She didn’t intend to leave the party alone. Shoving her natural inhibitions to the back of her mind, she told herself she would succeed. In a much more romantic club setting, she would gain his attention—her first step in creating a sex scandal.
Closing her eyes, she visualized the evening exactly how she wanted it to end. With her walking out on Grey’s arm, and reporters taking notice, the gossip reaching all the way to Washington and the senator. To succeed, she needed to create a stir.
But as she and Bobby exited the cab outside the four-story Club Carnal, the only thing stirring was her libido. Stalking Grey Masterson had brought out a side of herself she’d kept hidden too long. Instead of sitting back and letting her social life spin in nowhere land, she was taking charge. Ready for a change. Ready to allow a little passion and fun into her life. Ready to enjoy herself with a fling that would make headlines and cause the senator to ask for his ring back.
Most nights, there would be a block-long line at the popular club’s entrance and a stiff cover charge. Tonight was by invitation only. Two huge bouncers held open the doors and checked their names off on a list.
Beside Toni, Bobby’s eyes opened wide, and she craned her neck to watch handsome men and gorgeous women step out of shiny limousines, wearing designer beach attire. A few men started out the evening bare-chested, and Toni couldn’t help wondering what Grey would wear. She licked her bottom lip a little nervously. Grey Masterson could wear anything he liked and still look like a dream man.
At the sight of a woman in two tiny scraps of lace and a thong, Bobby gasped. “We’re overdressed, if you can believe it.”
Toni handed their invitations to the bouncer, who wore a tuxedo sans shirt, and stepped inside. Despite the music, she kept her tone low. “There’s nothing wrong with nudity, but the best strippers know that half the fun is in the tease, in the imagination. If you show everything up-front, you’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Uh-huh.” Bobby clearly didn’t believe her.
At the cloakroom, they checked their shoes, then the barefooted sisters flowed into the club with the other shoeless guests. The floors above had been gutted, leaving an open area that was four stories high. Music with a heavy beat bombarded their ears. Spinning metallic balls reflected shimmering lights over people dancing amidst waist-high masses of bubbles flowing out of a bubble machine overhead. Rubber matting protected the floors and walls from water damage. The famous erotic art of Club Carnal had been covered with special Plexiglas to protect the paintings and sculptures from the moisture.
The slippery floor, combined with the beat of the music, had the crowd on their feet, spinning and twisting and gyrating. Dancers threw handfuls of bubbles into the air, or onto their partners, or rubbed it over slick skin. The crowd was clearly having a blast.
Off to one side, the bar had standing room only. Bobby spotted a friend and took off with a wave, leaving Toni alone to hunt down her prey. She circled the dance floor twice, then waited at the bar in a crowd, four people deep, to buy a Hurricane. She handed out business cards to several women who stopped long enough to ask where she’d bought her dress—which was now quite soaked yet, thanks to Lycra, held its shape, just as she’d designed it to. She refused to dance with the men who asked, preferring to wait for the right opportunity.
There was only one man she wanted to dance with. And Grey Masterson didn’t seem to be here.
Perhaps he’d arrive fashionably late. But he would come. The one time she’d been in his office, his schedule book had been open to today’s date and she’d read that he’d scheduled an interview with the owner. So she’d begged one of her customers for invitations to be here, too. Although Toni found it a little difficult to imagine conservative Grey partying, according to Lane Morrow, the man knew how to show a woman a good time. And Toni couldn’t wait to learn if the conservative New Orleans businessman could cut loose as Morrow had claimed in her book. Now that she’d left her store and ventured into the city’s nightlife, her need to discover if Grey could turn her on had her eager to meet him. Morrow’s book had revealed that, behind Grey’s forbiddingly conservative tycoon exterior, a playboy longed to emerge. Morrow could have lied. And Toni simply might not experience chemistry with the man, but she was impatient to find out.
Knowing the evening was still young, Toni sipped her drink. She had found a spot where she could lean against the wall. She would be patient. And wait.
