All of the men applauded and amped up the catcalls. The girls ate up the attention, blowing kisses and shifting from one seductive pose to the next as the lights went up.
All except for one girl.
Poor little Marcy's Playground just stood at the end of her line, a look of complete horror plastered on her adorable face. I saw an immediate career change in her future.
One of the shadows stood, walking into the middle of our group. I could finally make out Mr. Sicianni's handsome features. "Great job, girls."
Most of the girls flocked around him, giggling and fighting for his attention.
Sicianni broke away from the pack, sauntering my way, a look of passionate appreciation directed at me. "Nice moves."
I swallowed hard. "Thanks."
He squinted at my face. "You look familiar. Have you danced for me before?"
"No!" I said, maybe a little too quickly. I cleared my throat. "No, I would have remembered you," I amended, doing my best seductive-like voice.
"Well," he drawled, stroking my shoulder. "You look like you're wearing altogether too many clothes, my dear." He paused, sending me a slow wink. "We'll have to work on that."
Apprehension fluttered in my stomach. There was no way I was going to be able to pull this off. "Why don't we get to know each other a little better?" I asked, my voice coming out surprisingly more seductive than I thought I could muster.
"Oh, I like that idea," he said. He grabbed my hand in one of his sweaty paws and tugged me back toward the sofa, pulling me down onto the cushions practically on his lap.
I wiggled away, putting at least a hair's distance between us. Fear surged through my veins. I had the chance to pump him for information, but I was afraid of what he thought he was going to get in return.
Tate so owed me drinks after this.
One of the bulky shadows at the door moved toward us and leaned in to Mr. Sicianni. "Anything I can get you and your lady friend?"
I felt my heart freeze in my chest. I'd recognize that deep, rumbling voice anywhere.
Rafe.
While keeping one hand on Mr. Sicianni's shoulder, I reached out and grabbed Rafe's tie.
"I could use a drink," I said. Boy, could I!
I clamped my fingers in a death grip around his tie and tugged him closer to me.
"Uh, sure, honey." He looked me up and down, a small grin of approval gracing his handsome face. When he finally looked me straight in the eyes, a flicker of recognition dawned behind his.
I gave him the smallest, almost imperceptible shake of my head, hoping he caught on.
Thankfully, he did, quickly pasting the smile back on his face. "Right. Champagne?"
"That would be heaven," I said. The first true thing to come out of my mouth all evening.
"Scotch?" Rafe asked, pointing at Sicianni but his eyes still on me.
"Neat," Sicianni added, nodding.
"I'll be back in a sec," Rafe promised.
I prayed he meant it as Sicianni scooted closer to me. "So, where were we?" he asked, his voice low and soft, like he was uttering dirty words.
If I'd felt like taking a shower after meeting him in the Deep Blue's lobby, I felt like standing in a monsoon now.
"Getting to know one another," I purred, channeling Captain Jack. "What brings you to Lake Tahoe?"
Sicianni grinned, showing off about a million teeth. "Small talk? Really?"
"Humor me," I said. I slid my hand onto his knee for good measure.
His gaze went from the knee to my face again. "Okay, doll. Business."
"Oh, what kind of business?" I asked, trying my best to mimic a breathy Marilyn voice.
Sicianni grinned. "I'm a producer, baby doll."
"Really?" I cooed. "Wow, how exciting. Done anything I'd know?"
He rolled his shoulders backward as he stuck a posture of pride to rival any rooster. "Ever heard of Battle Buffet?"
I squealed in a Tate-ish way. "You do that show? Wow, I'm such a fan."
He smiled wider than I thought humanly possible, and I mentally amended my tooth count. Turns out he actually had about two million.
Before he could respond, Rafe reappeared with drinks in record speed, handing Sicianni his scotch and me a flute of champagne that looked a lot like liquid courage to me.
I took a big gulp as Rafe sat on the other side of me.
Very close.
Sicianni's smile drooped at the edges a little.
"I've always been a fan of Marilyn," Rafe said, putting an arm around my shoulder. I noticed the comment was directed more at Sicianni than it was at me.
