by Carsen Taite
“Tell all or I’ll create a diversion to keep you here for hours.”
“Aren’t you forgetting who the boss is? You’re treading on dangerous ground here.”
“Darling, I forget nothing. Let me guess. It’s the spicy redhead I saw in your suite.” Paul tsked. “Not really your type, as I recall.”
Ainsley cursed his elephant-like memory. She had certainly made the rounds while working at the San Francisco property and, as much as he liked to gossip, Paul had kept her confidences. She would probably be better off trusting him with the truth now. “It is the redhead. I met her on the plane from Chicago, and we hit it off.” Ainsley almost choked on those last words since the chemistry between her and Tray could scarcely be summed up as “hitting it off.” But she felt sparks between them, and she was determined to fan them and see what happened. “We’re going to this crazy Zozobra thing tonight.”
“Do tell. Nothing like a big bonfire to get things heated up. I imagine you’ll want us to stay away from the suite tonight?”
“You can handle anything, and Drew will be here all night.”
“Speaking of the lovely Ms. Lancer,” Paul said, “I had her pegged as your type. Definitely more so than the redhead.”
“If you haven’t noticed, she spits nails whenever I’m around. Besides, I don’t like mixing work with pleasure.”
“Except for getting a little something-something on a business trip.”
“Smart ass.” Ainsley didn’t mind Paul thinking she was a bit of a playgirl, but she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t taking her position as team leader seriously. He wasn’t likely to rat her out to Frank, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest of her team. She had worked like a woman possessed her entire career in anticipation of making it to the top at Steel, but the last few days the motivation behind her hard work was laser focused on a singular goal—time off for her date with Tray.
“Have a great time and don’t worry about us. If anyone asks, I’ll let them know you’re researching the locals.” Paul spoke as if he could read her mind. “Oops, sorry, I meant the local sights.”
*
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Nice to see you too.” Ainsley looked down at her clothes and then back at Greer. “What’s wrong?”
Greer surveyed her attire. Ainsley was wearing crisp white linen pants and a pale blue sweater set the color of her eyes. Her sleek strappy sandals were low-heeled but still not well suited for hiking up the path to the park. Parking at the event was nonexistent, and they would have to walk to the grounds. They were standing in front of Ainsley’s hotel, so it wouldn’t be a big deal for her to go back inside and change. Greer glanced at her own outfit—jeans, hiking boots, and long-sleeved polo, all borrowed from Drew—and decided she looked like a lumberjack escorting a princess to the event. “Well, you look like you fell off the page of a designer catalog, those shoes look like they’ll fall apart after a few steps, and this,” she held up a blanket, “is the only thing you’ll have between you and the ground.”
Ainsley’s expression was suggestive. She said, “I kinda hoped there might be something, I mean someone, else between me and the ground.”
Greer felt her cheeks flush and knew she was rapidly turning red. The sensation was strange. She was used to careless, flirty banter. Hordes of grasping fans delivered all the endearments she could ever want. Her exchanges with Ainsley were different, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. Maybe the difference was this evening she wasn’t the famous Greer Davis, and Ainsley wasn’t some adoring fan offering up whatever was necessary to get her attention. Every bit of Ainsley’s attention had been genuine, which was a completely new experience for Greer. It was almost overwhelming.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Greer realized she’d let Ainsley’s suggestion thud for lack of a response. She shook her head and smiled. “No, baby, you said exactly the right thing.” Greer looked pointedly at Ainsley’s shoes. “If you’re game, let’s go.”
“I’m game.”
Greer led the way. She strode the familiar streets with confidence, partly due to her newly dyed hair. The home hair job wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t have to worry about her wig being knocked askew by the jostling crowd. Downtown was already thick with locals and tourists. The next day marked the start of Las Fiestas, the annual celebration of Don Diego de Vargas’s peaceful occupation of the city of Santa Fe in the late 1600s. Since the early 1700s, residents of the city had celebrated La Fiesta de Santa Fe with a spate of parades, religious ceremonies, and celebrations. Nowadays, most tourists saw only a large street festival, kicked off with the burning of Zozobra, with vendors selling everything from fry bread and roasted corn on the cob to handmade jewelry, and cultural performances in the square. Las Fiestas was a much more commercial event than it started out to be, but its redeeming grace was its ability to draw huge crowds of tourists to the city.
