Susan Phillips - Glitter Baby

“Her body is lovely, mon ami,” he said. “I congratulate you. But your beauty is wasted on this faded matinee idol. I think I shall steal you away.” His tone was light, but something in his expression told her his words hadn’t been spoken casually.

“I think not.” She tried to sound cool and sophisticated, like Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief. Something about him frightened her. Perhaps it was his air of power, the impression of authority he wore every bit as easily as the oyster-white suit. She bent to retrieve her wrap, but as she straightened, Flynn’s hand cupped her bare shoulder, preventing her from covering herself.

“Take no notice of Alexi, Belinda. Our rivalry is an old one.” His hand moved down the length of her arm and splayed possessively across her bare midriff. His little finger slipped in the hollow of her navel. “He can’t abide seeing me with a woman he can’t have. It goes back to our younger days when I stole them all away from him. My friend is still a very bad loser.”

“You didn’t steal all of them away. I remember a few who were more attracted to my money than to your pretty face.”

Belinda sucked in her breath as Flynn’s hand, warm and possessive, dipped lower and settled over the lipstick-red crotch of her tiny bikini. “But they were old. Not our type at all.”

Against her will she looked up and saw Alexi leaning back in his chair, a portrait of aristocratic indolence with one immaculately trousered leg crossed over the other. He lifted his eyes to hers, and for a fraction of a moment, she forgot Flynn was in the room.

Alexi cruised with them on the Zaca and took them out to dinner at the best restaurants in Southern California. Sometimes he bought Belinda gifts of jewelry, dainty and expensive. She kept them in their boxes and wore only Flynn’s small spinning charm on a chain around her neck.

Alexi berated Flynn for the charm. “What a vulgar bauble. Surely Belinda deserves better.”

“Oh, much better,” Flynn replied. “But I couldn’t afford it, old chap. Not all of us were born with your silver spoon.”

The two men had met on the private yacht of the Shah of Iran nearly a decade earlier, but over the years, their friendship had developed an edge. Alexi’s presence reminded Flynn of past mistakes and lost opportunities. Still, he never stopped hoping to divert some of Alexi’s wealth in his own direction, and, in the end, Alexi felt the rivalry more keenly.

Beneath his charm Alexi Savagar was a man who took life seriously. As an aristocrat, he disdained Flynn’s inferior breeding and lack of formal education. As a businessman, he scorned his playboy lifestyle and contempt for self-discipline. But at thirty-eight-his fortune secure and his power unquestioned-amusement had become a precious commodity. Besides, Flynn had never posed a serious threat to him. Not until the moment Alexi had gazed at the mermaid swimming in the pool at the Garden of Allah.

Their tastes were similar-young girls with the bloom of innocence still on their flushed cheeks. Flynn’s fame and sexual magnetism seemed to give him an advantage, but Alexi’s wealth and carefully executed charm were a formidable aphrodisiac. Flynn saw Belinda as a new pawn in the game the men had played over the years. He had no way of knowing Alexi viewed her differently.

Alexi’s visceral reaction to Belinda Britton had taken him by surprise. She was a silly child absurdly obsessed with movie stars. Except for her youth, she had little to recommend her. Although she was intelligent, she’d been badly educated. She was undeniably beautiful, but so were other women he’d known. Still, next to Belinda’s air of tainted innocence, his more sophisticated female companions seemed old and weary. Belinda was the perfect combination of child and whore, her mind untouched, her body lush and experienced.

But his attraction to Belinda went deeper than sexual desire. She was a bright-eyed child, eager for life to begin and full of trust in the future. He wanted to be the one to introduce her to the world, to shelter and protect her, to mold her into the ideal woman she could become. As the days passed, the accumulated years of his cynicism peeled away. He felt like a boy again with his life stretching before him, full of promise.

Toward the end of November, Flynn announced he was going to Mexico for a week and asked Alexi to watch after her. Alexi gave Belinda a slow smile, then turned to Flynn. “You might wish to think twice about deserting the field.”

Flynn laughed. “Belinda won’t even wear the trinkets you give her, will you, my dear? I don’t believe I have much need to worry.”

Belinda laughed as if it were all a wonderful joke, but Alexi Savagar made her uneasy. No one had ever treated her with so much courtesy. Her feelings confused her. He was an important man, but he wasn’t a movie star-he wasn’t Errol Flynn-so why should she be so disturbed by him?

