All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  “Now that you mention it ... I would say the lady’s playing her part well, and the costume’s a keeper. She’s probably wearing one of those enticing pheromone-based perfumes—apparently they can send a man’s sex drive into high gear. That’s what’s got you all hot and bothered, and you aren’t exactly sober either. Plus, I’ll admit she’s a looker. None of the other slave girls had that effect on you, or did I miss other performances?”

  Sam shook his head, wishing Charlie would just let the matter drop, but his friend was having too much fun at his expense.

  “Sam Mason, playboy millionaire real estate developer, Mr. Love ’em and Leave ’em himself, with a hard-on for a stranger who probably knows exactly what she’s done to you. Hell, she may even know who you are, although I didn’t tell anyone you were coming to Vegas. I thought after Lena you’d given up on young ladies who knew the score and decided to look for the ideal Mrs. Mason.”

  “And who says I’m not?”

  Charlie hooted. “That’s rich. Talk about looking for love in all the wrong places. This is Vegas, pal. There aren’t too many sweet little innocent misses here waiting to fall in love with a nice, normal guy and go back home to a little house with a picket fence and raise two point one children. That’s your small head talking. Most of them are here searching for action that leads to money, and the casino floor’s not the only place they’re looking. You kissed a girl who probably not only knows her way around the block, but owns the damn thing. If she’s innocent, then I’m the next pope. Once you get it on with her, you’ll see she’s no different than any of the other women who’ve auditioned for the role as Mrs. Sam Mason.”

  “Since when did you become such a misogynist?” Sam scowled. “I thought I was the one who didn’t trust women. And I didn’t say I wanted to marry her. I’m interested, that’s all. Who wouldn’t be?”

  Sam turned away from the bar to watch the convention floor, his gaze fixed on the green-skinned beauty standing next to the Klingon author. He sipped his drink slowly. Charlie was right. He wasn’t sober. Far from it. How many had he had before coming down here tonight?

  He watched a Ferengi whisper in her ear, and his hand tightened on his glass. She seemed to be slightly upset by whatever the man had said. She caught Sam’s eye at that very moment. He forced himself to relax before the glass shattered. He lifted his drink in a salute just as he had last night, and like last night, she looked away.

  While the slave girl was living up to her role, replenishing the books on the table as quickly as she could, the Klingon signed them and kept up a friendly banter with her fans. He assumed his slave girl must be some cute little gopher sent by the publisher to lend a hand. They were probably getting a lot more interest from the crowd because she was there, although he didn’t like the way some of the men were leering at her. He got the impression she didn’t either. He didn’t want to seem too interested, but every time some guy spoke to the slave girl or touched her casually, he had the urge to cross the floor and rip out the guy’s throat. Talk about being in the zone. The last thing he wanted to do was act like a bloody, vicious snake warrior.

  He’d sworn not to get involved with another woman for a long time after he broke up with his ex-fiancée, Lena, eighteen months ago, but this slave girl—she could make a priest break his vows. He’d recognized her from the lounge last night the moment he’d set eyes on her. She’d fascinated him then and even more so now.

  She was tall and lean, with legs that went on forever, and didn’t seem aware of her own allure. She’d been dressed conservatively if you ignored the four-inch heels, and the simple black dress had enhanced rather than masked her sexuality. Her wild, curly, red hair with its golden highlights had been pulled away from her oval face, trailing down her back. She had high cheekbones, translucent skin, and full lips, the kind a man wanted to nibble. He’d been about to go over and introduce himself when Liz and Jane, his sisters, had arrived. Unfortunately, she’d gotten up and left before he could make his move, but had featured prominently in his dreams. He’d thought about her today when he should have been working, but tonight, he didn’t intend to let her slip away again. He intended to know everything there was to know about her before the weekend was over.

  He took another mouthful of scotch, disconcerted to see that he’d finished that drink, too. Was that five? Six? He ordered a glass of water. Time to slow it down a bit. Charlie was right—he wouldn’t last the night. He looked around the convention hall, always keeping the object of his interest in his peripheral vision.

