Présentation de l'éditeur
Working for Vogue, Amy spends her days dressing waif models in London's latest apparel while fending off insults from the Gucci-garbed staff. Hardly the glamorous job she hoped it would be. But that won't stop her from fantasizing about the jet-set life she knows she's destined for--or the prince who's bound to redeem her from a less than glowing record in romance.
However, beneath her dreamy exterior, Amy has a sure streak of common sense. So when the impossible happens--and her path crosses that of London's hottest film star--she swoons with longing, expecting nothing in return. But Orlando Rock has other ideas. For Amy is just the kind of girl he's after--smart and witty, with a penchant for quoting from the classics, different from the daft supermodels and vain leading ladies he's dated before. Or is she? For with fame, fortune, and true love just around the corner, Amy's head is spinning, her jet-fueled imagination poised for takeoff. Is her love for Orlando stronger than her lust for the limelight--or is she merely fated to be the paparazzi's latest prey . . .?
Hip and hilarious, this enchanting, sizzlingly sexy tale of a winsome twenty-something caught between romance and reality will have you rooting her on through each outrageous mishap and daring plunge toward love. . . .
Extrait
CHAPTER 1
Orgasm. It was the most perfect word. Eliciting all it could, easing meaning out of every syllable. O … a large perfect Oh, the softly parted lips, the promise of the never-ending union. Gas … gasp, a shuddering intake of breath, a sensation to savor and the arching curving back as you sink into the mmmmm … the bliss. Yes, it was a great word, Amy thought. She’d had a fair few in her time, some deft and delicious, others more hit-and-miss affairs; she’d been thinking about that word all morning as she basked in the afterglow of sex like early morning sun on her face. What she doesn’t know, but we do, is that there are greater and better things to come (as it were) for Amy, more Ohs than she can dream of, enough gasps to take your breath away, and an abiding mmmmm of satisfaction that would keep any girl smiling. Yes, there’s a lot for her to look forward to, only she doesn’t know it just yet.
Amy crawled on the floor looking for a pin to hold together the spare wisps of silk in the model’s organza creation. Her boss rushed forward and tugged it from her hand.
“Come on, come on. OK, Amy, the shoes are wrong, pass me those blue Patrick Coxs.”
Amy groveled on the floor a bit more.
“Cloud or duck egg, Lucinda?”
“Those, those. Here, pass them here.”
Another Monday morning, another undernourished teenager to be got up in the spirit of the lazy days of summer. Amy shivered in the biting February chill of the studio. Carefully ironing between the beads of a pair of Lacroix harem pants, she lapsed to thoughts of herself as a Matisse muse, reclining plumply on a chaise longue, fauvist colors warming her bare breasts, one hand propped above her head, a harlot’s smile flickering about her lips, and the divine beaded Lacroix creation adorning her gently rounded, golden-tanned stomach. And Luke Harding—she knew it had just been a one-night stand but she couldn’t resist casting him in the role of libidinous painter (sorry, Matisse). When Luke could no longer keep a steady brush he strolled to her side and placed indolent, painterly kisses all over her courtesan form …
“Amy, the Lacroix, quick. Today purleasse.”
Lucinda was a bitch from hell on a shoot but then so were all fashion editors. They had the artistic sensibilities of the photographer to worry about—“more tits, darlin’, pull it down a bit” (this was Vogue, by the way, not Big and Bouncy)—and the poor model who bit her lip and cried as she exposed an inch more of her pigeon chest; the makeup artist who sulked at the model’s spots and shouted if the shell pink of the clothes clashed with the navy blue lipstick he was abo
