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CHAPTER 1

I flopped back on my mountain of pillows, gasping, writhing and shoving Enrique — my new thick, black Rampant Rocker vibrator — into my pussy higher and harder. He was great — long, wide and lined with vein-shaped ridges. And because he was so new to my collection, he seemed to have extra energy, extra enthusiasm for pleasing me. It was as if he was competing for a favoured position in my top drawer.

"Oh, yes, yes," I called out, upping the speed and finally letting his wicked forked attachment buzz around my clit. "Oh, yes, Enrique!" I twanged forward, sweat forming in my cleavage and my heart pounding. Flattening my palm over my pussy, I held him against my deliciously tormented clitoris. Electric sensations surged through my nerves. My internal muscles clamped and moisture seeped over his shaft, easing his way as I pumped his impressive girth in and out, in and out.

I squeezed my eyelids shut and instantly Dale's face appeared before me, a hot sheen on his brow and his mouth parted as he gave in to a fierce climax. Tearing open my eyes to shake the painful, memory-laden image, I stared at the huge framed poster of my own face gracing the cover of Vogue last month and came — sharp, intense and breath-taking. God, Enrique is good, worth every penny.

Panting, I pulled Enrique out and tossed him to the bottom of the bed. He'd served his purpose. Started my day with an orgasm. That was why I'd bought him. Carlo just wasn't doing it for me anymore, his pink, plastic shaft pale and insipid, his rotating glans no longer a novelty and he just didn't hit the spot with his thin little ears.

I glanced at the clock and sighed. Ten forty-five. I supposed I should get out of bed. Perhaps I could go and get a pedicure — I was already fed up with the Baby Bunting-coloured nail varnish I'd had applied three days ago at The Spa. Or maybe Naomi would be up for champagne and caviar at Jenson's. I frowned and tried to remember if she was eating at the moment. I couldn't be sure, but it was worth a try. I rolled onto my stomach and reached for my cell. There were two missed calls, one from my agent and one from my mother. I would sort them out tomorrow.

"Naomi, darling," I said when she answered on the first ring. "What are you doing today? Fancy some bubbles?" I flipped onto my back and stretched my legs up towards the ceiling, a combined inside leg of an impressive sixty-six inches.

"Tiffany, babe, I thought you would be here. It's the Tiara event."

I sat upright and folded my legs. "What ... today?"

"Yes, didn't you speak to Rachel?"

I groaned. "No, I've been avoiding her. She's crazy at the moment, too many hormones." My agent of four years was in the first few months of pregnancy and driving me nuts with her talk of babies. As if I would be interested in babies — if I didn't have a perfectly flat stomach I would be out of a job.

"Well you ought to give her a call."

"Yeah, I guess I'll brace myself."

"Come on, snap out of it. Where's your spark gone? Enough moping already, get back out working, if not for the money then for your sanity."

I could always rely on Naomi to say it how it was. Since Dale had left me three months ago, I'd struggled to get my usual enthusiasm for the world of modelling that I loved so much. Some people had their hearts broken and threw themselves into work — not me. I just wanted to lounge around, play with my toys then head out for something bubbly to drown my sorrows in.

"It will do you good, Tiff," Naomi was saying, "to get some gigs in the diary and meet some new people. Don't let him win like this, babe. Show him what he's missing and he'll come crawling back."

Sliding to the side of the bed, I had a sudden rush of determination. She was right. I would snap out of my wallowing. Okay, so Dale had wanted a 'break' from dating one of the UK's highest paid models but still, surely I could find a way with all my connections and attributes to make him wake up to his foolishness. Let him see that I was more than just a face and a body.

I'd made him happy, he needed me in his life, our love was meant to be. I knew all that, so why didn't he?

I stood and squared my shoulders, pulling in a deep breath. Yes, I'd hit him with a media slap so hard he'd crawl back, begging, on hands and knees. I would teach him that asking for a 'break' then not calling all this time to make up was the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

But was it?

Sighing, I walked naked to the bathroom, wondering why my self-confidence felt so low despite being in demand worldwide for catwalks and cover-shots. Naomi was still chattering in my ear, telling me about a concert she'd been to. Two male pianists — Italians — gorgeous and taking the music industry by storm with racy videos and saucy stunts. Shocking the hell out of toffs who thought they knew more than anyone else about classical music and didn't believe it should be played by anyone not wearing a tuxedo or a ball gown.

Finally I heard Naomi bark at a makeup artist, her thin temper slipping as apparently one eyebrow hair was plucked without her consent. "I'll catch you later, Tiff — they're a bunch of morons here — but remember what I said. Get out there before everyone forgets who you are or you get a fucking wrinkle."

I snapped shut my cell phone then reached for my toothbrush and began to scrub by teeth as I called Rachel. "Hewwo, Rach, it mhwee," I said through foamy mint.

"Tiffany, darling, thank goodness you called. I've got the most fabulous opportunity for you today but we don't have a minute to waste. You need to get over to Notting Hill, darling, fast ... like, you should have been there an hour ago."