  Coming to Vegas and attending this convention had been the last thing he’d wanted to do, but since his sister’s casino was the big sponsor and Charlie needed his signature on a number of documents, Sam had grabbed the chance to kill two birds with one stone. He should be in Carson City scouting land for his latest housing development, but now that Miss Orion was here, he just might rethink leaving in the morning. Everyone was entitled to some vacation time, and it was Independence Day weekend after all. Nothing wrong with grabbing a little freedom for himself. The project would survive even if he took a few days off.

  Cleo stood behind the table gazing at the sci-fi related exhibits and displays in the convention hall, recognizing many of them. When your best friend was obsessed with the subject, some of it rubbed off on you. It was one more thing her dad complained about.

  He believed Mitch should be concentrating on things of value—funny how he didn’t seem to realize there wasn’t a whole lot of difference between her fascination with aliens and the future and his with the past. Cleo was certain not everyone valued pieces of broken pottery the way he did. The only sci-fi show he’d ever watched had been the first Stargate movie because the Ancient Egyptians had been mentioned. Once he’d realized what the premise of the movie had been, he’d never watched another episode of the series, decrying the Goa’uld System Lords a Hollywood sacrilege.

  The convention occupied almost the entire floor. This hall was dedicated to the various Hollywood-inspired movies and series set in space: Star Trek, Star Wars, Stargate and its various spinoffs. There was everything from posters and pieces of movie and television sets to items for sale like t-shirts, phasers, and other memorabilia. Not everyone at the convention was in costume, but those who were had obviously spent hours and a lot of money in an effort to impress their fellow conventioneers; the Borg drone’s half-human, half-robot outfit was especially impressive. That makeup had to take hours. And the guy in the Wookie costume had to be cooking in this heat! Her costume had only required the green paint, so it wasn’t too bad, although as the paint dried, it tightened on her skin, and she had to fight the urge to scratch. She prayed that when she finally took it off later tonight, she wouldn’t be covered in a rash. Wouldn’t that be great? At least she would be spared skimpy outfits for the rest of the weekend.

  She let her gaze roam over to the bar where the man who’d kissed her sat. She was almost positive it was the guy from the lounge—those brown eyes were familiar and the gesture with the glass he’d made minutes ago mimicked last night’s salute. She didn’t see the women he’d been with. There were several men in the room dressed as Cardassians, but he stood out from the others. He’d taken a lot for granted with that kiss, but she wasn’t as upset about it as she should be. She suspected he was a player, but what a kisser! It had been an incredible experience. If anyone else had tried it, she would’ve busted his balls.

  His gaze followed her. While some of the men made her uncomfortable with the way they stared at her, he didn’t. Go figure. Normally she abhorred macho men, but there’d been times in the last two hours when she’d wished he’d been closer to the booth to glower at some of the more unsavory men she’d dealt with, especially the touchy-grabby jerks, like the one approaching her now. Mitch owed her big-time for this, and she would collect if it was the last thing she did.

  She’d started out trying to be polite—after all, some of these guys were fans—but she was fed up with their lewd inn
uendos. She’d resorted to sarcasm, but they were either too drunk or too thick-skinned to appreciate it. Why did some men think they could objectify women the way they did based on the clothes they wore? Had society really come such a short distance? This was a costume. It wasn’t who she was. Far from it.

  “Back again?” She forced a fake smile on her face for the blue-skinned Andorian who’d been plaguing her the last hour. His battery-operated antennae wiggled more slowly now than they had earlier. “I can’t imagine I have anything left to give you.” His hand shot out, but she quickly stepped back out of reach.

  “I can think of a couple of things I wouldn’t mind holding.” He smiled lecherously at her, showing a mouthful of poorly maintained teeth that weren’t part of the costume. “What can I say? You’ve entranced me. How about you and I get together later tonight? I’ve got a room upstairs and a bed just waiting to be broken in.”

