Lethal Seduction

( 39 )

Overview

SECRET OBSESSION.
DEADLY PASSION.

LETHAL
SEDUCTION

Jackie Collins brings back her savvy heroine from the L.A. Connections series in this erotically charged, suspense-laced New York Times bestseller.

Caught between two lovers, Madison Castelli's sex life is in overdrive. But when she discovers someone close to her is keeping deadly secrets, ...

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Overview

SECRET OBSESSION.
DEADLY PASSION.

LETHAL
SEDUCTION

Jackie Collins brings back her savvy heroine from the L.A. Connections series in this erotically charged, suspense-laced New York Times bestseller.

Caught between two lovers, Madison Castelli's sex life is in overdrive. But when she discovers someone close to her is keeping deadly secrets, the real excitement begins....Plunged into the high-powered circles of New York and the manic thrills of Las Vegas, Madison steps among explosive passions, mob machinations, and dangerous deceptions, only to find that nothing is ever as it seems.

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
The Barnes & Noble Review
July 2000

Lethal Seduction

Madison Castelli is having a few problems. David, her ex-live-in lover who walked out on her, is trying to walk back in, and he's not taking no for an answer. After whisking Madison's heart away, her new lover, Jake Sica, leaves town on a photographic assignment with nary a moment's notice. Her best friend, Jamie Nova, suspects her Wall Street powerhouse husband of cheating on her. And her parents' marriage unexpectedly unravels, revealing a side of her beloved father, Michael, that Madison had never dreamed existed. What more could possibly happen? Everything. As millions of devoted readers know, in the world of Jackie Collins, anything is possible. And Madison, the smart and beautiful heroine first featured in Collins's L.A. Connections series, is only one part of the story. Alternating with the quandaries confronting Madison — including a double murder that hits too close to home — is the scheming of Rosarita Vincent Falcon, a surgically sculpted beauty whose fiery passion is no longer centered on her husband, erstwhile soap star Dexter Falcon. Consumed with lust for Joel Blaine — the playboy son of a billionaire with an insatiable appetite for public sex — and appalled that Dexter hasn't yet become the movie star she'd hoped to marry, Rosarita demands a divorce. When Dexter refuses, her thoughts turn sinister — and deadly. Culminating in Las Vegas, Lethal Seduction brings this beguiling mix of characters together at the scene of a prize fight and gives all precisely what they deserve(ifnot always what they want). Take a seamy walk through a den of intrigue, treachery, and passion with Collins's intoxicating mix of characters, where things are absolutely never quite as they seem.

From the Publisher
Kirkus Reviews Cool as a subzero shot of designer vodka....
From the Publisher
Kirkus Reviews

Cool as a subzero shot of designer vodka....

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Destined for bestsellerdom, Collins's latest is a typically steamy, fast-paced tale that skips from the glitz and excitement of New York's fast lane to the high-stakes, celebrity-rich world of Las Vegas. Magazine journalist Madison Castelli, first spotted in Collins's LA Connections series, is featured, disenchanted with men but still hopeful she'll find love one day. Her unhappy childhood is detailed after her mother is murdered, and she discovers unpleasant truths about her past, including that her "perfect" father is married to the mob. Meanwhile, Madison's best friend, Jamie Nova, an interior designer, suspects that her husband is having an affair. And New York soap opera star Dexter Falcon is trying to rekindle excitement in his marriage to Rosarita, the spoiled daughter of a construction business mogul. Unbeknownst to Dexter, Rosarita is sleeping with Joel Blaine, the son of a real estate billionaire, and scheming to end her marriage in hopes of hooking up with Blaine. The latter, typical of the perverse, two-dimensional characters in Collins's world, likes kinky sex in public and craves drop-dead gorgeous model Carrie Hanlon. Though her sex scenes border on sleaze, Collins injects plenty of glamour into this page-flipping tale by peopling her fictional world with real-life celebrities, outfitting her characters in the appropriate designer clothing and mentioning the hottest restaurants du jour. Agent, Morton Janklow. Literary Guild and Doubleday Book Club main selection; major promo. (July) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.|
Library Journal
Madison Castelli, last seen in the "L.A. Connections" series, stars in this exceptionally tawdry tale of life among the rich, famous, and connected. After Madison discovers that the recently murdered woman whom she thought was her mother really wasn't, she hires Kimm Florian, a Native American lesbian detective and the most interesting character in the novel, to investigate. Kimm provides Madison with the identity of her real mother as well as the secret profession of her father Mafia hit man. Meanwhile, Rosarita Falcon, a petulant Mafia princess, is struggling to convince her father to whack her husband, an honorable soap opera actor who refuses to grant Rosarita a divorce. The two story lines merge at a Las Vegas prizefight although even then, the action shifts dizzyingly among the sets of players. Carrington MacDuffie's lively narration is the highlight of this production, which is a marginal purchase for large public libraries. Beth Farrell, Portage Cty. Dist. Lib., Garrettsville, OH Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Lily Burana
[A] prime example of page-turning, literary-hauteur-stoking fun.
The Village Voice
Rosenfeld
Say what you will about Jackie Collins, no one writes a better sex-in-the-back-of-a-Bentley scene...I'm sticking to Collins this summer.
Talk Magazine
Kirkus Reviews
Madison Castelli, celebrity profiler for an upscale Manhattan magazine and heroine of Collins's L.A. Connections series, takes center stage in this coast-to-coast melodrama amid a memorably horny cast of characters. There's Rosarita Falcon, foul-mouthed mob princess, unhappily married to Dexter, gorgeous ex-male model turned soap star, who's heavily into fidelity and other lost virtues. But Rosarita intends to dump him because she has the hots for Joel Blaine, thuggish real-estate mogul and exhibitionistic sex addict. When not servicing Rosarita on his mahogany desk, Joel chases bitchy supermodel Carrie Hanlon and secretly lusts after Madison, whose sights are set on handsome, freewheeling photographer Jake DeSica. Jake beds Madison briefly, then jets off to pursue his other interests, which range from cheetahs to call girls. Madison's college chums—beautiful, blond interior-decorator Jamie Nova and trash-talking African-American TV reporter Natalie de Barge—advise her to forget Jake, but she can't. Then the mysterious and violent death of Madison's mother raises questions about her father's possible involvement. Madison hires Native American lesbian private investigator Kimm Florian, who tracks down some—though not all—of Dad's shocking secrets. Eventually, a world championship prizefight brings everyone together in Las Vegas for the hyper-convoluted finale. Cheerfully cheesy as always, Collins entertains in high style. But the story's stuck in a time warp. Her ace reporter and famous photographer apparently have never heard of voicemail, e-mail, or laptops; they often communicate via answering machines that actually run out of tape (what's that?). The partyscenesare equally dated, with cocaine and amyl nitrate still the drugs du jour. Collins is noticeably out of touch with the contemporary Hollywood scene, but her loyal readers won't care: plenty of rough and raunchy sex, served up with brio, keeps the plot moving right along to the next installment. Cool as a subzero shot of designer vodka, and just as unreal.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780671020965
  • Publisher: Pocket Books
  • Publication date: 5/22/2001
  • Series: Madison Castelli Series
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 592
  • Sales rank: 288,973
  • Product dimensions: 4.00 (w) x 6.75 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Jackie Collins

