by Michele Hauf
“How dare you! Get your filthy hands off me!” she cried. Why wasn’t anyone coming to help her?
Furious, Cleo struggled, but the man was strong. Terror filled her. She kicked uselessly at his legs, but her bare feet couldn’t inflict any pain. He was too close for her to knee him in the groin. He bowed his head, filling her nostrils with the scent of his sour breath.
“Hold still, bitch.” He growled, angry with her refusal.
“I may not be the most observant man on this planet, but even I can tell the lady’s not interested. Let her go.”
The man’s voice was calm and cold, each word clearly enunciated, and the fury in it was palpable.
Cleo’s eyes flew open as the giant holding her relaxed his grip and turned around. The minute he did, she tried to pull away and see who’d come to her rescue. Her Cardassian stood within reach of the man and placed his hand on the Romulan’s shoulder. There was no mistaking his rage.
The Romulan immediately released her, and Cleo took a few steps away from both men. Her captor looked from the Cardassian to her and back again, and then smiled, probably sober enough to realize he wouldn’t win a fight with the man who stared at him. Her hero was at least two inches taller than he was, and where the Romulan’s weight was from fat, the Cardassian’s body bespoke muscle and strength.
“So that’s the way it is.” The Romulan laughed. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Deep brown eyes filled with concern gazed into hers. “Are you all right?” he asked, not taking his hand off the other man’s shoulder.
Cleo nodded, unable to speak, her throat clogged with conflicting emotions. It was the second time tonight he’d come to her rescue. The first time, when she’d been separated from Mitch on arrival, she hadn’t needed rescuing; after all, she’d only been across the room. He’d claimed a kiss as his reward. This time, she’d clearly needed his help. She hated women who played the damsel in distress card even if it was warranted. Still, she would gladly give him another kiss now. She wouldn’t mind being in his arms regardless of the mistaken message a jerk like this guy might read in it. Sometime a girl just needed a hug.
The Cardassian looked at her would-be assailant. “I suggest you go to your room and sleep it off.”
“Relax, buddy, I just wanted some of what the lady’s been offering all night.”
“I must be blind. I didn’t see the lady offering you anything. What I do see is a woman in a costume, like any other costume tonight—yours and mine included—doing a job and trying to have a good time, which you’ve ruined.” The hostility in his words was unmistakable.
“Hey, relax. I didn’t see a do not touch sign anywhere.”
“I take it you see it now?” His voice guaranteed violence if he didn’t get the right answer.
“I do, I most certainly do. My apologies.”
“Not to me, dickhead. To her. If she wants to press charges for assault, I’ll back her up all the way, as will any number of people here who saw you maul her.”
His words drew Cleo’s attention to the crowd that had gathered around them. Mortified, she looked from one man to the other. If looks could kill, her Cardassian’s were doing just that.
The Romulan blanched and looked at Cleo. “Sorry.” He quickly turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd.
Shaken by what could have happened, horrified by the throng gathered at the end of the short hallway, Cleo straightened her spine. She needed to put on her big-girl panties—what she wouldn’t give for a pair now. At least they would cover more of her ass. It was over. None of it had been her fault, and yet she still felt dirty because of it.
“I need to get back to work,” she murmured, with all the dignity she could muster, and moved swiftly through the host of onlookers, keeping her head down, her eyes averted.
Had someone captured that encounter on a cellphone intent on posting it? God, she hoped not. She scurried back into the convention hall, not daring to look at the Cardassian.
She was shaking. Her heart pounded and she felt lightheaded. The last thing she wanted to do was ralph on her hero’s shoes. Without the green paint, she’d probably be as white as a ghost. He was right behind her, his presence opening a passageway for her through the crowd. Thank God no one in this room seemed aware of what had happened. Why was it some guys couldn’t take no for an answer? She turned to thank her rescuer, but he’d already moved away toward the bar.
Cleo saw Mitch look up at her arrival, and her friend quickly jumped up and put her arms around her.
