap on the door and he swung his feet
off the bed.

“I’m coming,” he yelled as the sleep quickly cleared. He
padded naked through the suite. His eyes darted around for the towel he’d been
wearing when he crashed onto the bed after his shower but he couldn’t find it.
Besides he reasoned, as he flicked on a small orange lamp, whoever was banging
on his door in the middle of the night, had to be prepared to take him as they
found him. Another knock rang out and Alex reached the door and yanked it open.

“What!” He said and then slowly a wide grin spread across his
face.

Tamara
looked him up and down, a look of appreciation in her eyes. Her eyes drifted
down his tanned perfect chest and then to the line of dark blonde hair on his
abdomen that arrowed down towards…

“My eyes are up here,” Alex drawled, interrupting Tamara’s
shameless ogling.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she asked. With a shrug Alex
turned around to walk back into the suite, leaving Tamara with a million dollar
money shot of his incredible butt. He strode through the suite back into the
bedroom, his eyes darting around the room for his overnight bag where he would
retrieve his pajama bottoms. From the sitting room, Tamara called out. “What
are you doing?”

“Trying to make myself decent,” Alex called back with a smile
in his voice. It wasn’t as though Tamara hadn’t already seen everything he had
before.

“Don’t bother,” Tamara’s voice was closer and Alex spun
around to see that she was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, slowly
advancing in. He watched as she reached to her side and slowly pulled down the
concealed zip in her white dress. Alex swallowed hard.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tamara replied as she let the dress fall
to her feet and she stepped away from it, now clad only in a sheer, flesh-tone
thong. She reached up to unclasp her hair and Alex’s eyes were drawn to the way
this movement raised her breasts. God, he had forgotten just how beautiful she
was. He watched as she let her blonde curls fall around her shoulders and she
combed her fingers through her hair. Her eyes, Alex could see, were riveted to
his cock and the erection that was growing fast.

“How do you want me?” Tamara asked her voice husky and
something in Alex snapped. He lunged forwards for her, grasping her face in
both his hands as he kissed her hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth, and
then biting her lower lip until they were both breathing hard. His hands
drifted lower to grasp the back of her neck as he bent her backwards so that he
could bite and suck at her neck. But Tamara wasn’t going to let him have things
all his way. Her hands roamed his body, his shoulders, his arms and then she
stroked down his chest, her hand between their bodies until she could grip his
hard erection. Slowly she began to stroke him, until he groaned into her mouth
and tried to pull away from her. She leaned down and began to suck on his
nipples.

“Bed,” he ordered raggedly, even as he was already forcefully
propelling her towards the king sized bed. Tamara bounced as he shoved her onto
the bed, her legs scissoring open. “What do you want?” Alex smiled and then
without waiting for an answer, slowly he lowered his head to her body. First,
he licked her nipples; slow, teasing licks that had her panting and begging for
more and then he sucked them into his mouth, pulling hard on her before he used
his teeth, bringing her to the edge of pain. Tamara was rocking against him,
her hips rising and falling as she tried to get friction, where she needed it
most. Slowly, Alex let go of her nipple and looked up at her face. Even after
ten years, their bodies were still in tune, still remembered how good they
could be together. He bent his head back to her, kissing her navel and then
moving lower. With his teeth, he pulled down her thong and then slowly kissed
his way up her legs, the back of her knees and then stopped to lick her inner thigh.
She was so wet and ready for him and his cock jumped as he caught her scent.

“Close your eyes,” he demanded as he looked up and saw
Tamara’s eyes still watching him though they had grown hazy and unfocused.

“No,” she moaned back at him. He continued to look up her
body and their eyes met and clashed. Her eyes were stormy and even as she
circled on the edge of orgasm, just waiting for him to push her over the
precipice, he knew she wouldn’t obey him, wouldn’t close her eyes. Same old
control-freak Tamara, Alex thought. And then with a small hoarse laugh, he bent
his head to her. He stroked a finger through the tiny landing strip of blonde
pubic hair and then he put his mouth on her in a wet open-mouthed kiss. He
thrust his tongue inside her and Tamara’s hips jumped off the bed and she let
out a long low growl as she came. He barely gave her a moment to come down from
that orgasm, before he moved up her body and in one movement Alex thrust into
her and Tamara spiralled into another powerful release. He thrust into her
fast, without finesse, neither of them concerned with anything more than simply
losing themselves in each other and within moments he too came, collapsing on
top of her, their fast breaths mingling.

As reality reformed around them, Alex pushed himself off
Tamara, rolling onto his back. He turned to stare at her, her blonde hair
spread across his pillow. He ran a hand across her collarbone, tucking a strand
of hair behind her ear. Finally she opened her eyes.