There have been many imitators, but only Jackie Collins can tell you what really goes on in the fastest lane of all. From Beverly Hills bedrooms to a raunchy prowl along the streets of Hollywood; from glittering rock parties and concerts to stretch limos and the mansions of power brokers—Jackie Collins chronicles the real truth from the inside looking out.

Jackie Collins has been called a “raunchy moralist” by the late director Louis Malle and “Hollywood’s own Marcel Proust” by Vanity Fair magazine. With more than 500 million copies of her books sold in more than forty countries, and with some twenty-seven New York Times bestsellers to her credit, Jackie Collins is one of the world’s top-selling novelists. She is known for giving her readers an unrivalled insider’s knowledge of Hollywood and the glamorous lives and loves of the rich, famous, and infamous. “I write about real people in disguise,” she says. “If anything, my characters are toned down—the truth is much more bizarre.”

Visit Jackie’s website www.jackiecollins.com, and follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/JackieJCollins, Facebook at www.facebook.com/jackiecollins and Pinterest at www.pinterest.com/jackiejcollins.

Biography

Louis Malle may have branded Jackie Collins a "raunchy moralist," but it wasn't her sense of ethical propriety that had her in a snit when Kenneth Starr dutifully reported to the nation the details of the pseudo-coupling between Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. It was her literary pride. "Everybody said that the Monica Lewinsky stuff in the Starr report was like a Jackie Collins book," she told the Chicago Tribune in 2001, "but if I'd written it, the sex would have been better."

Unquestionably. Jacqueline Susann may be the Emily Bronte of the naughty bits, but Collins is surely Charlotte, having filled her books to the rim with skin since her first novel The World Is Full of Married Men appeared in 1968. Since then, there has been a string of sexy Hollywood moguls, sexy models, sexy wives of Hollywood moguls, sexy divorcées and sexy children of Hollywood moguls in such titles as Chances, Lucky and Throb as well as The Bitch and The Stud (both made into movies starring big sister Joan).

The critics, when they take notice at all, tend to sniff. ("While no one expects Lady Boss to be a literary banquet, certainly a yummy little snack is in order" is about the best to expect from The New York Times.) But those who can look past the satin sheets and champagne flutes see more going on in the Collins canon. Hers is a dissection of the vacuous, viperish entertainment class hiding behind designer sunglasses in Los Angeles. Vanity Fair called her "Hollywood's own Marcel Proust.” The Advocate hinted that she might be the Charles Dickens of Beverly Hills. And Joe Queenan, a Hollywood player himself, said Collins's 1993 novel American Star was nothing less than a lament of the American family's demise.

"It would be easy to self-righteously label this book trashy and worthless -- but it's not entirely either," the Detroit News wrote in a review of Collins's 1983 novel Hollywood Wives. "Jackie Collins has a talent for titillation and a knack for wooing the most reluctant of readers into a plot that spends 15 percent of the time peeking at people in the sack and the other 85 percent daydreaming about it. Deliberately or not, she speaks eloquently of emptiness through the lives of people who would seem to have everything: French poodles, Mexican maids, American Express."

And Judy Bass wrote in the Los Angeles Times that Collins's gimlet eye for detail is what makes her novels such a gas: "Collins caricatures the life styles of the rich and famous with devastating accuracy. She spoofs every nuance of their attire, speech and relationships, never allowing tedium or predictability to dilute the reader's fun."

There are a number of recurring characters in Collins's books, though none better known than Lucky Santangelo, the sexy (natch) film studio owner who has appeared in Lucky, Lady Boss, Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge and Dangerous Kiss. The Lucky series bring together all the required ingredients of a Collins cocktail: the rich and famous, the shifty Hollywood shenanigans, scheming opportunists and a bug-on-the-wall vantage point of every -- or every other -- bedroom in the 90210 zip code.

Time once wrote of a Collins novel that it allowed the reader the rare opportunity to watch adverbs mate. Of course. There's a high art to the lowbrow. The Village Voice, writing in 2000, understood that: "The beauty of the trashy novel is twofold: It's a lightning-quick read, and you can howl in smug superiority as you turn the pages. Lethal Seduction, the latest from well-appointed and leopard-print-swathed Queen of Trash Jackie Collins, is a prime example of page-turning, literary-hauteur-stoking fun."