“What happened? And don’t you dare say nothing. It’s written all over your face as plain as day.” The concern in her voice reminded her once more why Mitch was her best friend: she understood her.
“I had a little problem with an overeager drunk. I’ll tell you about it later. I just need a little time right now.”
Mitch nodded, hugged her, and returned to the table.
Cleo retreated to the space half hidden by the curtain separating the signing table from the boxes of supplies and tried to settle her overwrought nerves. She looked over at the bar where her rescuer said something to his friend and ordered another drink. Thank God he’d shown up when he had. Who knows what could’ve happened?
“Where did you disappear to? You missed Liz, by the way. Not sure she recognized me. She looks pretty hot in that little Bajoran outfit. She was with some guy dressed as Q. I thought you might have ditched me for the slave girl, but I see she’s back, and you look ready to chew nails. Things not turn out your way?” Charlie handed him a glass of water. “I can almost see the steam coming out of your ears. Did she turn you down?”
Sam ignored the comment, emptied the glass, and motioned for the bartender to approach.
“Another round for us and for the Mitch Hutchins’ booth over there.” Sam handed the bartender a twenty-dollar bill. Thank God he’d finally gotten rid of all the small bills Charlie had given him. The next time he won a bet on a baseball game, he would specify large bills only. Two hundred bucks in fives and ones might be funny, but it was a pain to carry around.
“So, not mad at her. Okay. Are you going to tell me what set you off, or do I use the Force to figure it out?”
Sam turned and glared at him, his fury still barely held in check.
Charlie put his hands up as if to fend off a blow. “Whoa. Don’t look at me that way. I’m not the one who threw a monkey wrench into your plans.”
“No one ruined my plans. Some drunken lout tried to hit on her a little too forcefully when she came out of the washroom. They really need to improve the lighting down that hallway. Wouldn’t hurt to have a few security guys there either. I’ll mention it to Liz. I was sorely tempted to knock the bastard’s teeth down his throat. I resisted the urge; instead, I suggested it was time for him to leave. A bunch of people were standing around watching the show—not doing a damn thing to help her, and it was obvious she wasn’t enjoying the attention. I think I’m angrier with them than I am with him, and I’m pretty damned pissed at him. Why is it you put a costume on a perfectly decent man, and he morphs into Attila the Hun or worse?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve been watching some of the less-than-stellar individuals in here hit on some of the women. Liz said there was a sexual harassment policy in place tonight, but I don’t think a lot of the partygoers—you included, by the way—read it.”
Sam bristled. “What do you mean, me included?”
“Well, look at the way you planted one on her earlier tonight. You don’t think that might have given some of those yahoos ideas?”
Sam looked down into his drink. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized exactly what he’d done. By putting her on display and acting on his baser sexual urges, he’d treated her no differently than that jerk had, taking what he wanted, and damn the consequences. What the hell had he been thinking? If he expected others to act decently, then he’d better start by setting the right example. She deserved an apology, the more public the bett
er. If there was one thing he didn’t want, it was to be tarred with the same brush as that Romulan.
Cleo watched as one of the servers approached their booth, carrying a glass of Klingon blood wine and a chalice of Romulan ale.
“Hi. Nice costume. It’s the best one of those I’ve seen. I wish I could pull off that look. It might help with the tips. Most of the superheroes and spacemen out there are so tight, they squeak—and I don’t mean drunk. This is from the Cardassian soldier at the bar. He’s not. I wish he were watching me the way he’s eyeing you. Lucky lady. Even gray, he’s gorgeous.” She set the beer next to Mitch and handed Cleo the wine.
The last thing she needed was another glass of wine, but Cleo accepted it gratefully. It might help settle her nerves.
“Thank him for us, please.” Cleo smiled at the server, who nodded and made her way back to the bar.
“Something tells me there’s more to your encounter than you’re letting on and the Cardassian is right smack in the middle of it.” Mitch stretched her shoulders. “I can’t wait to hear the details.”
