After lunch, they crossed the resort while Mason surveyed what was going on. The storm last night had caused some damage, but the grounds crew had done an excellent job of cleaning up fast.
While there had been some complaints about the weather canceling various events, overall, guests had been pretty relaxed, and complimentary bottles of champagne sent to the unhappy guests had smoothed over any wrinkles. Weather reports suggested the storm still hadn’t finished with the island, but Mason was confident his employees could handle whatever came their way.
Fifteen minutes later they were backstage at the theater, sorting through various disguise options, and Claire was having a little more fun at the task than he would have liked.
Standing at a shelf full of wigs on mannequin heads, she held up a wig with a ponytail.
“Hell no. I’m not wearing that.”
“Oh, come on. Try it—ponytails are sexy, and it’s the same color as your hair.” She brought it over to him. “Besides, you’re a guy. There’s just not a lot we can do to make you look really different.”
He let her fit the wig on his head. But when she stood back and took in the sight of him in it, then burst out laughing, he growled and ripped it off.
“Okay, it was a little too girlish. I’ll find something better.”
Claire went back to rummaging through wigs while Mason sorted through a bin of accessory props. Glasses, beards—none of it was going to look natural on him.
“Hey, look at this one.” She produced a short but shaggy medium-brown wig that reminded Mason of one of the Beatles.
“Hmm.”
She smiled. “I saw a mullet wig over there. You could wear that one and revive a fashion trend.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s try the shaggy do.”
He bent his head down so that Claire could fit the second wig on him. She looked him over once it was on.
“Not bad. It’s got a seventies thing going on.”
“I don’t think I want to have a seventies thing going on.”
“It’s just for an hour or so, for one night. For the sake of your business!”
“So what else do I need?”
“Maybe some glasses.” She spotted a pair on top of the bin of props. “Like these.”
Mason took one look at the glasses and shook his head. Claire put them on him, anyway.
She stood back and surveyed his disguise. “Do you have a silky shirt?”
“Don’t you think I’ll be a little obvious if I go in there looking like Danny Tario?” He took the glasses off and tossed them aside.
“I saw a guy yesterday dressed just like that—tight pants, shiny polyester shirt open at the collar, tinted glasses, shaggy hair—the works.”
It was true people felt free to dress however they really wanted when they came to a place like Escapade. If in their everyday lives they didn’t feel comfortable dressing like a pimp or a hoochie-mama even though it was their secret desire, then at Escapade, they could let their real selves hang out.
Sometimes quite literally. The Uninhibited area of the resort was just that—a place to be completely uninhibited, free from the shackles of clothing, free to show the world one’s true self, so to speak.
Mason wasn’t into nudism, but a lot of people were, judging by the popularity of the Uninhibited side.
Nor was he into dressing like a pimp. “I don’t know, Claire.”
“How about if I dress up, too? It could be fun.”
“Dress up how?”
She grinned. “I saw a skimpy little silver slip dress over there that might be fun.”
Mason walked over to a rack of women’s costumes and began flipping through them. When he came to the ones for a Las Vegas-style show, complete with tassled bras and a fringed skirt that left almost nothing to the imagination, he smiled at Claire.
“How about this?”
“Um, no.”
“So there’s actually a limit to what you’ll do to get attention?”
She crossed her arms and gave him a look. “You know, we’re supposed to be going incognito. How can we do that if we look like a couple of freaks?”
“Exactly my point about the pimp-wear.”
“Okay, okay. Just wear the wig and some glasses with what you’ve got on.”
She went to the wigs and surveyed them. “I’ll need a decent disguise, too, since Mike D. already knows me. Maybe we’ll need a whole assortment of costumes to conduct our surveillance this week.”
“You’ve been hanging around Judd and Lucy too much. I’ll have this problem dealt with by tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest. We’re not going to become amateur sleuths.”
“You’re such a spoilsport.”
“I think it’d be plenty sporting if you’d wear that showgirl costume.”
She smiled. “I’ve worn more interesting outfits than that to the grocery store. If it’s entertainment you want, just give me a chance.”
She selected a long, straight platinum-blond wig from the shelf and went to a mirror to try it on. Mason watched as she transformed herself from a fiery redhead into a hot, trashy porn star.
“Nice,” he said, his body warming at the sight of her looking so delicious in a whole new way.
She turned and surveyed him from head to toe. “Don’t get yourself all worked up unless you intend to do something about it.”
“I thought we were on our way to solve the great dominatrix-for-hire mystery?”
Not that he wouldn’t mind a little diversion on the way, but the temptation to taunt Claire was irresistible.
“I’m game for anything,” she said as she closed the distance between them, her hips moving in a way that made him think of sex. “Things won’t really get rolling at the bar for another hour, at least, don’t you think?”
She was probably right. While the bad weather would send people to the bars early today, it would be at least a little while after lunch before any sort of crowd would gather.
