Mistress-of-the-Game - By Tilly Bagshawe Sidney Sheldon Page 0,58

The biggest catch in Exeter, the boy who had filled Lexi's days and consumed her nights since she was fourteen years old.

After Lexi's kidnapping, the psychiatrists had told Peter that the trauma of sexual abuse would stay with her forever. "She may marry. She may have children. But it's unrealistic to expect her sexual relationships to develop normally." Once again, however, they had underestimated Lexi's willpower.

She would enjoy sex.

She must.

She would not give the pig another victory.

So why was sleeping with Christian such a terrible letdown?

Still inside her, Christian propped himself up on his forearms so Lexi could read his lips. Sweat was dripping from his forehead. His cheeks were flushed beet red. He did not look his best.

"Is that good, baby?"

Dear God. Is he talking to me? What is this, twenty questions? Why isn't the earth moving?

Lexi nodded, pulling him back down on top of her. She wriggled around, the way she'd seem Pamela Anderson do it with Tommy Lee on the Internet, and tried to breathe more heavily. Christian had clearly learned his technique from a different sex tape. He started doing some sort of strange, circular motion inside her, like someone vacuuming the interior of a car and wanting to make sure he got his nozzle into every nook and cranny.

At least he's thorough. Thoroughness is an underrated attribute in a man. One can never be too thorough, that's what my old nanny used to say. I wonder how Mrs. Carter's doing these days?

Above Christian's head was the hole in the roof where the paparazzo had fallen earlier.

Poor man. I hope he's okay.

Lexi stared up at the stars. She felt the muscles in Christian's butt and stomach tighten, then relax. The warm wetness between her legs gave her a brief feeling of triumph. Good-bye, virginity! I won't miss you. A few seconds later, the warm glow faded. Lexi started shaking.

"What's the matter?" Christian panted. "Hey, are you okay?"

He was looking at her, talking to her. But Lexi couldn't read his lips or see the concern on his face. All she saw was a pig mask.

One word and I'll slit your throat.

She screamed.

Christian Harle started to panic. Lexi's cries were unearthly and getting louder. She wouldn't stop screaming.

What's wrong with her? One minute she's all over me, squirming around like a fish on a hook. The next she's acting like I raped her.

"Stop it, Lex. Please! Someone'll hear."

Not knowing what else to do, he slapped Lexi hard across the face.

Miraculously, it worked. The screams stopped. Lexi watched, dazed, as the pig mask faded away. She found herself looking deeply into Christian Harle's terrified eyes.

You're just a boy. A kid. You're as lost and scared as I am.

What did I ever see in you?

She got to her feet, silently straightened her dress, and walked back to the house.

Peter looked worried. "Where have you been? Rachel says you went off to the ladies' room and never came back."

Lexi signed angrily: "I went for a walk. I needed some air, that's all. Rachel worries too much."

"Yes, well. The dancing's about to start. I thought it'd be nice if you and Max kicked things off."

Lexi looked at him incredulously. "Me and Max?"

"You are the joint hosts, after all."

"He's a freak."

"Lexi, come on now. He's your cousin."

"No. No way. Why can't I dance with Robbie? He's my brother."

Not for the first time, Peter was glad that so few people understood sign language. Lexi could be incredibly rude when she wanted to be, not to mention stubborn. He tried to make excuses for her. Her deafness must be horribly frustrating. Even so, it embarrassed him at times.

"Robbie's playing piano. Uncle Barney roped him into it. Look, Max is coming over now. I'm warning you, Lexi, don't make a scene."

So many bodies in a confined space had made the house stiflingly hot. Max had removed his tie and jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. With his tanned skin and jet-black hair, he reminded Lexi of a pirate.

All he needs is the cutlass between his teeth.

"Would you like to dance?" He spoke deliberately slowly, as if Lexi were incapable of comprehending ordinary speech. He knew how much it irritated her, and was delighted to see the flash of anger in her eyes as he led her onto the floor. At a nod from Peter, Robbie began playing, Strauss's "Blue Danube Waltz."

Lexi was aware of hundreds of eyes watching them as Max guided her expertly around the room. She disliked dancing. Letting a man