As they passed a line of food vendors, Greer asked, “Are you hungry? I know some of this stuff looks cheesy, but the fry bread tacos are to die for.”
Ainsley hefted the huge Prada bag on her shoulder. “I didn’t want to take a chance on scrounging something on the street. I had the hotel pack us dinner.” Greer realized her expression must have given away her disappointment because Ainsley immediately backtracked. “We don’t have to eat what I brought.”
Greer didn’t really care either way. Hell, if Aunt Ellen hadn’t suggested this little outing, she herself would have preferred to spend the evening at a five-star restaurant, especially since she was out from under Rick’s watchful eye. She couldn’t blame Ainsley for seeking out the creature comforts of big-city life. Had she not felt the tug of childhood memory conjured up by the delicious smells, she would never have suggested they buy messy tacos sure to drip grease all over Ainsley’s snow white slacks. Greer leaned in close and took the opportunity to kiss Ainsley lightly on the neck. “Actually, I’m sure whatever you have in your gorgeous bag will be perfect.” She hesitated for a brief moment and then added, “To go with whatever else we can find to eat.” There, now she was feeling like her confident heartbreaker self again. She could already visualize the rest of the evening. Firedancers, moaning, groaning Old Man Gloom, fireworks, and then back to Ainsley’s suite for more fireworks.
With the end of the evening in mind, Greer found a place for their blanket along the edge of the park. Once they had enough watching the old man burn, they’d be able to make a quick getaway. While Ainsley spread out the dinner the El Dorado had packed, she snagged a fry bread taco from a vendor. The pungent smell of roasted green chile was irresistible, and Greer polished off the local delicacy in a few quick bites.
“Need help licking your fingers?”
Greer blushed. “I don’t usually eat like this.”
Ainsley gave her body an appraising look. “I can tell.”
“Rick would have a fit if he saw me right now.” Greer waved at the lavish spread in front of them.
“Who’s Rick?”
Greer scrambled to recover, silently chastising herself for being careless.
“Just a friend.” More like a bossy diet and exercise Nazi. “He’s always after me to watch what I eat.”
“Sounds like a fun guy.”
“Oh, I’m sure he has my best interests at heart.” Greer heard the question buried in her words. She hated being so careful about how she looked, but Rick had spent years drilling her on the importance of image. She pondered the irony of having a great body while the world saw her as a reckless drug addict.
Ainsley handed her a piece of pastry. “I think it would be in your best interest to try this blue cheese tart. It’s amazing.”
Greer groaned as she chewed. “That is amazing. Almost makes me wish I hadn’t eaten that taco.” She rubbed her stomach. “Almost.”
“You shouldn’t deny yourself. You can obviously afford to indulge. What do you do, after all?”
“Do?” Greer knew
exactly what Ainsley was asking, but the timing of the question caught her off guard.
“For a living.”
Greer wasn’t used to answering questions about her occupation since anyone with access to radio, television, magazines, or the Internet had at least a passing familiarity with her music, if not her antics. Greer wanted to know what Ainsley did too, but she had purposely avoided asking Ainsley the same question in an effort to dodge a reciprocal grilling. She should have spent more time figuring out Tray’s answers for routine questions. What she really wanted was to be Tray. Honest and uncomplicated.
Greer settled on a half truth. “I work for a production company.” No one could argue Greer Davis, Inc. was in the business of production. She resisted the urge to ask Ainsley the same question. The last thing she needed was to turn the topic of their respective careers into an extended conversation. She pointed to the stage. “Look, the fire dancers are here.” Greer pulled Ainsley into her arms and held her close. “Things are just getting started.” Indeed, they were.