For the next week, Alexi became her constant companion. They drove everywhere at breakneck speed in a red Ferrari that seemed like an extension of Alexi’s well-tuned body. She watched his hands on the controls, observed the sureness of his touch, the steady grip of his fingers. What would it be like to have such self-confidence? As they roared through the streets of Beverly Hills, she felt the surge of the car’s engine through her thighs. She imagined everyone speculating about her. Who was this blond-haired woman who’d managed to capture the interest of two such important men?

In the evening they went to Ciro’s or Chasen’s. Sometimes they spoke French, with Alexi keeping his vocabulary simple so she could follow it. He described his classic car collection, he detailed the beauties of Paris, and one night, with the Ferrari parked on a hill and the city lights spread at her feet, he spoke more personally.

“My father was a Russian aristocrat wise enough to leave for Paris before the First World War broke out. He met my mother there. She convinced him to shorten his name from Savagarin to Savagar so he’d fit into Parisian society. I was born a year before the war ended, and a week before my father died. I’ve received my love of fine things from my French mother. But do not fool yourself. Beneath it all, I remain relentlessly Russian.”

Alexi’s ruthlessness both fascinated and frightened Belinda. She told him about herself, describing her parents and the loneliness of her early life. He listened with flattering intensity as she shared her dreams of stardom and confided things she’d never told anyone. He spoke to her about Flynn. “He will leave you, ma chère. You must understand that.”

“I know. He probably sent me off with you so he could be with other women. Maybe even his wife.” She looked imploringly at him. “Please don’t tell me if you know. He can’t help himself. I understand that.”

“Such adoration.” Alexi’s mouth gave a slight twist. “As always, my friend is a lucky man. It’s a pity he doesn’t appreciate you. Perhaps you’ll be luckier next time in your choice of companions.”

“You make me sound like some sort of tramp,” Belinda snapped. “I don’t like it.”

Alexi’s strange, slanted eyes pierced through her clothing, through her skin, into a place so secret that only he knew it existed. “A woman like you, ma chère, will always need a man.” He picked up her hand and played with her fingertips, sending a little shiver through her. “You are not one of those fierce, modern women. You need to be sheltered and protected, molded into something precious and fine.” For a moment she thought she saw pain in his eyes, but the impression faded as his voice grew harsh. “You sell yourself too cheaply.”

She snatched her hand away. He didn’t understand. There was nothing cheap about giving herself to Flynn.

Everything came to a crashing end shortly after Christmas when Flynn tired of the game they were playing. As they all sat at a banquette in Romanoff’s, he slipped a cigarette into his amber holder and said he’d be leaving to spend a few months in Europe. From the way he avoided looking at her, Belinda understood she wasn’t invited to go along.

A great, suffocating mass expanded in her chest, and her eyes flooded with tears. Just as the last vestige of control slipped from her, a sharp pain gripped her thigh. Alexi’s hand squeezed her under the table, forbidding her to humiliate herself. His strength flowed through her, and she managed to endure the rest of the evening. When Flynn left on New Year’s Day, Alexi took her in his arms and let her cry. Later, she read in the newspaper that Flynn’s new traveling companion was fifteen years old.

Although Alexi had finished his business in California long ago, he made no move to return to Paris. The rental on the bungalow had been paid through the end of January-not, she suspected, by Flynn-and, for the next few weeks, they spent nearly every evening together. One night, unexpectedly, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Don’t!” She jumped up, angry with him for the intimacy. Alexi wasn’t Flynn, and she wasn’t a tramp. She rushed through the patio doors into the living room and snatched a cigarette from the china holder that sat on the coffee table.

Outside on the patio, years of iron control and self-discipline shattered inside Alexi Savagar. He jumped up and strode into the room. “You stupid little bitch.”

She spun around, stunned by his venom. The well-polished Gallic mask had dropped away, baring the naked, atavistic product of countless generations of noble Russian breeding.

“How dare you think you can refuse me,” he said on a snarl. “You’re just another whore. But instead of fucking a man for his money, you fuck him for his fame.”

She let out a muffled cry as he advanced on her. He caught her by the shoulders and jammed her against the wall. His hand grabbed her jaw, but before she could scream again, he’d covered her mouth with his own. He bit at her lips, forcing them open. She tried to clamp down on the tongue he thrust into her, but his fingers closed tightly around her throat, their message clear. He was Count Alexi Nikolai Vasily Savagarin, omnipotent overlord of serfs, entitled by birth to take possession of whatever he desired, and she must subjugate herself to him.