Masquerading With the CEO

by Dawn Chartier

  Ashlyn placed the sensual mask in her hand. “Have fun, Ky.”

  A brief vision of running her hands over the security guy’s naked chest flashed through her mind. Um. No. You can’t. Don’t be stupid. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking of approaching a guy after what she’d been through. She couldn’t imagine putting her heart on the line again. But if no one knew it was her…and she kept her heart to herself…

  No strings. Just sex. Maybe…

  Chapter Three

  A few hours later, Kylie and Sara lounged by the pool while Ashlyn attended a few writers’ workshops. After the classes, they would eat and get ready for Ashlyn’s publisher’s masquerade party. It wouldn’t take her long to get ready. Hiding your identity had its advantages. Who’d know what she looked like beneath? Maybe her friends were right—it was time to let loose and have some fun.

  She swirled the straw in her frozen Banana Orgasm, and her thoughts turned back to the sexy security guy, Macon. Forget him. And you would be on the rebound. But wouldn’t sex with no strings be the perfect rebound? Maybe.

  But that was the point wasn’t it? This guy wasn’t a CEO like her ex. Or like Dad. Men who only cared about one thing—making it to the top and screwing everyone over in the process to reach it. Macon was regular. Not in looks, God, so not in looks. But in profession, yes. Security professionals were supposed to be trustworthy people, weren’t they? No. No. No.

  The mask entered her mind again. No. It was a dumb thought. He probably wouldn’t be there anyway. The man couldn’t work 24/7. She pushed the stupid idea out of her head. She needed to figure out a way of not wearing it. If you wore it you could at least look, but don’t touch, she thought to herself.

  “What?” Sara raised her sunglasses. “Don’t touch who?”

  “Talking to myself is all.” Crud, she hadn’t realized she’d said that out loud.

  Sara arched a brow. “Right. Spill it.”

  “Nothing.” She snatched Ash’s manuscript and a red pen from the side table to make it appear that what she had said was a slip that meant nothing. But damn it, she couldn’t get the Tic Tac man out of her crazy head.

  Sara jerked the pen from her. “I’ll be the judge of that. Talk.”

  Ugh. Kylie huffed, lounged back, and watched several women wearing little-to-nothing bikinis goofing off in the pool. There weren’t many men here, except for a handful of beefy, over-tanned, oily cover models, but she had no interest in them whatsoever. Probably married or gay anyway. At least that’s what she wanted to believe. She observed the old blue one-piece she was wearing. No man would look at you in this grandma suit. Plus, most men liked their women to look like sticks. She noted her curvy hips, definitely far from pretzel-stick size. She scooted further down in her lounger and closed her eyes. Like that will help.

  “Helloooo. Tell me before I do something to embarrass you.” The lounger creaked as Sara shifted, probably now facing her.

  She opened her eyes. “Fine. Remember at the gift shop—the security guy stealing Tic Tacs?”

  “What did the cashier call him? Oh yeah, Macon. Mr. GQ. Bond. How could I forget?” Sara searched to the left and right. “That’s who you have the hots for? Oh, girl, you need to find him and touch him…everywhere. Where is he anyway?”

  “I don’t want to touch him. I’m done with men, like I said before.” Kylie took another sip of her frozen drink, and her brain manifested a slight buzz. Slow down. She closed her eyes, gaining her balance. Inhale. Exhale.

  “Not all men, right? Not men like Macon. I saw the way your mouth dropped open when you stared at him.”

  The hairs on her arms rose, and the nagging feeling that she was being watched was strong. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” Sara asked.

  “Looking at me. I told you. I don’t want to touch any man ever again.” Liar.

  “I’m not looking at you. And you do want to touch him or you wouldn’t have brought him up. You think he’s hot. You think he’s sexy,” Sara sang. “Wait ’til I tell Ash. She’ll have the two of you hooked up by the end of the night.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Drinking one stupid drink had given her a loose tongue. “If you tell Ash about the Tic Tac thief, I’ll never talk to you again.”

  “He wasn’t stealing, remember. But I’m still telling. Ash and I have made it our goal to get you out of prim-and-proper mode and get you laid. It’s time you let loose and have some fun.”

