Femme Faux Fatale

by Susan Laine

  Two figures stood opposite each other at the end of the hall, arguing. Riley recognized both of them. Camille and William. She seemed angry, jabbing a finger at Woolrich’s chest, her voice nothing but hisses. Woolrich, however, kept up his impassive facade, as usual. Riley doubted he’d ever seen true, deep emotion on William’s unflappable face. Then again, Camille’s emotional outbursts outdid everyone else on the planet. So… the universe setting a balance?

  “Do your fucking job, you miserable rat,” Camille spat at Woolrich. “You were brought in as a partner and an accountant to do the books. So do the damn books. If there’s money missing from any of the club accounts, I will take every cent out of your hide.”

  Woolrich merely nodded in return, placid as always. “Of course.”

  Riley grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Woolrich was being dismissive, submissive, or totally indifferent. He was a hard man to read. At the moment he appeared meek. But was he?

  Camille straightened. Her tone softened; she seemed appeased. “Have you seen Sheridan tonight?”

  Woolrich shook his head. “No, I have not. Mr. Astor has not been seen at the club for a day or two. Perhaps Mrs. Astor would know where her spouse has gone.”

  Shaking, Riley clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud and announcing his presence to the whole world. You go, William. That’s one point for you. After all, shouldn’t a wife know where her husband was at all times?

  Camille growled and slapped Woolrich across the face. “Be careful, William. You do not want to outlive your usefulness.”

  Then, with a toss of her head, Camille hurried off with a determined stride, like a queen on parade. Riley did his best not to vomit then and there. He leaned against the wall, listening to their footsteps. Camille’s harsh clicks quieted the farther away she got, but William must have been a mouse in a previous life because Riley couldn’t hear his movements at all.

  “Ms. Lavender.”

  Riley started. Woolrich had rounded the corner, unheard, and now stood before him like a towering tree. He really was an incredibly tall, thin man.

  “Mr. Woolrich.”

  William’s cool blue eyes showed no emotion. “Aren’t you supposed to be on any minute?”

  “Yes. Just doing my exercises.” To prove his statement, Riley tested his voice and relaxed his body with a couple of jumps, a difficult task in high heels. Then, in an effort to seek an ally, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  William cocked his head. His assessing gesture. “Of course. You?”

  Riley offered a sweet smile. “Yes.” He almost touched Woolrich’s arm in sympathy, but in the end did not for fear of dying by frostbite. If there ever was a living white walker from Game of Thrones, Woolrich had that part nailed. “I saw Camille slap you. But I couldn’t hear what happened. Are you hurt?”

  William shook his head. “No. I’m fine.” He glanced around the hallway. “Have you seen Sheridan lately?”

  Riley’s blood went cold, but he put on a mask of normalcy. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

  “Mr. Astor should always be on the premises during open hours,” Woolrich replied dryly, as if delivering a lecture. “This is setting a poor example for the workers.”

  Riley clamped his hands behind his back so that Woolrich wouldn’t see them fisted. Could the man have sounded more like a nineteenth century aristocratic snob? Of course, that could be camouflage. Why was Woolrich so eager to find Sheridan anyway? The two rarely interacted at the club anyway, with Woolrich tending to stay holed up in his office overlooking the stage, busy on the computer.

  “I’m sure Sheridan has a perfectly valid reason for not being here,” Riley supplied.

  William gave a long-suffering sigh while still managing to appear utterly devoid of feelings. “I do wish Mr. Astor showed more backbone when it comes to matters of this magnitude. Owning a business should not be a hobby.”

  Riley bristled. So much for recruiting a potential ally. Either Woolrich was too distant to bother with anything grave or too set in his ways to step out of line and do some snooping at the club for Riley’s benefit. “Well, uh, I don’t want to keep you….”

  William’s only response was to fix his glassy eyes on Riley, nod, and walk off without another word. The accountant was a huge question mark, Riley thought. Their conversation had done nothing to crack the man’s impeccable armor. Whose side was he on? For if there was one thing Riley had learned in his time at the burlesque club, it was that invisible cliques wove complex threads of allegiances and secrets there.

  Then again, Riley himself wasn’t too sure whose side he was on.