But it might have been People, reviewing Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge, that most succinctly summed up the contradictory seductiveness of the Jackie Collins novel: "embarrassing to pick up, impossible to put down."

Good To Know

Collins makes a mean meatloaf. "It's the herbs and spices," she told Biography magazine, "and my essence."

Collins spends about a year writing each novel, and does so entirely in longhand.

She eschews the stodgy demands of grammar. "I don't basically understand grammar," she is quoted as saying in Contemporary Popular Writers. "I call myself a street writer. I write purely by instinct. I've decided people don't speak in grammatical conversations.... The important thing is I get people into the bookstores who probably wouldn't be there otherwise."

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    1. Also Known As:
      Jacqueline Jill Collins (full name)
    2. Hometown:
      Los Angeles, California
    1. Date of Birth:
      October 4, 1941
    2. Place of Birth:
      London, England

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

"What's the best sex you've ever had?" Jamie Nova asked her best friend, Madison Castelli. At twenty-nine Jamie was heartbreakingly lovely. A cool, willowy blonde with classic style and an impeccable pedigree, she was a cross between a young Grace Kelly and a contemporary Gwyneth Paltrow.

"Huh?" Madison said, glancing quickly at the adjoining table in the packed Manhattan restaurant. The couple sitting there were deep into their own conversation and had failed to hear Jamie's provocative question.

"You know what I mean," Jamie said, brushing a lock of fine, blond hair from her forehead. "Mind-blowing, earth-shaking down and dirty sex. The kind where you never want to see the guy again, but at the exact moment you're doing it — anything goes." A long wistful sigh. "And I do mean anything."

"Well..." Madison said, wondering where Jamie, her former college roommate, was going with this.

"Come on," Jamie said impatiently. "Answer me."

"Hmm," Madison thought for a moment, realizing this was not a question Jamie was about to drop. "Miami," she said at last. "Vacation with my father. I was sixteen, and the guy was a forty-five-year-old major playboy with all the toys. Penthouse, Porsche, porno videos."

"Porno videos!" Jamie said, rolling her aquamarine eyes in exaggerated horror. "Doesn't sound too sexy to me."

"I can assure you it was," Madison retorted crisply. "He had this oversized water bed covered in rose petals. A pitcher of champagne with sliced peaches. Sexy European body oil. And" — she paused for full effect — "an extraordinarily talented tongue!"

"Ah...the old talented-tongue trick," Jamie retorted a touch bitterly. "Gets 'em every time."

Madison raised an eyebrow. "What's with you today? Why all this sex talk? You're a married woman and — if what I hear is true — once you're married, sex is supposed to be nothing but a distant memory."

"Very funny," Jamie said glumly.

"I was joking," Madison said, sensing trouble in the paradise that Jamie inhabited. It was a fact that everyone who knew Jamie and her Wall Street hotshot husband, Peter, considered them the golden couple. They seemed to have everything, and yet today Madison sensed a lurking storm. "So, what's up?" she asked, leaning across the table. "Tell me everything."

"Well," Jamie said, biting on her lower lip. "Last night we were at a dinner party and the question arose."

"What question?"

"The best-sex-you've-ever-had question," Jamie said, toying with her salad. "And here's the thing — everyone was coming up with really good answers."

"Yes?" Madison said curiously.

"Naturally, when it came to me, I carried on about it being the first time Peter and I made love. I told a cute little story about it, and everyone oohed and aahed. Then it was Peter's turn, and he suddenly went very quiet, muttered that he couldn't remember and abruptly changed the subject."

"Maybe he was embarrassed."

"Peter?" Jamie shook her head vigorously. "Not him."

"Had he been drinking?"

"Not at all."

"Then...what?" Madison asked, perplexed.

par

"I think he's having an affair," Jamie blurted.

"Come on!" Madison exclaimed. "You've only been married three years. Give the guy a chance to get bored."

"Thanks a lot," Jamie said huffily. "What makes you think he'd ever get bored?"

True, Madison thought, how could any man be bored with a woman like Jamie by his side? She was perfect. Everyone knew that. Besides, in a proper world, no man would cheat on Jamie.

But the world wasn't proper, and most men were dogs, so maybe Jamie was right, maybe Peter was exercising his precious manhood in another neighborhood.

"What makes you suspect Peter might be screwing around?" she asked.

"Intuition," Jamie answered. "That and the fact that we haven't made love in two weeks."

"Two weeks!" Madison exclaimed teasingly. "Jesus! Send in the Marines!"

"You don't understand," Jamie muttered, twisting her diamond wedding band on an elegant French-manicured finger. "Peter is a very sexual man. He likes sex every day." A meaningful pause. "Sometimes more than once."

"Hmm..." Madison murmured, thinking that shehadn't had sex in almost a year. Her choice, because who needed to sleep with assholes? And unfortunately that's all she'd come across in the last year — major assholes. The truth was that ever since her live-in love of two years, David the TV producer rat, had run out on her, she'd been off men. Although there was that very attractive photographer she'd met in L.A. earlier in the year while on assignment for Manhattan Style, the upscale magazine she worked for. His name was Jake Sica, and they'd had chemistry. Unfortunately he'd been involved elsewhere.

Too bad.

Then there was the one-night stand in Miami, where she'd been interviewing The Donald. She'd met a male model at one of the happening clubs in South Beach. He was not very smart, but quite beautiful, with a muscular body and an untamed mane of sun-streaked hair.

One long, passionate night of unbridled lust accompanied by a condom and later a feeling of "Why the hell did I do that?"

No. One-night stands were not for her.

"What do you think I should do?" Jamie wailed. "I can't stand not knowing. It's driving me insane."