  “Laid? Prim and proper, huh?” She squeezed her lids tight. Is that what everyone thought of her? A stick in the mud. A boring old maid. Maybe so, but that wasn’t who she really was on the inside. Broken yes, but not boring and proper. Or am I?

  Whatever. She’d had enough of men and humiliation to last a lifetime. Don’t go there. Don’t go there.

  A shadow covered the delightful sunrays that had been warming her face, and she opened her eyes, ready to fuss at Sara once more. Instead, her flesh probably turned twenty-five shades of pink and red, like the variety colors on her designing boards and paint fans.

  It wasn’t Sara.

  Chapter Four

  He’d been standing behind the two women, including the one he’d nearly knocked over earlier. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t stop listening. He’d searched for her for at least thirty minutes before he’d found her, wanting to apologize to her for being such an inconsiderate klutz, but then he heard her talking about Macon and the Tic Tacs he’d taken.

  So, she thought he was someone else. He wasn’t sure where she’d gotten that from, but then an idea hit him. A grin tugged at his lips. What if he let her believe he was Macon? No strings, casual conversation, and most importantly, no expectations.

  There was no way in hell he’d let someone use him for his money again. And no fucking way he’d allow his heart to be ripped from his chest, stomped on, and shoved down his throat once more either. So here was his chance of seeing what she really thought about him.

  See if the lady would like to have lunch with him, and not casino owner Jake Royale.

  He wouldn’t lie if she asked him, but assuming his identity incorrectly was her doing, not his. A knot tightened in his stomach.

  “Do you mind? You are in my light.” She frowned.

  “Don’t mind at all. Your face looks a little sunburned. Maybe you should sit in the shade.” He didn’t move. He couldn’t. His nerve endings stirred while taking in her lovely curves.

  Her mouth dropped open, and her cheeks grew darker.

  Before she could reply he added, “I’d like to apologize for bumping into you earlier and not helping you pick up your snacks. I was in a hurry.”

  “I guess when the boss calls for his Tic Tacs, it’s a state of an emergency.”

  Jake’s brows plunged. It sure as hell was. He couldn’t live without them. “Not exactly.” He folded his arms, fighting the urge to pop one into his mouth right now. “However, it does matter that I apologize. I’m sorry.”

  The other woman cleared her throat. “We haven’t met. I’m Sara and this is—”

  “Ashlyn.” The cute brunette cut her friend off like she’d just made the name up. Hadn’t he overheard them talking about an Ashlyn? He could easily find out her name and would.

  Sara made a funny face at the so-called Ashlyn. “We already know who you are, sweetie. You’re Macon.” Sara gave him a wide, toothy smile.

  He shifted from foot to foot, then caught himself and stilled. “I’d like to make it up to you for being so rude to you earlier, Ashlyn. Let me buy you—and your friend—lunch or dinner.”

  Her skin paled, and out of the corner of his vision, he saw Sara nodding like a toy dog in back of a car window.

  “That sounds like a good…” Sara began.

  “We can’t. We have a publisher’s party to attend tonight, remember?” The sexy woman cut her friend off again.

  Ouch. Rejected. Another first today. “Are you an author?”

  Her eyes widened as though he’d
called her bluff. “Er. Yes. Yes. I am.” She chewed on her straw nervously.

  “Interesting.” He noticed the stack of papers sitting next to her. Maybe she was a writer. Maybe he misunderstood when he was eavesdropping by accident. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as an author.”

  She blinked. “And why not? What does an author look like?”

  “Well…” Tension built in his jaw. What he meant to say was she seemed rather on the reserved side compared to the other writers he’d run across today and those from last year’s convention. Several wore red or black boas and Mardi Gras beads and carried on like married women at a bachelorette party. Free for the weekend to do what they pleased.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ashlyn bit.

  He nodded. This was not going like he’d imagined all afternoon. He’d pictured her agreeing to lunch and possibly dinner and dancing later. Instead, it was time to leave before he stuck his foot in his mouth again. He wasn’t ready to give up on her just yet though, but for now he’d let her sunbathe in peace.

  “Nice meeting you both.” He faced Ashlyn. Her supple lips smirked as though bothered by his presence. “Maybe another time.” Then he left, needing to talk to the real Macon.

