“I can’t imagine where they found all these flowers. Look at that one. It looks like something Cruella Deville would love.” Damn. Kindergarten speak.
Sam laughed. “They do have some rather weird ones here tonight. That is a Dalmatian orchid, and you’re right; it would please Cruella. I’m up on my Disney movies.” He winked. “That blue one over there is called Love in a Mist, and that orange and yellow one is Beehive Ginger—all very exotic, and all very earthy.”
“How do you know so much about flowers? I’d love to photograph some of them.”
“Just a skill I picked up over the years in my line of work.” He chuckled. “So, are you interested in flowers or photography?”
The band began to play Liz Phair’s Supernova, one of her favorite songs, and she relaxed. “Both, but mainly photography—nothing professional. I just like to take pictures and play around with them on the computer.” This isn’t so bad; maybe I can pull it off.
“I’d love to see some of your work. You going to invite me up to your place later to look at your ‘etchings’?” He wiggled his eyebrows and pretended to be smoking a cigar, his voice a bad imitation of Groucho Marx. She was a huge fan of mid-twentieth century comedians and burst out laughing. She liked this guy.
“Cool your jets, Groucho, I never reveal my etchings on a first date.”
Sam looked at her, and suddenly it felt as if they were the only ones in the room. He bent his head, and she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead he spoke softly, pulling her close to him to ensure she could hear his voice over the music.
“I can arrange for you to take pictures in here tomorrow, when there’s light. No one’s supposed to come into the room, but I have connections.” He indicated a white orchid set apart from the others. It was attached to the wall as if it were growing out of the sky. “That white one over there is a Ghost orchid, very rare and protected under Florida law. That’s a silk recreation of the real thing. Part of the reason it’s on the endangered list is because only one insect, the giant sphinx moth, has a long enough … feeler … to penetrate the long nectar spur and pollinate the flower.”
The huskiness in his voice sent sexual desire rushing through her. How can talking about insects pollinating flowers make me think of hot sex? The music was fitting. She felt like a star about to explode.
Sam smiled as if he’d read her mind, and Cleo took a sudden interest in an orange Jamaica orchid until she realized that flower wasn’t cooling the sexual images at all.
“I thought we’d have a drink in here first, but knowing Charlie, he’s made a beeline for the restaurant. He’s a bottomless pit.”
Cleo grabbed at the innocuous topic. “Mitch rarely misses meals, although you’d never know it to look at her.” As if on cue, her stomach grumbled loudly.
“I hear you could use something to eat, too.” Sam reached for her hand again. “Why don’t we see if we can find something that might pass for eatable food? There’s an alien-themed restaurant on the concourse that serves Earth food, or so the sign claims. I’m not ready for Cardassian zabu stew or Klingon gagh. Maybe we’ll come across Mitch and Charlie in our quest.”
“Good plan. I’m afraid I’m not much of a drinker, and I haven’t had supper. The wine’s making me lightheaded.” She spoke candidly and gave him a shy smile. She saw the glimmer of interest in his eyes.
“As my lady wishes. Never let it be said Sam Mason didn’t feed his date.”
“Am I your date?” She expected some glib comment, but he surprised her.
“Unless you object, I’d like to be your date for the entire weekend. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to get to know you.” The penetrating look he gave her sent an intense yearning straight to her lower abdomen. Her body craved something it hadn’t had in a very long time. She felt heat suffuse her cheeks and was grateful for the makeup she hoped hid her blush.
“I’d like that. I have to help Mitch with the book signing again tomorrow night—it’s the price of my admission here—but I’m free the rest of the time. I’m not too sure I want to wear this costume though. I know the way I’m dressed doesn’t excuse those guys, but I’d feel better showing less skin—and I want shoes. I’d have laid that Romulan out if I’d been wearing those boots Mitch has on. Nothing like steel-capped pointed toes to get your point across.”
“Ouch! That’s never a man’s favorite mental picture, but in that jerk’s case, I’d have cheered you on. If my vote counts, I really like you in green, but I have a feeling you’ll be just as appealing without any paint on at all. So we’re good for the weekend then?”
She bit her lower lip, imagining herself naked, and nodded. Maybe I should be playing hard to get, but damn it, he wants to spend time with me, and I want to be with him.
He squeezed her fingers then let go of her hand to put his arm around her. The touch of his hand against her bare back sent shivers of longing down her spine to pool in her lower stomach. She shuddered with excitement.
“I won’t hurt you, you know. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
I need to practice hiding my feelings from this guy.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Liar,” he whispered softly, his warm breath caressing the sensitive skin of her ear and neck.
She closed her eyes, reveling in the delicate touch, its sensation obliterating the memory of the Andorian’s similar gesture earlier. She hadn’t lied; if there was one thing she wasn’t, it was afraid of him.
Sam led her into one of the dining areas. They spotted Mitch and Charlie at a table, and Sam spoke to the hostess. Within a matter of seconds, the woman quickly escorted them to their friends, who were talking animatedly and hadn’t even noticed their arrival.