  Riley stared at the now empty corridor in contemplation. Had Woolrich and Camille’s argument really been about finances? It sure had sounded like nothing more substantial had been discussed. Yet Riley couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was something more going on that he couldn’t see. Camille disrespected authority figures, so shouting came naturally for her. And Woolrich seemed the type to avoid confrontations or dismiss them with a casual remark, as he’d done earlier.

  But had their interaction been more… familiar than a boss’s wife and an employee?

  “Lavender! You’re on!”

  A lovely girl—who was actually a man—clad in silk and lace and wearing raucous makeup and a wild hairdo waved him over in a heated rush.

  Riley cringed at his own tardiness and dashed off to his nightly performance, his clothes billowing around him as he ran. There’d be time for further thought after the show.

  CHECKING online for private detectives proved challenging for Riley. The hour was late, and he yearned for the privacy and comfort of his own bed. But he had to make sure the details of his plan were sound. And he also had to ensure that the person he brought in could get the job done as fast and as efficiently as possible. A trustworthy person, if possible. Riley had doubts people like that even existed anymore, if they ever had at all.

  His phone pinged. Honoré had texted him.

  OK?

  Riley smiled. It was good to have friends. Y. GN.

  Honoré sent only a devil emoticon as his good-night send-off. Riley laughed out loud. His friend probably wasn’t even close to his own bedtime. Honoré’s habits were mostly a mystery to Riley, and he liked to keep it that way.

  An endless array of advertisements flashed on the screen of his laptop. Riley had no idea if these private eyes were reputable, authentic, or honest. Credentials listed mainly military or law enforcement as backgrounds, but Riley had no clue if those alone pointed to someone who could be trusted to finish the task. Sure, they could fire a gun, but could they track down a missing person and face an unscrupulous criminal? Maybe… maybe not.

  “Argh, why is this so damn complicated?” Riley raged at the screen.

  Then a new ad popped up—and a name caught his eye. The perfect name. Instantly Riley’s heartbeat slowed. Serenity flowed through him, as if the name alone evoked peace within.

  Noble….

  Chapter Seven

  Present Day

  CAIN had never been embarrassed about his tiny apartment. Guys he brought there never stayed long enough for him to hear any complaints, and he never entertained or received clients on his doorstep.

  Yet upon closing the door after he and Riley entered, Cain instantly felt nervous. Basically he lived in a shoebox, same as most folks in big cities. Los Angeles was full of rich people and poor people. Cain was on the lower income spectrum, and his place reflected that.

  “Bedroom’s that way.” Cain pointed toward a large folding screen that blocked a direct view to his bed. He lived in a one-room apartment, so there was only the living room/bedroom, the kitchenette, and the bathroom. There was a balcony overlooking an unkempt pool and some disheveled shrubberies, but it was barely more than a tiny ledge with squeaking rails.

  Riley chuckled as he shrugged off his coat. “You’re jumping the gun. Aren’t you going to give me the guided tour?”

  “Of the apartment
? What you see is what you get. Of the bedroom? Plenty of toys I’d like to introduce you to.”

  To be fair, Cain wasn’t that into sex toys. He had the standard handcuffs and dildos every gay guy had. If he wanted to be adventurous, he’d opt for a cock ring or nipple clamps. But that was as far as his interest in paraphernalia went.

  Riley scrunched his pert little nose cutely. “You need toys to get off?”

  “Not with you.” Cain let his admiring gaze sweep Riley’s slender figure from head to toe.

  If he was really honest with himself, he would have wanted to undress Lily so as to relish his lace panties and silk stockings, to savor the padded push-up bra and tight form-fitting cocktail dress, to slowly do away with the feminine trappings and reveal the masculine treat underneath.

  But he didn’t say that out loud. Would that make him look like a pervert or a freak? Like a guy who wanted a cock in a frock? A woman’s facade to pretend to be—

  No, that wasn’t Cain. He was gay. He’d been out and proud since he was fifteen. Even if he had been beaten up on a daily basis by local bullies. Nothing would shove him back in the closet. Not even admitting he found a man in a woman’s clothing attractive.

