Conversation, like the champagne, flowed smoothly among the four of them, and Sam was pleased when Cleo relaxed. He wanted her to enjoy herself tonight. He certainly was. She fascinated him, and the fact he found her hotter than hell added to her mystique.
Unlike most of the women he’d dated, she didn’t try to monopolize the conversation or make it all about her. Not once had she taken out a compact to check herself in the mirror—although where she’d keep one, given her outfit, was beyond him. She didn’t sit there like a bump on a log either. Her comments were to the point, but she didn’t talk just to hear herself speak. And she listened, really listened as if whatever was being said mattered to her. He knew she was beginning to feel comfortable with him. She chewed her lip less and she’d stopped blushing every time he looked at her, but some of the attention she got from the costumed males in the room made her uneasy. He moved his chair slightly, blocking her from the leers, and he assumed she gradually forgot about the way she was dressed.
When the food came, she surprised him again. Lean as she was, he’d expected her to pick at her meal, but she had a hearty appetite. He’d always hated it when Lena had ordered dinner and barely touched any of it. The price didn’t bother him—the waste did. He listened to Cleo describe the various activities she’d done earlier in the day. Her genuine pleasure made him wish he’d been with her. He’d forgotten how much fun he used to get from similar activities. When was the last time he’d taken a roller coaster ride or sat to watch the dancing water at the Bellagio? The last year, he’d been too busy to even take a morning off to enjoy the sunshine. He smiled. Coming to Vegas for the weekend had been the best decision he’d made in a long, long time. He was anxious to see how the rest of the weekend would unfold.
• • •
Cleo sat back, replete. She’d never had food that flavorful before. They’d all eaten the salad, prepared by the maître d’ tableside, an exquisite blend of lettuce, garlic, parmesan cheese, and the chef’s secret ingredients. The beef had been so tender it cut with a fork, and the vegetables had been cooked al dente, just the way she liked them. The cheesecake, the one dessert she could never pass up, had spoiled her for every cheesecake in her future. It had melted in her mouth. She’d never be able to eat the dessert again without comparing it to this creation. And the wine! The champagne was divine. Imagine her, Catherine Cleopatra James, kindergarten teacher from Gordon’s Grove, drinking seventy-five-dollar-a-glass champagne and spending time with one of the most gorgeous, sought-after men in the universe. No one would believe it, but it didn’t matter. This was her fantasy, and the memory of it would be too precious to share.
Mitch and Charlie had gone back into the main exhibit hall to register for a couple of seminars tomorrow. Apparently, there was going to be a sneak peek at the new sci-fi movie coming out in the fall. Cleo smiled across the table at Sam. She felt as if she was starring in her own Hollywood movie and any minute now, a director would stand up and yell, “Cut!”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Sam took a mouthful of coffee.
“This is the best night of my life. I’m so glad I didn’t talk myself out of coming.”
“So am I. Tell me, pretty lady, do you often talk yourself out of things?”
She chuckled. “All the time, but I’m not as good at talking myself out of things as Mitch is at talking me into them. Coming here was her idea.”
“I owe the lady big time,” he said and raised his coffee cup in salute. His eyes were filled with desire and admiration.
Normally, such looks made her uncomfortable, but when Sam looked at her like that, she felt as if she was the only one in the room. While a little voice at the back of her head reminded her he was a professional entertainer, as he’d put it, another voice told it to shut up and enjoy the evening. She was here to experience life, not regret it.
“Will there be something else, sir?” the waiter asked politely as Cleo finished the last of what was probably the best cup of coffee she’d ever had.
“Do you want anything else, Cleo?” She loved the sound of her name when he said it—not to mention she could lose herself in those big, brown eyes. You, she wanted to answer, but instead she shook her head. “I can’t possibly eat or drink anything else.”
“Then let’s go dancing.”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
She felt like a fairy princess—Cinderella at the prince’s ball. If this was all a dream, she prayed she’d never wake up. She glanced at Sam’s watch—a Rolex, of course. What else would a man who could afford meals like this wear? It wasn’t midnight, and every girl knew she could stay until twelve.