“Tried to give us the slip, did you? I figured I’d find you here. Charlie always leads with his stomach.” There was an undertone in Sam’s voice she didn’t quite understand, and Cleo couldn’t decide if he was glad or mad he’d found his friend.
Charlie seemed affronted, and Mitch laughed.
“Sorry, Sam. My fault. I was going to send him to look for you,” Mitch said. “We got separated when Thor accosted you. Nice move, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody hit the floor that fast—not that the asshole didn’t deserve it. I’m the one who asked to be fed. Charlie was just being a gentleman. We got talking and figured you’d find us if you were hungry. We’d planned to go into the ballroom afterward if you didn’t.”
“I told Sam you’d need food.” Cleo said and reached for her water glass. “You usually like to eat when you’re drinking. Neither of us had anything before coming down.”
She jumped, startled when the waiter’s hand came from behind her and placed the napkin on her lap. Mitch laughed so hard she snorted.
Cleo rolled her eyes at Mitch. “Really? It wasn’t that funny. I didn’t realize he was there. I guess after Thor and that other creep, I’m a little jumpy.”
She looked around the room where the soft light from wall sconces and recessed ceiling lights added to the room’s brightness. She’d watched Sam across the room off and on all evening, but this was the first time she got a really good look at him. She observed the candlelight play across Sam’s face while he ordered drinks. She assumed he was getting her a glass of merlot like he’d done earlier. She could use a little liquid courage about now. His easy laughter sounded familiar and she was more convinced than ever he was the man from the VooDoo Lounge. She made no effort to hide her curiosity. When he turned and saw her intense gaze, he cocked an eyebrow in question.
“You remind me of someone. Have we met before?” she asked.
“I thought you might have recognized me when I kissed you.”
Cleo heard the disappointment in his voice. Why did the fact she hadn’t recognized him bother him so much? If they did know one another, it had to be in passing. She was usually very good at remembering names and faces, but the gray makeup did complicate things.
“I remembered you
.” Sam gazed into her eyes. “That gorgeous hair is unmistakable. We were in the VooDoo Lounge at the same time last night. I offered you a drink,” he lifted his glass in the now-familiar gesture, “but you declined and left. I was crushed.”
He was the player from the lounge. She frowned. “Sure you were.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “I might have accepted if you’d offered earlier, but you were otherwise occupied when you did.” She heard the censure in her voice. Damn. I sound like a bitch.
“You’re the Chippendales from last night!” Mitch’s voice was a high-pitched squeak.
Cleo glared at her friend. “Mitch,” she spoke through gritted teeth, her teacher look firmly in place.
“We thought we’d fooled everyone.” Sam shrugged. “What gave us away?”
While Mitch shook her head and gave him her patented how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am look, Cleo watched the bottom fall out of her weekend. Damn! And I had such hopes.
“You honestly think gods like yourselves don’t stand out among lesser mortals? There wasn’t a man in the bar who could hold a candle to you. I checked them out. I figured it out the moment I laid eyes on you. I said so, didn’t I, Cleo?”
Mitch kicked her under the table and brought her out of her daze.
Stunned, Cleo nodded. The man was definitely forbidden fruit—alluring, enticing, and she knew he meant trouble. But, oh my! She was sorely tempted to just ignore it and let the chips fall where they may. This was Vegas and she wanted to gamble on one spin of this wheel. In costume as he was, he was no more recognizable than she was tonight. Why not grab one night of pleasure? Who would know? I would, but have I got the guts to go through with it?
“So, you’re off all weekend?” Mitch wasn’t ready to give up on her snooping, and Cleo clung to every word he answered.
“Yes. Actually, we’re on holidays for the summer,” Charlie piped up. “We let the college boys take our place and earn a few bucks.”
Mitch frowned. “I bought a calendar, and you’re not in it. Believe me. I’ve checked the pages thoroughly." Her eyes narrowed, and she assumed the what-are-you-talking-about look she’d nailed years ago.
“The calendar’s optional. I haven’t posed for it in years, neither has Sam. Let the kids pick up a few extra bucks. I get more than enough handed to me each night.”
“Speaking of night, what did you do with the women you were with?” Mitch eyed them cautiously. “We don’t poach in anyone’s territory, and the redhead had a bun in the oven.”
Sam laughed. “The women were my sisters, Jane and Liz. Jane is expecting in September. She’s rather proud of her little bun. Believe me when I say you aren’t poaching in anyone’s territory, but let’s be honest, shall we?” He looked directly into Cleo’s eyes. “Is there a Mr. Orion out there waiting for you to come home?”
“The only Mr. Anything in my life is my father,” she mumbled, and then covered her mouth.
God, the alcohol’s making me stupid.
Sam’s laughter warmed her. “In that case, can I claim the right to post a no poaching sign? This property is off limits from now on.”
While part of her rebelled at the idea of being anyone’s “property”, the thought of belonging to him, even for one night, appealed to her. She knew it was wrong and went against everything she’d ever been taught, everything she believed in, but the smoldering heat in his eyes tore her breath away. He took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and placed a kiss in her palm. She melted like butter in the hot, summer sun.
“At least for the rest of the weekend.” His voice pleaded and she couldn’t deny him—she didn’t want to.