  “That’s good to know,” Riley murmured as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Cain’s neck. “The bedroom is not the best place to feel inadequate.”

  “I can’t imagine you ever coming up short for any man.” Cain wound his arms around his soon-to-be lover’s waist and pulled him flush against his body.

  Riley chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You’d be surprised.”

  Again Cain had to wonder if Riley and Sheridan were in actuality secret lovers. It wasn’t unheard of for married men to journey into the night to seek pleasure from chicks with dicks.

  However, Riley didn’t seem to belong to that end of the spectrum. Cain could have sworn his lover’s breasts had consisted of padding in the dress. And Riley’s current long-sleeved shirt, though rumpled and loose, suggested a flat chest.

  “Are you, like, preop?” Cain asked. He’d never been with a man who liked to dress up as a woman, let alone one who made his living doing so every single day.

  Riley cocked his head in bemusement. “No. I’m a transvestite, as in I like to wear women’s clothes. I’m not transsexual. What you saw of me onstage, the breasts and the hips, those were part of the costume.”

  “I figured as much. Just wanted to be sure.”

  “Would you have been turned off if I had boobs?”

  Cain shrugged. “Don’t know. Never been with a man like that.”

  Riley blinked, appearing pensive. “I work as a burlesque drag queen. Sometimes I like to do a bit of cross-dressing in private too. But mostly I’m in gay-boy mode.”

  Cain nodded. Though this wasn’t his area of expertise, he did know cross-dressing and drag weren’t the same thing. One wore clothing of a different gender, the other exaggerated gender roles and characteristics, often for entertainment purposes.

  A curious thought occurred to Cain. “Um, just to be clear… Camille is a woman, right?”

  Riley laughed, tossing his head back and exposing his throat. “Yes. Camille is all woman, I assure you. Real breasts, real pussy.”

  Cain cringed inwardly. He was gay. He rarely had cause to use that word. It wasn’t a swear word. It simply wasn’t part of his world. “Good to know.” He regarded the young man in his arms. “She is nothing like you.”

  Riley frowned and worried his bottom lip. “Is that how you guessed she wasn’t me?”

  “Yeah. Among other things.”

  “Oh?”

  Cain shrugged, acting casual. “When I met you as Camille… I wanted you. Which was odd and funny since I’m a gay man. Then later, when I saw the real Camille at the club, she did nothing for me. Not a blip on the old gaydar, not a single stirring in the loins.”

  Riley blushed and giggled. “I see.” He studied Cain carefully. “And that led you to me?”

  Cain had more to say. There was much about the case he needed to discuss with Riley. He didn’t get the chance.

  Riley stood up on his toes and kissed Cain. His lips were soft and warm and a tiny bit wet. A hunger grew within Cain. He swiped his tongue across the seam of Riley’s lips. With a sweet sigh, Riley opened up and let him in. A perfect melding of mouths, their kiss ascended to new levels of intensity and intimacy. Their tongues dueled, their breaths mingled, their lips sealed.

  Apparently Riley’s question had been rhetorical.

  Cain slid his arms lower, grabbed two handfuls of firm buttcheeks, and lifted Riley off the floor. He carried him to the bed and set him down carefully. Riley exhaled and splayed his legs, opening up to cradle Cain between his thighs. Cain lay on top of Riley and kissed him leisurely. Their hands wandered and fondled each other through their clothes, trying to get underneath.

  “You’re stunning.” Cain pulled back from the kiss to behold Riley’s beauty. In his long-sleeved shirt and jeans that didn’t fit well Riley looked like a kid trying to wear an adult’s clothes without much success. It was cute and endearing.

  Riley smiled bashfully up at him. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  With cautious fingers, not wishing to hurt Riley, Cain pulled out the thin wooden rods that held Riley’s hair in an informal chignon. Long black hair feathered around his head on the pillow like a shadowy fan or halo. Cain ran his fingers through the silky strands, admiring their thickness and gloss.

  “Your hair….” He inhaled the scent, a dark perfume of blossoms, perhaps plum.

  “My grandfather, Naoki, was Japanese. I inherited his strong black hair, like iron at times. The only one in my family to be granted such a gift as it turned out. Chance favors… chance?”