  You can break it in alone, you slime ball.

  “Sorry, as tempting as that offer may be, I have to say no. I’m busy later.”

  “Thought so; I saw you with the Cardassian earlier. What about tomorrow night? The convention lasts three days.”

  “Sorry, busy all weekend.”

  “Sure you are.” He winked. “If you change your mind, I’m in room nineteen eleven. We’ll have a party—it’s come as you are.” He leaned over. “I’d like to lick every inch of that green paint off you. You can return the favor.” He blew in her ear and she shuddered, the stench of his beer and stale cigarette breath making her want to barf. What a loser.

  “If the soap doesn’t work, I’ll keep it in mind.” She breathed a sigh of relief when he took the bookmark she’d been holding, but almost gagged when he turned her hand over and licked her palm.

  Gross! As soon as his back was turned, she rubbed her hand on the tablecloth and replenished the pile of books next to Mitch, adding more swag to the table.

  She gasped and jumped back when a man dressed as a vampiric, hive-dwelling Wraith from Atlantis leaned across the table. He’d been standing over to the left of the booth watching her, and she’d tried to ignore him as best she could.

  “Hey, gorgeous. I’ve been watching you turn down the guys all night. If you like to party with the ladies, I can arrange a ménage à trois. I’m all for new experiences. What’s your name?”

  “Leaveme.”

  “Leaveme? Is that an Orion name?”

  “No, it’s one hundred percent Terran, as in leave me alone.”

  He laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several people nearby. “I like my women feisty. I would love to suck the life force out of you.” He raised his mini-suction-cup-covered hand and ran it along her bare arm.

  Shuddering at the uncomfortable feeling of hard plastic against her smooth skin, she pulled away. He stuck out his tongue—it had to be as long as Mick Jagger’s. She rolled her eyes. He had to be joking.

  “Yeah, well, it isn’t going to happen. I like my life force right where it is, thanks. You’ll have to find someone else to play with.” She shoved a bookmark into his hand.

  “Relax. I’m just looking for a good time, just as you are. That’s why we come to these things, right? There’s nothing I would like better than to look down at you with your mouth on my—”

  “No! Stop right there while I bleach my eyeballs to get rid of that image. It isn’t going to happen; not now, not ever.”

  Pivoting away from him, she focused her attention on the remaining books, spitting mad that he, a stranger, would dare make assumptions and suggestions like those. Who the hell did he think he was? She straightened the bra that had a tendency to slip, and turning back, was glad to see her nemesis had gone. At least he’d taken the hint. That guy had left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “I can see you’re having fun.” Mitch looked back over her shoulder at her, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Go ahead and laugh. You aren’t the one half-naked, fighting off guys who give pigs a bad name. Hell, I’m not even sure exactly what that last guy had in mind, but I’m definitely not into a threesome.” She placed a pile of books on the table. “These are the last of the two hundred you were to sign and give away. I’ll be back. I need to use the ladies room.”

  Mitch nodded. “Okay. When these are gone, we’ll pack it in for the night and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Sounds good.” Now, if she could find the ladies’ room, things might be looking up.

  3

  Cleo left the relative security of the booth, intensely aware of the eyes tracking her progress as she crossed the exhibit hall and headed to the concourse. Her Cardassian’s gaze was among those she felt, and while his warmed her, other leers made her cringe and want to wrap herself in the nearest tablecloth.

  Just because her costume was revealing didn’t give those men the right to judge her and make some of the assumptions they obviously had. Okay, the kiss might’ve contributed to their ideas, but seriously, what was she supposed to do? Punch the guy? In that outfit, she might well have broken her hand. As soon as she could get away from the convention, she would go back to her room and change.