She waited while he assigned the check to his room. Dinner had probably cost him the equivalent of two weeks’ of her salary, if not more. What would it be like to live like this instead of pinching pennies each week for a once-a-year treat? Not worth it. Look what unlimited funds did to Dave. He went from being the sweetest man in the world, the man I’d hoped to marry, to class-A jerk in one swift move. She may have blown her entire summer wardrobe budget on three outfits this morning, including the swimsuit she’d probably never wear again, but she had her integrity.
She believed money couldn’t buy happiness. Sure, it made some things easier, like buying incredibly good wine, but it changed you, made you greedy for more, and she’d never let that happen to her. Sam had probably started out just as she did, eating mac and cheese from a box, or making peanut butter sandwiches for lunch each day for a month while he pinched and scraped every penny. While she couldn’t approve of his career choice, she suspected he worked hard for his money—probably harder than most people realized. There had to be hours of dance lessons, costume fittings, rehearsals, exercise regimes, and of course the performances themselves, and the mixing in the lounge afterwards. Nobody had handed him a fortune, but he still seemed like a nice guy. Yeah, but how long will that last?
“You look awfully serious, penny for your thoughts?” His voice brought her back to him.
“They aren’t worth that much.” She put her arm through his to take the sting out of her words. “Now, I believe you mentioned dancing?”
• • •
Sam held her hand where it rested on his arm and escorted her out of the restaurant and back to the salon where they’d been earlier. The band was just finishing up a fast song. It was after eleven, but the party seemed to just be getting started. The sound of Jesus and Mary Chain’s Lost Star filled the room. He turned her into his arms and moved them onto the dance floor.
“I’ve been waiting for ages to hold you in my arms again,” he teased.
They fit together like two puzzle pieces. She closed her eyes, and just for the moment, let herself feel the magic of being held like this by her very own Prince Charming. Pulled tightly against him, she could hear the steady thumping of his heart as she rested her head on his shoulder. When his lips brushed her forehead she sighed. How could anything be more perfect than this? He moved his hand down her back to cup her derriere and frissons traveled up her spine.
“Still having fun, Cleo?”
“Uh-huh. I never expected the night to turn out like this.”
She hiccupped. “I’ve had the most delicious champagne, and I feel wonderful. I think I’ve broken almost all of Dad’s rules—I’m drunk and half-naked in the arms of a man who entertains ladies for a living. Tomorrow, I’ll probably gamble.” She giggled. “I’m having the time of my life.” She snuggled closer into him.
“Your dad must be really important to you if you still let him tell you what to do.”
“You’ve got it wrong. He doesn’t tell me what to do, he suggests. Besides, they’re my rules, too—well, most of the time—and I follow them because it’s who I am. My dad’s the most important man in my life. He’s my hero—always has been, always will be. He’s helped me through some dark times, and I’m helping him through one now. He hasn’t been the same since Mom died. He’s a bit old-fashioned with definite ideas of right and
wrong, but a lot of people back home feel the same way. There’s no gray in their world.” She giggled and pulled away slightly to look up at him. “I guess there would be if they ever met a Chippendale dressed as a Cardassian.”
“Well, he’s raised a fascinating daughter. I hope to meet him someday.”
Unwilling to dwell on that topic, Cleo nestled into his chest again. “You’re a terrific dancer, but I’m sure you’ve heard that a thousand times before. I’ll bet you’re really good at other things, too.”
She felt his chest quake when he laughed. “I’ve never really thought about it. No one’s ever complained about my technique.”
His teasing words reminded her she was just another woman in the long list of women he’d entertained. The thought was strangely sobering. When the song ended, he escorted her toward the table where Mitch and Charlie sat. Mitch was obviously enjoying herself, too. She and Charlie had hit if off nicely.
“Hey, you two.” Charlie looked up as they approached. “Mitch and I are all registered for tomorrow. There are still a few spots open if you want to join us.”
