Lethal Seduction by Jackie Collins Page B

he’d leave the bulk of his money to Venice and her kids because she was the responsible one. If he left it to Rosarita, she’d probably pick up some fortune hunter who’d spend it instantly. Venice would make sure it wasn’t squandered away, besides, she’d always take care of Rosarita—in fact, he’d make sure that provision was put in his will. The best thing about his plan was that he wouldn’t be around to listen to Rosarita’s screaming.
    â€œWhat are you smiling at, Daddy?” Rosarita said, suddenly reverting to her sweet side—which she could put on at will.
    â€œJust thinkin’ ’bout a thing or two,” he said.
    Varoomba grabbed his hand. “Your daddy has such a cute smile!” she exclaimed. “I love it when he laughs, he’s so adorable!”
    Rosarita wanted to throw up. This one was a big-titted, squeaky-voiced nightmare. And stupid with it.
    â€œDon’t go callin’ me no names in front of my girls,” Chas hissed, highly embarrassed.
    â€œSorry, honeybunch,” Varoomba cooed.
    So the evening wound to its natural conclusion, and Rosarita and her group went home at the same time as Venice and Eddie.
    As soon as they were gone, Varoomba shook out her mass of red hair, allowing it to fall around her face. Then she unzipped her orange dress, standing before Chas in a red-white-and-blue thong and nippleless bra. “How’d I do, babykins?” she crooned. “Was I the hit of the party?”
    â€œC’mere,” he said, reaching out to tweak her enormous erect nipples. “C’mere, an’ put those big bazookas all over me.”
    So she did.
    â€¢
    Meanwhile, across town, Joel Blaine was in the Boom Boom Club, complaining to the manager, “Where’s the broad with the big knockers? How come she’s not here on a Saturday night?”
    â€œShe called in sick,” said the manager, a grim-faced man with patent-leather hair and a permanent scowl.
    â€œSick my ass,” Joel said. “I want my money back.”
    â€œI got a nice little Puerto Rican number blew in yesterday.”
    â€œI don’t do foreign.”
    â€œHow about Texas born and bred? That appeal to you?”
    â€œBig tits?”
    â€œSmall, but nice.”
    â€œForget about it,” Joel said. “I’ll come back next week, and Miss Big Rack better be here.”
    If he wanted small tits he could get them anywhere. Rosarita wasn’t exactly stacked, she’d informed him they were her own, but he knew they weren’t the real thing, he’d noticed the scars hidden underneath.
    Honey, he’d wanted to say to her. If you had ’em done, why couldn’t you have had ’em done bigger?
    Instinctively he knew Rosarita was not the type who took well to criticism. But maybe he’d see how far she’d go for him. “Sugar, you got the greatest boobs in the world,” he’d tell her, “but I like ’em bigger. Here’s twenty thou—go get ’em done again.”
    Was she worth twenty thousand bucks? No fucking way!
    The only woman worth twenty thousand bucks in his mind was Madison Castelli. Now there was a real woman. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t stacked like some freako stripper, she had what it took in the brains department, and that’s what Joel was looking for. A touch of class.
    Maybe he should do something about her. Turn on the charm. Launch into pursuit mode. At least call her.
    Maybe he would.
    Eventually.
    â€¢
    â€œThanks,” Dexter said.
    â€œFor what?” Rosarita said warily.
    â€œFor being nice to my parents. Ever since we had that talk you’ve been pretty damn good.”
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œYes, I do.” He was lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, watching her undress. She was down to black panties and a lacy bra. “Come lie beside me and we’ll talk,” he