  …

  Sara hit Kylie on the arm with her oversized, floppy white hat. “You liar. Why’d you pretend to be Ashlyn? That man is one fine specimen.”

  “Ouch. Stop that.” Kylie leaned to the far side of the lounger. Maybe she shouldn’t have pretended to be her friend, but she panicked. Too late now.

  “Then why did you give a false name?” Sara fluffed her hat back out.

  “I guess I freaked,” she said. “See? I’m not ready.” If only she was. Never in her life had a sexy man like him ever paid attention to her. Sure, Brett was handsome, but Macon was like sex on a stick with a side order of chocolate-covered strawberries. Her stomach growled.

  Sara sighed. “I understand you’re hurting, Ky. But once you realize you hit the jackpot by not marrying that scumbag, you’ll eventually thank Jan. Let loose. Seriously. I promise it will help you get over Brett if you just let go of the past and have fun.”

  Kylie’s pulse pounded in her ears. She snatched her towel and shoved Ash’s manuscript into her beach bag. Maybe Sara was right. Maybe she should count her blessings and allow herself to have a little fun. What was the saying? What happens in Vegas…shit.

  “I’ll see you inside.” As she walked past the pool, she noted a massive round, clear, Mardi Gras-style bead wall that showed inside the Karaoke Lounge. She spotted Macon inside chatting with a skinny, brown-haired beauty. Her body grew twitchy, and she sighed. Who the hell was she kidding? The man had only wanted to apologize to her anyway. He clearly wasn’t interested in her womanly, curvy type, so she’d best keep moving along before he caught her dreaming of something she had no business dreaming about.

  After showering, Kylie gawked in the mirror, still not believing what she saw. First she pretended she was Ash to Macon, and now she sported Ashlyn’s tight, red dress.

  Her buddies pushed into her bathroom.

  “Ohmygod!” Ash squealed.

  Sara wore a bright yellow number, and Ash had on a sky-blue, slinky dress.

  “This is too short and too tight.” Kylie pulled at the hem. What would her father say if he saw her now? He would not approve, that’s for damn sure. What would her mother say if she were alive to see her? Ha. Mom would love it.

  “It’s perfect,” Ash said, then poked her arm. “Hmm. I’m pissed it looks better on you though. You fill it way better than I do. In all the right places.”

  Kylie wiggled her butt. “Hips courtesy of Momma.” A little sting pinched her heart. I know, Mom. You’d tell me to get my ass out there, use those hips, and have fun. For you I’ll at least get out of this room and try.

  The three of them quickly ate at the sushi bar, Masuku, and then strolled into the dark Club Pearl. It seemed the place to be. People filled the stages, dancing in costumes, several wearing barely anything. Wasn’t this a publisher’s party? Maybe it was open to the public. She bent over a little, observing how the dress had risen way too high. She tugged the hem down for the hundredth time. Feeling heavy inside and out, she thanked God for the mask.

  A woman came in and spoke to Ashlyn, then quickly walked off to other people.

  “The publisher’s party has been moved to the Karaoke Lounge. Let’s go.”

  Now was the perfect moment for an escape, but Sara quickly grabbed her arm and led her to the lounge. Damn.

  It must not have been karaoke time yet, because a DJ pulsed alternative music from the back of the club near the stage, and the rhythm called to her, but she didn’t dance ever—at least not in public. She observed the extravagant room. No upgrading would be necessary here or in Club Pearl.

  With her feather mask on, her nerves weren’t as bad. About eight bartenders manned the Mardi Gras bar. There were plenty of glass tables and wrought iron barstools scattered everywhere, and dancers perched on the rails above the bar, swinging around while men drooled below them. This was so not her, but it was too late to leave now. She’d give it thirty minutes, but then she was gone.

  “It’s crowded,” she said.

  Sara and Ash grabbed her arms and tugged her farther inside. They must’ve thought she was going to bolt. I will, but not yet.

  Ashlyn introduced several of her writer friends, her agent, and a few bloggers and reviewers, and Kylie recognized a few names.

  “Rebecca, I love your vampire series, and Robin, those romantic comedies, keep ’em coming.” And was that the famous author Jade being dragged on stage with the half-naked dancers?

