Drop Dead Beautiful (Lucky Santangelo Series)

Drop Dead Beautiful (Lucky Santangelo Series)

by Jackie Collins

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781429917209
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication date: 06/26/2007
Series: Lucky Santangelo Series , #6
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 512
Sales rank: 91,118
File size: 1 MB

About the Author

JACKIE COLLINS is one of the world's top-selling writers, with more than four hundred million copies of her books sold in more than forty countries. Her twenty-four previous bestselling novels have never been out of print. She lives in Beverly Hills, California.

There have been many imitators, but only Jackie Collins (1937-2015) 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 over 400 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.” Ms. Collins books include Poor Little Bitch Girl, A Santangelo Story and Drop Dead Beautiful. Jackie Collins was awarded an OBE by Queen Elizabeth II in 2013. She lived in Los Angeles, CA.


Los Angeles, California

Date of Birth:

October 4, 1941

Place of Birth:

London, England

Read an Excerpt

Drop Dead Beautiful

By Jackie Collins

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2007 Chances, Inc.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-1720-9


Drop Dead Beautiful. The three little words were scrawled on the Cartier card Lucky Santangelo had just opened. Hand-delivered, the note had been brought up to the house in Bel Air by Philippe, her houseman, who'd discovered it in the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

Drop Dead Beautiful. No signature, no return address.

Was it an invitation to an upcoming event too clever for its own good?

Whatever. One quick glance at the card, and Lucky tossed it in the trash.

Lucky Santangelo. A dangerously seductive woman with blacker-than-night eyes, full sensuous lips, a tangle of long jet-black hair, deep olive skin, and a lithe body. Wherever she went, Lucky still brought a room to a standstill, for not only was she wildly beautiful, she was also a powerhouse—a woman to be reckoned with, a force of nature. Street-smart and forever savvy—Lucky Santangelo had it all.

In her past, she'd built hotels in Vegas, owned a major movie studio, and been married three times. She'd also survived much heartache. Her mother, Maria, had been murdered when she was five years old. Her brother, Dario, was shot to death and tossed from a moving car. Then finally her fiancé, Marco, was gunned down in the parking lot of her Vegas hotel.

Eventually Lucky had found out that the man who'd ordered the brutal killings was her godfather, Enzio Bonnatti, a man she had always respected and trusted. The information devastated her. Filled with vengeance, she'd lured Enzio into a carefully planned trap at his home, and shot him dead with his own gun, claiming that he'd tried to rape her. It was deemed a clear-cut case of self-defense.

Self-defense. Sure. She'd made it look like Bonnatti had been about to rape her, and the D.A. had bought it all the way. No surprise there. Her father, Gino, had major connections.

The real truth was that she'd shot the son of a bitch because he'd deserved to die, and she'd never regretted doing so. Justice had taken place. Santangelo justice.

Don't fuck with a Santangelo—the family motto.

Grabbing her purse from a shelf in the luxurious dressing room, Lucky headed for the door. Everything was large and luxurious in Bel-Air—the privileged enclave of the very rich and famous. The house she and her husband, Lennie, were living in was a short-term rental. Recent storms had wreaked havoc on their home in Malibu and they'd been forced to leave while repairs were being made.

The beach was more her style. Bel-Air was too cut off from real life with its winding hillside streets and enormous mansions hidden behind vast gates and high walls of impenetrable greenery. People existed as if they were living under siege, surrounded by multiple security guards and vicious attack dogs. That way of living was not for her. She enjoyed feeling unprotected and free, which was one of the reasons she'd opted out of running Panther Studios several years earlier.

Being the head of a Hollywood studio was no nine-to-five job. She'd found herself working seventeen-hour days, leaving no time for family and friends. One morning she'd woken up and thought, That's it, I'm out. She'd had enough of dealing with ego-inflated stars, nervous-for-their-jobs executives, fast-talking agents, neurotic directors, fat-assed producers, and anyone else who thought they could make it in the movie business—which was most people in L.A.

