The Cover Model

by Cheyenne Meadows

  "Oh, my. Would you look at this?"

  Catching the fascinated tone, Fancy automatically searched for what caught the short brunette's attention. The woman held a brightly colored paperback in her hands, greedily eyeing the cover. Inching closer, she peered over the stranger's shoulder.

  The lady glanced at her before holding the book out for better appraisal. "Isn't he eye candy extraordinaire?"

  Blinking in recognition, Fancy's mouth dropped open. Sure enough, the man on the cover looked exactly like her noisy next door neighbor with the high sex drive. No wonder, with a body like that and scores of women drooling over a computer-generated and altered picture of him. His overblown ego and unflappable self-confidence became much more understandable with the realization he was a male model.

  "I'll buy any book he's on," the women whispered in awe, still staring at the front cover.

  "He's on many?" Fancy couldn't help but ask, curiosity demanding an answer. The man, stripped to the waist, held a pretty petite blonde's hands over her head as he pinned her against the wall, their gazes locked on one another. Her gown dipped low, revealing the tops of well-endowed breasts. What caught her attention the most was the man's rippling muscles on his back, the ripped arms, and the smoldering look that made her stomach flip over with exquisite slowness. Overall, the picture exuded sexual desire and outright need, catching the attention of passers-by and poking her dormant libido into wakefulness.

  "Oh, yeah. Mitch is like one of the most popular male cover models out there."

  Make that a famous male model. Just what she needed, another pompous full-of-himself man to contend with.

  "Mitch?"

  "Mitch Jameson. He's absolutely gorgeous," the woman prattled on, lavishing praise on the man. "Rumor has it he's at the convention and will make an appearance. I hope so! To see the guy strip down and run my hands over his body…"

  Fancy rolled her eyes. So much for getting any rest as long as horny and lustful women overran the hotel and a hunky cover man stayed next door. She might as well have rented a room at a sex convention.

  With a sigh, she turned away, unable to vanquish the image from her mind. Shaking her head, she walked through the crowd, dodging excited ladies along the way.

  In all honesty, she had never really picked up the addiction to romance novels, leaning more toward non-fiction and biographies. The adult fairy tales seemed too redundant, too focused on sex. Additionally, her busy life pushed lighthearted reading down the priority pole, low enough that she rarely picked up even a magazine since she could spend the same time studying and learning, helping advance herself in her chosen career. She had lofty goals for her life, starting with climbing the ladder at her present laboratory, winning several awards, with the Nobel Prize as the ultimate dream. No one accomplished such without going the extra mile and devoting their free time to further education.

  "Miss? Oh, Miss?"

  Pausing, she glanced to a nearby table.

  "Would you like to try a penis pacifier?"

  Fancy's mouth fell open as her gaze followed the woman's hands to the small pacifiers in a rainbow of colors spread out on a sheet of white paper. A couple of seconds passed before she connected the items to the women's words. Sure enough, the plastic pacifiers had a penis-shaped sucker on the end, each about three inches long and as round as a quarter. Surprisingly, they were quite detailed, resembling a small, erect, circumcised penis.

  How in the world? On second thought, she didn't really want to know.

  "Ummm… no. No thanks." The words squeaked out as she stared in stunned amazement at the blatantly suggestive objects. Even as she watched, a middle-aged redhead handed over cash and picked out a blue one. Plucking it off the display table, she removed the plastic cover and stuck it in her mouth.

  Oh, good grief. I am at a sex convention.

  Her face burned immediately. Scooting around a group of visitors, she set a rapid pace down the hall, heading to the conference room and the comfortable world of human genetics.

  * * * *

  Rubbing her tired eyes, Fancy ambled down the long corridor, intent on simply heading back to her room, changing clothes, and sitting around the pool for an hour or two so her mind could just vegetate after too many meetings and hours of presentations.

  She had intended to start the morning off listening to a few presenters, then finally get through hers. The lunch break had been to follow immediately after, giving her ample opportunity to drop her items off in her room, change clothes, find some food, then visit the spa for some rest and relaxation.

  That plan flew out the window when she discovered, much to her embarrassment and chagrin, the bald-headed man, who had opened his door and stared at her as she argued over the voyeur label, happened to be chairing this particular get-together. He directed several scowls and frowns in her direction throughout the day, as if weighing her professionalism compared to the potential kinky peeping tom. She read the censure in his facial expression, sat up straight in her chair, and listened to every last word for the entire eight hours for fear he would notice her absence and chalk it up to distasteful and scandalous reasons. A definite no-no in the Good Old Boy system of cutting edge genetic research. While more women entered the profession, the vast majority were men. Some of those held antiquated views on women in the workplace, particularly their workplace. She would know. She had fought against the system her entire career.

  Giggling caught her attention. Looking up, she saw a couple of women dressed in a full-body suit of tights complete with wings on their back. One was radiant in bright pink while the other wore royal blue. Both chattered away, striding toward the large conference room just around the corner. She watched avidly as they turned the corner and vanished from sight.

  As she entered the lobby area, she discovered a couple others in costume. One appeared to be some goddess another, an Amazon warrior.