The producer punched Rafe playfully in the bicep. "You told me this wasn't your scene. But didn't I tell you? You just needed to give it a chance." Grabbing my hips, he stood me in front of him, swatted me on the butt, and shoved me at Rafe. I awkwardly flopped onto his lap. Hard, if his exasperated grunt heaved directly in my ear was any indication.
I leaned in and whispered, "Sorry."
A small grunt was all I got in response.
Sicianni reached a hand out and pulled Candy, now clad in sparkly pasties and a matching sequined G-string, toward him as a replacement. She giggled and simultaneously shot me an evil eye, like I'd let her down on the job.
"So, Mr. Sicianni, tell me what it's like to be the genius behind Battle Buffet," I said, laying it on thick as I took another large sip of champagne.
I felt Rafe pinch me in warning, but I ignored him.
"Well, I don't know about 'genius,'" he said with mock modesty as Candy made herself busying doing odd things to his earlobe. "Maybe 'driving force' is more like it."
I poured on the excited girly giggles and tried not to bounce too hard on poor Rafe's injured area. "So, you're Mr. Big Stuff, huh?" I bubbled, suddenly sounding like I was Betty Boop's long lost sister. Too much?
"Well," he hedged, clearly not caring who I sounded like as long as I kept making googly eyes at him. "It's not my money, but I do run the show."
"Really?" I gushed. "So, you secure the big-time investors? You know, like Richard Branson?" I snapped my fingers and clapped. "Oh, or Bill Gates? I'd love to meet him." I carefully twisted a wig curl around my finger, channeling my inner Britton. "Maybe he could, like, I dunno, give me a new computer or something."
Sicianni tossed his head back in a full, deep belly laugh, dislodging Candy from his neck. "Oh, honey, my investors couldn't care less about computers. They prefer to keep a low profile." He brushed a finger across my cheek.
"I'd love to meet some big shots," I said. I felt Rafe lean forward, snaking a hand around my waist, pulling me next to him. Probably to keep me from falling off his lap, but I was enjoying the feel of his firm pecs nonetheless. Teen-me instantly melted into a puddle.
Sicianni nodded. "That could be arranged. I'm sure some of my associates would love you." He winked at me.
"You got names for these associates?" I pressed.
I felt Rafe's arm tug harder, though this time it was definitely more of a warning than a friendly gesture.
Sicianni's gaze narrowed. "You ask a lot of questions for a dancer, baby doll."
Candy's head popped up, her gaze mirroring Sicianni's. I wasn't sure who I was more afraid of.
I blinked and twirled a strand of wig hair. "Oh, you know, I'm just makin' chitchat."
"Huh." Sicianni leaned back into the cushions. "Well, you're gonna have to keep that kind of chitchat to a minimum around my friends. They don't like a lot of nosey girls asking dumb questions."
I nodded. "Okeydokey!" I said, maybe a little too cheerfully.
But it seemed to placate Sicianni, who then turned to Rafe. "That reminds me of another thing my investors don't like."
"Which is?" Rafe asked. His mouth was so close to my ear I could feel the vibration of his breath. I didn't altogether hate it.
"All the cops swarming around this place. You gotta make sure they stay away from my VIPs."
"I'll do my best," Rafe said, nodding. "But you have to understand
that we've had a homicide on the premises."
Sicianni blinked, doing a great poker face. "That's got nothin' to do with me."
I suddenly wondered if he wasn't telling the whole truth there.
"Trust me—we have an amazing evening planned for the VIPs tomorrow," Rafe reassured him.
Sicianni nodded. "You better, Rafe. Some of these guys have come a long way to meet up at this dinner you're throwing."
I froze. Did he just say that our VIP dinner was a meeting place for his investors? I felt my throat go dry. I was hosting the big interfamily mob meeting?! Oh, Agent Ryder was going to have a field day with this one.
"Anyway, just keep the cops on a leash till we finish taping," Sicianni told Rafe. "Man, I can't wait. I'm ready to get out of this kitschy little joint."
"Hey," I snapped without thinking.
Rafe clamped his hand around my wrist just as Sicianni turned a confused look my way.
I cleared my throat and channeled my inner Britton again. "I just don't want you to leave, is all." I sent him my best impression of bedroom eyes and licked my lips.