"Well...uh...find out, I guess," Madison offered.

"Very helpful," Jamie snapped. "You're supposed to be the smart one with an answer for everything."

Madison sighed. What a label to be stuck with. Unfortunately, it was true. In college she and Jamie were known as "The Beauty" (Jamie) and "The Brain" (Madison). And a third friend, Natalie De Barge, a pretty black girl, was nicknamed "The Sexpot." The three of them had been inseparable.

College had ended seven years ago, and in those seven years they'd all made their mark. Apart from marrying Peter and leading a hectic social life, Jamie had her own successful interior-design firm in Manhattan. It helped that her rich daddy had put up the money and partnered her with Anton Couch — a gay genius with connections up the kazoo.

Natalie, with nobody to back her, had carved out a career on television. She was currently living in L.A. and cohosting Celebrity News, an E.T.-type entertainment show.

And Madison had an interesting, challenging job and quite a reputation. Her profiles of the rich, powerful and infamous were an important part of Manhattan Style's outstanding success as the magazine of the moment — regularly outselling Vanity Fair and Esquire. In fact, the piece she'd written on Hollywood call girls earlier in the year had caused quite a stir — she'd even sold the film rights, although she doubted if the movie would ever get made.

"Okay, here's the plan," she said, deciding that Jamie needed help.

"Yes?" Jamie said, placing her elbows on the table, wide aqua eyes eager for an answer to her problem.

"Have him followed."

"Followed!" Jamie exclaimed, causing the couple at the next table to finally take notice. "I can't do that, it's so...so...cheap."

"Expensive, actually," Madison corrected. "But worth it I'm sure."

"How can that be?"

"Peace of mind. If he's cheating, you'll find out. And if he's not...hey, it'll have cost you a few bucks and normal life resumes."

"Maybe..." Jamie murmured hesitantly, followed by a much firmer, "Okay, I'll do it!"

"Let me check into our options," Madison said briskly, "find out who's the best."

"And the most discreet," Jamie added quickly. "There's no way this can get out."

"I understand," Madison said, sure that her editor, Victor Simons, would be able to come up with exactly who they should hire. Victor knew everything and everybody. Maybe he even knew if Peter was hound-dogging after some sexy nymphet.

Then again, maybe not. Victor and Peter did not travel in the same social circles.

"I'm certain you're wrong," Madison said reassuringly. "But at least this way you'll know."

"Right," Jamie agreed, and felt sick at the thought of catching Peter with another woman.

After saying good-bye outside the restaurant, Madison strode along Park Avenue, heading for the offices of Manhattan Style. Heads turned, but she didn't notice, she was too busy thinking about Jamie and her suspicions.

Madison was a striking-looking woman, tall and slender, with full breasts, dancer's legs and a cloud of long black curly hair that she usually wore pulled back. She tried to play her good looks down, but nothing could disguise her green almond-shaped eyes, sharply defined cheekbones and full, seductive lips. She was a beauty, although she did not consider herself one — her idea of beauty was her mother, Stella, a statuesque honey blonde whose quivering lips and dreamy eyes reminded most people of Marilyn Monroe.

Lookswise Madison took after her father, Michael. Dark and handsome, Michael Castelli was the best-looking fifty-eight-year-old in Connecticut. He also possessed a beguiling charm and steely determination — two qualities Madison had definitely inherited, which had not hindered her rise to success as a well-respected writer of revealing and insightful profiles of the notorious and powerful.

Madison loved what she did — going for the right angle, discovering the secrets of people in the public eye. Politicians and superrich business tycoons were her favorites. Movie stars, sports personalities and Hollywood moguls were low on her list. She didn't regard herself as a killer, although she wrote with searing honesty, sometimes upsetting her subjects, who were usually sheltered in an all-enveloping cocoon of protective PR.

Too bad if they didn't like it, she was merely reporting the truth.

She'd worked under the watchful eye of Victor Simons for five years. They had an excellent relationship, although sometimes Victor could be a total pain, especially when he wanted her to interview a subject she had absolutely zero interest in. Usually they compromised, and she'd reluctantly agree to interview some dingbat movie star sex symbol in exchange for a crack at a nuclear scientist or a computer genius.

Victor had discovered her fresh out of college. She'd written a provocative piece on the still-rampant double standard between men and women, and it had been published in Esquire. He'd taken her to lunch, told her to get more experience, then two years later hired her to write short question-and-answer pieces for his magazine. A year later she'd graduated to brief interviews, then suddenly she'd come up with her signature work: "Madison Castelli — Profiles in Power."

Her first subject was Henry Kissinger. She'd captured the essence of the aging politician with a sharp, wry wit. After that it was easy. One interview a month, which gave her plenty of free time to work on her novel — a book about relationships, which was making slow progress while she got over her anger at David for walking out. It wasn't easy writing about relationships while she was still so hurt.

Why had David left? That was the question. Was it something she'd done to turn him off?

No. Deep down she knew the answer. David hadn't been able to accept the fact that she made as much money as he did. It was as simple as that. He was searching for a woman who stayed home and did what he wanted, not an independent free spirit with ambitions.

Two years of great sex did not make a lasting relationship, because after the passion settled down, what was left?

In their case, apparently nothing.

A few weeks after David's abrupt departure, she'd heard that he'd married his childhood sweetheart, a vapid blonde with fake boobs and an annoying overbite.

So much for good taste.

Victor was crouched on the floor in his spacious office, playing with his precious model train set, which wound its way across the room and back again. Victor was a big, cuddly man in his late forties with a mop of frizzy brown hair that appeared to stand on end, matching eyebrows, several chins and puppy-dog eyes.

"Maddy!" he exclaimed in a loud, booming voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you today. Come in."

"Hi, Victor," she said, carefully stepping over a chugging red engine. "Working hard as usual, I see."