Sam turned to her. “Do you? I thought maybe you’d like to do something else. It sounded as if you’d enjoyed sightseeing today. We can visit the casinos, but I’d prefer to be outside. It’s up to you. What would you like to do?
Cleo chewed her lower lip. What I’d like to do is spend the day in your bed. Instead, she said, “If the weather’s good, I’d planned to take the helicopter tour. The one I was interested in goes to the Hoover Dam and then provides a champagne lunch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon beside the Colorado River.”
“A helicopter tour it is. I have a friend who owns a helicopter. He lets me use it anytime it isn’t being used for business. I’ll see if I can arrange something special for us. Since you’re not familiar with Nevada, maybe I can get him to throw in a couple of ghost towns, Death Valley, or another section of the Mojave Desert. There’s one old mining town where you can tour the place where Clark Gable and Carol Lombard spent their honeymoon. And some of the smaller tourist places may have something special planned tomorrow for the Fourth of July. There’ll be extra fireworks in Vegas. How does that sound?”
Cleo considered his words. The fact he’d suggested a private tour lowered the odds of his being recognized by one of his fans, and made the option of spending the day with him possible. So far, Sam hadn’t asked too many personal questions. She might have given away more than she’d wanted to about her dad, but he’d caught her off-guard. She wanted to spend as much time as she could with him, even if meant she’d end up another notch on his belt—or would it be his bedpost?
Ah, but what a perfect lover he’d make. He’d be kind and considerate. Every woman deserved a night in the arms of a man like that, didn’t she?
I’m getting ahead of myself.
“I’d love to see the Mojave Desert, but won’t you find it dull? You must have done it a hundred times,” she said. And with hundreds of women.
The thought depressed her, and she reached for the glass of champagne that had materialized in front of her. She took a large mouthful and then put the glass down. Time for a reality check.
“I shouldn’t have any more of this tonight. I don’t want to be hung over in the morning. Besides, the paint is really getting itchy. It’s time to take it off.”
“We’ll need to get an early start to do all those things I’ve mentioned. I’ll take you up.”
Crap. Could her comments have been mistaken for an invitation to take her to bed? Part of her was curious about making love with Sam, while another part was terrified of showing how inexperienced she really was. What have I gotten myself into now?
Sam stood, and short of being rude, Cleo couldn’t think of any way to tell him she could manage alone. She looked toward the exit and the men she’d have to pass to get out of the room and reach the elevators, and slipped her arm through Sam’s. Better the devil you know.
She said goodnight to Charlie and Mitch and allowed Sam to escort her out. She was most definitely drunk and found it was hard to walk straight. If she were in one of those television shows where the police made the drivers get out of the car and put their fingers on the noses, she doubted she’d be able to do it, let alone walk a straight line. Champagne was a wonderful beverage, but one she’d definitely have to watch. Too much of the stuff, and she’d lose all of her scruples and inhibitions. Isn’t that the idea? She hiccupped and giggled.
“You know, Sam, you’re a very nice man. A lot of the men who approached me tonight weren’t. I had no idea there were so many predators in the world.” She smiled shyly. “In spite of all that, I had a wonderful time.” She hiccupped again.
Good thing I’m not trying to be sexy and glamorous. Sam’s women probably don’t get hiccups after a few glasses of champagne.
She looked around, conscious of the leers she was still getting. The concourse was as crowded as it had been earlier. Didn’t people sleep in this town?
What is it with this new obsession with sleeping and beds?
She looked up at Sam. The last thing she wanted to do with him was sleep.
This was Vegas, the city that never slept. Many of the conventioneers were headed to the elevators, no doubt to go up to the VooDoo Lounge or down to the casino floor. One man looked at her and made strange gestures with his tongue. She scrunched up her face in concentration. How did he do that? Moreover, what did it mean?
She looked over at three girls in similar costumes walking toward her. The guy with the tongue said something to them, and the tallest girl gave him the finger and said something. Whatever it was, Super Tongue walked away. Good for her!