  “Thanks. Ash told us about your horrible situation, and we’re here to make sure you have a great time. So, let’s go par-tay,” Robin said.

  Kylie shot Ash a frown. “Thanks for telling everyone.”

  “I love you, Ky. We just want you to have fun.” Ash pulled her toward the dance floor.

  Her heart leapt inside her throat. “Nooooooo,” she said. “You know I don’t dance.”

  “Here, drink this Roulette shot.” Ash grabbed a shot from the waiter, thrust the glass in her hand, and waggled her eyebrows.

  “A shot?” She eyed the exit. She should leave now. Instead, she downed the drink. “I need another.” They dragged her toward the bar.

  Sara and Ash each bought her one. “Down the hatch,” they said.

  “Down the hatch,” Kylie repeated, then swallowed the liquor. It burned her throat like gasoline and stank like the strongest cold medicine she’d ever taken. “Yuck.” She held her nose for the second shot. They weren’t going to give up on her dancing. “I think I need one more before I get out there to shake my big ass.”

  “Back that ass up,” Ash chanted with a fist pump. “One more, Mr. Bartender.” Then she winked at him. “You know you could be one of the cover models here.”

  The bartender winked. “I’ve heard that a lot this week.”

  Kylie didn’t recall stepping on the dance floor, yet there she was. A dozen or so people in the publishing industry danced around her. The DJ had stopped earlier, and now patrons sung to various party songs. Hell, she could sing better than them. In your dreams. And maybe she would. She had a nice buzz going. For the first time since that humiliating day, she was truly relaxed. Her hips swayed, and her arms swung high above her head. A slight grin spread without her forcing it to do so. And for the first time since she’d arrived, she was having a good time, and she didn’t want the feeling to stop. This was exactly what she had needed.

  The liquid courage made her a great dancer, and she let loose. Her arm caught on the mask; she’d forgotten she had the damn thing on. Reaching up to pull it off, she hesitated when she saw him. Her pulse hitched. Damn. Her entire body responded to him.

  Bond. James Bond. She giggled. Macon was half-hidden in a private area off to the side near the sound equipment, his gaze glued to her. Her face heated. Did he know it was her?

&nbs
p; He licked his bottom lip. Oh, God! He was hot. Hotter than all of these cover models put together. She raised her hair and fanned the back of her neck. Lord, his staring was making her burn between her thighs. Why weren’t any women hanging off of him? Maybe it was that possessive glare he wore right now—aimed directly at her.

  Dang. She spoke too soon. A beautiful, tall woman approached him. Her long blond curls fell forward as she bent over his table, whispering something in his ear. He shook his head. The Amazon kissed his cheek, then left.

  Good. Keep walking, Barbie. Kylie continued dancing. A new person got on stage to sing a song, and the rhythm slowed, as did her swaying hips. His stare never left her. She liked it and did a subtle jig. Maybe she liked it a little too much.

  What are you doing? Stop your drooling. Damn Roulette shots. She finally turned, pretending to ignore him, yet her hips still swayed like a cat—no, more like a mountain lion—in heat, and a part of her, the much lower part, wished he would come to her. Make her purr. Make her rub his—shit. Stop that. She shook her head to clear out the liquid lust.

  The song stopped, and the next thing she knew, Ash and Sara were dragging her up on stage. Before she could protest she was standing front and center at the microphone when the TV monitor showed the title, “Bad Romance.”

  She sent a glare at her friends on each side of her. They both laughed and then began to clap. Screw it. They wanted her to have fun, then by God, she would. The lyrics began on the screen, and she belted out the song in the loudest and most heartfelt voice she could. Sara was bent over laughing, along with some of the crowd, but the rest of the crowd was singing along. Some people covered their ears, though. Well, maybe she was too loud. She lowered her tune some, but right now she didn’t care what anyone thought. “Bad Romance” was exactly the perfect song for her.

  The song ended, and she bowed. A handful of people clapped. Some stood there looking stunned. Most were laughing. Hey, she never claimed to be a great singer, and if they wanted to blame someone for her singing, they needed to point their fingers at Sara and Ash for dragging her up there to begin with.