"Of course," he said with a hearty chuckle. "Keeps the

old heart pumping. Besides, Evelyn won't let me do this at home."

"I wonder why," Madison murmured, thinking of his pristine skinny-as-a-stick wife with her permanently uptight expression and designer wardrobe.

"Wouldn't do to mess up her living room," Victor responded, hauling himself up.

Madison perched on the edge of his desk. "I need a favor," she announced, picking up a heavy glass paperweight and examining it.

"Good," Victor boomed, sitting down in his leather chair. "There's nothing I like better than people owing me favors."

"I'm not people," Madison pointed out, irritated that he should regard her as such. "And it's not exactly a favor, more a request for information."

"What kind of information?" Victor asked suspiciously.

"Nothing earth-shattering," she said, putting the paperweight down. "I simply require the name of the best private investigator in New York."

Victor tapped his index finger on the desk. "And what makes you think I'd have that?"

"Because you know everything. And besides," she added quickly, "didn't you use someone to follow your first wife before you divorced her?"

His bushy eyebrows shot up. "Who told you that?"

"Office folklore."

"I hate gossip," he snapped.

"You thrive on it," she responded.

"Why do you need this?"

"For a friend."

"What friend?"

"None of your business."

"Bitch!"

"Slave driver!"

They exchanged smiles.

Madison was extremely fond of Victor, even though he sometimes drove her crazy with his loud voice and often overbearing attitude. And Victor adored Madison, whom he considered his own personal discovery.

Placing the train remote on his desk, Victor buzzed Lynda, his personal assistant who had worked for him for twelve years and, with her lank brown hair and lackluster smile, closely resembled a cross-eyed basset hound.

Lynda materialized immediately, unrequited love oozing from her every pore. "Yes, Mr. S?" she asked anxiously.

"It's confidential," Victor boomed.

Lynda threw Madison a dirty look as if to say, "Then what's she doing here?"

"Get me the name and number of the uh...person who trailed Rebecca," Victor said. "Do it now."

Lynda snapped to attention. "Yes, Mr. S."

And she was gone.

"So..." Victor said, turning to Madison. "You don't care to tell me what this is about?"

"Hey," she answered, purposely keeping it vague. "It's not about me, that should be enough."

"Well, it isn't," he grumbled.

"Don't sweat it, Victor," she said casually. "You wouldn't be interested anyway."

"You need a man," Victor said, his favorite comment whenever she pissed him off. "How long is it since David walked?"

"Stay out of my private life," she warned.

"You're twenty-nine and you have no private life," he reminded her.

God! How she hated it when Victor tried to get into her business. "Fuck you!" she said vehemently.

"Any time you're ready."

She burst out laughing. There was no way she could stay mad at Victor; after all, he meant well, even though he was forever trying to fix her up with any single man that came his way. He didn't care how old they were or what they looked like, as long as they had a reasonable bank account and a working cock he was determined she should give them a try.

She'd given up accepting invitations to dinner at his home. The last one she'd attended she'd found herself seated between an extremely ancient astronaut and a twenty-one-year-old computer nerd. Both interesting men — but dating material? — no way.

I don't mind being alone, she told herself.

Yes, you do, an annoying little voice that lived in the back of her head replied.

NO! I don't!

Ten minutes later, armed with the name K. Florian and a phone number, she left the office, cutting down Sixty-seventh Street toward her apartment on Lexington. Now that she had the number she decided she'd better check with Jamie before using it. That evening they were both attending a dinner party at Anton Couch's penthouse apartment, so she'd be able to find out exactly what Jamie wanted her to do.

Yes, and she'd also be able to check out Peter, see what he was up to.

Her people skills were excellent. If Peter was screwing around on Jamie, Madison'd know it. No doubt of that.

Copyright © 2000 by Chances, Inc.

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Table of Contents

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First Chapter

"What's the best sex you've ever had?" Jamie Nova asked her best friend, Madison Castelli. At twenty-nine Jamie was heartbreakingly lovely. A cool, willowy blonde with classic style and an impeccable pedigree, she was a cross between a young Grace Kelly and a contemporary Gwyneth Paltrow.

"Huh?" Madison said, glancing quickly at the adjoining table in the packed Manhattan restaurant. The couple sitting there were deep into their own conversation and had failed to hear Jamie's provocative question.

"You know what I mean," Jamie said, brushing a lock of fine, blond hair from her forehead. "Mind-blowing, earth-shaking down and dirty sex. The kind where you never want to see the guy again, but at the exact moment you're doing it -- anything goes." A long wistful sigh. "And I do mean anything."

"Well..." Madison said, wondering where Jamie, her former college roommate, was going with this.

"Come on," Jamie said impatiently. "Answer me."

"Hmm," Madison thought for a moment, realizing this was not a question Jamie was about to drop. "Miami," she said at last. "Vacation with my father. I was sixteen, and the guy was a forty-five-year-old major playboy with all the toys. Penthouse, Porsche, porno videos."

"Porno videos!" Jamie said, rolling her aquamarine eyes in exaggerated horror. "Doesn't sound too sexy to me."

"I can assure you it was," Madison retorted crisply. "He had this oversized water bed covered in rose petals. A pitcher of champagne with sliced peaches. Sexy European body oil. And" -- she paused for full effect -- "an extraordinarily talented tongue!"

"Ah...the old talented-tongue trick," Jamie retorted a touch bitterly. "Gets 'em every time."

Madison raised an eyebrow. "What's with you today? Why all this sex talk? You're a married woman and -- if what I hear is true -- once you're married, sex is supposed to be nothing but a distant memory."

"Very funny," Jamie said glumly.