“Let’s just say my Cardassian could add a red cape to his costume. He arrived in the nick of time.”
Mitch arched her eyebrows but made no comment. She turned back and smiled at the person waiting at the table and returned to author mode.
Cleo looked toward the bar where her hero was watching her intensely once more. Since he could see her watching him, there was no point in denying her interest. Acknowledging the glass of wine he’d sent her by raising it to her lips, she nodded. If she had to be honest with herself, her knight in Cardassian armor fascinated her. While she wasn’t the type to throw herself at a man—a girl had her pride—but after his gallant rescue, pride be damned. Who was Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gray? Maybe she would get the chance to find out.
She sipped the blood wine, a nice merlot relabeled for the occasion, her fourth one tonight. She probably shouldn’t drink it. She’d begun to feel relaxed before her encounter with Mr. Trouble. She needed to eat something and drink some water, too. At the moment, partially hidden by the curtain, she felt warm and safe, and she preferred that feeling to her earlier panic.
What if he wasn’t the guy from the Voodoo Lounge but someone else? The eyes had seemed familiar, but she could have been mistaken. Did it really matter? Besides, the guy in the lounge had been with someone else, and if he was a Chippendale like Mitch suggested, then there was no way she could consider spending any time with him, no matter how much she might want to.
Just because she hadn’t seen anyone from home, didn’t mean there wasn’t someone here. If anyone saw her with the man and somehow discovered he was a male stripper, she would be out of a job so fast, she would get whiplash. This guy was interested in her, she was attracted to him, and the kiss had been incredible, even if it was what might have triggered the Romulan’s boorish behavior. What was it Mitch always said? Lighten up, Cleo. Yes, she needed to do just that.
She moved away from her haven and took a deep breath, ready to face the men crowding around in front of the booth, some waiting for an autograph from Mitch, others trying to proposition the two of them—or at least Cleo. Over the next ten minutes, she managed to relax and try to be less standoffish. She tried to see the humor in the situation. These people were just playing. At least none of these guys were as crass as some of the others had been. Just how much money was twenty bars of gold-pressed latinum? While she kept up a friendly banter with her would-be admirers, she continued to sneak glances at her Cardassian savior.
That was how she knew when the two men got up from the bar, and she was disappointed.
So much for her fantasies. What would they talk about anyhow? The last few years her repertoire had been limited to archaeology, photography, keeping house for her father, and the day-to-day antics of kindergarten students. Hardly stellar conversation or decent pick-up lines. She turned away and started packing up the extra swag for tomorrow.
“Don’t look now, but I think your Cardassian and his friend are on their way over,” Mitch said. “I knew he would be back. He’s been watching you all evening.”
Cleo jerked her head around. Mitch was right. They were definitely coming this way. Painted gray or not, the man was gorgeous, but dreaming about getting to know him and actually doing it were two different things. He smiled at her and her breath caught in her throat. Heat pooled low in her stomach.
“Oh God, Mitch, I can’t do this. I thought I could, but … I’ve had way too much to drink. I swear I’ll melt if he touches me again.”
She was babbling as she looked around for an escape route, but the room was so crowded she couldn’t see the doors.
“Drink, schmink. You’ve had four glasses of wine in three hours—that’s not even enough for a good buzz. Just relax. Be yourself. The kiss was good, right?”
“The kiss was awesome.”
“So what’s the problem? Just imagine how great the sex would be!”
Cleo gasped. “Mitch!” Was it that obvious she had the hots for this guy? She felt her skin heat beneath the makeup. She prayed the damn paint didn’t start to run. That would be the last straw.
Mitch laughed so hard she snorted.
“You should see your face. Breathe, Cleo; I’m just joking. Let me do the talking. Just remember the cover stories we discussed. You’re Cleopatra Jones from Hidden Valley, Alberta, and I’m Mitch Hutchins from Vulcan. We’re here for a good time and damn the rules of daily life. Like they say, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Your dad will never hear a word of it from me.”
