Secrets Of The A-List Complete Collection, Episodes 1-12. Cat Schield

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 hand 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.”

      Jarrod tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Do you want to try something different?”

      Elana’s heart stopped, stuttered to life again as adrenaline flooded her system. She’d heard rumors about Jarrod’s dark side, about his taste for certain practices, and she was intrigued, and curious, enough to find out what he had in mind. Her phone rang again, and she released a harsh curse. “This damn thing won’t shut up.”

      A quick glance at the display told her that it was Thom. Again.

      Elana slapped the phone upside down to silence the ringer. Annoyed, she opened the heavy bedside drawer and tossed the phone inside. Whoever wanted or needed her could wait.

      Jarrod, and what he wanted and needed, came first. Or, as her previous experience with Jarrod had taught her, she would come first. Multiple times.

      * * *

      Mariella, lipstick reapplied and makeup perfect, walked from the elevator into the waiting room of the ICU, the three-inch heels of her designer shoes tapping the tiled floor. Joe’s fingers held her elbow in a light but reassuring grip, but she wasn’t about to fall apart. She had to be strong for Harrison, for her children, their company, for their future. They would get through this—they had to. Any other scenario was unacceptable.

      Mariella stopped, pushed her oversize sunglasses into her glossy black hair and immediately looked at Luc, approaching her from the other side of the room. Her firstborn was a perfect mixture of her and Harrison, Spanish heat at war with European ice. Her olive skin, his father’s gorgeous blue eyes. Luc was steady, dependable, not one to rock the boat. An easy child, Mariella remembered, but consistent excellence could be, dare she admit it, annoying. Unlike Rafe, he didn’t have an artistic side that allowed him to be emotionally accessible. She wished Luc would allow himself to be a little more open; he needed to relax, be less analytical and more spontaneous. But those traits, she admitted, did make him an incredible doctor. Luc always did what was expected, what looked good. His latest girlfriend, the all-American beauty, was a case in point. Rachel Franklin was such a cliché...a spoiled blonde bombshell with fake breasts, shiny teeth and all the depth of a puddle.

      Mariella pushed her chest out, thinking that her breasts had provided both pleasure and nourishment