"I was joking," Madison said, sensing trouble in the paradise that Jamie inhabited. It was a fact that everyone who knew Jamie and her Wall Street hotshot husband, Peter, considered them the golden couple. They seemed to have everything, and yet today Madison sensed a lurking storm. "So, what's up?" she asked, leaning across the table. "Tell me everything."

"Well," Jamie said, biting on her lower lip. "Last night we were at a dinner party and the question arose."

"What question?"

"The best-sex-you've-ever-had question," Jamie said, toying with her salad. "And here's the thing -- everyone was coming up with really good answers."

"Yes?" Madison said curiously.

"Naturally, when it came to me, I carried on about it being the first time Peter and I made love. I told a cute little story about it, and everyone oohed and aahed. Then it was Peter's turn, and he suddenly went very quiet, muttered that he couldn't remember and abruptly changed the subject."

"Maybe he was embarrassed."

"Peter?" Jamie shook her head vigorously. "Not him."

"Had he been drinking?"

"Not at all."

"Then...what?" Madison asked, perplexed.

"I think he's having an affair," Jamie blurted.

"Come on!" Madison exclaimed. "You've only been married three years. Give the guy a chance to get bored."

"Thanks a lot," Jamie said huffily. "What makes you think he'd ever get bored?"

True, Madison thought, how could any man be bored with a woman like Jamie by his side? She was perfect. Everyone knew that. Besides, in a proper world, no man would cheat on Jamie.

But the world wasn't proper, and most men were dogs, so maybe Jamie was right, maybe Peter was exercising his precious manhood in another neighborhood.

"What makes you suspect Peter might be screwing around?" she asked.

"Intuition," Jamie answered. "That and the fact that we haven't made love in two weeks."

"Two weeks!" Madison exclaimed teasingly. "Jesus! Send in the Marines!"

"You don't understand," Jamie muttered, twisting her diamond wedding band on an elegant French-manicured finger. "Peter is a very sexual man. He likes sex every day." A meaningful pause. "Sometimes more than once."

"Hmm..." Madison murmured, thinking that shehadn't had sex in almost a year. Her choice, because who needed to sleep with assholes? And unfortunately that's all she'd come across in the last year -- major assholes. The truth was that ever since her live-in love of two years, David the TV producer rat, had run out on her, she'd been off men. Although there was that very attractive photographer she'd met in L.A. earlier in the year while on assignment for Manhattan Style, the upscale magazine she worked for. His name was Jake Sica, and they'd had chemistry. Unfortunately he'd been involved elsewhere.

Too bad.

Then there was the one-night stand in Miami, where she'd been interviewing The Donald. She'd met a male model at one of the happening clubs in South Beach. He was not very smart, but quite beautiful, with a muscular body and an untamed mane of sun-streaked hair.

One long, passionate night of unbridled lust accompanied by a condom and later a feeling of "Why the hell did I do that?"

No. One-night stands were not for her.

"What do you think I should do?" Jamie wailed. "I can't stand not knowing. It's driving me insane."

"Well...uh...find out, I guess," Madison offered.

"Very helpful," Jamie snapped. "You're supposed to be the smart one with an answer for everything."

Madison sighed. What a label to be stuck with. Unfortunately, it was true. In college she and Jamie were known as "The Beauty" (Jamie) and "The Brain" (Madison). And a third friend, Natalie De Barge, a pretty black girl, was nicknamed "The Sexpot." The three of them had been inseparable.

College had ended seven years ago, and in those seven years they'd all made their mark. Apart from marrying Peter and leading a hectic social life, Jamie had her own successful interior-design firm in Manhattan. It helped that her rich daddy had put up the money and partnered her with Anton Couch -- a gay genius with connections up the kazoo.

Natalie, with nobody to back her, had carved out a career on television. She was currently living in L.A. and cohosting Celebrity News, an E.T.-type entertainment show.

And Madison had an interesting, challenging job and quite a reputation. Her profiles of the rich, powerful and infamous were an important part of Manhattan Style's outstanding success as the magazine of the moment -- regularly outselling Vanity Fair and Esquire. In fact, the piece she'd written on Hollywood call girls earlier in the year had caused quite a stir -- she'd even sold the film rights, although she doubted if the movie would ever get made.

"Okay, here's the plan," she said, deciding that Jamie needed help.

"Yes?" Jamie said, placing her elbows on the table, wide aqua eyes eager for an answer to her problem.

"Have him followed."

"Followed!" Jamie exclaimed, causing the couple at the next table to finally take notice. "I can't do that, it's so...so...cheap."

"Expensive, actually," Madison corrected. "But worth it I'm sure."

"How can that be?"

"Peace of mind. If he's cheating, you'll find out. And if he's not...hey, it'll have cost you a few bucks and normal life resumes."

"Maybe..." Jamie murmured hesitantly, followed by a much firmer, "Okay, I'll do it!"

"Let me check into our options," Madison said briskly, "find out who's the best."

"And the most discreet," Jamie added quickly. "There's no way this can get out."

"I understand," Madison said, sure that her editor, Victor Simons, would be able to come up with exactly who they should hire. Victor knew everything and everybody. Maybe he even knew if Peter was hound-dogging after some sexy nymphet.

Then again, maybe not. Victor and Peter did not travel in the same social circles.

"I'm certain you're wrong," Madison said reassuringly. "But at least this way you'll know."

"Right," Jamie agreed, and felt sick at the thought of catching Peter with another woman.


After saying good-bye outside the restaurant, Madison strode along Park Avenue, heading for the offices of Manhattan Style. Heads turned, but she didn't notice, she was too busy thinking about Jamie and her suspicions.