  The contrast between Riley’s deep dark hair and his ivory skin caught Cain’s attention and mesmerized him. Riley wet his pink lips with the tip of his tongue. His green eyes, like purest jade, glowed. Riley’s eyes were a bit slanted. Cain had assumed earlier that it was a trick of makeup.

  “My lineage can be traced back to Scotland,” Cain remarked. “Though that’s neither here nor there.”

  Riley chuckled. “Just putting it out there?” His gaze went over Cain’s body leisurely. “I bet you’d look absolutely hot in a kilt.”

  Cain rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah, fat chance of that ever happening.”

  “Aww….” Riley pouted playfully, pretending to be hurt and disappointed. Cain liked this side of him, this openness after the mystery. The conundrum puzzled him, and his curiosity was far from satisfied. But that would keep. There were other desires that demanded to be satisfied first. His body craved Riley as though he were a drug.

  “So…,” Cain said slowly as he divested Riley of his shirt, gently pulling it over his head and letting it drop on the floor beside the bed. “What do you want? What’s off-limits?”

  Riley bit his lower lip. “This may sound like an awful cliché but… I’d love for you to fuck me.” Then he shrugged as though he didn’t care, but Cain read the gesture. Someone had told Riley that by liking both anal sex and women’s clothes, he was a walking, talking stereotype and thereby made him ashamed of his desires. If that guy had been in front of him, Cain would have pummeled his face to a pulp.

  “I’d love to,” he replied with a grin. He unbuttoned and unzipped Riley’s pants. “How long’s it been?”

  “With an actual guy? A while. With a dildo? Two days.”

  “Good to know.” Cain pushed aside the flaps of Riley’s fly and exposed a pair of lace-and-silk underwear, all black. Riley’s erection tented the fabric, and Cain rubbed the length of a rather sizable shaft. “How big was the dildo?”

  Riley giggled. “Bigger than most men.” He glanced down quickly, quirking an eyebrow and smirking. “Guess you’ll have to show me yours so I can give you an accurate answer.”

  “I’ve got plenty of ideas myself,” Cain teased, but he did as instructed. He popped open the butt
on of his own pants and unzipped slowly in a spectacle that he hoped was more erotic than silly. His hot, hard cock tried to shove his stiff boxer briefs out of the way so it could bounce out to play.

  “Mmm, that’s nice.” Riley’s appreciative murmur made Cain’s day. Heck, his year if he was honest. “Go on. Show me everything you’ve got.”

  Making quick work of it, Cain unbuttoned and shrugged off his dress shirt. Next he got rid of his undershirt, then stood at the foot of the bed and removed his pants. He took hold of the waistband of Riley’s pants and slid them down, with Riley shimmying to aid his efforts. Finally the only thing both men still wore was their underwear.

  Riley cupped his own balls and cradled them, humming with pleasure. Cain watched, his mouth suddenly dry. He licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to have this man laid out before him. If the world had to end, he prayed it wouldn’t do so for the next, oh, twenty minutes.

  “I really like your undies,” Cain whispered, staring at the bulging sexy black things made of silk and lace.

  Riley blushed. “They’re made for men like me. Men who’re in touch with their feminine side and prefer a bit of luxury.”

  “Not cheap, huh?”

  “Nothing about me is.” Riley waggled his eyebrows. Then his facade cracked, and he burst out laughing and rolled his eyes.

  Cain chuckled. “I don’t put price tags on people, only things.”

  “What about clients?”

  “Technically, the name on my current case file reads Camille Astor, not Riley Lavender.”

  “So, a gray area, then?” Cain shrugged in reply, and Riley smirked. “Considering I’m horny, I approve.”

  Cain knelt on the foot of the bed and studied Riley sprawled out on the bed. “That’s nice.” He nodded toward Riley’s anklet, a fake black-leather band with a flower made of iron embedded in it.

  “Oh.” Riley blinked and smiled shakily. “Thanks.” He released a tiny nervous chuckle. “I habitually wear no other jewelry. Just this. I’m glad you like it.” He raised his foot and dangled it in front of Cain, who laughed and gently slapped it aside.