So she'd quit running Panther, and after producing one movie, Seduction, starring Venus Maria, and her new discovery, Billy Melina, she'd sold the studio and gotten out of the film business altogether.

Lennie was in the movie industry. That was enough for one family.

Besides, Lucky had other plans. She was getting back into the hotel business in Vegas—the place where it had all begun for her. Several years ago she'd put together a syndicate of interesting and colorful investors to develop a huge multibillion-dollar complex called the Keys. She'd been working with architects and planners for the last five years, and in less than a month they were about to celebrate the grand opening. Since the hotel project was her baby, she was beyond excited.

"Mom!" Max burst into the dressing room without knocking. Max, her sixteen-year-old wild child. Tall and colt-like with smooth olive skin, green eyes, an unruly tangle of black curls, and a killer bod, Max was a showstopper. She was also a rebel, playing truant from school on a regular basis.

"Here's the thing," Max announced, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "There's no way I can go to Grandpa's party."

"Excuse me?" Lucky questioned, attempting to remain calm.

"Y'see, there's this big blowout for one of Cookie's best friends up in Big Bear," Max blurted, speaking too fast. "A whole crowd of us wanna go, so like I can't let Cookie down."

"You can't, huh?" Lucky said coolly.

"Nope," Max answered, tugging on a stray curl. "Cookie's my best friend an' this is like essential."

"You are not missing Gino's birthday," Lucky said firmly. "No way."

Max stared balefully at her mom. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Lucky said, heading for the door.

"I can't believe you'd be this mean," Max complained, trailing behind her.

"Mean?" Lucky sighed. This was major déjà vu. It reminded her of all the times she and Gino had gone head to head, and there were too many to remember.

"Why do I have to stay for Gino's stupid party?" Max demanded. "It's not as if he'll miss me."

"Of course he'll miss you," Lucky insisted, hurrying down the stairs.

"He'll like so not," Max grumbled, right behind her.

Lucky turned around, shooting her daughter a warning look. "You're getting on my bad side, so stop it."


"No, Max," Lucky said, walking out the front door. "I'm not interested, don't want to hear it."

And with those words she got into her red Ferrari and roared off down the driveway.

"Crap!" Max shrieked as her mother's car vanished into the distance.

"Whassup?" questioned her younger brother, Gino Junior, rounding the corner from the tennis court.

"Mom sucks!" Max complained, ignoring Gino Junior's two leering friends, both of whom she knew had a total crush on her.

"What she do now?" Gino asked. He was only fifteen, but he was already six feet tall and built like a football player.

"She won't let me get out of Grandpa's lame party. That's so pathetic."

Ignoring her, Gino Junior raced into the house, followed by his two friends, who couldn't take their eyes off her.

"Horny little pricks," she muttered under her breath. "Go jerk off someplace else. Like Siberia."

Lucky drove like a race car driver, skillfully weaving in and out of traffic. She turned the CD player on full volume—Usher blasting.

Lately Max's behavior was becoming quite a challenge. Everything seemed to turn into an argument. Lucky sighed. It wasn't easy being a parent, especially when in your head you were hardly any older than your own child.

A frosted and Botoxed blonde in a shiny new Mercedes cut in front of her, causing her to hit the brakes. "Shit, lady!" Lucky yelled. "Whyn't you learn to fuckin' drive?"

Not that anyone could hear her, but shouting at other drivers eased the tension, although if Lennie happened to be in the car, it made him crazy. "One of these days someone's gonna get out their car and shoot your ass," he was always warning her.

"Yeah, sure," she would reply. "I dare them to."

At which point Lennie would shake his head. In his eyes there was no taming Lucky Santangelo. She walked her own path, and that's exactly the way he liked her.


Movie star Billy Melina was over six feet tall, tanned, with shaggy, bleached-by-the-sun hair, and a body straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. At twenty-eight Billy was in spectacular shape, with sharply defined abs that rippled as the star-struck young girl kneeling in front of him bobbed her head up and down, servicing him with sticky lips and a busy tongue.

