She’d tamed her wild curls into braids that ran down each side of her head and met in a long braid that hung halfway down her back. The severe style highlighted her incredible bone structure. Large white hoop earrings hung from her ears and dangled almost to her shoulders. A matching necklace with large white, round links encircled her long, graceful neck, filling some of the space above her breasts. She wore a brightly colored floral outfit that bared her creamy white shoulders and showed off her trim waist. The red and black camera in her hand was a Nikon, similar to the one he used on the job site. He was glad he’d remembered to ask Liz if she could go in and take pictures earlier when they’d met for coffee. He wanted to make this a memorable day for both of them.
How could she possibly believe it had only been the green makeup that had turned every man in the room last night into a seething mass of testosterone? He was rock hard, and he was across the room from her. How was he ever going to survive the day?
Unable to stand because of his arousal, he waved at her and saw the smile on her face when she recognized him and pointed him out to the waiter. As she came closer, he saw that her skin was devoid of the layers of cosmetics so many of the women he knew wore on a regular basis. Other than the shine on her lips that spoke of gloss, her face was fresh and clean. She walked toward him quickly, a friendly smile on her face.
From her gait he could see that she’d worn flats, proof again that the lady had a head on her shoulders—very nice, white, creamy shoulders. Lena would have worn some totally impractical spikes and bitched about having to walk on uneven surfaces as if the fact they weren’t smooth was his fault. What had he ever seen in her?
Similarly, Cleo’s choice of outfit spoke of relaxed comfort. Her loose, flowing pants emphasized her long legs and slenderness, and a sudden vision of them wrapped around his waist made him choke on his coffee. This was going to be an interesting day.
Chapter Eight
Sam watched her approach the table. There was no false wiggle, no provocative head tilt, nothing staged in the way she carried herself. She grinned, and her eyes glowed.
“Hi.” Her voice was friendly and eager. “I hope I’m not late. I got carried away taking pictures. Thank you so much for arranging it.”
She moved to his side of the table, bent down, and kissed his cheek, the touch of her lips sending pulses of heat through his body. Before he could respond, she took her place across from him.
“That’s for the life-saving coffee and the lovely rose. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s absolutely perfect. I’ve taken pictures of it too.” Her eyes shone with sincerity.
He hardened to the point of pain. It was going to be a long, long day. He tried to think of all the things that would keep him away from her while he was in Wales for the next six weeks in an effort to ease his discomfort. It almost worked. He nodded.
“You’re welcome. I’d planned to send a red one up—that’s what I’d ordered last night—but when I met my sister for coffee earlier, the florist had just received his delivery, and I knew nothing else would do. You’re as gorgeous out of your makeup as you were in it last night, but I think green’s going to be my favorite color from now on.”
She blushed, the color filling her cheeks, as he knew it would.
“Thank you.” She smiled and looked at him shyly. “I love roses, in any color, but you’re going to have to stop saying things like that and looking at me that way or I’ll spend the day looking like I’ve got sunburn. I’m one of the few people I know who turns red at the drop of a hat, and I can’t control the reaction, much as I’d like to. Mitch mentioned some people have surgery to limit their blushes. It involves snipping little nerves along the spine. I’m not that desperate, yet. There’s even a term for the fear of blushing. It’s called erythrophobia.”
Sam laughed. “There’s a term for everything these days. I think blushing becomes you, but I’ll try to keep your concern in mind. You do look fabulous.”
“I wasn’t sure what to wear since I didn’t know exactly what we were doing. I don’t usually dress up much. Church on Sunday, that’s about it, and this isn’t something I can wear to church. Our minister expects covered shoulders—it’s a very traditional congregation.”
So this was modesty. She was refreshing.
“Can I pour you some coffee?”
She nodded, and he poured coffee into a cup for her from the carafe the waiter left.
“How’s the head?”
She giggled softly. “It probably should be hammering like crazy, but it’s fine. It must be the anticipation and excitement. I’m really looking forward to today.”
