by Debra Webb
“He’ll be far more interested in you.”
The seductive fog of intense yearning cleared instantly. His first instinct was to accuse her of only reconnecting with him for that reason. Otherwise she would have gotten what she could from this manager guy and left Levi still muddling over his next move and wondering where the hell she was.
But they were here to get information. What did the reason or how it happened matter?
It didn’t.
“Introduce me.”
Casey took his hand. “This way.”
They cut through the crowd, her soft fingers curled around his making him want to pull her back in his arms and just let their bodies take control. As insane as it was, he didn’t care at the moment whether he could trust her, he just wanted to touch her. How had she cast such a spell on him in a mere twenty-four hours? The sensual music slithered from the speakers, snaking around his chest and squeezing out the air. The shadows created by the mood lighting were filled with couples seeking pleasure and no one cared because that was why they were here.
Casey’s destination appeared to be an exclusive sitting area beyond the stage. A cloud of velvety colorful drapes hugged the white leather sofa and chairs, providing an element of privacy. As Casey approached, leading him like a disobedient puppy, the man seated in the center of the crowd raised a hand and those around him scattered like butterflies, flitting into the swelling crowd of partiers.
“Jazz, this is Stark.” She tugged him down to the sofa next to her. “Levi Stark. He’s the movie producer I told you about.”
Levi schooled his expression. Movie producer? He guessed he wasn’t just the single guy looking for a good time anymore.
Jazz—what a name—offered his bejeweled hand. “Welcome to Delicia, Mr. Stark.”
The music was softer here, allowing for conversation at a normal decibel. Levi shook the man’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m certain.” Jazz was a head shorter than Levi, a little pudgy around the middle and whatever hair hadn’t been robbed by male pattern baldness he kept shaved. The saying that the clothes made the man was particularly true in this case. Though he was quite ordinary-looking, his attire glittered almost as radiantly as that of his employer.
“Don’t kill me, Stark,” Casey said, feigning repentance, “but I told Jazz that you came to Acapulco scouting for a location for your next movie.”
She couldn’t have prepped him for this encounter?
“Tell me about your movie,” Jazz encouraged. “I’m so intrigued. Of course, you must know,” he said to Casey, “we get every manner of celebrity here. Alayna has entertained them all, from rock legends to princes.”
Levi exchanged a look with Casey who offered no help at all. “It’s a musical,” he announced in light of where they were and with whom he hoped to gain a meeting. If Casey had already suggested anything differently and didn’t clue him in, Levi might just strangle her. A glance at her throat had his gaze sweeping down to investigate the enticing cleavage revealed by that damned red dress. With great effort, he swung his attention back to Alayna’s personal manager. “I’m interested in a setting very much like this one.”
“Do you have a star in mind already?”
This Jazz character spoke perfect English with positively no discernible accent. “Actually,” Levi began, hoping this would take the conversation in the right direction, “I find Alayna quite striking. Her voice. Her dance skill and, unquestionably, her photogenicity.” Was that even a word? As long as it sounded authentic.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Jazz practically purred.
“She is.” Levi felt confident a real producer who considered beautiful women all day long for various projects wouldn’t go overboard with the compliments. “Are you authorized to discuss her availability?”
Jazz smiled. “I am the only person authorized to discuss her, period.”
Casey squealed and squirmed around like a high school cheerleader sidelined for the homecoming game. “I love this place.” She placed a hand on Levi’s leg, sending a stream of heat straight to his crotch. “You have to make this work, Stark, no matter the cost.”
A definite glee lit in their host’s eyes.
“Let’s just see what we can do.” He patted the hand that continued to linger on his leg. She did a little more of that giddy couch dancing. He’d never wanted to be leather more than he did right now.
“First, Jazz,” Levi said as he reclined into the soft, thick sofa, “when can I meet her?”
Jazz blanked his face as he considered the question. Now he intended to play hard to get, it seemed. “She rarely takes meetings with strangers, Mr. Stark. I hope you’re not offended.”
“Understandable.” Levi stood and thrust out his hand. “I appreciate your time. Mine, unfortunately, is limited. I’ll be in the city for two more days.”
One, two, three pulses of shell-shocked silence elapsed with nobody moving. Casey looked crestfallen but said nothing. The Jazz character had frozen like an ice sculpture at a celebrity wedding. As if desperation had abruptly cracked the ice, his face reflected the turnaround.
“Tonight.” Jazz was on his feet in a flash. “Perhaps I can arrange a meeting after tonight’s performance. I’m sure Alayna would be disappointed in me if I snubbed a man such as yourself on her behalf.”
Levi let him sweat for a few seconds more. “Very well. You may give the details to my assistant.”
He walked away.
Levi had his doubts about this guy. Either way, whether a peon with delusions of grandeur or the close associate he claimed, Levi figured the guy would go to any measures to make tonight happen. Everybody wanted to be a star.
Levi hadn’t realized until he reached the bar that his heart was pounding.
This could actually work, putting this mission back on track in spite of his incompetence up to this point.
He ordered a beer and exhaled a ton of tension. Whatever else she did, he had to hand it to Casey. She’d conjured up a break. That was more than he had done. A whole lot more.
