Temptation Island. Victoria Fox

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of her body. Will continued to thrust into her warmth, drawing out her climax, threatening to take her all the way again. He lifted her hips and withdrew, moving her on to her back and raising her legs high so her feet were on either side of his neck. Violently he pounded back into her, forcing himself so deep that Stevie had to push back on the wall behind her head to keep herself from slamming into it. Seconds later he reached his pinnacle.

      ‘Christ, Stevie,’ he breathed, burying his head in her shoulder as he rode it. ‘What are you doing to me?’

      She pulled on a shirt and padded to the bathroom. The shower blasted scalding hot then freezing cold. Will’s downtown loft apartment was crummier than the one she shared with Bibi, but most times they slept together here. She preferred the detachment of it—plus she could do without Bibi’s cross-questioning the morning after.

      Speak of the devil. The minute she got out, Bibi called.

      ‘I need you to come to an audition with me today,’ she announced.

      Stevie put her glasses on and sat down on the bed. Will released the knot on her towel, letting it fall to her waist. Lazily he stroked her back.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I need a partner.’

      Stevie hitched the towel up and stood. ‘For what?’ She could see from the bulge under the sheets that Will was ready to go again. She returned to the bathroom and ran a comb through her hair, which wasn’t easy with a phone under one ear.

      ‘It’s gonna make all the difference,’ Bibi explained, ‘if I read with someone I know—and I’ll be most comfortable with you. And if I’m comfortable then I’m relaxed and when I’m relaxed I know I can shine. That’s the problem with every other gig they’ve sent me for, Steve! I’ve been so nervous I totally blew it! So, I figure, if you’re there too then it’ll be just like it is when you help me at home, and you’re really good, you know? You always bring out my best. So I need you.’

      ‘I don’t know, B—’

      ‘Please,’ Bibi begged, ‘it’s a serious part—the first one that’s come up for me in ages! I really want it. Please, will you come?’

      Stevie was puzzled. If the work her friend was doing for Linus Posen wasn’t ‘serious’ then what was it? Since his party, Bibi had been collaborating with the director on several projects—she’d tried to cajole Stevie into phoning him too but had given up after a series of repeated refusals—but was always cagey about exactly what it was she was doing. All Stevie knew was that her engagements with Linus always took place at some undisclosed location and Bibi, when she reappeared, was terse in her replies about where she’d been. It was unlike her: Bibi waxed lyrical about everything, especially when it came to her career.

      ‘But—’

      ‘All I’m asking is for you to say a handful of lines,’ Bibi barrelled on, ‘that’s all. I’m desperate for this, Steve, please. I mean it. Please say yes. Please?

      It was the least she could do after Bibi’s kindness. ‘Yes.’

      Will approached her from behind, lifting the towel and pressing his erection against her.

      ‘When do you need me?’ she asked into the phone.

      ‘Now,’ he murmured, attempting to direct himself inside.

      Bibi’s relief was audible. ‘Park Avenue. Two o’clock. I appreciate it, I really do.’

      ‘Are you all right?’ Stevie asked. ‘You sound funny.’

      There was a brief silence, before: ‘I’m fine!’

      She tried to bat off Will’s attentions. ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘Sure. Just be there, OK?’

      ‘I will.’

      Stevie clicked her phone shut, concerned about her friend. Something wasn’t right. But then maybe she just hadn’t spent enough time with Bibi recently. She had to rectify that.

      ‘I’ve got to be somewhere,’ she said.

      Will took her hips in his hands and tilted her forward. ‘Five minutes,’ he growled. ‘And then I’ll let you go.’

      The casting took place on the second floor of an old office building on Park Avenue. There was a little waiting space outside the room, packed with hopefuls. When Bibi and Stevie arrived, they attracted a wave of catty looks that Bibi assured her was par for the course. They went down the corridor to get a watered-down coffee.

      ‘Here,’ said Bibi, thrusting a wodge of paper into her hands at the same time as a boiling hot drink, ‘this is it. You read Jerry.’

      ‘Is it a man?’ Stevie asked, fumbling before putting the coffee down. She flicked through the pages.

      ‘No. Like Jerry Hall.’ She grinned. ‘Or like Steve!’

      ‘Oh …’ Stevie had never done anything like this before. ‘And who’re you?’

      Bibi adopted a dreamy expression. ‘I’m Lauren. Secretly I’m in love with your husband, but you can’t ever know because we’re best friends. But even more secretly, you’re in love with me! And you’re like a really prim housewife and you can’t begin to contemplate leaving your marriage for another person, let alone a woman! Shock, horror and all that. Juicy, isn’t it?’

      ‘Jerry’s part sounds more interesting than Lauren’s.’

      Bibi shrugged. ‘But Lauren’s part is bigger. The whole movie’s about her, basically. Which means—’ she struck a pose ‘—that if I get it, the whole movie’s going to be about me! Oh, I really hope I get it!’ She chewed her lip.

      ‘I thought things were going well with Linus’s projects,’ Stevie said softly. She was determined to tread carefully. ‘You seem awfully keen to try something new.’

      Bibi linked arms with her. ‘Come on, or we’ll miss our call.’

      The audition went adequately. Stevie managed to speak her lines clearly and not let Bibi down, which was a feat for her because she didn’t like performing and spent the first few minutes fudging the phrasing until she hit her stride. Unhelpfully, the panel—two producers and a casting agent—asked her to remove her glasses halfway through, which made the task of reading a challenge in itself. Bibi herself delivered a melodramatic performance that was more reminiscent of Shakespeare than a Hollywood independent. Stevie thought she had great charisma, but couldn’t help feeling she was running a little over the top: the script required a degree of subtlety, an invitation to viewers to draw their own conclusions about who was feeling what. But what did she know? She wasn’t the actress.

      Afterwards, the jury conferred among themselves for a while before dismissing them with a brisk, ‘Thank you, that’s all.’

      ‘How great was that?’ squealed Bibi when they were back outside.

      Stevie smiled encouragingly. ‘You did brilliantly. I don’t know how you memorise all those lines. I don’t think I could.’

      ‘Ah,

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