*
“I’m a little creeped out.” Ainsley was way more than a little creeped out, but she didn’t feel like she should lay all her cards on the table. She had actually enjoyed the firedancers who opened the festivities, but morbid was the only word she could think of to describe what happened next. Each dancer finished out their act by using their torch to light the long white robe of Old Man Gloom. As he started to burn, large speakers located at each end of the stage came to life with the sounds of his wailing demise. Burning against the darkened sky, Mr. Gloom was staged like a marionette, and somewhere, someone was pulling his strings so he moved in grotesque convulsions as the flames climbed his form. Ainsley thought this spectacle was the spookiest thing she had ever seen. She leaned back into Tray’s arms and whispered, “When does this end?”
“In a bit, he’ll get pretty crispy and then they start shooting off fireworks over his head. The wailing will get pretty intense.”
“As if it isn’t already?”
Tray squeezed her close. “Had enough?”
Ainsley didn’t want anyone to think she couldn’t handle a little local flavor, but frankly, she didn’t see the point in waiting out the inevitable. This guy was done for. She could watch the ashes pile up or she could start a fire of her own. Much as she enjoyed the excuse to cuddle up to Tray in the dark, she decided her skills of persuasion were powerful enough to convince Tray they could get more out of this closeness back in her room.
“I was thinking we could leave now and beat the crowd back downtown.”
Tray’s tone conveyed her smile. “Excellent idea. Lead the way.”
After they crossed Paseo de Peralta, they heard the loud popping of fireworks. Ainsley leaned into Tray’s arms and turned back to catch the show. “Now, that’s more like it.”
“Like fireworks, do you?”
“All kinds.” She pressed as much meaning into the words as possible. Tray pulled her close. Ainsley held her breath as Tray leaned in. She could feel her breath, warm and close, and she almost missed the words “me too,” delivered on the cusp of the kiss. Her lips met Tray’s and then opened quickly to invite her in. Their tongues danced and Ainsley forgot she was standing on the street, in wrinkled pants, fresh from a fiery display that had sent shivers up her spine. The only shivers she felt now were from the way Tray held her, commanded her, and turned her on. In the moment, she couldn’t imagine not being in Tray’s embrace forever.
“Pagans must repent!”
“Revelers will burn in hell!”
The shouts broke the trance. Ainsley looked up to see a mass of black-robed individuals carrying signs and chanting. As if the night hadn’t been spooky enough. “What the hell?”
Tray was frantically looking around and Ainsley couldn’t catch her eyes. Ainsley grabbed her arm and shook it. “Tray? Who are all these people?”
Greer ignored the question. All she saw was a wall of blackness. Her world began to shrink into the small spot of earth on which she stood. The wall came closer and her eyes focused on squares of white floating in the air. She flashed back to Chicago, outside Harpo Studios, outside the Tinsley. Protestors. Greer knew they were there for her, but she couldn’t answer Ainsley’s question. To do so would reveal her true identity. She expressed her immediate need instead. “I need to get out of here. Now.”
Despite her pronouncement, Greer was rooted to the spot. A large man, one of the sign-toting crazies, was headed their way. He looked as if he was going to walk right through them. Greer squinted, trying to focus on the sign he held. She could swear the angry words were directed at her, but she couldn’t make them all out before he was right beside her. — MUST DIE!
ABANDON YOUR PERVERTED LIFESTYLE.
REPENT FOR THE DEATH OF MACY RIVERS.
Greer flashed back to the man in the limousine at Ethan’s hotel, and she panicked. She could hear the car doors locking again, but this time it sounded like a gunshot and this time, instead of running, her fear paralyzed her in place. Sweat ran down her back and she smelled the sour scent of her own fear. She knew instinctively Ainsley was still beside her, murmuring in her ear, but all she saw was the row of black-suited protesters and all she heard was the dull roar of reproach: “We love Macy.” “Greer’s a killer.”
Good girl wants to let her inner bad girl out for the night?
I have what you want.
Come to my room and try it there.
Her own words, sharp and castigating, shouted reproach.
She moved her head from side to side, looking for an escape route, but all paths were blocked. She felt a rush of air as the hulking man beside her swung his sign through the air. Her breaths came quick and hard, and her knees locked as she braced herself for the consequences of her actions.