I spat in the sink and stared into the mirror, checking no wrinkles had sneaked up on me overnight. They wouldn't dare. "Why what's going on in Notting Hill?" She sucked in a breath, held the tension for a long, dramatic second then said, "Well." She finally breathed out. "Ingresso Livello are filming a new video today and they want you!"

"Who?" I asked, pouting at my reflection and tilting my chin. I had a little flush of colour on my cheekbones from Enrique's skilful vibrating. It suited me.

"You, darling, they want you."

"Yes, I gathered that, but who wants me?"

She sighed. "Ingresso Livello ... you know, the pianists that played at The Royal Albert Hall last weekend. Everyone who's anyone went. They had pole dancers alongside their grand pianos and served champagne in glasses shaped like women's torsos at the after party."

"I didn't go."

Rachel put on her sternest voice. "I sent you a ticket and called you about it twice, Tiff, but if you don't open your mail or answer your phone, you're going to miss things."

I tutted, but silently agreed that I really must sort through the ever-growing pile of envelopes by my front door and stop hitting silence whenever my cell rang and it didn't flash the name Dale.

Cogs turned in my brain, sliding and slipping into place as I flicked on the shower. Naomi's conversation came flooding back to me — Italian pianists causing a storm with their sexy videos, hot studs with talented fingers and shameless images alongside beautiful classical music. Ingresso Livello, yes, now the foreign name was familiar. I'd heard people talking about them when I'd been out and about in the clubs.

"Okay," I said to Rachel. "Text me the address, call them and let them know I'll be there within the hour ... say I had a family emergency or something."

"Great!" Rachel said. "You won't regret this, Tiff. Not only are Ricardo and Nari drop-dead gorgeous, but this video could catapult you into acting. So smile for the camera and do your best not to look so damn depressed."

I huffed and clicked off my cell. Stepped into the shower and let the piping hot water rain down on my body. I was not acting depressed, just having some 'me time' while I fixed my broken heart. Surely I was entitled to that. Dale and I had been together for over two years. It was taking a lot of adjusting to not having him there.

I reached for an exorbitantly expensive shower gel and covered my body in vanilla and frangipani suds. Of course I knew Rachel and Naomi were right. When you're a well-known model, there's always someone younger and prettier coming up behind you, happy to take your crown and your work. Making the most of this opportunity was the sensible thing to do. I knew that really. Plus it would give me something to do for the day.

* * *

The address in Notting Hill led me to a grand private home, with black wrought iron gates and a high cream-coloured wall covered in ivy. After paying the taxi fare, I pressed the intercom with my long, French manicured nail.

"Who is it?" an American female voice asked after I'd been forced to press the button twice.

"Tiffany O'Dell," I said, folding my arms and tapping my gold sandal on the pavement. I didn't like waiting.

"Finally! Great, come on in."

There was a buzzing noise then a small gate within the large gate clicked open. I stepped through it, ducking my head slightly then secured it shut behind me. I found myself in a courtyard packed full of terracotta flower pots spilling their pretty contents. I sashayed up to the main door. Just as I reached it, a short lady in a brown and orange checked dress and wearing black, round glasses pulled it open.

"Tiffany," she said with a broad smile and stepped frumpy flat pumps over the threshold. "So pleased to meet you. I'm Nancy, I'm directing the shoot today."

I raised my brows. Not what I was expecting. Holding out my hand I shook hers. "Lovely to meet you. So sorry about, er ... being late. Bit of a crisis at home, if you know what I mean." I shrugged.

"You're here now, that's what's important. But we must hurry ... time is money and all that." She turned and led the way into the high ceilinged hallway. "Nari and Ricardo are keen to meet you. Apparently they are big fans and couldn't believe their luck last week when you agreed to be the guest star of Il Piacere de Tre."

"Mmm, yes, good." I really should have picked up that call from Rachel, and I really must speak to her about booking me in for stuff without telling me. Still, if she hadn't, I supposed I wouldn't be here. "What does it mean, il piacere de tre?"

Nancy stopped and turned to me. Behind her glasses her blue eyes sparkled and she rubbed her hands together like a conspirator. "'The pleasure of three', Tiffany, il piacere de tre means 'the pleasure of three'."

A sudden knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. The pleasure of three. That was the title of their new piece of music. Naomi's words came tumbling back to me as I followed Nancy up a wide, carpeted stairs. Sexy videos, saucy images, hot studs with talented fingers. Oh, boy, what have I got myself into?

Nancy ushered me into a bedroom where a young makeup artist sat reading Cosmo, her palettes, pots and brushes spread out on a dressing table. "Sarah will sort you out. She's got your underwear too."

"Underwear?"

"Yes, that's what you will be wearing for the shoot." Nancy suddenly clapped her hands and her face went stern. "Now step to it, I want this thing ready to go in ten."

The door clicked shut and I dropped my huge Gucci handbag on a chair. "Hey," I said to Sarah.