Her tongue darted out, and he wanted to groan. He wanted to carry her out of the restaurant and up to his suite. He wanted to make love to her slowly, in as many different ways as he could think of, all day, every day for the rest of the weekend. Instead, he offered her cream and sugar.
“I imagine a private tour must be expensive. I don’t have a lot of money, but I can offer to pay for some of the trip. I know how hard you must work for your money …”
Sam stared at her. Is she for real? She was offering to pay her way? No one had ever done that before. Even Charlie assumed he’d pick up the tab—it’s what multi-millionaires did. Her last words permeated his consciousness, and his lie sat heavily on his conscience. “Relax. Today’s on me. I want you to enjoy yourself. Maybe you can treat me to lunch or dinner tomorrow night.”
Her expression softened as she accepted the offer. “You’re on, but I hope you like hot dogs and hamburgers. I’ve seen the prices in some of the restaurants around here,” she quipped. “Of course, there are also some incredible buffets.”
He laughed, the first belly laugh he’d had in weeks.
“I love burgers, and I know the perfect place just off the Strip. Dinner’s on you tomorrow. Now, how about some breakfast? My treat.”
“I’m starving. I had one of the croissants you sent up earlier, just to take the edge off. I’ve never mastered the art of eating like a rabbit, so if you think I’ll order dry toast and water, you’re out of luck. What time do we have to be at the airport?”
“Around ten, so we have lots of time to eat, but first, I ordered us a treat.” He raised his arm, and the waiter came over with two champagne flutes. “Today calls for a mimosa, and it’s the restaurant’s specialty.”
“It’s a little early for alcohol, isn’t it?”
He chuckled at the wary look on her face. She was definitely the kind of person he’d missed in his life. She kept him on his toes, made him laugh, and he didn’t know how she’d react from one situation to the next. He’d been all set with the “hair of the dog that bit you” line and she’d countered with a comment on the time of day and a look that said “are you trying to get me drunk?” He really hoped he’d be able to continue seeing her after the weekend. She was captivating. As he’d said last night, she bewitched him.
“Alcohol, yes, but it’s never too early for champagne. Try it, you’ll like it.”
“You sound like a cereal commercial.” She shook her head.
He lifted his glass. “Here’s to a wonderful day.”
He watched her wage an internal war, her face an expressive canvas of all her emotions. Finally she raised her glass, clinking his.
“To a wonderful day.” She sipped the orange drink slowly, and her expressive golden eyes widened. “This is good! I’ve had one of these before, but it didn’t taste like this.”
“I told you. What would you like to eat?”
Sam watched as she ordered eggs, sunny side up, a double order of bacon, home fries, and an English muffin instead of toast. “And can I have another one of these?”
“I’ll have the same and bring a pitcher of mimosas.”
The waiter moved away, and Sam topped off her coffee. He watched Cleo look around the room with interest at the few patrons who’d made it to breakfast. She avoided making eye contact with any of the men and looked curiously at a couple of
underdressed ladies who probably made their living on their back. A strange look crossed her face.
“What are you thinking? You look so sad all of a sudden.”
She returned her attention to him.
“Nothing really. I was just thinking how differently this weekend has turned out to be.”
“And that makes you sad?”
“No. Knowing it’ll soon be over does.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
• • •
Cleo lifted her mimosa and took a drink of the delicious champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice rather than comment on Sam’s statement. If things were different, they might have a future, but as they stood now, this was a forty-eight hour fling. Their real lives were light years apart: she was a school teacher, and he was an entertainer who had beautiful women throwing themselves and their money at him six out of seven nights a week. As Mitch had said, this was her chance to grab the brass ring, if only for a few hours. Today was all about self-indulgence, something she rarely allowed herself, and memories—the kind she’d carry in her heart forever.