*
Ainsley watched the panic play out on Tray’s face. Her first instinct was to protect her. She looked around. Fort Marcy Park was starting to empty and a crowd of revelers was approaching from behind. They could sink back and hope the force of the masses would get them past these protestors, or they could try to cut around. She looked at Tray again. Her face was white as a sheet, and she didn’t look like she was in any condition to fight a crowd, friendly or not. Ainsley made a snap decision. She wielded her big bag like a shield and shoved past the man standing practically on top of them and then sidestepped his followers. Pushing Tray in front of her, she walked them parallel to both crowds until they reached the small convention center. After a bit of searching, she found a safe path, cutting down side streets, and finally wound her way back to the hotel. When they finally reached the room, she gently urged Tray onto the love seat and pulled a selection of liquor bottles from the minibar. She started to ask Tray what she would like, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she was in no condition to talk. Ainsley poured a vodka for herself and a bourbon for Tray. She eased the glass to Tray’s lips and urged her to drink.
Tray didn’t need much urging. She drank it down like it was long-awaited medicine, then spoke for the first time since they had encountered the pandemonium. “Another?”
Ainsley poured another of the tiny bottles into the glass and handed it to Tray. She picked up the phone and placed an order with room service, then slid into the love seat alongside Tray. Something was definitely wrong. She didn’t have a clue what it was, but the alcohol seemed to be doing the trick. After the second drink, Tray’s shoulders finally relaxed, and Ainsley hugged her close. She didn’t usually fancy herself in the role of comforter, but something about Tray’s demeanor called out to her. It was almost as if the man with the sign had struck Tray with the wooden stake he carried. Ainsley might have been scared of Zozobra, but Tray was absolutely terrified after their encounter with the black-suited protestors.
A knock on the door signaled the room service steward had arrived. Ainsley took the full-sized liquor bottles and bucket of ice and arranged them in the room herself. She could tell Tray wasn’t up for a str
anger in the room. She almost laughed. She was a stranger to Tray. She knew her name and she knew Tray had a family who lived several miles away. Otherwise, she didn’t know a damn thing about her. She assumed she lived in Chicago, but she didn’t know for sure. She didn’t know what she did for a living or why she was in Santa Fe. She did know she was inexplicably attracted to Tray, and Tray seemed to be drawn to her as well. Ainsley had visualized a perfect ending to their pleasant evening. This wasn’t it.
“I’m sorry.” Tray’s voice was small, but it still startled Ainsley since she was lost in thought. She poured another glass of bourbon and walked back to the love seat and waited to see if Tray would make room. She did, and Ainsley curled up next to her. Tray drank the liquor in one swallow and pulled Ainsley close.
“Are you okay?” Ainsley resisted asking what had happened. She figured Tray would share what had triggered the reaction if she wanted, but she wasn’t going to push.
“I’m perfect.” Her short answer didn’t hide the slur. Ainsley was about to offer her the couch in the other room to sleep it off when she felt wandering hands palm her breasts. The touch was scorching and she leaned into the fire. Tray pulled her close and urged, “Kiss me.”
Ainsley complied and dissolved into the soft lips she remembered. The kiss deepened while Tray continued to lavish attention on her now-hard nipples. Kneading, tugging, her hands drove Ainsley to the brink of madness while her lips and tongue threatened to push her over the edge. Within moments, Ainsley’s sweater was lying in a pile on the floor. She had no recollection of Tray breaking their connection in order to undress her. She only knew she was held by strong arms, stroked by knowing hands, and plied with an insistent tongue. The shy, reticent woman she had met on the plane was gone, replaced by a tigress bent on domination. Something about the way Tray exerted her power caused Ainsley to tender herself to the tangle. She didn’t mind being topped, when she chose. She hadn’t picked her current role, but she seemed to relish it more because it was being thrust upon her—a totally new sensation. When Tray ripped her pants down, she didn’t fight, but she didn’t help either. Ainsley enjoyed a strange sense of pleasure in this unfamiliar role as submissive.