  Who said clothes didn’t make the woman? She’d moved freely through the hotel yesterday and had never felt as vulnerable as she did tonight. Even when she’d been by the pool in her new bikini, she’d felt more in control than she did now. This costume was a pain. Her feet were cold and no doubt filthy, the paint itchy, and to make matters worse, the damn outfit seemed to bring out the worst in men. While she’d been warm enough in the booth, she was freezing out here on the concourse.

  She squared her shoulders, swallowed her annoyance, and followed the signs pointing to her destination. Uncomfortable in the isolated, narrow hallway, she breathed a sigh of relief once she reached the washroom and closed herself into a stall.

  After she’d attended to her needs, Cleo tried to rearrange herself, stuffing her boobs back into the skimpy top and praying they’d stay there since they had an annoying habit of trying to come out each time she bent over. She stared at herself in the mirror. If someone knew her well, they might recognize her, but the shimmering green makeup did make her look otherworldly. Although she’d seen dozens of girls in costumes similar to her own, none of them seemed to attract the attention she had. It had to be the shimmer Mitch had sprayed on her; that was really the only difference.

  She bent over, shook out her hair, and ran her fingers through the curls, trying to tame them into place. As she was reapplying her lipstick, she stopped halfway through, remembering the touch of a stranger’s lips on hers. Men didn’t walk up to her and kiss her like that. That only happened in the movies.

  Cleo shook her head, finished fixing her lipstick, capped the tube and returned it to its hiding place. Huffing out a heavy breath, she sighed. Time to get back out there before Mitch wondered if she’d bailed on her. The idea of sneaking up to the room and hiding there had an appeal of its own. Coward. Sticking out her tongue at her reflection, she turned toward the exit.

  Just before reaching the sanctuary of the concourse, a tall man dressed as a Romulan stepped in front of her. While he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds and stood a good five inches taller than she did, it was his proximity that set off her alarms. He was close, too close, invading her personal space, and the discomfort and anxiety she’d felt earlier filled her once more. Cleo stared into the man’s eyes.

  What did they say? Show no fear? She fought to control her breathing. The men’s room was down here, too. Maybe he just had to go.

  “Excuse me.” She attempted to step around him, but he matched her movement.

  “Not so fast, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night. I was going to talk to you earlier, but that Cardassian moved in on you before I could. You seem to have quite the fan club. Listen, how about you and me blow this place and go have a little one-on-one fun?”

  She smiled and hoped he couldn’t see the panic creeping up on her. She could smell the
booze wafting off him. He was just a bully, a big drunken bully. If she didn’t show fear, he would back down. Bullies always did.

  The words she’d repeated to her students echoed in her mind. She looked around. There were people nearby; if she screamed, someone would come to help her, right? She wasn’t as sure of that as she should be. This place needed security guards or something to keep these jerks in line.

  Cleo swallowed and bit her lower lip nervously. All she could do was humor him, treating him like she would a difficult student.

  “That’s a tempting offer, but I have to get back. Please let me by. My friends are waiting for me.” No harm in letting him think she had more than one.

  He laughed. “Friend, singular. I watched you playing gopher for the author, and she’s busy with her books right now. I doubt she’ll miss you. I saw the way you reacted to the Cardassian’s kiss. You won’t convince me you play for the other team. I’ll settle for a tonsil-licking like you gave that guy earlier.”

  He moved even closer to her, and she backed away until she couldn’t move any farther. He put his arms against the wall on either side of her face and leaned into her.

  Cleo, trapped between the wall and this stranger swallowed her terror, frowned, and assumed her strictest teacher glare, the one she reserved for older kids fighting in the schoolyard.

  “I asked you to let me by,” she ground out. “Don’t make me call for help.”

  Her voice trembled on the last word. Her heart pounded so loudly he could probably hear it.

  He laughed. “Like anyone would hear you with all this noise.” He reached out a hand, grabbed her by the neck, and pulled her close. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. I don’t mind rough play. Come on. Let me show you how much fun we could have. I’ve got money if that’s what you’re worried about.”