Hmm, she thought, Jonas isn't as bland as I imagined.

She wondered if he was gay. Could be. It was difficult to tell. Although he was rather well groomed for a straight man, with his perfect haircut, Prada outfit and well-manicured nails. Gay?

Definitely.

The movie had started, which put Jonas in a foul mood. He indulged in a quick verbal argument with an uptight French usher who tried to prevent Cat from entering the theatre. Jonas spoke excellent French and won the battle.

'This man will show you to your seat,' he said to her, giving her a quick shove towards the usher. 'I'll see you after the movie. Oh, yes, and try not to speak while the film is running. Mr Zandack doesn't appreciate noise.'

'Fine,' she said irritably. 'And don't come back without my diamond.'

'I'll find it,' he said, adding a snarly, 'That's if you had one in the first place.'

'Well,' she answered slowly, 'I guess you weren't staring at my belly-button like every other guy in the place. But don't you worry - I totally understand why.'

'Oh, please,' Jonas retorted, getting her drift and not liking it one bit.

The uptight usher led her to her seat with the help of a flashlight.

'Where were you?' Merrill growled.

'Sssh,' said a large woman, sitting in the row of seats behind him.

Cat settled back to watch the movie. She didn't have to explain anything to anyone, that was Jonas's job.

Flash Back Six Years When Cat Harrison was thirteen, she found herself alone in a villa in the South of France with one of her father's acquaintances, a seventy-three-year-old extremely famous artist. Her father had left her there while he went to Paris for a few days. They were supposed to be on vacation together - only it never happened.

'What age are you?' the old man asked, peering at her with rheumy eyes.

'What age do you want me to be?' she replied challengingly, tall and tanned and blonde and lovely.

'The younger the better!' the old man said, leering lasciviously.

She knew what was coming next. Men had been on her case since she was a lot younger than thirteen. The old man reached for her. She backed away. Even though she was young, she knew how to handle horny old leches-kick him in the balls and run. Only this one was no threat, so she didn't bother. Instead she agreed to his request to pose nude for him, but only if he paid her an exorbitant fee for the privilege of doing so.

The painting he did of her was an enormous success and ended up hanging in the National Gallery. It was called Girl On The Brink. Her father, the renowned sculptor, Gable Harrison, was quite amused. Her mother, Bethany, the world-renowned photographer and legendary beauty, was not.

'If you're going to pose naked, at least get your pubic hair groomed,' was her mother's only comment.

Negative! Negative! Negative! When it came to her daughter, her mother never had anything positive to say. Five times married Bethany Harrison was jealous of her daughter's burgeoning beauty. She loved Cat, but only on her own terms.

Cat understood. She was an old soul, wise beyond her years. She'd had to grow up fast because both her parents were too busy with their highly successful all-consuming careers to pay her much notice.

As an only child, Cat was left very much to her own devices. Discipline from either parent was non-existent. They both spoiled her with money and material goods, when all she really craved was their love and attention.

She attended school in London where, more often than not, she played truant.

She'd stuff her books bag with jeans and a T-shirt, make her way to the nearest underground station, change out of her uniform, and hit the movie theatres in the West End. Movies were her passion. She devoured everything from out-of-control teen gross-out movies, to films by Tarantino and Scorsese.

Since she looked at least four or five years older than her actual age, she had no trouble attracting men, and picking them up was a habit she soon got used to.

Getting them hot was an adventure. The game was to get them out of control, then reveal her true age. Ha! The horrified look on their faces as they backed off was classic!

She was not interested in boys her own age, finding them crass and inexperienced. Not that she went all the way with her conquests. Oh, no. Men were not to be trusted. Her father was an example of that: Gable Harrison, an imposing-looking man with his long, snow-white hair, frivolous beard and flirtatious eyes. Cat resembled her mother: she had that tall, blonde, perfect thing going. Sometimes she wished she was short and dark and Italian-looking, but she had to go with what she had.

By the age of thirteen she'd absolutely perfected the art of sexually doing Everything But. She was totally adept at driving grown men crazy - a teenage nymphet with a hot body, a ton of curiosity, and no desire to get knocked up.