Cleo smiled weakly and nodded.
I’m an adult. I wanted some excitement in my life, some grown-up fun … well, here it comes. Let’s hope I have a life to go back to when this weekend’s over.
She watched carefully as the two men picked their way through the crowd and approached the booth. The closer they came, the more convinced she was she’d never carry this off. She was way out of her league. She’d hardly dated since the fiasco with Dave, and that had been six years ago. Even Mitch didn’t realize how out of practice she was. At least, based on what he’d said to the Romulan, he wouldn’t expect her to behave like the sexy creature she portrayed.
“Hey, Mitch Hutchins. I’ve read some of your stuff. Fire World was excellent. I’d been meaning to get this book,” the Cardassian soldier she didn’t know said in greeting.
“Glad you liked it. The reviews were great, and my agent’s been talking to a Hollywood producer. You guys are lucky. These are my last two copies tonight. Names?”
“Charlie and Sam. I’m Charlie.”
Mitch autographed the books, handing one to Charlie and the other to Sam. Cleo held her breath, praying Mitch wouldn’t say anything to call attention to her.
“Nice to see you back, Gul.” Mitch used the Cardassian term for Sam’s rank. “I believe you extricated my friend here from a nasty situation a little while ago. Thanks.”
“Anytime. I’m glad I was able to be of service.” He grinned at Cleo and winked.
“So, are you finished for the night?” Charlie asked, glancing from Mitch to his friend and back again.
Cleo prayed he couldn’t see how hot her cheeks were. At least the green makeup was good for hiding her blushes.
Mitch smiled. “Yup. Time to relax and have some fun. We Klingon ladies love to play. Do you?”
“Sure, but I’ve heard Klingon females can be a little rough. Can I buy you a drink first?”
Mitch laughed, obviously enjoying herself. Cleo wished she could relax and flirt the way her friend did, but she simply wasn’t wired that way. Mitch had a friendly, easy-going temperament and was having the time of her life, while she was so nervous that the next breath she took could well be her last. Her Cardassian’s presence seemed to be sucking the oxygen out of the air around her. What was it about this guy that affected her this way?
“Take a number. There are about twenty guys ahead of you,” Mitch answered, threw back her head, and roared
.
Cleo giggled nervously at Charlie’s crestfallen look, proof she’d definitely had too much wine. Hiccups usually followed. She jumped when Sam placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch sent shock waves through her body. He laughed softly, and the sound of it sent goose bumps racing along her overheated skin. Sam hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he’d walked up to the booth. She felt the heat of his gaze all the way to the bottom of her toes, and the sensation thrilled her.
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I shouldn’t have stolen that kiss,” he whispered.
Cleo didn’t know whether to be happy or crushed. He regretted the kiss?
He turned to Mitch and raised his voice. “Since I’m hoping the slave girl is coming with me, and you’re together, does that give him a boost up the list?”
Mitch narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “You’re pretty sure of yourself aren’t you, lover boy? What makes you think she’s going with you?”
“What makes you think she won’t?” he countered. He turned to Cleo. “Will you come with me and let me atone for my bad behavior?”
The pleading and warmth in his eyes and his voice mesmerized her. She slowly nodded her head. His eyes, filled with passion, bored into hers. She trembled, and he must have noticed it, because he chuckled, breaking the intensity of the moment.
“Don’t worry. I won’t bite, at least not tonight. I’m apologizing, remember?”
He winked and her legs turned to jelly.
“Just a couple of drinks, that’s all I’m asking. There’s dancing in the next salon. I would love to get to know you.” Sam’s tone was sincere with a touch of uncertainty.
Excitement filled her. His kiss had been mind-blowing, and if Cleo wanted an experience to last a lifetime, this man could definitely provide it. Desire pooled low in her stomach once more.
“What do you say, Cleo?” Mitch asked, making the choice hers. “I think a little more vino and dancing is just what we need, but it’s your decision.”