Madison was a striking-looking woman, tall and slender, with full breasts, dancer's legs and a cloud of long black curly hair that she usually wore pulled back. She tried to play her good looks down, but nothing could disguise her green almond-shaped eyes, sharply defined cheekbones and full, seductive lips. She was a beauty, although she did not consider herself one -- her idea of beauty was her mother, Stella, a statuesque honey blonde whose quivering lips and dreamy eyes reminded most people of Marilyn Monroe.

Lookswise Madison took after her father, Michael. Dark and handsome, Michael Castelli was the best-looking fifty-eight-year-old in Connecticut. He also possessed a beguiling charm and steely determination -- two qualities Madison had definitely inherited, which had not hindered her rise to success as a well-respected writer of revealing and insightful profiles of the notorious and powerful.

Madison loved what she did -- going for the right angle, discovering the secrets of people in the public eye. Politicians and superrich business tycoons were her favorites. Movie stars, sports personalities and Hollywood moguls were low on her list. She didn't regard herself as a killer, although she wrote with searing honesty, sometimes upsetting her subjects, who were usually sheltered in an all-enveloping cocoon of protective PR.

Too bad if they didn't like it, she was merely reporting the truth.

She'd worked under the watchful eye of Victor Simons for five years. They had an excellent relationship, although sometimes Victor could be a total pain, especially when he wanted her to interview a subject she had absolutely zero interest in. Usually they compromised, and she'd reluctantly agree to interview some dingbat movie star sex symbol in exchange for a crack at a nuclear scientist or a computer genius.

Victor had discovered her fresh out of college. She'd written a provocative piece on the still-rampant double standard between men and women, and it had been published in Esquire. He'd taken her to lunch, told her to get more experience, then two years later hired her to write short question-and-answer pieces for his magazine. A year later she'd graduated to brief interviews, then suddenly she'd come up with her signature work: "Madison Castelli -- Profiles in Power."

Her first subject was Henry Kissinger. She'd captured the essence of the aging politician with a sharp, wry wit. After that it was easy. One interview a month, which gave her plenty of free time to work on her novel -- a book about relationships, which was making slow progress while she got over her anger at David for walking out. It wasn't easy writing about relationships while she was still so hurt.

Why had David left? That was the question. Was it something she'd done to turn him off?

No. Deep down she knew the answer. David hadn't been able to accept the fact that she made as much money as he did. It was as simple as that. He was searching for a woman who stayed home and did what he wanted, not an independent free spirit with ambitions.

Two years of great sex did not make a lasting relationship, because after the passion settled down, what was left?

In their case, apparently nothing.

A few weeks after David's abrupt departure, she'd heard that he'd married his childhood sweetheart, a vapid blonde with fake boobs and an annoying overbite.

So much for good taste.


Victor was crouched on the floor in his spacious office, playing with his precious model train set, which wound its way across the room and back again. Victor was a big, cuddly man in his late forties with a mop of frizzy brown hair that appeared to stand on end, matching eyebrows, several chins and puppy-dog eyes.

"Maddy!" he exclaimed in a loud, booming voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you today. Come in."

"Hi, Victor," she said, carefully stepping over a chugging red engine. "Working hard as usual, I see."

"Of course," he said with a hearty chuckle. "Keeps the

old heart pumping. Besides, Evelyn won't let me do this at home."

"I wonder why," Madison murmured, thinking of his pristine skinny-as-a-stick wife with her permanently uptight expression and designer wardrobe.

"Wouldn't do to mess up her living room," Victor responded, hauling himself up.

Madison perched on the edge of his desk. "I need a favor," she announced, picking up a heavy glass paperweight and examining it.

"Good," Victor boomed, sitting down in his leather chair. "There's nothing I like better than people owing me favors."

"I'm not people," Madison pointed out, irritated that he should regard her as such. "And it's not exactly a favor, more a request for information."

"What kind of information?" Victor asked suspiciously.

"Nothing earth-shattering," she said, putting the paperweight down. "I simply require the name of the best private investigator in New York."

Victor tapped his index finger on the desk. "And what makes you think I'd have that?"

"Because you know everything. And besides," she added quickly, "didn't you use someone to follow your first wife before you divorced her?"

His bushy eyebrows shot up. "Who told you that?"

"Office folklore."

"I hate gossip," he snapped.

"You thrive on it," she responded.

"Why do you need this?"

"For a friend."

"What friend?"

"None of your business."

"Bitch!"

"Slave driver!"

They exchanged smiles.

Madison was extremely fond of Victor, even though he sometimes drove her crazy with his loud voice and often overbearing attitude. And Victor adored Madison, whom he considered his own personal discovery.

Placing the train remote on his desk, Victor buzzed Lynda, his personal assistant who had worked for him for twelve years and, with her lank brown hair and lackluster smile, closely resembled a cross-eyed basset hound.

Lynda materialized immediately, unrequited love oozing from her every pore. "Yes, Mr. S?" she asked anxiously.

"It's confidential," Victor boomed.

Lynda threw Madison a dirty look as if to say, "Then what's she doing here?"

"Get me the name and number of the uh...person who trailed Rebecca," Victor said. "Do it now."

Lynda snapped to attention. "Yes, Mr. S."

And she was gone.

"So..." Victor said, turning to Madison. "You don't care to tell me what this is about?"

"Hey," she answered, purposely keeping it vague. "It's not about me, that should be enough."

"Well, it isn't," he grumbled.

"Don't sweat it, Victor," she said casually. "You wouldn't be interested anyway."

"You need a man," Victor said, his favorite comment whenever she pissed him off. "How long is it since David walked?"

"Stay out of my private life," she warned.

"You're twenty-nine and you have no private life," he reminded her.

God! How she hated it when Victor tried to get into her business. "Fuck you!" she said vehemently.

"Any time you're ready."

