Just for the Weekend

by Susanne Matthews

  “See? Told you it was on my ankle. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah. Really easy to see. You women and your purses. I should have guessed. I think Liz wears something like this on her wrist when she runs.”

  “Your sister wears a manacle on her wrist when she runs? That’s silly.”

  Sam looked down at her. “Not a manacle, a pouch thing that looks like a sweatband.”

  “You’re staring at my boobs again, aren’t you?” Cleo accused with mock indignation.

  Sam looked away. His shoulders shook. Was he laughing at her?

  “Busted,” he answered. Cleo dissolved into giggles.

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open, revealing the well-lit hallway.

  “Come on, my tipsy, little slave girl. Time for bed.”

  Cleo smiled nervously and let the words fall between them. She let him carry her down the hallway.

  Sam opened the door, flipped the light switch, and moved inside the room. He lowered her to the floor and placed the keycard on the table between the chairs in front of the windows.

  Cleo walked over to the window, and Sam came to stand behind her.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? All the colors and the way they flash, and they go on and on as far as I can see. They’re fairy lights in a magic kingdom. You can believe dreams might come true here.”

  “I haven’t looked at it that way it a long time. You make me see things differently. You see beauty in the neon glitz, and when I look at it through your eyes, it becomes otherworldly. You’re not a slave girl, Cleo, you’re a sorceress, and tonight you’ve bewitched me.”

  He pulled her into his arms, and his mouth captured hers as it had earlier in the evening. The room spun, and she leaned into him, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his neck. The kiss, sweet and tender, intensified, fueling her desire. His lips were firm against hers, just as they had been earlier. She felt the sandpaper of his midnight shadow against her face—it was strangely arousing and not at all uncomfortable as she thought it would be. His lips moved from hers to her eyes and the side of her face, down along her neck, nuzzling at the pulse point beneath her ear.

  He reclaimed her mouth with an urgency devastating in its intensity, and unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Sam pulled his mouth away slightly and licked at her lips and she opened to him. His tongue slipped between her slightly parted lips and swept her away on a sea of desire. He continued to stroke the inside of her mouth, creating wave after wave of pleasure. The slow, sweeping motions drew a moan from deep inside her. He pulled back and then thrust in again, leaving her tingling in anticipation of what was surely to come. His hands moved along her bare back to cup her butt and pull her tightly against him.

  Without an inkling of what she was doing, she let her instincts guide her as she responded. Her tongue tangled with his, and when he pulled his back to allow her to plunge into his mouth, she darted in quickly. He tasted so good; she’d never get enough of him. Before she could continue her exploration of his mouth, he pulled back, rested his forehead against hers a moment, and then moved away. She felt as if something vital to her survival had been taken from her. He straightened. He was breathing as heavily as she was.

  “You’re more potent that thirty-year-old Scotch. I’ll meet you in the breakfast restaurant at eight thirty. Goodnight, Cleo. Dream of me.” He kissed her again, a quick, unsatisfying peck that left her craving more. He crossed the room, pulled the door closed, and a few moments later, she heard him walk away.

  Stunned by his abrupt departure, she went into the washroom, removed her costume, and got into the shower. She was confused about the way the evening had ended. She let the hot water scour her skin clean, sending the last of the green paint down the shower drain, while tears of frustration and rejection washed down her cheeks. Had he left her because he was being a gentleman or had his interest in her all been part of his well-practiced act? A man with his skill could probably tell from her kisses that she wasn’t experienced. Here I am in Las Vegas, a weepy drunk in a shower.

  She turned off the water, got out of the stall, dried herself, and applied lotion to her sensitive skin. It was a little red, but she didn’t see any rash, so she’d probably gotten the paint off soon enough. She donned the old football jersey she normally wore to bed. She giggled as the tears ran down her cheeks again. It was just as well he’d left her. She didn’t own any sexy nightwear.