She was standing only inches from him now, and her pink beaded tank top was flimsy enough that he could rip it off with one good tug if he really wanted to. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and yet her breasts were full, lush—mesmerizing in their unencumbered state.
He slipped his fingers in the waist of her white capri pants and tugged her against him. “Somebody could walk in on us here.”
“Privacy was the last thing on your mind last night.” She gazed up at him with a blatant challenge in her eyes.
“Last night was a one-time exception. Maybe this door locks.”
“I locked it when we came in here.”
“So you planned this all along?”
“I know how men react to blond wigs.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“It may sound crazy, but it’s true. It plays into that guy fantasy of having a different woman for every day of the week.”
“Hmm.” He wasn’t going to deny that the fantasy existed, but he was pretty damn sure the woman inside the wig had a hell of a lot more to do with his erection than the wig itself.
“This whole theater setting, you know—it makes me think of directors, desperate actresses, compromising positions….”
Mason slid his hands around her waist to her ass and pressed her hips against him. “What sort of compromising positions?”
Her voice grew breathy. “Like, maybe I need to give you something to get that private-investigator part I want so desperately.”
Mason watched as she licked her lips, slid her hands up his chest and around his shoulders, then took one of the buttons of his shirt into her mouth. Before he could stop her, she’d bitten it off and was going for a second one.
“Don’t you know how to unbutton a shirt?” he said, though he could hardly give a damn if she cut his shirt off with a machete, so long as they got down to business.
“Sorry, I was just trying to demonstrate my acting skills. Guess I got a little carried away.”
Mason couldn’t help the smile that played
on his lips. He had to give Claire credit—she knew how to spice up just about any situation. “You know your part will have some nude scenes. I’ll need to see your body, make sure it’s camera-worthy.”
He pushed her tank top down to reveal her breasts, then took them both into his hands.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Would you call them camera-worthy?”
“Very nice,” he said. “More than suited to be the stars of the show.”
“I’m glad you like what you see,” she said, unzipping his pants and slipping her hand inside.
“I’ll need to see a performance from you, too.”
Claire gripped his cock and massaged gently. “I hope you don’t mind my taking a few liberties. This helps me get into my role.”
“I’ll bet. You take whatever liberties you want.” His voice was tight now, his head starting to spin at the arousal building up inside him.
They’d just been together last night, and already he was so desperate for Claire it was as if they’d never had sex before.
“I do my best work sitting down,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his pants, then leading him to a nearby table.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your performance.”
“I think you’re gonna like it.” She urged him onto the table and took his cock out of his pants.
Mason found a condom in his wallet, removed the wrapper and slipped it on as she undressed, leaving only her blond wig and her high-heeled sandals on.
“Nice costume,” he said as she climbed on his lap.
Her erect pink nipples, her narrow waist and hips, the delicious triangle of auburn curls at the apex of her legs—it was all Claire.
Utterly irresistible.
And yet the wig threw a whole new dimension into the excitement. Not only that, but his own disguise made him feel as if he really were someone else, a sleazy director on the set of some B-movie.
When she mounted him, he groaned low in his throat as her tight, wet opening took him in and brought immeasurable pleasure to his body.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to ask your name,” he said, gasping as she began to move her hips.
She closed her eyes as her breath came out in short, gasping breaths. “Ginger,” she said between gasps, “because I wasn’t always a blond.”
Mason grasped her hips as he leaned back against the wall, stilling her so that he could thrust his cock deeper, harder, faster into her. He couldn’t get enough.
Her breasts bounced with each thrust. Mason watched, loving the sight, loving the feel of her, loving that she could be so nasty, so adventurous, so ready for anything. She slid one hand down her torso and slipped her fingers between her legs, then began pleasuring herself. Soon her gasps turned into throaty moans that mingled with Mason’s own.
He didn’t hear a key turning in the lock, nor did he hear the door open, and Claire must not have, either. They both froze at the sound of a strange male voice in the room.
“What the—” the voice said, and they looked toward it to see a janitor standing in the doorway gaping at them. “No guests allowed in here!” he said. “You two need to take your hanky-panky somewhere else.”
Mason opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to mind.
“I’ll give you two minutes to get dressed and get out of here, and then I’m coming back in to clean.”
He stepped out and slammed the door. Claire and Mason looked at each other at the same instant, and if he weren’t mistaken, he would have sworn she was blushing. Now there was a first.
She exhaled a ragged sigh and collapsed against him. “Oops,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” She withdrew from him, and Mason groaned. “Do we have to stop?”
“I’m not performing for an audience of more than one,” she said as she climbed off his lap.
His desire barely quelled, he disposed of the condom while she gathered up her clothes. His body was tense with frustration, his erection still rock-hard.
“Maybe we should go back to my room,” he said, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up.
