The mother approached her daughter and bent down to whisper in her ear. The grin on the kid’s face put a smile on my heart. I watched as the two of them disappeared out the front door, the sunlight swallowing them.
I turned and ran right into the hard and altogether wonderfully masculine chest of Paxton Dane. I seemed to have a habit of doing that. “Oh, sorry.”
“My pleasure,” he said, a hint of invitation in his voice.
Too bad he was playing for the opposition. Needing distance, I stepped away.
“Was that our third cat?” Dane nodded after the woman and her daughter.
Feeling a bit sheepish at being caught, I nodded. “You can call off the search.”
“I thought the cats belonged to one of our guests?”
“The woman packed the three of them in a trunk for the flight here.”
Dane’s face clouded—his eyes got squinty.
I knew that look.
Then he gave me a lopsided grin—it was a good grin, for a bad guy. “Too bad we couldn’t find that third cat. I guess it ran out the front doors or something.”
“Yeah, too bad.” Hoping I wasn’t too late for the run-through, I turned toward Teddie’s theatre.
Dane fell in step beside me. “We’re still on for dinner?”
“I’ll meet you at Tigris, but could we make it at six thirty instead of seven?”
“I’m okay with that. If I can’t change the reservation, I’ll call you.”
“You did get the guys who designed that little spy-mobile thing, didn’t you? We can’t have those things running around the hotel capturing our guests at indelicate moments.”
“Sure. I took the thing from them, but promised them leniency in exchange for its use.” His glee was impossible to hide. “Pretty good, don’t you think?”
“It was perfect, actually.” Stepping around the No Admittance sign, I grabbed one of the handles of the theatre doors and threw my weight against it.
“You can’t go in there,” he said. “It says ‘Private, rehearsal in session.’ ”
I gave Dane a look and stepped inside the darkened theatre. Starting down the steps toward the stage, I felt Dane’s presence behind me, hanging back in the shadows.
Chapter
FIFTEEN
In a pair of pink stilettos, jeans, a ripped tee shirt, and with a pink boa around his neck, Teddie commanded the top tier of a mountain of stairs in the center of the stage. A series of staircases cascaded from Teddie’s high point, each level populated by several of Teddie’s boys—his ensemble of the most beautiful young men I’ve ever seen—each handpicked and a potential star in his own right.
But it was Teddie the spotlight loved.
Christo, Teddie’s understudy, stood next to him. Tall, and lean, his blond hair long and wavy, Christo wore loose dance pants cinched at the waist, a body-hugging muscle shirt, his own pair of stilettos and a boa—his was blue.
“Okay, everybody!” Teddie clapped his hands for attention. “Are you ready? This one’s Christo’s.”
The boys snapped to attention.
Teddie gave the sign to key the music. As the first strains of Abba’s “Dancing Queen” played, he shouted, “Lights!” Then he ducked out of the spotlight leaving Christo in its beam.
The lights pulsed to the beating rhythm of the song. The boys danced, their gestures grand and campy. Christo sang as he descended the stairs. While it was a nice number—just the choice of song itself made me smile—the whole thing lacked the usual sparkle.
Teddie let them go for about thirty seconds before he shouted, “Stop! Everybody back to their places.” He stepped in behind Christo on the top tier. “Remember, this is the huge ending production number. You’re the star—you’re the dancing queen. You gotta sell it. Make ’em believe!” Teddie threw the boa around his neck. “Here, I’ll show you.”
As Christo stepped out of the way, a transformation came over Teddie. His body loosened, relaxing into a female languidity. One hand on his hip, knees together, a come-hither look on his face, when the music started, Teddie sang as he descended the stairs. His gestures grand and sexy, he sparkled—his energy infusing the whole theatre.
Even as a woman, Teddie was sexy as hell. I must be losing it.
Toward the end of the number, in a salute to Mamma Mia! the boys invited the crowd to dance.