She didn’t mind. She spent her time eyeing the clothing, the accessories. Tangerine was in. As were large-hooped silver earrings.
Finally, she spied Grey Masterson. Damn, he looked good in a black cotton scoop-necked knit shirt and black jeans as he said goodbye to a petite woman Toni recognized as the new owner of Club Carnal. But her gaze focused on Grey. He looked sexy. Very sexy. Since he was smiling right at her, with an almost predatory gleam in his piercing blue eyes, she hesitated only slightly before she scooped stray bubbles into her palm, then blew the bubbles in his direction, a blatant invitation.
3
ZANE REMOVED THE nonprescription gold-framed glasses spotted with soap bubbles and hung them at the neck of his damp T-shirt. After his interview with Club Carnal’s owner, he’d intended to briefly scope out the action, then turn in early as Grey would have done. Zane, on the other hand, would have arrived at Club Carnal fashionably late and partied until the place closed down in the wee hours of the morning, then slept the next day until noon. Just the fact that he’d shown up precisely as the doors opened solidified his impersonation of his brother, particularly while around some of Zane’s regular party crowd.
Though Zane took breaks from the frenetic pace of the jet-set lifestyle every so often, to travel leisurely or to enjoy the private company of a woman, he’d never missed his usual frantic lifestyle so quickly. He’d just spent his first day, ten long taxing hours, as the editor-in-chief of the Louisiana Daily Herald, and he supposed tomorrow would be no less draining than facing today’s multitude of endless problems.
No wonder Grey needed a vacation. Between juggling the media circus every time he stuck his head out in public, the phone’s constant ringing with requests for interviews about Lane Morrow’s book, and keeping a constant lookout for the stalker and saboteur, getting any work done, actually running the day-to-day operations, had proved almost impossible. So had checking out the women who worked for Grey. He hadn’t come across one unattractive woman all day, not that he’d been able to do more than take a quick look.
Zane had installed two private phone lines with unlisted numbers just so he could make outgoing calls, then he’d toured the building, paying particular attention to security, grateful for the course he’d taken not too long ago. He’d hired extra guards and spoken to his security chief about upgrading the alarm system. He’d seen no signs of Toni Maxwell and had returned to his office where a mountain of paperwork and twenty-two urgent messages had awaited him. In short order, he’d approved tomorrow’s front page, and then had shown up here to cover the story of the grand reopening of Club Carnal.
And, finally, he’d come face to face with Grey’s stalker.
The exhausting day of pretending to be Grey and dealing with one difficulty after another suddenly disappeared as he found himself getting his second wind. The thought of leaving and missing whatever his stalker had planned for him seemed intolerable. Totally unacceptable. All day, he’d waited for her to show. Now she’d arrived with a cryptic Mona Lisa smile on her lips, and he yearned to know what it meant.
Toni Maxwell carried herself with the posture of a queen. Straight back, head high, she nevertheless had a friendly look in her eyes—and enough curves to make any man happy. With the slick soap bubbles causing her skin to glisten, he had the strangest and most compelling urge to take her into his arms and dance close enough to feel her slick skin against him.
Perhaps it was the aura of mystery around her, but he couldn’t account for the almost overwhelming lust that struck him with the force of lightning.
What did she want?
From the report Grey had on file, Zane had immediately recognized Toni Maxwell standing by the wall—almost as if she’d been waiting for him. However, the picture he’d seen didn’t have the same impact as a personal view. Toni’s expression sparkled with an appealing mix of mischievous minx and coy tiger on the prowl. Her short dress revealed every inch of her toned and shapely legs and hugged every seductive curve. Her breasts were perfect, designed to entice. She’d certainly arrived ready for seduction. When she’d scooped up a handful of bubbles and blown them in his direction, he had a pretty good idea who was her target.
And he was more than ready to let her seduce him. For the first time today, he thought he’d gotten the better end of his deal with his brother.