  She undid the bed and crawled between the sheets, somewhat unnerved by the fact that the bed—or was it the room?—was spinning. She hoped she wouldn’t get sick. The feeling was unnerving, but the champagne buzz combined with the emotions of the day dragged her into a deep dreamless sleep.

  • • •

  Sam reached his suite in record time considering he’d chosen to climb the four flights of stairs to his floor. He’d needed to do something physical before he burst. He’d closed the door that had separated him from Cleo and leaned his head against it for a moment trying to get his heart, his mind, and his soul, not to mention his wayward body, under control. Parts of his anatomy had protested against his decision to leave her, but when he made love to her, Sam wanted to do it with all his faculties intact.

  She deserved far more than slam, bam, thank you ma’am, which is probably all he could have managed tonight. He wanted her so badly, he ached. If he’d taken her tonight, it would have been over far too soon for either of them. When they came together, he wanted her to be aware of who he was, and what he was doing to her. He wanted to show her how beautiful making love could be, because with Cleo, he suspected it wouldn’t be just sex; it would be more, far more.

  He deeply regretted feeding her that nonsense about being a Chippendale and would have to find a way to minimize the lie tomorrow. He could tell her the truth, but she might walk away as a result. He wouldn’t blame her; women didn’t like being played for fools. He supposed he could blame it on the booze, but he hated people who used that as an excuse for doing something they shouldn’t have.

  Maybe he’d tell her dancing was only a hobby and he was thinking of retiring. He could tell her about his real job without giving too much away. He was an architect—that wasn’t a lie—but he wouldn’t tell her he owned the company. He could tell her his dream was to create neighborhoods where people could live happily ever after, raise their children, and enjoy everything that was good about the American way of life. He could also mention he breathed life into old homes, giving them a second chance to shine. Wasn’t a second chance at happiness what he wanted too? He hoped to continue seeing Cleo when he got back from this latest job. He could go almost anywhere, any time. Speaking of which, he’d forgotten to ask Cleo where she lived. He’d learn that, and a lot more about her, tomorrow.

  The phone rang, startling him.

  Who the hell’s calling at this time? He picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, big brother. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “No, Liz, you’re not. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” As if I don’t know.

  “I saw you up to your old tricks tonight and so did Noah Pringle from the Tattler. He saw the kiss and spent most of the evening trying to identify the Cardassian who ordered the five-hundred-dollar-a-pop bottles of wine. I know he was trying to get the information out of my waiter, who’s a good kid—he kept his mouth shut.”

  “Thanks, Liz, but how did you know it was me?”

  She laughed. “I can recognize my own brother when I see him. You have a distinct way of carrying yourself, especially when you used that signature move of yours to knock Thor to the floor. You’ve used it on a couple of my overzealous boyfriends in the past. So, tell me about her. She must be something to have you acting so out of character.”

  “I can’t tell you much except that her name is Cleopatra Jones.”

  “Seriously—Cleopatra?”

  “Yup. I thought it was a stage name or pseudonym, but
it’s the real deal. The lady was quite upset when I suggested otherwise. It seems her dad chose it. Probably fell in love with the Liz Taylor version of the story. But who are you to talk? The Liz Taylor version is where your name comes from.” He laughed.

  “Don’t remind me. But what can you tell me other than the fact that she managed to keep your interest for more than two minutes?”

  “Nothing much. She’s an amateur photographer, raised by a strict dad. Her mom’s dead. Cleo’s not from around here—this is her first trip to Vegas, but wherever she does come from, the people are pretty straight-laced. She doesn’t like being the center of attraction either. Speaking of which, you have to increase security around the convention halls. There were more than a few boys behaving badly down there. Thor was the second one I handled. I reported them both. If you want people to abide by the code of conduct, you have to follow through.”

  “Don’t remind me. I saw a few pigs in action myself. It looks as if she’s brought out the gentleman in you, the guy I used to like, the one who disappeared after Lena threw you over.”