There was no way she could deny she was attracted to Sam. She’d been intrigued the first time she’d laid eyes on him, and now, up close in the brightly lit restaurant, he was without a doubt the most enticing man she’d ever seen. No wonder he was a male entertainer. Every woman would want a chance to feast on him, and the fact that he wanted to spend time with her was like winning the lottery.
Today, he was dressed casually, and like the suit he’d worn on Thursday night, everything looked tailor-made. He wore a beige shirt, probably made of silk or some space-age wicking fabric that resembled it. The short sleeves molded the hard muscles of his upper arms. His lower arms were covered with a light dusting of fine, brown hair, and similar hair extended above the open second button of his shirt. She imagined he had a thin mat of hair on his chest—not a lot, just enough to make him look sexy. She’d thought most of the entertainers shaved their body hair, but maybe seasoned performers like Sam got to keep theirs. It might be a perk like having summers off and not having to pose for the calendar.
His hair, brown streaked with gold from the summer sun, was a touch too long and curled where it met his collar. It gave him a rakish look that promised fun and excitement. His deep chocolate, Johnny Depp eyes watched her so intently it was as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her. He had a large nose, not a bulbous one, and she couldn’t imagine any other would suit his face as well as this one did. He’d shaved, and without the gray makeup, she could see a couple of tiny scars on the side of his chin—childhood falls off his bike perhaps. She loved the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he laughed. His face wasn’t effeminate, but everything about it was proportioned and perfect—no unibrow there. He smiled at her, and the dimple in his chin was more pronounced. He was the only man in the room worth looking at, and for today, he was all hers.
She realized he was probably waiting for her to comment on what he’d said, but that was conversational quicksand. She took another sip of her mimosa. “We don’t always get what we want in life. Some things are out of our control. Let’s enjoy the time we have, and let the future take care of itself.”
He looked as if he was about to argue with her, but the waiter approached and placed their food down on the table in front of them. The eggs were done to perfection, the bacon crisp the way she liked it, and the home fries golden brown. As requested, her English muffin was lightly toasted.
“This looks delicious.” She tucked into her food with her usual gusto. They ate in silence, and he seemed to enjoy his food as much as she did hers, but Cleo found the lack of conversation disconcerting. It was like eating at home with her dad.
What had Mitch said? Men liked to talk about themselves and their interest. The last thing she wanted to ask about right now was his job and his extra-curricular activities. They’d exhausted the topic of sci-fi last night—at least as far as she was concerned—so that left their plans for the next few hours.
“Where are we going today?” she asked as she set her fork down and reached for her mimosa—was this her second or her third? She really needed to keep better track of her drinks. It wasn’t even ten in the morning. If she imbibed champagne all day, she’d be in no shape to enjoy whatever might happen tonight, and something would definitely happen. She wasn’t above begging.
Sam smiled. “I guess a lot depends on when we decide to return to the city. At this time of the year, it’s light out until after nine.”
“I don’t have to get back,” she interrupted. “We can be as late as we like. Charlie volunteered to help Mitch at the book signing tonight. So, what can we do for the next twelve hours?”
The look on his face made her realize her double entendre, and she swallowed. He knew exactly what she was thinking. It was disconcerting to say the least.
“I know. Charlie mentioned it this morning, but I thought you might want to do something in Vegas tonight.”
I do; I want to make mad, passionate love with you.
“No, no other plans, so, what have you got in mind?” She shoved a forkful of eggs in her mouth, her mind busily conjuring up images of what she’d like him to do.
“I thought we could start with a visit to Hoover Dam and Lake Mead. From there, we’ll fly over the canyon to the Hualapai Reservation, where one of my friends, a Hualapai guide, will take us to the Grand Canyon Skywalk. Later, we’ll head into the canyon and have lunch beside the Colorado River. Afterward, if you like, we can pop over to Death Valley and check out Scotty’s Castle. We’ll be back in time for the late night fireworks. How does that sound? Unless you’d rather do something else? Liz says I can be a little pushy.”