Zane held his breath, willing this stalker to stalk, hoping with every beat of his heart that she wouldn’t change her mind now. She didn’t disappoint him. Holding her drink above the waist-high bubbles, she swayed across the dance floor, the entire time keeping her gaze locked on his. She possessed light, mesmerizing eyes, come-hither eyes, that somehow provoked and promised and piqued his interest.
While his male instincts were to meet her halfway, it took every measure of his control to remain rooted and wait for her to come to him. Grey had to be crazy to run from this mysterious woman who exuded sex with a capital S.
Zane knew many beautiful women, but few with such a sense of self as Toni Maxwell. She personified sexy confidence to the nth degree, as, without hesitation, she boldly closed in on him. And all he could think was yes, yes, yes. He couldn’t wait to hear her first words, hoping her voice would prove as intriguing as the rest of her.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she admitted in a tone flavored with spice and as smooth as honey.
The implications of her statement rocked him back on his heels and he couldn’t restrain a triumphant grin. A woman who had the confidence to admit that she was waiting for him indirectly implied that she was very sure of her own worth. He liked her boldness as much as the reckless gleam in her eyes.
Curious to see what she would say next, he countered, “You’ve been stalking me.”
“Busted.” She sipped her drink, not so much to delay saying more, but, he guessed, to call attention to her mouth. Glossy red lips, perfectly full and tempting, that left a smudge on the rim of her plastic cup. Full lips that curved upward enticingly as she slowly swallowed. Then, for emphasis, she licked her full bottom lip with the tip of her delicate pink tongue. Slowly, she reached out and placed the flat of her palm against his heart.
Her tone turned teasing. “Do I frighten you?”
“What do you think?” he countered, covering her hand with his own, locking her fingers in his. Warm and eager, she didn’t act coy or try to resist. And yet he had the feeling his touch had more effect on her than she wanted to admit.
Was her attempt at bold seduction an act? Zane knew women quite well and, despite her outer attempts at boldness, he sensed she was holding back part of herself. And that quality made her even more intriguing.
Grey might have just dragged her over to security and had a lawyer slap a restraining order against her. But Zane knew exactly why he wouldn’t. There was an old saying about keeping one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. If this woman was his enemy, he could find out more by talking to her than by sending her away. Besides, he enjoyed the slick feel of her skin beneath his, the sight of her white flesh enclosed in his tanned fingers, and, most of all, the mingled heat of their joined hands.
And he wanted her with a lust that he fought to control. She exuded a chemistry that would have overwhelmed a less experienced man. The impact of her arrival had him intrigued by her mysterious boldness and his curiosity about her motivations upped the stakes.
She made no attempt to pull her hand away, but leaned closer, almost, but not quite, snuggling against him. She smelled of the bubble bath swirling around them and her own fruity perfume. And when she spoke, her tone was low, almost as if she intended her words to entwine around him and draw him closer into the net of privacy she’d woven in the crowded club. “Your heartbeat is rock steady. The rate slightly elevated. You could be frightened. You could be aroused.”
Hell, with her standing as close as she was, it was only normal for his pulse to shoot up. He’d wanted to take her to bed from the first moment he’d seen her across the room. Up close, she was even more delectable.
When he spoke, his deep voice more than matched the huskiness of hers. “So, are you going to answer the million-dollar question?” he asked into her ear, casually watching her to catch her reactions.
She chuckled and faced him squarely. “Which is?”
“Why are you stalking me?”
She raised one eyebrow. “You’re a very attractive man.”
He peered into eyes so full of amusement that he had difficulty believing she could be part of a conspiracy to sabotage their newspaper. However, she had sneaked into Grey’s office while someone else had ruined the ink. The cost of reprinting had been enormous. Had she acted as an accomplice by creating a diversion?
“You’re stalking me because of Lane Morrow’s damn book, aren’t you?” Zane guessed, watching her closely for the tiniest exhibition of guilt.