"Suck it!" Billy commanded, pressing his hands down on top of her head. "Suck it, suck it hard!"

She was doing the best she could. What more did he expect?

"Aarghh ..." He let out a long, agonized groan. "That's it, sweet thing, that's it! I'm coming ... I'm coming."

The girl attempted to pull away.

"No! No!" Billy yelled, pressing down even harder on the back of her head. "Swallow it, suck it all down." He groaned again, then mumbled, "Go, baby. Go. That's it! Yeeeah!"

For a moment there was silence while the girl tried to decide if it was now okay to release his massive dick from the confines of her mouth.

He decided for her, pulling away with a sudden jerk, immediately stuffing himself back into his tight white Calvins and pulling up his jeans.

They were standing next to the pool in Billy's Hollywood Hills house—a house that the Realtor had assured him had once been rented by Charlie Sheen. A house that had cost him three million dollars, and who the fuck had ever thought he would be able to afford to buy such a house?

Certainly not his old man, Ed, who'd laughed in his face when Billy had informed him, eight years ago, that he was off to Hollywood to become a famous actor. Certainly not his alcoholic stepmother, Millie, whose parting words had been, "Good riddance, Billy boy. Doncha bother comin' back anytime soon."

He'd shown them, hadn't he? Oh yeah, he'd certainly shown them. He was Billy Melina. Hot-shot twenty-something movie star. Yeah—a freakin' movie star. He was on a very exclusive list of young actors who had the clout to open a movie. DiCaprio, Depp, Pitt—although Brad wasn't so young anymore. And then there was Billy Melina.

Yeah! Get off on that, old Ed and Millie pissface.

The girl, clad in denim cut-offs and a skimpy yellow tank, got off her knees and stood up. "Was that okay?" she asked matter-of-factly, as if she'd just served him an omelette.

"Sweet," he replied, wondering how fast he could get rid of her.

Earlier in the day he'd picked her up at Tower Records on Sunset. When the girl had spotted him, she'd sidled over and requested his autograph. He'd noticed her nipples, pushing to escape her barely-there tank top. Then he'd noticed her legs, long and tanned. Her face was pretty—nothing special, but he was feeling major horny, and since his call to the set was not until three that afternoon, he'd invited her up to his house for lunch and a fast blow job. Not that he'd actually mentioned that a blow job was part of the deal—but they'd both known what would happen.

Quivering with excitement, she'd jumped in her truck and followed his sleek Maserati up the winding streets to his house, barely keeping up in her beat-up old truck with a broken taillight—a truck similar to the one he'd driven to Hollywood eight years earlier with two hundred bucks in his pocket and no prospects.

"Hey," he suggested as they stood beside the pool. "How about I give you an autographed picture so you can tell your friends you met me?"

"That'd be cool," she said, acting shy—as if his cock hadn't been in her mouth minutes before.

"Wait here," he instructed sternly. "I'll be right back."

When Billy had first arrived in Hollywood, he'd called women "ma'am," and been full of respect and good manners. Stardom had gotten him over that particular hump, although he still had a chivalrous streak.

He darted into his house through sliding glass doors, feeling ever so slightly guilty on account of the fact that he had a girlfriend—a gorgeous, famous movie star thirteen years his senior—and if she ever found out that he wasn't exactly Joe-faithful, she'd be well and truly pissed. But hey, a blow job wasn't cheating—everyone knew that. Jeez—President Clinton had declared it wasn't sex on national TV. How could anyone argue with that?

Ramona, his Hispanic housekeeper, was singing to herself in the kitchen, quite oblivious to the goings-on out by the pool. Kev, his assistant/best friend from the old days, was on the loose somewhere, running errands or picking up girls. He'd certainly get off on this one.

Billy rifled through the stuff on the coffee table in his den and located a stack of glossy eight-by-tens mixed up with unopened bills, pornographic fan mail, a half-smoked joint, well-thumbed car magazines, and an empty candy box. He grabbed a pen, hurriedly scrawled his signature on the photo, and raced back outside, eager to get her off the premises.