"It's so great to meet you, Miss O'Dell. I'm really excited to be making you up. It's an honour ... a dream, actually."

I nodded. "Thanks, what am I wearing?"

She reached towards a rail, plucked off a scarlet bra and thong set, and held it out for me. "New season La Perla."

I studied it with a critical eye. The lacy bra was balcony style, which would shove up my small breasts and make them appear fuller. The thong had matching lace detail at the hips and was miniscule, but size didn't matter. I had not a single pubic hair to worry about — I regularly had everything from my neck downwards waxed — and my bum was pert, tight, and perfectly smooth after a full body conditioning treatment on Sunday.

I quickly stripped naked. I'd long since lost any kind of embarrassment with taking off my clothes in front of wardrobe and makeup staff. Sarah folded my jeans and T-shirt as I slipped on the beautifully crafted underwear. It made me feel instantly sexy and I couldn't help but wish I'd used Enrique twice that morning to take the edge off my insatiable libido. God, I miss having a hot, hard man in my bed.

"It looks wonderful," Sarah said. "The guys will love it."

"You know them?" I asked as I sat on a high stool.

"Well, I only just met them this morning." She gave a shy smile. "But what they say is true."

"What do they say?" I tilted my chin and shut my eyes as she rubbed a light foundation over my chin, nose and forehead.

"That they're gorgeous and charming and no woman stands a chance of a sane thought when they're around."

I opened my eyes. "That's really what people say?" I was becoming more and more intrigued by the mysterious Ricardo and Nari.

"Yes, didn't you see their video to go with 'Schiava del Sesso in Catene'? It was about as raunchy as MTV would allow. In fact, some countries did ban it."

"Dare I ask what schiava del sesso in catene translates to?"

She giggled as she swept a huge fluffy brush heavy with powder over my cheekbones. "Sex slave in chains. They had Tanya Berry —"

"The Tanya Berry?"

"Yes, the Tanya Berry ... tied up in a dungeon. She was wrapped in chains, blindfolded and they teased her with a whip while they strutted around practically naked themselves."

I frowned. "And they're classical musicians, right?" I was struggling to get my head around the new concept that had gripped everyone's imagination.

"Oh, yes. There's no lyrics, just sexy music, suggestive titles and raunchy images to go with their performances. Some people are saying they're introducing classical to the younger generations ... and some say they are creating smut and using their good looks to demean fine concertos."

"What do you think?"

"I think they're great. I'd listen to their music all day, and after they've put those images in your head, that's all you can think about when you next hear them play. It gets me all hot and bothered wherever I am."

I pouted whilst Sarah applied ruby red lipstick that matched my underwear. When she'd finished, she stepped back and surveyed my face with a critical eye. "That's you done," she said. "Now, go enjoy. I know I would if I were you."

Gulping down a bolt of apprehension, I quickly pulled a brush through my poker-straight, strawberry-blonde hair then followed her to the door. She pulled it open and we walked down a wood-panelled corridor. I was grateful for the warm spring day — too many times I'd had to do underwear shoots in cold conditions and it was impossible to control goosebumps.

"Ah, here you are," Nancy said as we stepped into a large bedroom. It was painted entirely in white. Two floor-to-ceiling windows were lined with sun-dappled white tulle, which fluttered in the spring breeze. The white four-poster bed had matching snow-white drapes looped around its posts and also had white covers and pillows.

"Meet Nari and Ricardo." Nancy nodded over my shoulder.

I turned ... and looked up. I was tall, flirting with six feet, but Ricardo and Nari, were taller — considerably taller.

"Tiffany, enchanted to have you here today. I'm Nari." The beautiful olive-skinned man before me held out his hand. I noticed that they were both barefooted and wore nothing but softly worn jeans, their broad chests bare apart from a sprinkling of black chest hair.

Taking Nari's hand, I felt long, fine-boned fingers wrap around mine.

"You are every bit as beautiful in real life as in photographs," he said, his Italian accent subtle and sexy.

I watched as he brought my knuckles to his mouth and pressed soft lips to my skin. He had carefully groomed stubble over his top lip and chin and it scratched my flesh, creating a tingle of sensation that zinged up my arm.

"Thank you." I stared into his chocolate brown eyes. They were heart-stoppingly striking and burnt with sin — great big vats of deliciously bad sin. This man was sexy with a capital S. How had I not taken any notice of Ingresso Livello?

"This is Ricardo," he said, releasing my hand.

I turned to Ricardo, who offered me a similar devastating smile with neat white teeth and wide, sensual lips. Super sexy offered up in yet another wonderful specimen of a man.

"Hi," I said, a sudden feeling of shyness coming over me. It wasn't often I was bothered by being studied so closely or by meeting beautiful people. That was the world I lived in. But there was something about these two musicians that had my heart tripping and my female hormones jumping to attention.

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Excerpted from "Orchestrating Manoeuvres"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Lily Harlem.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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