She burst out laughing. There was no way she could stay mad at Victor; after all, he meant well, even though he was forever trying to fix her up with any single man that came his way. He didn't care how old they were or what they looked like, as long as they had a reasonable bank account and a working cock he was determined she should give them a try.

She'd given up accepting invitations to dinner at his home. The last one she'd attended she'd found herself seated between an extremely ancient astronaut and a twenty-one-year-old computer nerd. Both interesting men -- but dating material? -- no way.

I don't mind being alone, she told herself.

Yes, you do, an annoying little voice that lived in the back of her head replied.

NO! I don't!

Ten minutes later, armed with the name K. Florian and a phone number, she left the office, cutting down Sixty-seventh Street toward her apartment on Lexington. Now that she had the number she decided she'd better check with Jamie before using it. That evening they were both attending a dinner party at Anton Couch's penthouse apartment, so she'd be able to find out exactly what Jamie wanted her to do.

Yes, and she'd also be able to check out Peter, see what he was up to.

Her people skills were excellent. If Peter was screwing around on Jamie, Madison'd know it. No doubt of that.


Copyright © 2000 by Chances, Inc.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 39 )
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(17)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 39 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 26, 2004

    Excellent Storylines

    I love how Collins mixes all her wonderful characters while giving them each seperate obstacles and issues. Loved this booked and can't wait to read Deadly Embrace.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 25, 2014

    Great Read

    Love Jackie Collins Books...

    Great read, I highly recommend Lethal Seduction!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 26, 2012

    O Love it

    Aubu 1964

    I just love her books.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 18, 2002

    The Best Book I Ever Read!

    Lethal Seduction is an awesome book. I was in a bookstore and it caught my eye, so I read the back of the book. It seemed interesting so I purchased it. It took me two days to read this book. I'm young and I love to read. This book was great and the characters were also. My favorite character was Madison. I recommend others to read this book. So far, about everyone on my cheerleading squad has read it!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 5, 2001

    Ranting Ravs for Jackie Collins!!!!

    When I pick up a book from Jackie Collins. I become so involved, that it is so difficult, to put the book down! My favorite, favorite novel of Jackie Collins is-American Star: A Love Story! God help me, if I ever lose that book, because I will search the house high and low to find it. All her books are a must read!!!!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 20, 2001

    CAN'T PUT IT DOWN...

    ONE OF COLLINS' BEST.THE CHARACTERS ARE COMPELLING. LETHAL SEDUCTION IS HARD TO PUT DOWN, WHEN YOU ARE NOT READING LETHAL SEDUCTION YOU ARE THINKING OF THE CHARACTERS. MADISON AND HER FRIEND'S LIVES ARE FAR-FETCHED YET WE CAN ALL IDENTIFY WITH THEIR DESIRES AND ACTIONS IN SOME WAY.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 9, 2001

    Awesome

    This book was such a riot! I loved every minute of it. It was only my second Jackie Collins book but I am addicted now and can't wait to read more! I especially enjoyed the character of Rosarita!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 7, 2001

    boring

    it was just o.k.the characters were no where near as cool as the santangelo bunch. i hope jackie sticks with lucky and the hollywood wives novels. i found madison castelli to be a poor version of lucky

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 22, 2000

    Fast and Fun

    As always, Jackie Collins plows through her story at breakneck speed, with not much thought for character development, but who cares? The book is a hoot, and never pretends to be great literature, so enjoy!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 26, 2000

    Jackie Collines creates another captivating character

    Jackie Collins has written another wonderful novel. She draws you into each person and when reading this book you start to visualize the story as it happens. That is how great writing is done. Although my number one character will always be Lucky Santangelo, the main woman Madison Castelli comes in second. Have fun reading such a powerful book!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 12, 2000

    A disappointed fan

    I loved mostly all of Jackie Collins books, but this one was a MAJOR disappoinment. So boring, I almost put it down half-finished..but being the die-hard fan that I am, I muttled through, waiting for SOMETHING to happen..but nothing did. The book was long, the characters boring, the story predictable.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 16, 2000

    A Hard to Put Down Book

    I read this book in two evenings, letting every thing else go! I could not put it down. It was interesting and fun to read and I think anyone would enjoy it . . .Read it!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 11, 2000

    NOT up to par for Jackie Collins

    First book I've read by Collins that I did not like. Her characters acted dull, stupid and childlike. No substance to any of them. I expected more from a Collins book. I hope her next book is as worthy as all that came before Lethal Seduction!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 3, 2000

    Jackie Collins Does It Again

    This book was outstanding. Every Paragraph holds your interest so that you never want to put the book down. This book has so many strange but exciting twists, at times it makes you wish you were the heroine and others it makes you pity her. I can't wait for the next book.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Entertaining tale

    <P>Manhattan Style magazine reporter Madison Castelli may be beautiful, but feels unlucky when it comes to men. She still clings to hopes of finding a love of a lifetime even though she is seeing someone. However, her dreams are interrupted when her father Michael informs her that her mother Stella is divorcing him. He also tells her revelations about the identity of her real mother killed almost three decades ago. On top of that she learns that Stella was killed with the man she was living with in an apparent robbery. <P> Madison begins to think back on her unhappy childhood while reflecting on her father. She begins to uncover the repugnant reality that Michael has mob connections, making her wonder what really happened to Stella. <P> LETHAL SEDUCTION is the typical Jackie Collins fare: underdeveloped characters with limited understanding inside an erotic story line with little plotting that is overwhelmingly fun to read. While Madison tries to pour her heart out to her best friend, her best friend tries to pour her heart out to Madison, leaving the reader as the only listener. Cameos and visits from the rich and famous add glamour that brings a side of Manhattan to life, but this is novel is classic Collins which means an enjoyable, very humorous trip into fluff. <P>Harriet Klausner

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 10, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted June 30, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 23, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 12, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 6, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

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