Being a large part of a very small crowd, I did as they said. Twirling down the aisle, arms overhead swaying to the music, I joined in the singing: “You are the dancing queen . . .”
Up the stairs, I arrived at Teddie’s side just as the final, frenzied notes played. His eyes alight, he twirled me around, then dipped me over one knee as the music faded.
The theatre fell silent as he pulled me out of the dip, holding my body against his. Then he kissed me.
Catcalls and wolf whistles erupted from the chorus.
Still holding my body tight to his, Teddie gave me a huge grin. “Hello.”
“Are you going to add that to the show?”
“That’s only for you,” he whispered.
The few nerve endings that weren’t already afire glowed hot.
“Show’s not over. The boys deserve a bow,” Teddie announced.
Hand in hand, we both turned and bowed for the chorus who erupted in loud cheers and shouted, “Encore!”
We complied. This kiss left me breathless.
Finally, when I had somewhat regained my composure, I asked Teddie, “What does it mean that a kiss from a guy in stilettos and pink feather boa makes my toes curl?”
“You’re very comfortable with your sexual orientation?”
“No, I think it means I’m very comfortable with your orientation.”
Teddie threw back his head and laughed, his arm still around my waist.
I could feel the heat of him.
Christo pushed through the throng. “I see what you mean. That was brilliant!” He turned to me. “Teddie’s the man!”
“I’m counting on it,” I deadpanned.
That elicited another round of wolf whistles.
“Enough!” Teddie said, laughing. “Lunch break. Pizza’s in the back. You have an hour.”
He grabbed my hand. “Are you hungry, or can you wait a bit?”
“I’m good. Let the boys have their go.”
We sat on the edge of the stage, the bright lights impossible to see beyond. The outer door opened, a square of light piercing the darkness, as someone stepped out of the theatre.
Dane. I’d forgotten about him.
“What’d you think of the number?” Teddie asked.
“With you, it was terrific. But, seriously, ‘Dancing Queen’?”
“If you can laugh at yourself, the whole world can laugh with you.” Teddie kicked his bare feet—he had ditched the stilettos and boa. “That’s what this is all about—fun. I can sing ballads, imitate a good many of the famous singers of the last half century, dance, tell jokes, play seven instruments well, many more not so well—but all that is so normal it’s almost banal.”
“Maybe for you.”
“This is where you’re going to tell me I’m wasting my talent pretending to be women in a cheap show in Vegas, right?”
“Why would I say something like that? You’re really good at it, and you seem to be having fun. Besides, we pay you a boatload. So, where’s the problem?”
“You really are something special.” Absentmindedly Teddie picked up my hand and began tracing my fingers with his, sending shivers through me.
If he only knew the effect he had, he’d be dragging me off to a room—guess it was a good thing we worked in a hotel. Or maybe that was a bad thing.
“A straight guy channeling Cher and Bette Midler?” he said. “And surrounded by a bevy of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen? Now that’s a trip. Besides, swine that I am, I can’t resist the huge sums of money you guys throw at me.”
“Can’t resist the siren call of success?”
“I’m eas
ily bought, but don’t let it get around. It’s a novelty act—won’t last forever. But for now it pays the bills.” Teddie looked around the darkened theatre, then checked over his shoulder.
“Who’re you looking for?”
“Just wanted to make sure we’re alone. I’ve got something I want you to hear.”
He jumped to his feet, pulled me up and over to the bench at the white grand piano in the corner of the stage. “Sit.” He patted the spot next to him. He cracked his knuckles, then he began to play and to sing in that wonderfully rich tenor of his.
I didn’t recognize the song—a beautiful melody about love and yearning. Surely some popster had ridden that tune to the top of the charts—and I was a sucker for songs of love. Very catchy yet touching, I wondered how I had missed it. Clearly I had been working too much.
The final chords still lingered in the air when Teddie asked, “Any good?”
“Good? It’s great! Who recorded it?”