The young girl had divested herself of her cut-offs and tank, and was swimming bare-assed naked in his pool.

Shit! What was he supposed to do now?

"Hey," he said, chewing on his thumbnail.

"Didn't think you'd mind," she responded nonchalantly.

Well, I do, he thought sourly.

"Uh ... okay," he said, still chewing. "But I gotta take off any minute, so you're gonna hafta haul your hot little ass outta there."

"How about you getting in?" she suggested, becoming bolder by the minute. "It's all warm an' wet, you won't be disappointed."

She flipped onto her back, floating in his azure pool, her small nipples erect and disturbingly tempting.

He contemplated this juicy prize, there for the taking. She had a flat stomach, a huge bush of wiry pubic hair—which he found quite sexy because shaved pussy was all the rage in Hollywood—and those long, sexy legs.

Familiar stirrings down below, even though only moments before he'd experienced an extremely satisfactory orgasm.

What the hell, he'd nail her in the pool, then hustle her out of there before she knew it.

After all, what Venus didn't know ...

"Where's Billy?" Alex Woods demanded of Maggie, his personal assistant, a tall woman of Native American descent with long black hair scraped back into a ponytail and strong, almost manly features.

They were standing next to a wooded area several miles outside of L.A. shooting Alex's current movie, Kill, a violent thriller.

Maggie sensed an outburst coming on. She was well aware that as a director Alex Woods was an Oscar-winning genius, and yet as a man he could be a nightmare. When things were not to his liking, everyone had to watch out—including her. She often wondered how his Asian lawyer girlfriend, Ling, put up with him.

"He's on his way," she assured him in a calm voice.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Alex snapped, rubbing his hands together. "His call was for three, and it's now three forty-five."

"I know," Maggie said, remaining calm.

"So get in touch with his driver and tell the asshole to put his foot down."

"Billy refused to use his driver," Maggie explained. "He insisted on driving himself."

"What kind of shit is that?" Alex screamed, suddenly losing it. "The insurance forbade it. D'you hear me, Maggie? They forbade that he drove himself to any of the locations. You know that."

"Yes, I do," Maggie responded in a quiet voice, because having worked with Alex for quite a few years, she also knew there was absolutely no point in provoking a screaming match.

"She knows!" Alex yelled, mimicking her. "She fucking knows, and yet she does nothing."

Maggie shrugged.

"Shit!" Alex screamed. "Goddamn actors. They should all go fuckin' Tom Cruise themselves out of the business."

"What does that mean?"

"Wait a few years," Alex said ominously, "you'll find out."

"No panic," Maggie said, relieved. "Here he comes now."

An Electra Glide fully restored Harley roared into sight, Billy Melina astride in all his glory, black-leathered up to the eyebrows.

Alex strode toward the young actor as Billy jumped off his bike. "You're fucking late!" he yelled.

"Traffic," Billy countered, his voice filled with the arrogance of an actor who knows there is no way he can get fired.

"Unprofessional," Alex growled.

"Not my fault, man," Billy said, casually removing his helmet.

"Of course not," Alex drawled sarcastically. "Why would it be your fault? Nothing's your fucking fault, is it?"

Maggie quickly attempted to defuse the situation. "Billy," she said. "Come with me. They're waiting for you in the makeup trailer."

"Hey, Mags," Billy said, turning on the charm. "You're lookin' hot. How's about you an' me— " "Move your punk ass," Alex interrupted.

"Sure, old man," Billy said, grinning.

Infuriated, Alex stomped off toward his crew busy setting up across the street. Old man indeed. There was nothing worse than some two-bit actor with a handful of box-office hits who considered himself the second coming of Steve McQueen.

Fuck all actors. And definitely fuck Billy Melina.

Alex had seen them come, and he'd seen them go. At fifty-something he was a veteran producer/writer/director who'd been through the Hollywood wars countless times. He knew all the games, all the shenanigans. He'd seen studio heads ousted at a moment's notice, and a staggering lack of honesty and loyalty. The only studio head Alex had enjoyed working with was Lucky Santangelo when she'd owned and run Panther Studios. They'd had a connection that was more than business, and although Alex had always gone for Asian women, there was something about Lucky that had immediately drawn him in.