“She’s one of your sisters, right—not the pregnant one.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, Jane’s the one expecting. Liz is the conference manager here. I talked to her about adding more security. I know it probably didn’t feel like it, but you weren’t the only woman hassled last night.”
“That’s good to know. I was on the verge of developing a complex. I don’t know you well enough to comment on your pushiness, but you’ve already mentioned you tend to take what you want—the kiss, remember? Your itinerary for the day sounds great. I can’t wait to get started.” She sounded like a kid and knew it, but who wouldn’t be excited at the prospect of such a day in the company of a man like Sam?
I need to keep my wits about me. The last thing I want to do is fall for this guy. There’s no future possible for us. But wouldn’t it be nice to pretend there was, just for today?
“I’m glad I charged my phone and my camera. I want to take lots of pictures,” she added.
Especially pictures of you to go with the storehouse of memories I’ll make.
She looked down at her plate and realized she’d cleaned it. Her metabolism and love of exercise allowed her to enjoy whatever food she liked. She lifted her cup to finish her coffee, and then swallowed the last of the mimosa. Had they really polished off the entire pitcher?
“You know, if I were to come to Vegas on a regular basis, I’d probably become a lush. I think I like these a little too much, but I doubt I could afford them. Let me guess. These particular mimosas are made with Dom?”
He nodded. “Nothing but the best. If you think mimosas are the high life, as they say, you ain’t seen nothing yet! I’ll have to introduce you to the various casinos’ signature drinks.”
“I had a Witch Doctor in the VooDoo Lounge. Those things are powerful. For a minute, I thought I’d fall off my shoes—well Mitch’s shoes, really.”
He laughed and reached for her hand and kissed her palm as he had last night.
“I’m so glad you came to Vegas. Are you ready for a day of adventure high above the Nevada sky?”
“I am. Let me visit the powder room, and I’m all yours.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He smiled wickedly and a frisson danced across her skin.
Unable to think of a quick ret
ort, she bit her lower lip. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll wait for you at the door.”
Cleo walked deeper into the restaurant and wondered, not for the first time, if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
• • •
“We’re going to the airport in this?”
She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. The car was a white 1976 Cadillac Eldorado convertible with a red and white interior. “I’ve never seen this particular vintage car up close before. Where did you get it?”
“It belongs to a close friend. He lets me use it once in a while, although I don’t usually use it on dates. I forgot most women don’t like the wind in their hair. We can get a cab if you prefer.”
“Are you crazy? I don’t care if it messes my hair. My dad would love to ride in this. He’s a classic car buff. He’s taught me everything I know about cars. I have to take some pictures. He’ll be envious. Can you get in?”
Sam obliged and got behind the wheel and waited, seemingly patiently, while she took over a dozen shots.
“How big is the memory card in your camera? At the rate you’re going, you’ll run out of space or power long before we get back to Vegas.”
She laughed and got in beside him. She fastened her seat belt and turned herself slightly so she could look at him.
“Oh ye of little faith. You’re talking to an amateur photographer. I have two extra batteries and an eight-gig card. If that runs out, I’ve got my phone.”
“We’ll have to get someone to snap a few pictures of the two of us—you know, for posterity.”
“I’d like that.” No matter what happens from now on, I’ll look at this and remember the greatest day of my life.
Sam started the car and after signaling eased smoothly into traffic and headed for the Henderson Executive Airport where the helicopter awaited them.
Eager to start a conversation that might be safe, Cleo turned to Sam. “I read about this car last year. The first version came out in 1953 and the last one in 2002. Most people think it was named after the lost city of gold that the Spaniards and Sir Walter Raleigh searched for, but it was actually named after a South American tribal chieftain. According to the legend, his followers covered him in gold dust for ceremonial occasions, and afterward, he’d dive into a lake to wash the dust from his body. I find that kind of stuff fascinating.”
Just for the Weekend Page 9