Sicianni didn't get to answer me as Candy quickly turned his face toward her and devoured his lips, staking her claim
Eww! I looked away, suddenly feeling like an unwitting voyeur.
Rafe's phone buzzed to life in his pocket, which just so happened to be situated right under me. I let out a high-pitched squeal.
He resituated me and pulled it from his pocket. After glancing at the screen, he turned his attention to Mr. Sicianni. "I really should take this, James." He pointed to his phone as he helped me to my feet.
Sicianni tugged me back to the sofa next to him. "I guess I'll just have to see what the three of us can come up with, then."
I smiled coyly at him but turned a wide-eyed look of desperation toward Rafe.
He muttered into his phone, "I'm going to have to call you back," and then he returned it to his pocket. "If you don't mind, James, I think I'll take her with me." He winked at the other man and tugged me up next to him again, holding me tightly.
Sicianni waved a hand in our direction. "Suit yourself." He then turned his full attention to Candy and her earlobe fixation.
Rafe guided me nonchalantly toward the door with a possessive arm around my shoulders, tucking me next to him. He turned and waved as we left, a big smile in place.
One that dropped the instant we were in the deserted hall.
His fingers dug into my elbows as he spun me to face him. "What the hell were you thinking?" He narrowed his gaze on me, his jaw clenched tightly and not even a hint of a smile anywhere.
I scoffed defiantly. "I was trying to find out who might be funding the show. I've heard a rumor that it isn't anyone above board."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, waving his hands in the air.
"I'm talking about the mob!"
"Shh!" Rafe grabbed my elbow again and steered me toward the service elevators with a backward glance over his shoulder.
"So it's true!" I said, not shhing at all. "And you knew!"
"I don't know anything," he said, his voice coming out in a hiss to rival my cat's. The way he was dragging me toward the service elevator brought back memories of the fourth grade and a fateful day on the jungle gym. I'd won the race across the bars, but I'd paid the price for knocking Scotty Cook into the mud in the process. The recess monitor had treated me pretty much the same as Rafe was now while I'd been herded to the principal's office.
"All I know," Rafe amended, "is that you were playing with fire back there."
I released an exasperated sigh as I crossed my arms over my body at a sudden chill. "I bet I could've kept him talking and found out just who was coming to this Mafia Jamboree that we're apparently hosting, if Candy wouldn't have been attached to his face."
"No," Rafe snapped. "You would have been attached to his face, whether you liked it or not." He wriggled out of his suit coat and draped it over my shoulders. "And then been dragged back to his bedroom to party."
As we waited for the elevator to lower to our floor, and since I was in that fourth grade frame of mind anyway, I took the opportunity to gloat. "Told you strippers were the same as prostitutes." My posture straightened with pride as I pulled his coat tighter around me.
Shaking his head, he looked down at me. "He doesn't pay anyone to sleep with him. Which technically means they aren't prostitutes. They're just…"
"Slutty," I finished as the elevator dinged.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Huh," I muttered to myself, standing outside the penthouse doors, wiggling my bare toes against the cool marble floor. Britton was right. I did get used to not feeling them.
I threaded my arms through Rafe's coat, tossed the spike heels on the hall table, and crossed my arms over my chest as I leaned against the wall. No key, no phone, not even my own jacket, but I did have my pride.
Sort of.
When Rafe had put me in the elevator, insisting that he'd get his jacket later because he had to return the call, I'd kept my mouth shut. I didn't say a thing about not being able to get into the penthouse. That's where the pride part had come in.
And, you know, the not thinking the entire situation through too.
Now it was just a matter of working up enough nerve to call housekeeping from the hall phone so they could come unlock the door. I could already hear the runaway rumor train screaming along at full speed with Tate frantically shoveling coal into the firebox, after I was seen in nothing more than a skimpy stripper dress and Rafe's suit coat.
The elevator dinged, and I tugged the jacket closed around me. When the doors opened and Britton appeared, I nearly burst into joy-filled tears. I stood up, hooked my fingers into the shoes, and darted toward her for a comforting hug.
Britton dodged my embrace several times, yelling, "Who are you?"
Wow, Tate was right about my own mother not being able to recognize me. Well, stepmother at least. I dropped my arms to my sides, deflated. "Britton, it's me."