“Absolutely,” she baldly admitted with no hesitation, not even a flicker of indecision.
He believed she’d just told him the truth. Odd how her admission shot a charge of excitement right through him. This woman was playing a game, but only she knew which one. And only she knew the rules. What did she really want? And why had she chosen Grey?
What did the book have to do with her presence here? Did she need some stud to make her happy? Or could she be one of those women who notched their bedposts with every celebrity that they conned into it? She didn’t seem the type. So confident. So together. None of his former suspicions seemed to match Toni Maxwell in the flesh.
However, just because she claimed she was here because of the book didn’t mean she was telling him the truth. He needed more information, much more information. For a moment, he entertained the thought of spiriting her away to a private nook, teasing her, taunting her, keeping her on the razor’s edge of sexual desire until she told him exactly what he wanted to know. She wouldn’t give in easily—which would make the rewards all the more pleasant. But he didn’t want to frighten her away, so instead he hid his thoughts and spoke mildly. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“I don’t.” Again she surprised him. “It’s the appearances that count.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“I’m in the fashion business, which is all about appearances. The power of fashion is that it allows people to imagine they can be completely transformed by a gown, a bag, a pair of shoes or a diamond ring.”
Her insight fascinated him. “And exactly what is that little number that you’re wearing supposed to tell me about you?”
“Ah, I designed my dress with an evening like this one in mind.” She cocked her head, her eyes daring him, challenging him. “Red is bold and symbolizes bravery. And lust. The thin spaghetti straps suggest fun. The snug material evokes the hidden desires inside the feminine heart.”
“In other words, you designed the dress not to please a man, but to make a woman feel good about herself?”
She gazed around the dance floor, her intelligent eyes taking in first one woman’s attire, then another’s. All the clothing, men’s and women’s, was now soaking wet from the endless supply of bubbles. A few of the women, those who’d worn swimsuits over toned and tanned bodies, appeared attractive. Most looked disheveled, their wet clothes sagging and wrinkling—not that the men seemed to mind.
She turned back to him. “My customers are women. I know what they like by what they buy.”
“How do you know women don’t buy your clothing in the hopes of snaring a man? Or to please a lover?”
“Some do,” she pleasantly agreed with him,
her eyes sparkling. “But the smart ones dress to please themselves. Don’t you?” She didn’t wait for his response. “You’re wearing all black, the color of power, the color of night. It’s dark, mysterious, as if you have something to hide.”
Were her words simply a coincidence? Or did she know his brother well enough to speculate that the twins had switched places? Did she even know that Grey had an identical twin?
Zane had worked with Grey’s employees all day long, and no one had even suggested he wasn’t his twin. Supposedly, this woman was a stranger who had only met his brother once. She couldn’t know him well.
But, for all Zane knew, she could have been secretly stalking Grey for years, and only recently decided to so boldly come forward. According to her file, Toni Maxwell had no history of mental illness. He, a connoisseur of women, found her mentally stimulating, physically attractive. She seemed just as sane, maybe saner, than anyone Zane had met in years.
But, she deftly kept turning the conversation away from herself and her purpose and back to him. He didn’t particularly want to know what his choice of clothing revealed about himself. Especially since he’d had to search hard and long through Grey’s closet to find anything suitable for the opening of a hot nightclub. He was much more interested in her and her reasons for stalking him.
“So women buy clothes to project a certain image—an image that may not be true?” he asked, keeping up his end of the conversation.
She lifted one delicate shoulder in a shrug. “What is true? I believe truth is what we perceive. And what I perceive and what you perceive may be very different.” She gazed upward to one of the enormous erotic sculptures hanging high above the dance floor. “What do you see?”
The couple entwined in an embrace of smoked glass were naked. “I see a couple about to have sex.”
“I see a man and woman in love.”
“Our two thoughts aren’t mutually exclusive,” he mused.
Double the Thrill Page 4