A Tiara Under the Tree

Long dark brown hair, huge expressive brown eyes, a peachy glow to her flawless skin. A body that rocked...

Her looks and body were her greatest asset, closely followed by her charm. She might not have Luc’s brains or Rafe’s talent, but she looked spectacular and she could, as her mother frequently commented, sell ice to Eskimos. That was why Mariella tolerated her presence at MSM Event Planning, where she worked as a party planner. She wasn’t as dedicated or enthusiastic as her co-workers and didn’t put in the hours like her colleagues. Instead she took on projects that interested her, worked only with people whom she liked, and she did a fantastic job, if the project ran smoothly. If not, she relied on Gabe, her cousin, to keep her on some sort of track. She also relied on him to pull her admittedly delicious ass out of the fire when she lost track of a detail or a deadline.

Gabe was smart and focused and dedicated. So Elana didn’t have to be.

Elana bit her bottom lip and stared at her orange toenails, her thoughts a million miles away from the expensive pedicure she’d acquired the day before. Looks and charm were all good and well, but she’d swap them in a heartbeat to be more like the rest of her high-flying family. The reality was that she was the family screwup. Like her world-famous chef and hotelier father and her ridiculously accomplished and smart mother, Luc, Rafe and Gabe made success look so damn easy, they’d never had a moment’s doubt that they’d conquer anything they turned their attention to. She hadn’t been that lucky.

Elana’s ringing phone pulled her out of her introspection. She rolled over, scooped up the flashy red device and looked down at the screen. Ten missed calls—Luc, Gabe, her mother, Thom. Gabe and Mariella were, no doubt, calling her to complain that she was late for work, and Thom would want to know where she was and what she was doing. Who knew what Luc was calling about. Elana winced at the number of text messages; she wasn’t in the mood for an ass-kicking from anybody. She needed another bout of fabulous sex and two cups of coffee before she could face the world that existed outside this luxury apartment.

Being with Jarrod was an integral part of her fantasy world, one she needed as much, or possibly more, than her real world. Damn that ringing phone! Elana saw that Thom was calling her—again—and let the call go to voice mail. Besides, she’d far prefer to think about her very sexy lover.

It had been a couple of months since she’d laid eyes on Jarrod at a party in Beverly Hills. From the moment their eyes met, electricity had crackled between them. He’d introduced himself, and Elana instantly knew that it wouldn’t be long before they saw each other naked. Jarrod was involved in the film industry, and there were rumors about a casting couch—or desk—and about his voracious sexual appetite. Elana listened to the gossip and immediately shrugged off the comments. It meant nothing to her—she wasn’t an actress looking for a break or a paycheck, and she obviously didn’t need his influence or money...

Jarrod was her fantasy man, a way for her to step out of her increasingly complicated life. He was her escape, her dalliance, her drug...

The phone in her h

and rang again, and Elana grinned when she saw the name on the display. Yeah, Cassie was the one person she could talk to. Unlike her family and Thom, Cassie didn’t nag.

“One word, a simple hello, and I can tell that you’ve had a fabulous night. Where did he take you, what did you do?” Cassie drawled. “El Acantilado? The Polo Club? Swoosh?”

“Nowhere,” Elana answered. “We stayed in and screwed each other stupid.”

“I’m so jealous,” Cassie answered on a forlorn sigh. “Listen, I need to know if you’re going to come with me to Mark and Alex’s fashion show in New York next week.”

“I don’t know yet.” Elana shrugged. “I’m waiting to hear whether Jarrod has plans with Finola.”

“Does the ever-so-beautiful, stupid-talented and intellectual Oscar winner know that you are having an affair with her husband?”

Elana shrugged. “Jarrod doesn’t seem to be worried, so I’m not. Besides, I’m playing with fire, too.”

“Don’t get burned,” Cassie said, uncharacteristically serious.

“You know me, Cass, I’m fire and bombproof. I always land on my feet,” Elana assured her before disconnecting the call. She didn’t like intense conversations that made her examine her life or her motivations. She liked to keep her affairs simple.

And it was simple: Finola was Jarrod’s sun, and Elana was his moon. She and Jarrod saw each other when they could, and they were completely sexually compatible. They had fun together—she was allowed to have some fun, wasn’t she?

Jarrod walked back into the bedroom, a blindingly white towel wrapped around his hips, artfully tied to show off the ridge of abdominal muscles. Broad shoulders, long legs, slicked-back hair and predatory eyes. Damn right, she could have some fun! God, he was hot, and he had a way of looking at her that sent bolts of power to her core. Elana wiggled against the silk sheets, and passion flared in Jarrod’s eyes. His towel started to tent.

“Your phone is ringing,” he said, arms over his chest, one dark eyebrow lifted.

“Yeah, I know.” Elana shrugged. “I’m ignoring it.”

“It might be your fiancé,” Jarrod said, his tone amused.

“And do you take every call of Finola’s?”

The corners of Jarrod’s sexy mouth lifted. “Point taken.”

Elana tipped her head upward and dragged her fingernail over her right breast, watching, fascinated, as her nipple pebbled. “So, tell me, what does Finola think of the mirror?”

“Dunno. She hasn’t seen it yet.” His voice dropped an octave, and sex coated his words. “Do you like it?”

Elana’s core throbbed, and the moisture in her mouth disappeared. “I love it. I love watching you slide into me.”

“You up for another round?” Jarrod asked.

Elana nodded. “I haven’t seen you for two weeks, so we have some lost time to make up.”