She felt wise way beyond her years, and was much travelled. Vacations in the South of France, Sardinia and Capri with her father's famous and exotic friends; safaris in Africa and trips through India with her much-married, travelling mother, and whatever husband Bethany was married to at the time.

Ah... Bethany's husbands. They were a trip indeed, each one younger than the last.

At least three of them came on to Cat. Fortunately she knew how to handle horny men - especially horny men married to her mother.

By the age of fourteen she was bored with almost everything. Been there, done that, was her motto. Then one day, while staying with her father in New Tork, she met Brad Kravitz, a twenty-something Internet whiz-kid who'd made millions of dollars in a very short period of time. She was about to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. Brad was twenty-two. With her father's blessing and her mother's encouragement she moved in with Brad, and it wasn't long before he introduced her to the wonderful world of real sex and recreational drugs.

Goodbye, boredom.

Hello, Ecstasy and speed.

Cat wished she had a bag of popcorn to munch on. Jonas would've probably thrown a fit if she asked him to find some.

Too bad. The movie was riveting - and good movies and popcorn absolutely went together.

Shelby was nervous. Following her image on the screen was quite an ordeal: all she could see were her faults. Half the time she wanted to cover her eyes, because viewing herself larger than life was never something she enjoyed.

Staring at the screen she had to admit that Rapture was an extraordinarily powerful movie, and that the performance her director, Russell Savage, had got out of her was excellent, quite possibly her best work yet, and certainly her biggest opportunity.

She shot a sideways glance at Linc. His eyes were closed.

How insulting! Her own husband was napping his way through her movie. Sometimes he could be the most selfish man in the world.

She nudged him. 'What?' he muttered, startled.

'You were sleeping,' she whispered accusingly.

'I wasn't,' he responded, covering a yawn with his hand.

She shook her head in exasperation before refocusing her attention on the screen. Soon it would be over and people would either love her performance or hate it.

She shivered in anticipation.

Matt's hand descended on his wife's thigh. Lola promptly removed it. She was doing her best to concentrate, studying Shelby Cheney on the big screen, wondering what Linc had seen in her that had made him place a ring on her finger. Shelby wasn't that hot, kind of ordinary-looking. There were hundreds of girls who looked exactly like her in Hollywood. I'm sexier and younger, Lola thought. Why did he choose her and not me? She's too white bread. No spice. Not exciting like me.

In spite of all her success, Lola could not get Linc Blackwood off her mind. And the surprising thing was that over the four years she'd been successful, she had never run into him. Quite remarkable, considering the number of award ceremonies, parties and premiers she'd attended. A few times she'd spotted him from a distance, and that was it. No face-to-face confrontation.

One night, lying in bed, she'd come up with a plan. She'd recently read an interview in Premier magazine about how Linc was looking to do something different. 'I'm getting too old for action movies,' he'd said to the female interviewer, self-deprecating grin firmly in place, 'so I was thinking of changing directions. Maybe try a romantic comedy.' Elliott Finerman's new movie - New Tork State of Mind - was a big-budget romantic comedy, with an excellent role for her male co-star who had not yet been cast. It occurred to her that Linc might accept the role if it was offered to him. The only thing she didn't know was how he'd react at the fateful moment when they did come face to face.

Surely he must know that she was now this famous creature, a fantasy goddess to millions of men? She was actually quite surprised that he'd never attempted to contact her. Perhaps he was too embarrassed.

Tonight should be interesting. Linc was at the screening, so no doubt he'd be at the party after and they were bound to be introduced. She couldn't wait to savour the look of surprise on his face, or perhaps the look of lust when he saw her.

Ha! He could lust-away, because he was never getting anywhere near her again.

And when he accepted the role in her movie, she would torture him with her quite considerable charms.

She would not be satisfied until she brought Linc Blackwood to his fucking knees.

Matt's hand was investigating her thigh again. This time she gave him a sharp slap on the wrist.

'Whassamatter?' he mumbled.

'Don't,' she hissed.

'Why not?'

'Because I don't want you to.'

Faye, sitting the other side of her, leaned forward. 'Something wrong?' she whispered.

'No, everything's fine,' Lola said, returning her gaze to the screen. 'In fact, everything's perfect.'