  “Get it straight. I dumped Lena, not the other way around. I don’t care what her society friends think, but my sisters should know the truth. I’m taking Cleo on an all-day helicopter tour tomorrow. Is there a chance Anton can fix me up with a picnic lunch and a bottle of Dom?”

  “Your wish is my command, big brother. Consider it done.” Her tone became serious. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t want to see you hurt again. I guess this means you’re not leaving Vegas in the morning?”

  “No. I’ll be staying for the weekend. The housing project will survive without me for a couple of days. You’re off on Sunday, right? Maybe the three of us can do dinner.”

  “No can do. Cedric, Lord Horvath, is taking me to a polo game in L.A. Maybe we can get together for breakfast before you leave Monday. For what it’s worth, your green slave girl has my vote. She got you to take time off to enjoy yourself. Treat her nicely. I don’t want to see you hurt her either. Goodnight, Sam. Love you lots.”

  He said goodnight and hung up the phone. He went into the washroom, took two acetaminophen tablets, and drank two glasses of water. Rehydrating would ease the hangover. He turned off the lights in the suite and went into the bedroom. He removed his robe and crawled between the sheets naked as he always did. He hadn’t completely lost his arousal. He was sure he’d dream of Cleo tonight, and unlike last night, his dreams would be more fact than fiction.

  • • •

  The sound of a herd of elephants pounding on the door, demanding admission, echoed through Cleo’s head. She opened her eyes, and immediately shut them, blinded by the sudden brilliance of the sun. Steeling herself against the brightness, she gingerly raised her eyelids and looked around the room. Mitch hadn’t made it back last night.

  The thunder at the door repeated itself, and she sighed. That must be her now and she’d misplaced her key. She glanced at the clock—six forty-five. Great. I need about five more hours sleep. The hammering at the door resonated through her head once more.

  “Hold your horses, I’m coming.” She threw back the blankets and padded across the carpet. She realized she hadn’t put on the security lock because Mitch hadn’t been back when she’d fallen into bed and gone to sleep—passed out would be more accurate. She opened the door, but the pithy comment she’d meant to deliver never left her mouth. Instead of Mitch, a room service attendant stood behind a white cloth-covered cart on which stood a large pot of coffee, a carafe of orange juice, the makings of a Continental breakfast, and the most incredible rose Cleo had ever seen.

  “Good morning. If you’d just move over a bit, I can get by.” It took a few moments for the server’s words to register before Cleo realized she had to get out of his way. She stepped back from the door, and he rolled the cart into the room. She didn’t remember ordering this—any of this, but she was still half asleep. The aroma of the fresh-brewed coffee tickled her nose and worked its way into her brain. She looked around for her purse.

  “What do I owe you?” she asked searching for the wallet inside her oversized bag.

  “It’s all been taken care of.” He stopped, moved around the cart to remove the table that stood between the two stuffed chairs in front of the window, and placed it out of the way. He slid the cart between the chairs and locked its sides open. Before she could remove any bills from her wallet, the man turned and smiled. “Have a good day.” He walked back to the door and closed it behind him.

  Cleo stood there and stared. She reached for the beautiful green and white rose, sitting in an elegant crystal vase, and let its scent envelop her. She’d never seen such a stunningly, unique flower in her life. It was hard to believe it was real. The bloom, an eye-catching vivid green only a few shades lighter than her skin last night, blended with the purity of the white, was otherworldly, and its petals felt like silk. Not fully opened, but not a bud either, the rose was flawless. Closer examination showed there were no thorns along its woody stem. Unlike most cultured, designer roses, its aroma was strong, and this one rose alone seemed fragrant enough to perfume the entire room. She reached for the small white envelope with her name on it.

  Morning, beautiful.

  We’re all set for the day. You’ve got free access to the salon this morning if you still want to photograph the flowers. The security guard will let you in. The helicopter’s waiting for us at the Henderson Executive Airport. Bring some warmer clothes for tonight. It gets cold in the desert even in July. I’ve taken care of everything else.