“Nobody—yet.” He stared out at the darkened theatre. “I wrote it for you.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What?”
He shrugged, but still refused to meet my eyes. “I’ve been playing around with songs for years. I was okay at it, but the music didn’t have any heart until I met you.” Finally he looked at me with a quizzical expression. “You really think it’s good?”
“It takes my breath away.”
TEDDIE’S song chased through my head as I made my way back to the office. Music—the language of love. I’d never thought of it as a weapon before, but it was—one that Teddie wielded with amazing accuracy. I’d spent an entire lifetime very carefully erecting a wall around my heart, and Teddie had opened the door with a kiss, then had proceeded to demolish a good chunk of the wall in the course of forty-eight hours. I felt exposed, vulnerable—yet safe, and somehow invigorated.
In short, I was a total mess.
I ran a shaky hand through my hair. How the hell was I going to make it through the rest of today?
Operating at slightly above barely functional, I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus—with marginal success. Dinner with Dane would require I be at the top of my game if I was going to worm his story out of him. Wandering around like a lovesick schoolgirl was so not me—at least not the me I used to know.
I so needed to get over myself.
Grabbing my Nextel, I dialed the office. “What do I have on my schedule this afternoon?” I asked Miss Patterson when she answered.
“Not much. A Miss Brandy Wine called. She said you had given her your card and told her to make an appointment. I penciled her in for four, but I can reschedule, if you wish.”
“How would you feel about hiring an assistant?”
“Grateful beyond all measure.”
“That bad, huh?”
“If you and I keep up this pace much longer, we’ll be certifiable.”
“I passed certifiable a long time ago and am well on my way to blithering idiot.” I pushed through the office door, snapped the phone shut and continued the conversation with Miss Patterson in person. “Brandy aced my class at UNLV. She’s young, inexperienced, but has good instincts. We’ll have to train her, so it will mean more work to begin with—mainly for you.”
“Fine, as long as I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Good. I’ll need you to sit in on the meeting at four then. We both will have to agree or she doesn’t get hired.” I paced in front of her desk. “See if you can get hold of the Most Reverend Peabody. I need a moment of his time when it’s convenient—preferably sooner rather than later.”
“And if he asks what this is about?”
“He shouldn’t, but if he does, tell him it’s about catching a rat.”
One glance into my office made me cringe—papers were propagating at an alarming rate. I should tackle them, but nervous energy coursed through me. Thinking while sitting was out of the question. I needed to walk.
“I’ll be in the lobby or the casino.” I waved my phone at her as I reached for the door. “You know how to find me.”
LIKE a finely tuned engine, a high-end hotel has a sound all its own when it’s running well—each piston firing, the timing perfect, the gears meshing seamlessly. I paused at the railing of the mezzanine overlooking the lobby and the teeming mass of humanity. The bellmen with their carts rushed to greet guests and handle their luggage. The front desk—a smiling staff-person at each post—processed guests quickly. Cocktail waitresses trolled the crowd providing grease to any sticky cogs.
Closing my eyes, I listened. Under the ever-present music, the pulse of excitement throbbed in the voices below. No strident misfires. No angry backfires. Just the smooth sound of customers getting what they thought they’d paid for.
“You look like you’re meditating. Very strange place to do that,” said the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock from behind me.
Keeping my eyes closed, not moving, I answered him. “Listen. What do you hear?”
I felt his presence next to me.
He was quiet for a moment. “Besides Sinatra?”
“Filter the music out.”
“Voices, all mixed together—excitement.”
“Precisely.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “That means my people are doing their jobs, which means my life is easier.”
“Which means I could take your assistant for a gelato?”
“Okay with me.”
“You know, she’s bloody fantastic,” he said in answer to my silent question.
“She has to be back for a meeting at four.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t guess you and your gizmo have had any more sightings?”
“Just your cowboy bloke. He’s been a real regular in Mr. Gittings’s office. The other two are laying low.”
