Читать книгу Practised Deceiver - SUSANNE MCCARTHY - Страница 6

‘ALYSHA, this way.’

‘Over here, Alysha.’

‘Give us a big smile, Alysha.’

‘Miss Jones, do you use Lozier products yourself?’

‘Of course she does,’ Ross cut in before she could frame her own reply to the reporter’s question. ‘As a model whose career depends on her looks, what else would you expect her to use?’

Alysha kept smiling, though it was taking every ounce of professionalism she possessed. Perched up on a tiny dais with a giant-size mock-up of the Lozier perfume bottle, in front of the gathered media and senior executives of the Lozier company, she felt like a puppet—with Ross Elliot pulling the strings.

Oh, there was no denying that it was a sensational outfit—what little there was of it. Of floating silk chiffon, in a vivid shade of flamingo-pink shot through with gold thread, the top consisted of no more than a wrap of fabric tied halter-style around her neck and across her breasts and knotted behind her back, the two ends drifting to the floor; the palazzo pants were of the same sheer fabric, giving the impression almost of transparency, and they were slung daringly low around her slender hips, leaving most of the peach-smooth curve of her stomach bare—offering a very provocative glimpse of her dainty navel.

But it was in her contract that she had to wear whatever he dictated for her appearances as the Lozier Girl—as he hadn’t hesitated to remind her when she had protested. It said a great deal about the way he saw her, she reflected bitterly: a body, and a face, and twenty-four inches of glossy black hair, that existed solely for the purpose of selling the product. But it was too late now to change her mind about the deal—a substantial proportion of the advance had already been spent on reducing her mother’s credit-card accounts and paying her brother’s allowance for the term.

The Press conference he had arranged to announce the selection of the new Lozier Girl was being held in the elegant Mayfair offices of the Lozier Institute. It had created quite a stir of interest, even beyond the narrow confines of the advertising and fashion world—one previous Lozier Girl had gone on to become a big success in Hollywood, another had recently married a viscount. Everyone was eager to see who the replacement was to be.

‘Will you be doing the Paris collections this year, Alysha?’ one of the journalists wanted to know.

Ross nodded, again answering on her behalf. ‘Alysha has already been approached by several of the top designers. And of course, her exclusive contract with Lozier doesn’t prevent her appearing on the catwalk—or the cover of Vogue. Although we do have first call on her services,’ he added, slanting her a snake-like smile. ‘And we’ll be keeping her pretty busy.’

‘Do you have a regular boyfriend, Alysha? What does he think of your career?’

‘There’s no one special at the moment,’ she managed to get in before Ross could put words in her mouth.

‘Which Lozier preparation is your favourite, Miss Jones?’

Ross glanced towards her; apparently she was to be allowed to answer that one all by herself. Unfortunately he hadn’t bothered to check with her before asserting so confidently that she used the range she had been employed to promote—she privately thought it rather over-priced. But of course she couldn’t say that—a little prevarication was called for.

‘I think a good moisturiser is one of the most important beauty investments a woman can make,’ she asserted smilingly.

That bland comment seemed to satisfy them, and the remaining questions were all about the campaign itself, which Ross answered. Some of the photographers wanted more pictures, and she posed obligingly—at least it would be a change to be featured on the editorial pages instead of the fashion section.

At last Ross signalled an end to the proceedings. ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. There are Press-packs available for you as you leave which I trust will supply you with any further information you may need.’

As the room began to empty, Alysha permitted herself a small sigh of relief, easing the muscles in her back. Ross slanted her a look of sardonic enquiry, offering her his hand to step down from the high dais.

‘Tired?’

‘Not at all,’ she responded coolly, withdrawing her hand from his.

A flicker of a smile curved that hard mouth. ‘Good—you have another hour’s work still. There are drinks being served in the boardroom for Lozier’s senior executives. The chairman tells me he’s looking forward very much to meeting you,’ he added, allowing his steel gaze to rove without haste over the slender curves of her body: a subtle reminder—if she had needed one—that she had been bought. ‘His latest divorce came through a few weeks ago, I believe, so if you play your cards right you could even get to be Lady Maynard the Fourth—or would it be the Fifth? I’m afraid I’ve lost count.’

Her eyes flashed him a frost-warning, but she chose to ignore his attempts to goad her. This was the first time she had seen him since she had agreed to sign the contract; the respite had been welcome, giving her a chance to sort out her feelings about him.

She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t have any feelings; that spark of physical attraction that arced between them was too real to be ignored. And she knew that he was aware of it too—though he had so far given no indication that he remembered their first meeting; she had wondered whether the sight of so much of her naked flesh would jog his memory, but apparently it hadn’t—or if it had, he still chose not to mention it.