Claire glanced at a little gold watch on her wrist. “We really should get down to the bar now, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know if I can focus on anything until we’ve finished this,” he said.
She came close and gave him a quick kiss. “You’ll be okay. Just think of this as a little preview of tonight’s events.”
“Only if you can guarantee there’ll be no more interruptions to the show.”
She looked down at herself as she was pulling her pants up. “Oh no! Mike D. might recognize this as the outfit I was wearing earlier today when I talked to him.”
She hurried over to the rack of costumes and snatched the silver slip dress off a hanger, then changed into it. Mason watched in agony, unable to look away from the delicious sight of her no matter how much pain it caused him.
Both dressed, they headed for the door. “Don’t forget your glasses,” Claire said as she shoved her outfit into her purse.
Mason sighed, picked up the cheesy circa 1979 glasses and put them on. A glance in the mirror confirmed that he looked like a B-movie director or maybe a two-bit pornographer.
“Perfect,” she said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
8
CLAIRE TOOK MASON’S HAND and led him out past the janitor, and for at least that moment Mason was glad to be in his disguise. He definitely didn’t need rumors of his having sex with women all over the resort leaking out and becoming the main topic of gossip among his employees.
The janitor glared at them as they passed, then called after them, “You two take the fooling around back to your hotel room if you don’t want people walking in on you.”
Mason made a mental note to have his managers send out staff reminders that guests caught in compromising positions should be treated as gingerly as possible. The resort policy wasn’t to scorn minor offenses, instead to offer gentle reminders to keep their more intimate activities relegated to private areas.
Outside, wind from the passing storm was strong enough that they both had to fear for their wigs. Holding on to them as if they were hats threatening to fly off, Mason and Claire hurried through fat drops of rain to the Cabana Club, where Mike D. was scheduled to work again tonight.
Guests were just beginning to fill the club, but Claire and Mason found two seats at the bar together where they had a prime view of the bartender at work.
“What can I get you?” he asked when he saw them.
There was no reason he should have recognized either of them, but Mason still felt a ridiculous sense of relief when he didn’t.
They placed their drink orders, and Mason asked for an appetizer platter for them to split when he realized all his pent-up sexual energy was making him hungry.
“So,” Claire said when Mike D. went to the other side of the bar. “I guess we should have done some planning ahead of time about how to handle this.”
“I’ll do the talking. We’ll wait and watch for a while, and then I’ll approach Mike D. with an inquiry about any underground services the resort might offer.”
“You don’t think that will be risky? What if he recognizes you?”
“In this getup? He’s only seen me face-to-face a few times. We’re not all that familiar with each other.”
But speak of being recognized… Carter Cayhill stood on the other side of the bar, talking to a waitress. Mason turned away from him, making a mental note to call Carter later and let him know he wouldn’t be at the gym for the next few days. At least not until he’d recovered from all the bedroom work-outs he was getting with Claire.
“Look over at the other side of the bar,” he whispered to Claire. “At the blond guy in the white polo. Tell me when he leaves.”
Claire shrugged. “Okay.” She watched for a few moments. “He’s walking out the door right now.”
Mason relaxed and looked around, only to see that they were getting quite a bit of at
tention. Or at least Claire was.
The only hair color more attention-getting than red was platinum blond, and the men in the club were taking notice of Claire in a big way. Mason preferred her red hair with its uncontrollable waves that fell around her face and managed to look feminine and sultry at the same time. The blond wig was sexy, but not quite as much.
“Men are staring at you,” he said, leaning in and whispering in her ear.
“So what else is new?” She flashed a wry grin. “Does it bother you?”
“No, but the way a few of them are staring is a little offensive.”
“They’re guys. What do you expect?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a guy, too.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed.” She leaned in close and licked his earlobe at the same time her hand made its way across his thigh and cupped his package.
“No toying with me. I’m already in pain from that incident with the janitor.”
“The anticipation will just make tonight more fun.”
“‘Fun’ isn’t the word I’d choose,” Mason said as his body grew more tense from her teasing. He shifted on the bar stool.
Mercifully, Claire moved her hand back to his thigh. “You poor men, so ruled by your penises.”
“I’ve only got one penis, and I’m in complete control of it.”
Claire laughed.
“You’re not in any sort of agony from having been interrupted?”
“Of course I am, but I can take it when I know I’ll eventually get what I want.”
A rumbling from the sky could be heard from outside, even over the too-loud Caribbean music a band was playing on the other side of the bar. Then came a loud clap of thunder and the lights flickered. Rain must have begun to pour outside because a rush of wet guests came into the club, and a moment later the lights went out completely.
Mason sat there unsure what to do. If he put on his resort-owner cap and went to check the extent of the power outage, he’d risk blowing his cover. But if he sat here, he’d risk someone mishandling the situation and having upset guests with ruined vacations.
As Hot As It Gets Page 8