If he wanted to stake a claim to her for the next two days, she wouldn’t stop him—she wanted it, too. She might live to regret this, but at least she’d have lived.
Chapter Five
Sam watched her cheeks darken under the fading green makeup. Was she blushing? He hadn’t seen anyone blush in years. So far, he didn’t know much about Cleopatra Jones, but he found that what little he knew, he liked. She was full of contradiction, and that piqued his curiosity.
Drop-dead gorgeous, she didn’t like drawing attention to herself. While he didn’t think she was a ball-breaking feminist, she didn’t like being judged by the clothes she wore or treated like an item on the dessert menu. Despite the fact she’d been interested in him last night, she’d backed off when she’d thought he’d belonged to someone else. It seemed the lady had boundaries she wouldn’t cross. Interesting. Most of the women he knew went after what they wanted regardless of who might get hurt in the process. She was interested in flowers and photography, but he’d noticed she was as camera-shy as he was. The most intriguing fact he’d learned was that the only man in her life was her father. She was refreshingly honest and outspoken, even if she was a little tipsy. She had a multilayered personality and he was seeing it one thin layer at a time. He was anxious for the next revelation. He reached across the table for her hand, caressing her soft skin with his calloused palm.
“Well, can I post a no trespassing sign?”
She nodded shyly.
This called for something special. Instead of wine, he ordered a bottle of 1980 Dom Perignon. He watched Cleo’s eyes widen as the waiter popped the cork and then handed it to her. The lady wasn’t accustomed to expensive wine. Good. He wanted to impress her—hell, he wanted to knock her socks off.
After Sam had tasted and approved the champagne, the waiter poured the wine into flutes. She smiled her thanks. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, and then she bit down on the lower lip, her teeth barely showing. The gesture went straight to Sam’s groin. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Somehow he doubted it. Not even the most consummate actress could pull off an act like that. Her hazel eyes, the color of amber in this light, sparkled like a child’s who’s been handed the largest present under the Christmas tree. He raised his glass.
“Here’s to the beginning of a friendship that’s going to be out of this world.” He sipped his wine, and she followed suit.
“Oh my God, this is the best champagne I’ve ever tasted. It’s wonderful.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Sam found himself appreciating the unique freshness of the oak-cured wine created using equal proportions of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. He wasn’t a wine snob, but he knew how to appreciate something unique and delicious, something like her.
“At the price of that stuff, it should be.” Mitch took a drink and smacked her lips. “Yummy.” She winked at Cleo and Sam got the impression her comment wasn’t reserved for the fine wine alone.
“So, not that it’s hard to understand, but how did you guys get to be Chippendales in the first place? Not everybody’s comfortable stripping for sex-crazed females. I’ve heard they can go a little crazy.” There was genuine interest on Mitch’s face.
Sam figured she was probably the kind of woman who liked to take things apart and put them back together—she wanted to know what made them tick.
“A little crazy?” he chortled. “You have no idea. Women like to have a good time, and Chippendales fulfill their fantasies. Last week, the club hosted a private party for a group of women who belong to a Midwest chapter of the Red Hat Society. They were all up there in years, and believe me, they had a great time. I’ll probably never again see a woman in a red hat and purple dress without thinking of it.” Sam remembered the way Liz had described the antics of the ladies last night. The women had definitely enjoyed themselves, spent lots of money, and promised to come back next year. As the hostess, Liz felt the event had been a huge success.
He looked over at Cleo and saw the flush he’d noticed earlier hadn’t abated. She hadn’t said anything, but her brow was furrowed, and she was chewing the inside of her cheek, suggesting she was waging an internal war over something.
Mitch guffawed. “I can just imagine. Maybe the next time I come to Vegas, I’ll bring my grandma. She’s always up for anything. So, you didn’t answer my question. What made you
become strippers?”
“The money and ladies, of course, but we prefer the word dancer or entertainer,” Charlie answered. “We’re more than pole dancers.”
Cleo choked on her wine and stared at Sam. He could imagine what image Charlie’s words had created in her mind. He remembered her reaction to his information on the Ghost orchid. Could her eyes get any bigger?
He leaned over and spoke softly. “You’re awfully quiet. I can almost see the wheels turning in your beautiful head. What are you thinking?”
He saw her swallow and knew she wasn’t going to share her thoughts—at least not the ones that had intensified her color. She probably didn’t realize the darkening was visible, assuming the cosmetic paint would hide it.
“I’m trying to figure out why you’re with me, with us.” She inclined her head to include Mitch and Charlie in her statement. “I mean, look at you both. You can have any woman in the place.” She lowered her gaze and he read her confusion.
“But I’m with the most beautiful one now.” He tilted her chin up to look directly into her eyes. There was an innocence there that belied her costume, and he felt a momentary pang of guilt. “Why would I want another? It’s what I want to do to you later that you should be thinking about.” He winked to add some levity to what had become an emotionally charged moment. “Now, how about something to eat?”
The waiter returned, and after discussing it with Cleo, Sam ordered Caesar salad, chateaubriand, and cherry cheesecake for dessert.
Just for the Weekend Page 5
