Poor Little Bitch Girl by Jackie Collins

on-air reporters called out. “What’s your opinion on this?”
    I did a fast double-take. I’d been checking this guy out on TV for the past few weeks. He was new to the L.A. job from a popular news show in San Diego. Now here he was in the flesh. And I have to admit that the flesh was quite tempting for a girl who’s been on a sex-starvation diet. He’s Latino with a buff bod, smoky eyes and a cocksure grin. Even better, he felt comfortable enough to use my name – and that boosted my ever-needy ego.
    I decided that he’s probably great in bed. Latino men usually are – or so I’ve heard.
    Hmm . . . perhaps the time has come to put it to the test.
    “Sorry, I don’t have a take yet,” I replied, incurring a disapproving glance from Felix, who would prefer me to stay silent.
    “When you do, how about giving me a call?” suggested Mr Latino, swiftly handing me his card.
    We’d reached Felix’s car, a conservative black Bentley. My boss got in, and with a terse, “See you back at the office,” he took off.
    I turned around and headed for my four-year-old silver Camero, a twenty-first birthday present from my parents.
    “Nice wheels,” Mr Latino murmured, trailing me curbside.
    I took a surreptitious glance at his card. Mario Riviera . Quite a memorable name.
    I couldn’t help wondering if there was anything else about him that was memorable, what with sex being on the missing list and all.
    I think I need it – in fact, I damn well know I do.
    “Thanks,” I said casually, aware that he smelled of grass and sweat, a potent combination. I imagined that he must’ve been running or lifting weights when he was called to work, and he’d not taken the time to shower.
    The very thought turned me on.
    “How about we get together for a drink later,” Mario suggested, moving closer. Obviously he was as into me as I was to him.
    Hmm . . . a drink – isn’t that a euphemism for sex and “Let’s get it on”?
    Of course it was – so why not? Because I am certainly ready, especially as Josh has moved on like a freaking express train, and here I am fast becoming a nun!
    Enough is enough. I’m ready for action, and plenty of it. So bring it on, Mister Reporter.
    “Sure,” I answered casually, thinking, He’s way hot, I’m horny, and we’re both available .
    Or are we?
    I quickly checked his hand. No ring.
    Okay then – as far as I’m concerned it’s a done deal.

 
Chapter Seven

Carolyn

    C arolyn Henderson drove to her apartment in a happy daze. She’d told him. She’d actually told him.
    It was such a relief. And the greatest news of all was that Gregory had agreed with her that it was for the best and that he would finally inform his wife of their affair – an affair that would eventually culminate in marriage!
    Well . . . he hadn’t actually mentioned marriage, but she was sure that when his divorce came through, and he was a free man, and their baby was born . . . that yes, marriage was definitely in their future.
    She smiled to herself, almost running a red light.
    God! She was so excited. She’d been sleeping with this man for over a year, and during that time he’d made countless promises to leave his wife, never keeping one of them. Soon it was about to happen, and she was dizzy with anticipation.
    Of course, she wasn’t naïve, there was always the possibility that he could break his promise yet again.
    But this time she was positive he wouldn’t. This time there was a baby to consider, and the fact that she was carrying his child made all the difference.
    This time she was home free.
    * * *
    “Fucking devious cunt!” Gregory Stoneman muttered under his breath as he got into his dark-blue Lexus and set off on his drive home. Did Carolyn honestly believe he would leave a woman like Evelyn for a snip of a girl like her? She might possess a great set of tits, but Carolyn Henderson was a nobody, a nothing – whereas Evelyn was cultured, a woman of great style, a well-established