Free Double Lucky by Jackie Collins Page A

sleeping with the man a sweet punishment for her cheating husband.
    Luis glanced up, startled. “ Señora ,” he managed, wiping a slick of sweat from his brow.
    She studied his face for a moment, his thick lips and brooding features. He was rough and masculine-looking, so unlike Anthony, who was very much into grooming with the most expensive face creams and hair products, his bathroom shelves crammed full of bottles and potions. Anthony, who plastered his face with fake tan, had his eyebrows plucked professionally, and indulged in a weekly facial.
    â€œCan you please cut some roses for me?” she said. And when Luis looked up at her blankly, she pantomimed what she wanted, bending to touch a rose, allowing him to get a perfect view of her breasts as the summer shift she had on fell slightly open.
    â€œAh…” Luis said, his eyes lingering, “ Si, señora .”
    Irma experienced a flutter of excitement. Where would they do it when the moment came? Her bedroom? The very same bedroom she shared with Anthony when he honored her with his presence?
    Why not?
    Or perhaps they would stay outside while there was no one around to spy on them. The guards were on duty at the front of the house, and the old gardener was obviously not there.
    Her heart began pounding. Merely thinking about making love with this man had her juices flowing.
    So intent was Luis on surreptitiously checking out her breasts that he accidentally cut himself on a prickly thorn.
    Irma watched intently as a thin line of blood trickled across his wrist.
    â€œOh, dear,” she exclaimed, tentatively touching his forearm. “You’re bleeding.”
    â€œ Non importante ,” he muttered, quickly standing up.
    â€œYes,” Irma insisted. “It looks bad, Luis. You should come with me.” Taking him by the arm, she began leading him toward the house.
    Luis’s eyes darted around to see if there was anyone watching. He needed this job, and the American woman obviously needed more than her roses clipped.
    Irma was past caring. If Anthony was informed of her indiscretions, she didn’t give a damn. Her dear husband hadn’t touched her in over a year. Luis was about to be her revenge.
    *   *   *
    The Grill was Anthony’s number-one bodyguard. Nobody knew where he had picked up the name, and nobody asked. As a professional bodyguard The Grill didn’t need much—his fists were enough to defend himself and his boss, his fists and a complete knowledge of all martial arts. The Grill was from Slovakia. At six feet four, with muscles of steel and a plain, foreboding face with a dangerous scar carving its way across one cheek, he cut a sinister figure. Anthony liked having him around simply for the fear factor—nobody cared to mess with The Grill.
    Finished with Emmanuelle for the night, Anthony headed for the airport and his plane.
    â€œWe’re goin’ to Vegas,” he informed The Grill.
    The Slovakian man barely nodded. Wherever Anthony Bonar went, he followed. He had no life of his own. Anthony Bonar was his destiny.
    Checking out his flashy gold Rolex, one of his many watches, Anthony decided to call his Italian girlfriend, Carlita, a raven-haired beauty of twenty-eight. Carlita, a former model, designed overpriced handbags and belts, a business he’d financed. Anthony appreciated a woman with ambition, and Carlita certainly possessed plenty of it. He’d met her at a party two years previously, and stuck with her ever since. She was smarter than Emmanuelle, she knew what was going on in the world.
    Carlita’s voice mail picked up. He tried her cell and the same thing happened. Goddamn voice mail. Annoyed that he couldn’t reach her, Anthony made several business calls before retiring to his private bedroom for the six-hour flight to Vegas. May as well catch some shut-eye. Making love to Emmanuelle was quite exhausting—she was young and energetic,