Crazy Hot (The Au Pairs 4)

"Just don't leave early," Christopher cautioned. "At midnight, there's going to be a re-creation of a cavalry charge, the men firing muskets into the air. Just like the real Fourth of July. Much better than fireworks, don't you think?"

Jacqui and Marcus hastened to agree, both of them straining not to look too shocked. A Moroccan theme and a cavalry charge at the same event? Only in the Hamptons.

"C'mon, I've got you guys up at the main table." Christopher pointed to a couple of gem-encrusted chairs on a dais in the center of the party.

He led them to their assigned seats, and Jacqui noticed the crowd parting deferentially as they walked by. She overheard a few of the guests' whispered commentary. "That's Jacarei--she's going to be bigger than Gisele. And that's Marcus Easton with her. Aren't they just the luckiest people in the world?"

As Jacqui surveyed the action from the vantage point of her golden throne, she wondered if life could get any more fabulous than this.

Marcus seemed to read her mind. "Pretty lovely at the top, isn't it?" He grinned, plucking a grape from the ornate tray on the table and plopping it into his mouth. He leaned back in his

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gilt chair and surveyed her admiringly. "It's where you're meant to be, I think."

Jacqui blushed. "That was more fun than I was expecting," she admitted. When she'd realized that the staged shoot had ended and the real paparazzi had been making a fuss over her, the attention had made her head fizzle, like bubbles in a glass of expensive champagne.

"You're just as much fun as I'd been expecting." Marcus grinned wickedly, leaning forward in his chair. Jacqui held her breath as she saw him lean in toward her, wanting to freeze this moment in time. She was on top of the world, and the most handsome guy she'd met in ages was right th

ere with her.

She giggled and closed her eyes and felt his soft lips press on hers. He caressed her hair as he kissed her gently, his hand finding its way down her back. She felt butterflies in her stomach at his touch.

When they pulled apart, he kept his hand firmly on the small curve of her hip, and she decided that she was going to stay within reach of him for the rest of that night.

Who cared if she had to get up at 6 a.m. the next morning to make the kids their organic breakfast?

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IS MIDAS INTERESTED IN ELIZA'S DESIGNS, OR DOES HE HAVE DESIGNS ON ELIZA?

WHEN THE SHOOT WAS OVER AND JACQUI HAD

finished preening for the real paparazzi, Eliza tried not to feel too piqued that none of the photographers had bothered to take her picture. After all, wasn't she someone too? Not too long ago, Eliza Thompson had ruled the glam-girl private school crowd, her photograph appearing everywhere from the Times social diary to Town & Country and Vanity Fair. But her high school days were over, and already a new crop of hot young heiresses ruled the society pages. The new girls even had websites and rankings and online fan clubs.

Midas saw the slightly distressed look on her face as he stowed away his gear. "You know the press--they're rabid for a new face. It's much better to stay in the background without all the fuss, don't you think? Funny how so much is made of the models when they'd be nothing without the designers."

"You're right." Eliza nodded, jollied out of her temporary irritation and silly jealousy. After all, Jacqui was promoting her line.

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She'd just been sort of touchy recently because all anyone seemed to be interested in when it came to Eliza Thompson was her "engagement" to the "Greyson heir." The papers had been having a field day with the story. Not that she could complain-- she'd started it. And at least the publicity had been paying off, since sales in her boutique were through the roof in just its first week. She smiled shyly at Midas, glad to have such a gentleman at her side.

"Let's leave them to it, shall we?" He handed his camera and tripod to an assistant and escorted her into the party. The two of them giggled at the outlandish extravagance. "I didn't realize Morocco was one of the fifty states," Midas quipped. "But perhaps I need to catch up on my American history."

Eliza laughed. "Nope, you're just in the Hamptons--aka an alternate universe." She was used to the quirks of the Hamptons high life. She'd once attended a black-tie square dance: the richest people in America line dancing among bales of hay, for the bargain price of five thousand dollars a plate.

While Marcus and Jacqui had been seated at a grand table at the center of the action, she and Midas opted for a booth in a quiet corner, sinking back into the plump cushions. Midas ordered a bottle of champagne from a passing waitress and they watched as a gyrating belly dancer approached their table, her finger cymbals clanking.

Eliza felt slightly awkward at the sight of the woman's undulating stomach, but Midas looked completely at ease, clapping to the beat

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and smiling. At the end of the performance, he discreetly tucked a ten-dollar bill into the top of her skirt as the dancer indicated.

"Thank you, sir," the dancer said, before bowing and leaving them to dance for another table.

"Very welcome," he replied. He noticed Eliza staring and explained. "Audience participation is a big part of belly dancing. I learned that in Lebanon."