  With a shake of her head, Fancy sidestepped to the penis pacifier table. "What's with the costumes?"

  The same woman from earlier grinned at her. "Oh, it's 'dress as your favorite mythical character' tonight."

  She blinked. "Okay. Where's the satyr?"

  "The what?"

  "Goat man. Half man, half goat."

  The vendor chuckled. "For some reason, I doubt he'll appear tonight. Not really up there on the sexy list. However, the half man, half horse might." She waggled her eyebrows. "Now that would be something to see." A wistful sigh escaped her lips.

  Fancy barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Apparently creating and selling penis pacifiers made one horny and always on the lookout for larger real-life versions as inspiration. Although, come to think of it, if a centaur trotted by, she wasn't averse to checking his credentials, either. All in the name of research, of course.

  "You should come to the party."

  She shook her head. "I don't have a costume. Besides, I'm beat after a day full of meetings, and I don't have a ticket."

  "That's too bad. I bet it'll be fun."

  "Are you going?"

  "Maybe. I close my booth at seven. The party starts around that time."

  Fancy smiled at the friendly woman. "You should. You've earned it." Her eyes followed the tall, scantily dressed Amazon woman as she meandered into the party area. "By the way, I'm Fancy."

  "Fancy? That's an interesting name. I'm Molly." She held out her hand, which Fancy shook at once. "Nice to officially meet you."

  "Same here." Fancy glanced across the lobby once more.

  "If you don't feel up to joining the party, perhaps you could spend a quiet evening reading a book?" Molly suggested.

  Now that sounded like a good idea. Light reading, nothing along the lines of microbiology and the Genome Project. A little something to help relax and coast through the evening hours until bedtime.

  She shot Molly a smile. "Great idea. Any suggestions?" With table after table stacked high with books, she didn't have a single clue where to start. Like the first week of every semester
in college, the vast numbers and varieties astounded as well as made a labyrinth to negotiate in order to finally walk away with the required textbooks for her classes.

  "Weren't you checking out the rotating rack over there earlier? That's Connie's area, by the way. She's a nice woman. Breast cancer survivor."

  Twisting, Fancy found the dark-haired lady and the metal rack holding dozens of books all awaiting purchase. "Thanks," she tossed over her shoulder, then walked over to check out her options.

  A familiar face caught her attention. The horn dog man next door. Mitch, the lady said. Mitch Jameson. Plucking the book from the holder, she gazed at his face, drawn into the front cover scene. He stared at the woman like she alone made the sun rise and set each day, as if she held his heart in her care.

  The way she wanted a man to look at her.

  A deep pang punched her in the gut.

  Suck it up, Fancy. Pushing aside the doldrums, she focused on the positives in her life. A great career in a field that was sure to find cures for several diseases in a matter of time. Parents who loved her. Good wages that allowed her the luxury of owning her home, driving a decent car, and not having to fret over the ability to pay her bills. With so much going for her, she couldn't let the lack of a man in her life pull her down. She refused to allow loneliness a foothold.

  "Did you find something you like, dear?"

  Looking up, she found Connie standing beside her with a knowing grin on her face.

  "I'm not sure."

  "No need to be embarrassed. A lot of women stare at that same cover and wish themselves to be the beautiful heroine to Mitch's hero. Daydreams and fantasies make the world go round and support the industry."

  Fancy nodded.

  "Shall I ring this up for you?" She gestured to the book.

  "Okay." Automatically, she handed over the item and followed the vendor back to her table.

  She could afford to splurge on one book. Besides, she needed a reward after suffering through the day. If a romance novel fit the bill, so be it.

  Pulling out the cash, she paid for the book, collected the small bag, and strode down the hall to the elevator, eager to climb into a hot shower, then enter the world of adult fairy tales.

  Chapter 4

  Mitch blew out a breath and placed the dumbbell weight back on the rack. Grabbing his towel, he wiped the beading sweat from his forehead. He checked out the clock. Seven fifteen. Early, but his normal exercise time before work each day. Normally, the quiet predawn workout soothed his tension, but not this morning.

  How did I get into this mess? It wasn't the first time he'd asked himself that particular question since the FBI approached him two weeks ago with a file, pictures, and a job. Astonished and skeptical, he called several sources, all which verified the agents and situation were quite real.

  A woman with a big-time embezzlement past, Donna Miller, adored him and had long ago booked her reservation for the convention, presumably in order to meet him in person. She'd reportedly stolen millions from a couple of different banks; she wasn't a threat for violence, but was definitely someone the FBI wanted to locate and arrest. She'd conned people out of their life savings, emptied their retirement monies, and then graciously handed the money over to a murky group with questionable terrorist ties. While she might not see through their carefully masked charity cover, the Feds sure did. Thus they tracked Mitch down, told him their plan, and provided him with nice motivation to give them a helping hand, a pretty little financial bonus of his expenses paid for the entire convention. They warned him she normally came across a bit flaky and could tip into psychotic if pushed, which made his heart patter knowing his number-one fan flew with the cuckoos. Both agents reassured him she posed little chance to go off the deep end, but she could certainly prove difficult if pushed into a corner. All in all, not a huge worry since he held tons of confidence in his ability to deal with women. He'd been successful for years with no complaints.