“I think I’ll find a new costume for tomorrow night—one with shoes. This floor is gross. I rather like that one.” She pointed to the woman dressed in a navy blue bodysuit, knee-high heeled boots, and metallic accents on her face. “That’s Seven of Nine, Borg drone re-humanized. No one’s looking at her as if she’s the top choice on the dessert menu.”
Sam turned her to face him, his face more serious than she’d seen it all night. “Cleo, I have two sisters. One works here. I know what asses men can be whether they’ve been drinking or not. I’ve been to New Orleans during Mardi Gras and seen similar behavior. It’s never right for a man to treat a woman the way those guys treated you tonight. I watched your face when some of them approached you in the booth. From the look on it, you weren’t too impressed with them either. Unfortunately, a lot of people just ignore men behaving badly. It’s a mindset that needs to change. You should wear whatever makes you happy. You shouldn’t let a bunch of thugs make the decision for you. Those guys tonight won’t bother anyone else. They’ll be on their way home tomorrow. They should have read the fliers in their rooms. The consequences of harassment were spelled out clearly.”
“You say the nicest things.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
Sam pulled her more closely into him to avoid a reeling Green Lantern who seemed to have trouble walking. The superhero wasn’t staring at her; in fact, his eyes were barely open. She hoped, he’d make it to his room in one piece. Why did people drink so much?
Hello pot, this is the kettle calling. She swallowed a laugh and yelped when her bare foot struck a cold, wet patch of carpet.
He stopped suddenly. “Did I hurt you?” The concern on his face and in his voice warmed her.
“No, it wasn’t you. Somebody must have spilled a drink. The carpet’s cold, wet, and sticky. Yuck!”
She tried to walk on tiptoes, but stumbled. Sam picked her up and cradled her against his chest.
“A Cardassian Gul never lets a woman walk on yucky rugs, I’m a gentleman. Is this better?”
She nestled into his arms. “Thank you. I’m sure my foot would have stuck to every little piece of trash on the floor.”
Cleo noticed people staring at them, but she no longer cared. Instead of looking away, she waved. To hell with them. It felt good being in his arms, and that’s exac
tly where she planned to stay.
Chapter Six
Cleo enjoyed being carried by Sam like this. When they reached the elevator, she expected him to put her down. Instead, he settled her more tightly against him.
“You don’t have to carry me. I can walk now.”
“Enjoy the ride. I’m quite comfortable showing off my strength.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he’d done earlier. “Where are we going?” he asked as he stepped into the elevator.
“Suit yourself, He-Man. Room thirty-four ten, please.”
“Where’s your room key? I’ve been wondering about that all night.”
He pushed the button for the thirty-fourth floor and the elevator doors slid shut. Cleo stared at herself in the mirrored walls. She looked so tiny and helpless in his arms. It made her frown. She wasn’t in the least bit like that. She’d taken self-defense courses, but the stamp didn’t work in bare feet. Another point in favor of those kick-ass boots Seven had been wearing. She saw the questioning look on Sam’s face and giggled.
What did he ask me? Oh yeah, he wants to know where the key is. He was eyeing her cleavage.
“It’s not there,” she said and made what she hoped was a haughty pout. “Why do men always assume women keep everything in their breast pockets? It’s on my ankle.”
“On your ankle? Where?”
“There.” She wiggled her foot.
Sam looked down at her as if she’d lost her marbles. “Sweetheart, it’s a very nice ankle, but I don’t see anything that looks remotely like a keycard.”
Cleo huffed out a breath. “That’s because it’s hidden in a secret place, so no one can find it.”
She tried to reach her ankle with her hand, but the zipper had twisted around to the other side. She pulled her leg up and tugged at the fabric manacle, twisting it on her leg until the tiny plastic zipper came into focus. This would probably be a lot easier if she were standing up, but she liked it here. She stuck out her tongue in concentration, but it took three tries to get the zipper open and release the key card from the hidden pouch in the manacle. She handed it to him.
Just for the Weekend Page 6