For twenty seconds the cobbled Milan side street was illuminated by the pops and dazzles of a hundred flashbulbs as Anna Lamb's chauffeur-driven Mercedes pulled up to the back entrance of a huge white marquee. Photographers risked life and limb, throwing themselves onto the hood of the car, pressing up against its windows. Forget the designers or the clothes; the English Rose supermodel was the real star of Milan fashion week. The car also contained Anna's boyfriend, the enfant terrible of the British rock scene, singer Joey Harper. A photograph of them together was such a rarity that it could sell for thousands of dollars. A photograph of them kissing could fetch up to a hundred grand. For the paparazzi, it was worth the risk.

Inside the car, Anna gave Joey a chaste peck on the cheek. Although they'd left their hotel bed only an hour ago, the urge to pull him to her and kiss him deeply and passionately had already taken hold, but she fought it. She didn't want to give the photographers a single shot that might make their fortunes. But more than that, she knew that if she didn't kiss Joey now, she'd want him even more desperately later.

As Anna reached for the door handle, Joey pressed a gold paper bag into her hand. "Something to make today's show a little more interesting, baby," he whispered. "I want you to wear this for me," and, when Anna raised an eyebrow at him, he explained, "It's all part of the game."

Ah, the game. They had been playing "the game" for the six dizzying months they'd been together. Drunk on lust, addicted to each other's bodies, they had become addicted to taking risks, making love almost-but-not-quite in public, daring the paparazzi to catch them at it. As Anna walked from the car to the marquee, eyes hidden from the flashbulbs behind huge Jackie O sunglasses, she thought about the adventures they'd had and felt a familiar pang between her legs. There was the time she'd gone down on Joey before a gig.