Her head slowly cocked to the side, realization dawning in her eyes. "Tessie? Why are you dressed like that? And is that Rafe's jacket?" She dropped her chin, waggling an eyebrow as she peered through her lashes.
"It's a long story but so not what you're thinking. Needless to say, I'm really glad LeAnna isn't with you."
Britton pulled the key card from her purse and unlocked the door. "We split up after dinner. She said she wanted to go out dancing or something."
"And you didn't go with?" I asked, thinking that was unlike Britton.
"I, uh, had other plans," she mumbled. "But that just gives us more time for whatever this is." She shook a hot-pink-tipped finger in my face as she quickly changed the subject.
I slumped onto one of the kitchen stools, releasing the shoes and letting them clomp onto the floor. "Like I said, it's a long story."
"Then start talking, girlfriend," she said, dropping onto the seat next to me.
I gave in and rattled off the highlights, leaving out the details about my cheerleading routine and moving on to the part about the rumored Mafia investors being maybe not such a rumor after all. And meeting at our VIP dinner tomorrow.
"Wow, I totally would have gone as backup." She put a hand to my shoulder and squeezed.
"Thanks. But you did enough today at Jerry's yacht and with keeping LeAnna out of all of this."
She glanced at my makeshift outfit again. "Where did you even get this?" She pulled the jacket away, her eyebrows rising at the outfit.
"Entertainment," I mumbled, dropping my gaze to the shoes next to my chair. I released a long breath. "Would you mind calling them and letting them know that your good trench coat is in locker 103?"
"What?" She laughed.
I scurried off to my room, pulling the door closed. I popped it open a crack and begged, "And my undies, too?"
"Seriously?" she offered from down the hall.
"I owe you one!"
Jack sat on the bed, his narrowed ca
t glare judging me as he kneaded the blankets.
I snapped my fingers and pointed at him, but he still stared. It was more than likely a get your butt in bed and love me glare, but I was feeling a little raw and judged. I hung Rafe's jacket in my closet and dug for something a whole lot more comfortable than that strapless torture device that had been digging into my armpits. I nearly purred too as I slipped on cutoff sweatpants and an old concert T-shirt speckled in paint. My hand swept across the rough flecks, my mind contemplating an empty canvas and free time that I wished I had. The itch to paint, to create something from nothing with a brush and colors, had been strong. I hadn't touched anything paint related in months, and the withdrawal was getting worse.
As I stretched across my bed, burrowing in the covers, Jack settled himself on my chest, his nose nearly touching mine.
"So, do you think LeAnna was the call Rafe ditched me for tonight?" I asked Jack, scratching the sweet spot just under his chin. His eyes glossed over as his head went limp, melting into my hand, half asleep. "You know, not that I'm jealous or anything," I told him.
He just purred. I'm pretty sure he believed me.
I tossed an arm over my eyes, praying for sleep. When it eluded me, I stomped to my desk and pulled out my sketch pad and graphite pencils. It wasn't as satisfying as painting, but it worked in a pinch. My fingers flew across the page, outlining, shadowing, and smudging in much-needed therapy. I found myself creating a grayscale version of the scenery outside my window as I tried to erase the events of the evening from my brain.
* * *
At 8:00 a.m., I walked by the front desk, sipping on my first latte of the day. My morning had barely started, but I'd already handled a day's worth of work. Paperwork for the next board meeting (which was approaching all too quickly!) had been signed at the attorney's office, the police had me sign off on releasing LeAnna's room back to her (words could not convey how freaking happy that signature made me!), and feathers had been smoothed after a heated exchange at the craps table between a Japanese tourist and one of our regular skiers. I'd even put in a text to Maverick, who had informed me that Hammerhead Hank had a very boring evening last night listening to our faux Sinatra during a steak dinner in the Minstrel Lounge, doing a little browsing in the gift shop—where he'd picked up a porcelain figurine of a knight in shining armor—losing $1,200 at the blackjack table, and then ending his evening stumbling back to his room after downing several scotches at the bar. No one had been whacked or otherwise manhandled. Thank God for small favors.
Hey Big Spender Page 12
