TILLY BAGSHAWE
Scandalous Fame Friends and Rivals
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page TILLY BAGSHAWE Scandalous Fame Friends and Rivals
Scandalous
Fame
Friends and Rivals
Keep Reading
About the Author
Also by the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Scandalous Fame Friends and Rivals Keep Reading About the Author Also by the Author Copyright About the Publisher
TILLY BAGSHAWE
Scandalous
DEDICATION Dedication Prologue Part One Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Part Two Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Part Three Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Part Four Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Acknowledgements
For James Bagshawe, the best brother in the world
CONTENTS
Cover Scandalous Fame Friends and Rivals Keep Reading About the Author Also by the Author Copyright About the Publisher
Title Page TILLY BAGSHAWE Scandalous
Dedication DEDICATION Dedication Prologue Part One Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Part Two Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Part Three Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Part Four Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Acknowledgements For James Bagshawe, the best brother in the world
Prologue PROLOGUE In a private screening room in Beverly Hills, a beautiful woman stared intently at the man on the screen. Flicking a switch, she allowed her luxurious red velvet chair to recline. Languidly extending a hand dripping in Neil Lane diamonds, she reached for the remote, freeze-framing the shot on the man’s face. She smiled. He was handsome, undoubtedly. Blond, blue-eyed, chisel-jawed, like every other television presenter in Los Angeles. But this woman had her pick of handsome men. Handsome, rich, powerful, she had had them all and grown bored of them all. Last month, for the third year in a row, People magazine had voted her ‘Sexiest Woman Alive’. It was the sort of label that meant little to her, but everything to the producers and directors who lined up to be the next piece of man candy on her perfectly sculpted arm. Her looks had made her famous, and they had made her rich. Men were stupid. But not this man. This man was different. He was an intellectual. Some even called him a genius. She wondered what he would be like in bed? How it would feel to sleep with a man who, on one level at least, was her superior? She found the concept thrilling, albeit rather difficult to imagine. Hitting play, she watched the man walk towards the camera, talking about deep space and the cosmos and things she did not understand in his divine English accent. Slipping a hand beneath her cream silk La Perla negligée, she began to touch herself, imagining him making love to her. Theo! Oh Theo. Don’t stop . As always when she pleasured herself, she came to orgasm almost instantly. Yet another thing she did better than the men in her life. Opening her eyes, she sighed. How inconvenient that she’d only just got married again. She would have to do something about that … Three thousand miles away and some years later, in New York, another wealthy, beautiful woman watched the same man on the cinema-sized plasma television in the master bedroom of her palatial Upper East Side apartment. Just as she had watched him every night for the last five years. Unlike his admirer in LA, this woman did understand what Professor Theodore Dexter was saying. Listening to him pontificate in the fake, fireside-chat voice she knew so well, she thought, I hate you. Why are you still alive? Why aren’t you suffering, the way you made me suffer, you treacherous son of a bitch ? One day, she vowed, Theo Dexter would get what was coming to him. When that day came, she would show him no mercy.
Part One PART ONE Eight years earlier …
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Part Two
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part Four
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
In a private screening room in Beverly Hills, a beautiful woman stared intently at the man on the screen. Flicking a switch, she allowed her luxurious red velvet chair to recline. Languidly extending a hand dripping in Neil Lane diamonds, she reached for the remote, freeze-framing the shot on the man’s face. She smiled.
He was handsome, undoubtedly. Blond, blue-eyed, chisel-jawed, like every other television presenter in Los Angeles. But this woman had her pick of handsome men. Handsome, rich, powerful, she had had them all and grown bored of them all. Last month, for the third year in a row, People magazine had voted her ‘Sexiest Woman Alive’. It was the sort of label that meant little to her, but everything to the producers and directors who lined up to be the next piece of man candy on her perfectly sculpted arm. Her looks had made her famous, and they had made her rich. Men were stupid.
But not this man. This man was different. He was an intellectual. Some even called him a genius. She wondered what he would be like in bed? How it would feel to sleep with a man who, on one level at least, was her superior? She found the concept thrilling, albeit rather difficult to imagine.
Hitting play, she watched the man walk towards the camera, talking about deep space and the cosmos and things she did not understand in his divine English accent. Slipping a hand beneath her cream silk La Perla negligée, she began to touch herself, imagining him making love to her.
Theo! Oh Theo. Don’t stop .
As always when she pleasured herself, she came to orgasm almost instantly. Yet another thing she did better than the men in her life. Opening her eyes, she sighed. How inconvenient that she’d only just got married again.
She would have to do something about that …
Three thousand miles away and some years later, in New York, another wealthy, beautiful woman watched the same man on the cinema-sized plasma television in the master bedroom of her palatial Upper East Side apartment. Just as she had watched him every night for the last five years.
Unlike his admirer in LA, this woman did understand what Professor Theodore Dexter was saying. Listening to him pontificate in the fake, fireside-chat voice she knew so well, she thought, I hate you. Why are you still alive? Why aren’t you suffering, the way you made me suffer, you treacherous son of a bitch ?
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