  At first, the whole event sounded exciting and stimulating. He had the authority to play 007 minus the neat weapons and tools. The women were already a given. Grasping onto the idea of helping his country, catching a big time thief, and earning an all expense vacation at the hotel appeared too good to pass up. Still did, in all truth. However, he faced a few unpredictable challenges, which caused worry pangs.

  According to the convention sponsors, at least five hundred guests registered to attend at least one event and over two hundred booked rooms at the same hotel, intending to stay for the duration of the annual get-together. With so many people, and over ninety-five percent women, how would he find the needle in the haystack based on a single picture? For all he knew, Donna would change her hair or use contacts that provided a different eye color. Hell, most of the parties involved some costume or another. The FBI already notified him through their contact the target didn't register under her own name, thus it could be any of the hundreds of people mingling through the conference rooms and lobby at any time.

  He ran one hand through his short hair in frustration. A heavy weight settled over his shoulders at the huge responsibility. If he couldn't draw her out, then who knew what devious acts she would perform next. Leave there, find another nice position to steal the money of hard working individuals, perhaps up the ante a bit by embracing more violence. While she might not be expected to blow up a huge monument, her deceit made his gut churn.

  "I'll do what I can." With those words, he puffed out a breath, refocusing on his workout.

  The gym door clicked open, pulling him from his thoughts. A petite woman in shorts and a T-shirt strode through the door, a blue terry cloth towel slung over her shoulder. Without pause, she headed to the nearest treadmill, putting her back to him. Climbing on, she punched the buttons and started to run, her long blonde ponytail swaying from side to side, bringing attention to her shapely rear, one he could cup in his hands as he lifted her up and down on his granite-hard erection.

  His groin tightened at the sight of her toned body, loping with grace and fluidness, reminding him of a gazelle. Though small, they possessed speed, quickness, strength, and the beautiful movements of a ballet dancer. He couldn't take his eyes off the woman until recognition finally rang his bell. The white cotton gowned woman who scolded him for disturbing her sleep the night before last.

  A slow smile appeared on his face. In her workout clothes, he had a much better idea what lay under that sheet she called nightwear, and none of it disappointed. From her build to her athletic toned body, she held her own in the looks department. Strong thigh muscles bunched and snapped with each stride, calves contracted. Even her arms, normally less defined in women, held strength, ridges, and valleys that outlined the muscles underneath.

  Her hair snagged his attention once more, bouncing and swishing. Why hadn't he noticed the length of her hair before? Recalling that night, he decided she must have had it in a bun or tightly braided and wrapped. No way would he have missed such a glorious mane, in his favorite color no less, light glistening gold. He could run his fingers through the long locks, delighting in the softness and scent.

  A throb began below. Shifting, he attempted to ease the pressure of his needy erection in his shorts. While not tight, anyone paying attention would detect the blatant outline of his tumescence, not to mention the discomfort from attempting to exercise with a hard-on.

  Shaking his head, he reminded himself the lady was off limits. He didn't go for inexperienced women or those with a scathing tongue like a lizard. Why spend the time and energy trying to woo and seduce when he already had a dozen women lined up, eager and willing to see to his every sexual desire?

  His cock twitched, demanding attention and relief. After a twenty-four hour sex marathon with Tasha, he shouldn't be so revved up. So why did the simple act of watching the little shrew run light his libido on fire and instantly send him to rock hardness?

  With a growl of frustration, he stood, pivoted, grabbed his gym bag, and pushed through the back door, headin
g toward the indoor pool. Finding the area empty in the early morning hour, he tossed his towel aside, dropped the bag, and tugged off his shirt, leaving only his shorts. Diving in, he gasped at the sudden rush of chilly water. Better than a damn cold shower.

  Returning to the surface, he began swimming laps, a familiar exercise that dated back to his college days on the water polo team. Swimming provided a great workout, a way to clear his head and the benefit of cold water to dampen the physical signs of his desires. Pushing all thoughts aside, he focused on the moment, breathing every other stroke and putting in some quality alone time without the distraction of a certain blonde trotting on the treadmill next door.

  Chapter 5

  Finished with her morning run, Fancy patted her perspiring face with the towel before laying it over her neck. Feeling refreshed, energetic, and relatively stress-free, she took a moment to sip her bottled water and ponder what the day might bring. She could always return to the small conference room, listen to more presentations and long-winded discussions about the status of the Genome Project and where the next big discovery might lay. The thought sent a shudder of disdain through her. After spending all day yesterday doing that very thing, she couldn't bring herself to return for more head-banging, mundane discourse. This was her week of vacation, after all. She wanted to do something fun, different, enjoy herself for once.

  Absently, she left the exercise room, noticing the time. Eight thirty am. Early enough to get a good start on her day of leisure. Striding down the hall, she continued to consider her options as she meandered toward the waiting elevators.