  Love, Sam

  The note was handwritten, but she doubted he’d actually held the pen. The handwriting was too missish for a man like Sam. His signature would be bold, like he was, larger than life, and convey all of his masculinity.

  She reread the note and paused.

  Love Sam, didn’t really mean anything. It could’ve been added mindlessly by whoever took the order for the rose, no doubt in stock for the convention. If they had unusual orchids, green roses were a snap. If her heart jumped when she read the “L” word, then it was on her. She put the note and the rose down on the cart and poured herself a glass of juice and a cup of coffee. Why did she always have to overanalyze things? Just enjoy the moment. The man might not have wanted to bed me last night, but he’s still interested, and this proves it.

  She doctored her coffee and reached for a croissant. The throbbing in her head was no doubt courtesy of the gallon of champagne she’d drunk last night. She went into the bathroom and took two extra-strength acetaminophen tablets, followed by two large glasses of water. The last thing she wanted was one of her blinding headaches, the kind that occasionally incapacitated her for days. She lifted her hand to her lips, remembering the mind-blowing kisses from the previous night and sighed.

  The door opened, and Mitch breezed into the room carrying her Klingon costume and wearing one of the hotel’s signature white terry cloth robes. Cleo could see she was glowing. She hummed a vaguely familiar tune—Mitch never hummed. She tossed the costume on the bed and smiled at Cleo.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  Cleo laughed and cringed slightly as it made the pounding in her head worse. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

  “Very funny. I had an incredible night. Charlie is … skilled.” She chuckled. “And we have so much in common. Do you know he has one of my space rocks? He doesn’t know it’s a mine of course, and I didn’t volunteer that information. He’s got all the original Star Trek television shows too—on VHS. He has a television and a VCR just for watching them. He has a place outside Vegas where he spends his down time. What is that delectable aroma? Coffee! The gods be praised.”

  “Yep. Sam sent all kinds of goodies along with a note about today.” She indicated the cart by the window. Concern bloomed in Mitch’s face. “Did he beg off? Charlie said Sam had originally planned to leave Vegas today, but he’d changed his mind and decided to stay for the weekend—apparently
something he rarely does. When the man makes up his mind, he can be extremely stubborn about changing it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Cleo’s voice dripped sarcasm. “He didn’t beg off. He made arrangements for me to get pictures of some of the rare flowers in the dance lounge and wanted to remind me to bring warmer clothing for this evening. He thinks I’m unfamiliar with the temperature drop in the desert at night. I’m the one with the cold feet. I’m not sure I have the nerve to go through with this. What if someone sees us together? Plus, he’s going to ask questions, and you know what a dismal liar I am.”

  Mitch frowned and turned back to look at her. “What you talking about, girlfriend? Of course you’re going through with this. So what if someone sees you? All they’ll see are two incredibly good-looking people enjoying the sights and one another. Remember the way he was dressed in the VooDoo Lounge? I doubt he’ll wear something that screams ‘I’m an exotic dancer.’ As for asking questions, he’ll want to get to know all about you. More than seventy-five percent of your cover story is the truth. You’re an intelligent woman. Be yourself. He’ll love you. I do. Let me shower and then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of running water stopped, and within a matter of minutes, Cleo looked up to see Mitch standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a bath sheet, rubbing her blonde hair dry.

  “I don’t know what to wear,” Cleo complained pointing at the clothing she’d laid out on the bed. “Nothing I have seems to work for an all-day date. Maybe this is a sign, and I should just beg off.”

  Mitch put her hands on her hips and gave her a stern look. Mitch was very good at talking her into things, especially when, deep down, Cleo wanted to do them in the first place. Sometimes, she needed a nudge to step out of the box, but she’d never gone so far beyond her self-imposed limits before. This date was like playing Russian roulette—if she got the full chamber where someone recognized her and him, everything was over.