The bartender left a bottle of the house favorite and moved on. Levi drank, allowing the cool effervescent brew to slide down his throat, quenching his thirst for hydration but doing nothing for the other hunger that raged through him. He settled the half-empty bottle on the counter and released another of those big breaths. He had lost all shred of perspective. Nearly two years of experience and training had gone down the drain.
Casey appeared next to him. He saw her reflection in the mirror behind the rows of liquor bottles first. Or maybe he saw the red dress first. It was still calling to him. Making him sweat.
Her arms went around his neck and she popped up high enough to lay a big kiss on his jaw. “You did it!”
Was she kidding? She’d found the guy. She’d set up the meeting and guided the conversation. Levi had put in an appearance that may or may not have been convincing.
Scooting up onto the bar stool next to him, she waved at the waiter. “Tequila, por favor.” She flashed the frenzied man one of those killer smiles and he instantly became her slave, ignoring the others pressed against the bar.
“Stark, why are you drinking beer?” Casey demanded, incensed. “We’re in Mexico. You have to drink tequila. It’s the law.”
She snapped her fingers and added another shot of tequila to her order even as the barkeep approached with the first shot in hand. Unbelievable. Casey thanked the man, passed one shot to Levi, then lifted her glass. “To a successful partnership.”
To say he was out of his mind would have been the understatement of the millennium. This moment, right now, proved it. “Success.” He raised the glass and downed the shot. The smooth, crisp fire warmed a path all the way to his belly. He seemed to recall watching this same scene play out between her and Fernandez back in Pozos.
Levi really was screwed here.
Casey huddled in close to him. “So, we have a meet with Alayna at one. Get this.” She lifted her face to his and
whispered in his ear. “We’re having dinner in the restaurant next door.”
Anticipation erased all the other frustrations of the past twenty-four hours, instantly sharpening his senses and kicking aside his misery. “The restaurant is open at that hour?”
Casey shook her head, excitement igniting fireworks in her blue eyes. “They stay open for her when she decides to entertain special guests after the show.”
Reality intruded a fraction. “This Jazz guy took the bait that easily?”
“Finish your beer.” She slid off the stool. “We have some time to kill.”
That sounded like trouble. Not to mention she had evaded his question. Levi left cash on the bar for their drinks and turned to his partner. “How do you plan to kill this time we have?” He’d already decided not to call Victoria till tomorrow. He’d have more information then, assuming this meet went down. “You’ll see.”
Once again Casey caught him by the hand and started through the crowd. He stalled. When she turned back to him, he shook his head then leaned close so she could hear over the music. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Trust me.” She moistened those amazing lips. “You’ll love this one.”
That was exactly why he should say no.
But he didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
Casey needed Stark to go with her on this. If he balked… She’d just have to tackle that obstacle when the time came.
He wasn’t going to like it. Didn’t matter that she had only met him about twenty-four hours ago, she had his number and it was ten. Don’t dive into anything without at least ten seconds’ notice and/or ten logical reasons to make the jump.
She, on the other hand, was a one. Give her a second, or less, and/or one good reason and she was good to go.
The memory of that kiss back at the convenience store attempted to invade her senses again. She cut it off, bullied it back. A consequence of her handling methods. Nothing else. She had pushed his buttons until he’d reacted the way she wanted. As admittedly enjoyable as the kiss had been, it didn’t count. None of this was real. It was the game and winning was all that mattered.
Casey intended to win. Losing—the equivalent of failure—was not acceptable.
Stark dragged her back to him a second time. “Where are we going?”
Time to turn up the persuasion in order to turn down his reservation. She specialized in persuasion. He was not immune. That part had already been substantiated. Immunity required immense self-discipline in the area of emotional engagement.
A slow turn put her face-to-face with her reluctant partner. She stretched up onto her toes, placed her hands on his broad shoulders, and leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Trust me, Stark. I haven’t let you down so far.” She allowed her lips to graze that erogenous zone.
This time when she tugged on his hand, he didn’t resist. She continued slicing a path through the crowd. He followed. That was the thing about guys like Stark; about most good and decent people, for that matter. They wanted to believe. Wanted to trust in others. Particularly if they had no logical reason to distrust or disbelieve. Basic human nature.
Casey didn’t trust until it was earned and maybe not even then. She definitely didn’t believe anything she heard and little of what she saw. She’d learned that the hard way in this business. She’d learned a lot of things. Like the fact that people acted and spoke the way they wanted to be perceived, prompting the reaction they desired. She’d learned all that relationship stuff was merely superficial garbage.
That was exactly why she dated but didn’t do real relationships. Just ask her last boyfriend. He’d called her an ice princess. All work and no play. So what if she was? Did that make her selfish—something he’d also called her? Relationships were for the weak. Casey Manning was not weak.
The expansive clubroom gave way to the chic lobby from which a narrow corridor led to the dressing rooms of the performers and ultimately to a dead end, an employees’ entrance. Three other exits, two sides and one rear, provided emergency exit routes from the clubroom for patrons. The corridor was Casey’s destination. The only obstacle that stood in her way was a key card reader.