Excerpted from Drop Dead Beautiful by Jackie Collins. Copyright © 2007 Chances, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Drop Dead Beautiful (Lucky Santangelo Series) 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 62 reviews.
patricia deleon More than 1 year ago
Big fan of lucky series
Toryfreeman More than 1 year ago
I loved reading this book, Jackie Collins is an excellent writer and the Lucky Santangelo series has never disappointed me, EVER! I am now reading the Goddess of Vengeance and have read all of the other Lucky Santangelo series of books. Lucky is my kind of woman and if you don't know any better, you had better watch out because once Lucky gets a hold of you, all bets are OFF! I love her and I hope we get to see her again soon after Goddess of Vengeance! PLEASE bring back Lucky, she is an awesome character!
shelleymaMA More than 1 year ago
i just like this author very much
brentwoodbooklover More than 1 year ago
as usual Jackie Collins has her own unique style. A great escape reader. Not really the kind of book that is easy to recomend trashy romance is my weekness but dont really want people to know that i endulge in such junk. Is a great escape read and easy read. For the more mature reader as it is full of language for adults.
JSHughes More than 1 year ago
I read this book in about 2 days. Once i got into the book, it was hard to put down. This book kept me wanting to do what was going to happen next!!! Great for rainy days!!!
LUCKYLOVER More than 1 year ago
LOVE Lucky Santangelo and have read the entire series and this one did not disappoint! It also gave way for the author to continue to build stories for Bobby, Max & Gino Jr. This was a great read and as usual became obsessed with the story from beginning to end. If you haven't read her other series like Hollywood Wives and the subsequent series, you're missing out! I also recommend "James Patterson" - "Women's Murder Club Books 1-7" Impossible to put down!!
Borg-Virgo08 More than 1 year ago
This book was so thrilling, I enjoyed every last minute of it. it had all the things a good book should have, suspense, intrigue and drama. You will not be disappointed if you buy this book!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book kept me interested I couldn't put it down!
harstan More than 1 year ago
One time Mafia princess and Hollywood producer Lucky Santangelo plans a big party to celebrate her father Gino Bonatti¿s ninety-fifth birthday. She sets up the gala in Las Vegas where she is building a megaresort facility. Long time Bonnatti family enemy Anthony Bonar sees the bash as a ripe opportunity to destroy his most hated foe. -------------------- Anthony¿s wife Irma turns to their Mexican gardener and to a FED for pleasurable sex. At the same time that Irma finds pleasure in the arms of other men, Lucky's sixteen year old old chip off the old block daughter Max lies to her and her husband by saying she is with her friends when in fact she is meeting someone she met over the Internet. Lucky will shortly understand her mother better as she feels punished for her teen crimes when all hell breaks loose.------------------------ Fans of Jackie Collins (count me in) will delight in the return of Lucky Santangelo (VENDETTA, DANGEROUS KISS, and LADY BOSS, etc) as she mixes Hollywood and Vegas with the mob and family. The story line is lighthearted as always as Lucky and Anthony head to a showdown on the Strip. Although the romantic sidebars of her pals seem unlucky for readers as they are distracters, series readers will appreciate the antics of the former mafia Princess as she deals with her most challenging adversary yet, Mad Max.---------- Harriet Klausner
risadabomb on LibraryThing 11 months ago
Another Lucky Santangelo nover #6 I believe. The plot was enjoyable but a bit weaker than the last. However, Jackie Collins delivers once again.
jeparsley on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I was pleased to hear Mrs. Collins has returned to the Lucky series. Definately one of the best in the series with some unexpected twists. It gives a lot of screen time to Max, Lucky's daughter, presumably to set the stage for future books.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Compared to the others in the series, this book was short, but it stayed with the story line.
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Women kick a$$
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Beach book IiiilIvehorrIIBLE
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love this book!!!!!!
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