“That’s what I figured. But it does surprise me that a guy like Dane would hitch his team to Irv Gittings’s wagon.”
Jeremy snorted. “Man, when you’ve seen the stuff I see, nothing surprises you anymore.”
“Really?” I watched the people below, and I wondered what had they come to Vegas looking for. And what were they willing to risk to get it. “People surprise the hell out of me all the time.”
Jeremy turned to go.
“Have her back by four!” I said to his retreating back.
He disappeared into my office. Miss Patterson’s excited greeting filtered down the hall before the door closed.
Looking for problems to solve, I spent the next hour wandering through all of the public areas on the main level of the hotel. Despite the huge crowds, the hotel ran with a precision that would make a Formula One team proud. At 3:25, having not uncovered even one minor misstep, I commandeered a corner table at Delilah’s and watched the stairs for the arrival of the Most Reverend—Miss Patterson had said he would meet me here.
Jeep was as good as his word. On the stroke of the half hour, he lumbered up the steps. I waved him over.
He wedged himself into the chair across from me, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. “The Good Book says I’m probably going to hell for what I’m doing here, but at least I’ll be prepared for the temperatures.”
“There’s always a price for pleasure.”
“I’m just hoping eternal damnation isn’t one of them,” he huffed as he waved to get a waitress’s attention, then, once he had it, he mimicked a drinking motion with his hand and mouthed the word beer. He pointed at me and I shook my head. He gave me a grin. He didn’t look too worried about riding the slippery slope to hell.
“Well, if you want to do a little penance for your sins, I have an idea.”
“Really? What?”
“As you know, a certain young lady we both would like to get our hands on will most likely be at your party tomorrow night. I’d like to catch her and turn her over to the authorities, but I need your help.”
His eyes locked on mine. “What can I do?”
MISS Patterson and Brandy were seated in front
of my desk when I burst through the door at five minutes after four. “So, you two have gotten a chance to get to know each other a little bit? Good.”
Both sets of eyes followed me as I took a seat behind my desk.
Miss Patterson’s gaze held amusement. I was glad to see that my assistant had traded her little black dress and my Jimmy Choos for that pair of loose white slacks and peach shirt we had picked out yesterday. She looked cool and calm—the afterglow of a night of great sex with a handsome Australian. Mental pictures threatened to develop—my own private naughty movie featuring my friends. Terrific!
Focusing on Brandy, I closed my mind to the pictures. Brandy’s dark hair was neatly tied back, her makeup flattering but subtle, accentuating her blue eyes and wide mouth. I remembered the flash of a megawatt grin that rivaled Julia Roberts’s. Her dark suit was prim, but not too. Diamonds sparkled at her ears, and her shoes looked like this season’s Christian Louboutin’s. She certainly knew how to dress the part.
And she was young—younger than I remembered. A pox on her.
“I didn’t expect you to call so soon.” Not exactly a stellar opening to the interview, but it was the best I could do.
“If this isn’t a good time—” Brandy’s eyes held concern.
“It’s perfect. In fact, your timing couldn’t be better.” Miss Patterson handed me a piece of paper—Brandy’s application. “Miss Patterson and I are about out of gas. We need some help.”
The two across from me were quiet as I scanned the application. “I see here you finished your hotel and restaurant degree last spring.” I gave a low whistle. “Pretty gaudy grade point.”
Brandy smiled. “I’m a hard worker.”
“I remember that about you.” I remembered other things about Brandy as well. On her own, with no real marketable assets other than her Marilyn Monroe figure, she’d worked her way through college.
Study by day, strip by night.
Technically she had danced in a cage after hours in one of the local watering holes. She’d come to class with black eyes and assorted bruises from time to time after turning down demands for extracurricular activities. I’d offered help, but she’d refused—said she could handle them. I remember one guy she’d put in the hospital. “Wine isn’t your real last name is it?”
Wanna Get Lucky? Page 23