A grin spread across her face. Except she’d already taken care of that obstacle. She had the needed key card. Lifting it from one of Jazz’s groupies had been too easy. The star-struck fan would never miss it. At least not until the show was over. Judging by the number of cocktails the handsome young man had consumed he would likely believe he’d lost it.
Casey had under two hours.
Loads of time.
All she needed was a crowd to block the view of the door from the security camera that monitored the lobby. The building’s security appeared adequate to put off the amateurs, but not nearly adequate enough for a professional. Casey headed for the main entrance.
“I need air,” she called to Stark.
Outside, she selected a spot near the open doors and turned to her partner. She draped her arms around his neck and smiled widely for anyone watching.
His arms went around her as if the act were as natural as breathing. “Is this the surprise?” Laughter from one of the clutches of passersby on the street briefly drew his attention.
“This is step one.”
He searched her face, narrowed in on her gaze, looking for the deception he feared even as every part of him wanted to believe. Hard as she tried not to, she got lost for just a sec in those jewel-colored eyes of his. The man had some incredible eyes. Her emotions might be immune but she wasn’t blind.
“I see.” He gave a little nod and kept whatever other questions he had to himself. Her secrecy annoyed him. The need to play nice restrained anything more than a negligible outward display of that irritation.
A foreign sensation, doubt in her judgment, seeped deep in her chest. She ruthlessly staunched it. No one was that nice. So nice that she should feel remorse or guilt or whatever it was for keeping him in the dark. For all she knew, he could be plotting a strategy of his own.
Didn’t matter as long as the mission was accomplished.
A thick crowd of clubbers climbed the steps leading to the lobby. “That’s our cue.” Casey threaded into the mob. Stark did the same.
Inside the lobby, she clasped his hand and went for the door blocking her path to the dressing rooms. One eye on the crowd, she swiped the key card, got a green light and pushed inside.
Casey didn’t draw in a decent breath until the door was closed behind them. She scanned the corridor for cameras. None visible. It never ceased to amaze her that the general consensus regarding areas beyond a secure door was that they didn’t require cameras. A mere lock, however state-of-the-art, rarely kept trouble out and security in.
“Dressing rooms?” Stark asked, his voice low.
“Hers is the one in the middle.”
Casey sprinted that way. Stark trailed after her but didn’t hurry. She had breached the room and was assessing the layout before he strolled in. The room smelled like flowers. She could still hear the music from the club as it reached a crescendo. Apropos. She felt an upsurge in their investigation coming. Finally.
“Nice touch,” Stark remarked, “lifting that key card.”
“Yeah.”
The room had no windows and only one door. She opened the door and took a look into a massive closet filled with costumes. A quick inspection of the walls behind the hanging wardrobe left Casey frustrated. “It has to be here.”
Stark lounged in the open doorway. “I might be able to help if I had a clue what we were looking for. Photos? Papers?”
“Nothing like that.” Damn. There had to be an exit here somewhere. She shifted her attention to Stark. He was right. He could help. Getting accustomed to the idea of a partner, however temporary and superficial, required an additional mental step on her part.
“Did the owner of the key card give you a rundown on the floor plan, too?”
Now she was insulted. “Give me a little credit, Stark. When he
discovers the key card is missing, I wouldn’t want him connecting the timing of the disappearance with a floor plan discussion with me. One of the waitresses told me about the dressing rooms. She brings drinks to the dressing rooms sometimes.”
“So what’re we looking for? Something in particular you’re expecting to find?”
Still suspicious, was he? As for expectations, she couldn’t say specifically. She was good but she wasn’t that good. She didn’t see through walls or leap tall buildings, though she had been known to leap off them when the need arose. At the moment, she had a hunch. “No one on the street we interviewed had any idea where she lives. They rarely see her outside the club. That means just one thing to me—”
“She either lives in the club or she has a route in and out that no one knows about.” Understanding lit in his remarkable eyes. “Very good, Casey.”
Stark had a point about the photos and papers though. She added those to her search as well, though she doubted the woman was that careless. Cautiously placing each item back exactly as it had been, the two of them explored the room thoroughly.
The room was full of costumes, makeup and hair products. Nothing else. Not even a stash of cookies or chips. Framed photos of Alayna with various visiting celebrities and newspaper and magazine clippings lined the wall. Casey studied the face of the woman who was reportedly the sister of Slade Keaton. Brown eyes went along with the blond hair. High, prominent cheekbones. Sculpted lips. She was beautiful. She had little in common as far as appearance went with her supposed brother.
Stark stood in front of the enormous floor-to-ceiling mirror studying his reflection. Casey moved in beside him. “The suit looks good on you.” The statement was a calculated maneuver, yet it was the truth. Appreciating his physical assets made her more human than she cared to feel, but it didn’t make her susceptible to his charm. A very important distinction.
A frown scrawled across his handsome face as he leaned a little nearer the mirror. “This is it.”
She’d checked out the mirror already. It had no hinges, no levers. “You think?” Had she missed something? Doubtful but possible.