Cat had to admit that Rapture was good. Russell Savage was a stylish and talented director, and the writing was sharp, if slightly overwrought at times.

She wasn't sure that she would've cast someone as pretty as Shelby Cheney in the lead role, but the actress was doing an excellent job.

Cat was psyched about making the leap into the big-time. It was one thing shooting Wild Child on the streets of New York, but now Merrill Zandack had promised her a fat budget for her second film, Caught. It was exciting, because this time she'd be able to hire a proper crew, a decent cinematographer, and pick and choose who would star. She kind of entertained the idea of going with unknown actors again. Stars always came with all kinds of baggage. Although Angelina Jolie would be sensational as the undercover cop. And she wouldn't say no to Colin Farrell as the womanizing con-man. He was certainly sexy enough, with plenty of macho heat.

'You'd better be nice to Merrill,' Jump had warned her before he'd left for Australia. 'Zandack's the money guy. Don't piss him off.'

'How nice do you want me to be?' she'd asked, teasing him.

'Not that nice,' Jump had replied, with a dirty laugh. 'The geezer's old enough to be your fuckin' granddad.'

So what? In Hollywood age didn't seem to matter. Men of sixty often married girls of twenty. The age difference only appeared to bother people in reverse.

Older women were reviled for being with younger men, although it was certainly getting easier. She'd read a long piece about it in the New York Times. Women like Demi Moore and Madonna were setting a new trend. Women who don't give a crap, Cat thought, smiling to herself. My favourite people.

She returned her attention to the screen. The more she watched, the more she learned.

When Rapture reached its conclusion, the audience rose to its feet, indulging in a hearty round of applause.

Shelby experienced a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She had never been in such a quality film before, and it was an exhilarating feeling.

Linc put his arm around her, squeezing her waist. 'Not bad, sweetie,' he whispered.

Not bad, sweetie. Well, what did she expect from Linc?

Merrill Zandack, sitting in the row behind, tapped her on the shoulder. 'You an'

I gotta talk,' he wheezed, recognizing a great performance when he saw one.

'You'll meet my new discovery, Cat. I'll have my people messenger her latest script to your people. It's dynamite. Could be right for you.'

Overhearing this conversation, Cat was shocked. She did not see Shelby Cheney in her movie at all. Especially as she'd been thinking along the lines of Angelina Jolie. The role called for somebody younger and tougher than Shelby Cheney. Not that Shelby wasn't a terrific actress, she'd just proven so in Rapture. However, no way did that make her the perfect choice for a sexy, savvy American undercover cop.

How dare Merrill Zandack start offering actresses a role in her movie?

One thing Cat intended to keep, and that was control.

Chapter Four.

At the after party, Shelby found herself swept up in a sea of congratulations.

The French PR woman hovered by her side. Linc immediately drifted off on his own.

For a moment Shelby felt lost, then she took a deep, life-affirming breath, and decided she'd better start embracing the compliments that were coming her way.

What actress wouldn't appreciate hearing how great she was?

Russell Savage hurried over to kiss and hug her, so did her co-star Beck Carson.

The photographers jostled for position.

For once Shelby relaxed, posing with her director and co-star, allowing herself the pleasure of basking in the adulation. She'd worked hard for a reception like this. It was every actress's dream to appear in such a fine movie.

She smiled her dazzling smile, while continuing to enjoy every satisfying minute.

Lola was creating her own circle of excitement. The French loved her. They loved her lips, they loved her legs, and they especially loved her fine ass. She was a huge star in France. 'I wish I talked French,' she grumbled to Matt.

'Bonjour, Mademoiselle,' he said, with a stupid smirk on his bland face.

'Oh, great,' she said disparagingly. 'Is that all the French you know?'

'Learned it at school,' he boasted, like it was some great achievement.

She had to do something about Matt. He wasn't up to her standards - divorce was definitely in their future. Thank God her lawyer had got him to sign that pre-nup, because as soon as they got back to America she planned on dumping him fast. The thrill was gone.

Elliott Finerman was standing nearby. 'Elliott,' she said imperiously, beckoning him over, 'isn't that Linc Blackwood? Don't you think I should meet him?'

'You've never met him?'

'I don't think so.'