Lunch

First-novelist Moline huffs and puffs through a soft-core scorcher that gilds a handful of sadomasochistic fantasies with celebrity trappings. Renowned London painter Olivia Morgan is lunching with her dealer when her eyes lock with those of Nick Muncie, Hollywood's sexy bad boy flavor-of-the-day who, though dismissed as beefcake, is playing the title role in a movie about Faust. Soon the words and machinations of narrator ``M,'' Nick's muscular, scarred ``majordomo,'' lure Olivia into Nick's bed, where she's drawn into violent games. M watches the increasingly destructive affair through a peephole, waxes poetic and hints at a shared, horrific past to explain the dark compulsions that drive Nick--and, through him, the pliable Olivia, who is risking reputation, limb and a loving fiance for her demon lover. With gorgeously appointed assignations sweetening the requisite whips, black leather and videotapes, the edgy, showy titillation filling these pages will draw fans of the bestseller Damage . But Olivia's apparent suicide-wish goes annoyingly unexplained, and the portentous musings of M--who sees all despite blind corners--dip into parody. (Sept.)