Читать книгу Temptation Island - Victoria Fox, Victoria Fox - Страница 13

Aurora gunned the engine of her cherry-red Ferrari Spider. It purred beneath her as she waited at the lights. The sky was apricot and the air smelled sugary, the sun a melting orb that dipped hot below the horizon.

She and her girlfriends were on their way to Basement, their favourite Hollywood hangout. It was Friday night, which meant all the names that meant anything would be out and ready to party. Kids of famous parents, heiresses and socialites, child stars, models, they’d all be there: wholesome favourites with secret coke addictions, virgin starlets who’d spend the night promising a blow job to their managers, alpha-male young actors with an eye for the boys as well as the girls … Inside the car, a bottle of vodka was being passed round. Joints were being rolled. Lines being cut. They were totally baked and the night hadn’t even begun.

At a red light, Aurora caught sight of a super-hot Latino guy on a bike next to her. He had more than a passing resemblance to Rafael Nadal, who she had a major thing for. A pretty girl was clinging to his waist—she looked like a gypsy, with masses of black hair and long, tanned legs. For a fleeting moment Aurora imagined being in bed with both of them at the same time. Maybe she was a fucking nympho—the thought had occurred to her before.

The lights changed and the boy sped off. In his place, an open-top Jeep packed with surfers on their way back from the beach. They were shirtless, still wet, whooping at the girls to get their attention, their piercings glinting in the fading light. One of them made an obscene gesture at Aurora.

‘You strapped in?’ she asked the others. Farrah Michaels, her best friend and daughter of the head of a mega Hollywood production studio, sniffed and coughed. Her eyes were glassy.

‘Your dad’s gonna freak if you waste the car.’

Aurora revved the engine. Someone beeped. The driver of the Jeep winked. One of the guys stood up, pulled down his shorts and slapped his bare ass. The girls squealed. Jenna Reynolds, in the back, lifted her top and jiggled two enormous breasts in response.

‘Jerk-offs.’ Aurora floored it and the Ferrari roared to life, nought to sixty in a matter of seconds. The other car didn’t stand a chance. In the rear-view mirror Aurora saw the Jeep recede to a pinpoint before vanishing completely.

Jenna was thrown back against the seat. She struggled to get her top down. ‘Ow!’ she complained. ‘Fucking hell.’ Farrah was laughing.

Aurora took another swig from the bottle. She turned on to Sunset at speed. The Ferrari’s tyres squealed.

‘Uh, hello?’ complained Farrah, grappling to retrieve her smoking paraphernalia. ‘Some of us are trying to get high?’

Moments later they pulled up outside Basement. Aurora was striking in a clinging white minidress, killer heels and statement arm jewellery. Her pale blonde crop looked incredible against her bronzed skin. Her blue eyes were lined with kohl. The other girls, though each attractive in her own right, paled in comparison.

The paparazzi were out in force. They clamoured for Aurora the instant she exited the vehicle. ‘Aurora! This way! Look this way, Aurora! Aurora, over here!’

She chucked her keys at a waiting valet. He fumbled the catch and dived to the floor to retrieve them. Aurora led the way inside.

The club was pounding. She headed for the VIP area and proceeded to order them all shots. Farrah, a pretty redhead, scoped the place for the member of a teen boy-band sensation she’d heard would be making an appearance. To the public the band were all good innocent Christians, but rumour said different of at least one. Apparently he was into dildos.

Aurora was used to the looks she got. Everyone in this town knew who she was and who her parents were. A British DJ had remixed one of Sherilyn Rose’s songs and it was currently storming the download charts. No doubt they’d play it tonight in her honour. Secretly she found it embarrassing. She was tight with her dad but her mom was another matter. Maybe it was the same with all moms: they were a reminder of what you could look like in fifty years or whatever. OK, not fifty, but close. She shuddered.

Last week had been her parents’ anniversary. For some reason, every year, they celebrated it by buying her a gift, like she was the reason they were still together, or something. It was messed up. But she wasn’t about to say no to a two-hundred-thousand-dollar ride, was she? Hence the Ferrari. Farrah had been right: Tom would throw a shit fit if he knew she was using it to party, but, still, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Aurora was his little girl and nothing she did could be anything short of wonderful. Did he even know where she was tonight? She couldn’t work out if he and Sherilyn genuinely had no idea about her lifestyle or if it suited them to be ignorant. She guessed they had enough else to think about without a tearaway daughter who was bedding everything in sight.

Aurora ended up on the lap of Olympic idol Jax Jackson, who had a cock that was allegedly so huge it had acquired a myth-like status. From where she was perched it didn’t feel like much. He had masses of bling around his neck and a solid-gold watch that probably cost more than the car. Across the bar she spotted Farrah pressed up against Boy-Band-Christian. Jenna, who’d starred in several kids’ adventures when she was seven but had never lost the puppy fat, was dancing in a circle of admiring males. Aurora felt bored.

‘Why’n’t we skip the bullshit,’ proposed Jax, ‘an’ you come home with me?’ He shifted on the banquette, pressing his growing erection into her backside. ‘Throw our own little party, whaddaya say?’

Aurora had never done it with a black guy; it’d make a change. But she was wasted, properly wasted. She felt kind of sick. Abruptly, she stood up. ‘I’m leaving.’

‘Jeez.’ He slid his attentions to an adjacent blonde. ‘Suit yourself.’ It was an effort to get across the club. She managed to peel Farrah away from her boyfriend—’boy’ being the operative word—and shout in her ear that she was going.

‘Already?’ Farrah was shocked. ‘How’m I gonna get home?’

Aurora couldn’t be bothered to answer. That was Farrah’s problem. Either she was coming or she wasn’t.

‘I’m not coming,’ said Farrah. Boy-Band-Christian grabbed her chin and stuck his tongue in her mouth. Aurora saw it slide in like a horrible slug and she experienced an intense rush of disliking her best friend. This whole scene was tired out. She’d had enough of it. Every day the same: endless partying, endless guys, endless everything.

If Farrah was staying, she could sort Jenna out, too.

Outside, the cameras lunged at her. In seconds her car was brought round and she jumped in, switching the ignition. Fuck. She was out of her head, shouldn’t be driving, probably. But no one told her so. No one ever told her so.

She’d been on Sunset for a minute, maybe two, when she started feeling properly like shit. She’d done too much: her eyelids were heavy, her limbs shutting down.

I’m going to pass out, she thought. Car horns blared.

The last thing she remembered was her head hitting the wheel, hard, painfully. Then everything went black.