Recipe for Disaster Read Online Free Page A

here, in the middle of nowhere?'
    'It's beautiful up here. And it's cheap, at least compared
to London.'
    'Oh, don't talk to me about money! That's all it ever is
with you. By the way, do you know you look like a tramp in
those jeans?'
    Jake shrugged. He wasn't a conceited man – he couldn't
afford to be. 'Basically, I can either dress well or buy my
own business, but I can't do both. If I want to make it in this
game, I have to give up shopping, sleeping, having any sort
of hobby –'
    'You mean you have to give up having a life! I wish you
had told me that before I fell in love with you!' Georgia
glared, albeit in such a way that would have had any
photographer salivating for a camera. But then she always
looked hot.
    Her lover, however, was a mess. Georgia sighed. The
trouble was, Jake was an irresistible mess. He was tall, with
dark eyes, and a lean and hungry look because he often was,
always tasting food but never having time to sit down to a
decent meal. He had trendily ruffled dark hair, though less
by design than because he was always running his fingers
through it in desperation at the stupidity of commis chefs.
Even his hands were sexy, despite looking like they had
done ten years' hard labour in Siberia. They were covered
with the scars of burning encounters with hot stoves and
were living proof that knives were sharp and saucepans
heavy. When they first became a couple, Georgia would kiss
each wounded finger tenderly, before guiding them inside
her with a moan of pleasure.
    They had met at a party Jake had been pushed to attend.
Prowling crossly round the room, clutching a beer, he found
things began to look up when he laid eyes on Georgia.
    Georgia was extraordinarily, incandescently beautiful.
She glowed – even at four thirty in the morning, rushing
round without a shred of make-up on her luminous skin,
clad only in one of Jake's hideously over-washed T-shirts
and complaining bitterly that only models had to get up for
work this early in the morning. Properly dressed and made
up, men would look at her and forget how to speak. Of
course, Jake had fallen instantly in lust with her at the party.
But it was her apparent vulnerability and fragility that had
made him fall in love.
    'Ordinary people don't really understand the dark side of
my glamorous lifestyle,' Georgia explained earnestly when
they finally gravitated towards each other. She looked up at
him from under her lashes. 'I so, totally, get why Princess Di
had to run away from the paparazzi. They don't know what
it's like to be hounded every time you go out for a packet of
Tampax. I have nightmares about millions of popping flashbulbs
and then I wake up and relive the nasty things other
models have said behind my back,' she explained tragically.
    Jake nodded eagerly. He too had been the target of a
campaign of malice. He glanced briefly at the surging tide
of people swilling around them. He hadn't wanted to go to
this party, but now he knew why he was here – to meet this
creature.
    'Don't you just hate these sort of dos?' Georgia was
thinking that champagne was so last year – people were
only drinking vodka now – and as for the food . . . 'Do they
really think it's cool serving those mini burgers in mini
buns?' At a hundred and fifty calories a shot, no wonder no
one was eating them.
    'Pretentious rubbish,' agreed Jake, who loathed food
fads, and blinked as Georgia gave him one of her mega-watt
sexy smiles.
    How cool he was – complaining about things being
pretentious was so in at the moment. 'That suit's not new, is
it?' she asked.
    Jake grinned; it was his best charity shop bargain. 'Yes,
I –'
    'How clever you are. That retro look makes everyone else
here seem so drab.'
    'Well, it's –'
    'It's so nice finding someone I can really talk to.
Everyone else is here just to talk about themselves. Do you
know, I was about to run away but fate stepped in so I could
meet you.'
    Jake had just come off an eighteen-hour shift, the fourth
that week. He