The trade show began inside the ballroom doors. Melanie squeezed in without anyone checking for her badge since so many people were crowding into the doors. She wandered by booth after booth of video producers, talent agencies and lingerie companies.
She stopped at one that featured bustiers, teddies and panties in fiery red and fingered a satin bra with cutouts where a woman’s nipples would be. If she bought the lingerie, would a man to appreciate it appear in her life?
A booth across the aisle caught her eye. Could it be food? Her erotic thoughts vanished instantly. She walked over, accidentally treading on a gladiator-sized muscle man’s surprisingly tiny foot. He opened his mouth to roar at her, but his exclamation of rage was lost in the noise of the crowd. Everyone here seemed to be talking louder than normal.
The booth indeed held food. She reached eagerly for a cellophane-wrapped cookie, only to pull her hand away when she realized what the frosting on the cookie depicted - a naked woman in pink, black and red frosting. Pink for skin, red for lips and nipples and black for hair of all kinds.
“They’re anise-flavored.”
Melanie looked up. “What?”
“Anise. The cookie flavoring. It goes with the black detailing. Have one, they’re really good.” The salesman smiled at her then ducked his head shyly, graying ponytail bobbing up and down.
Melanie was surprised this kind of scene attracted the bashful type. “I don’t know, I—”
“Oh.” The man glanced down at the cookie she held. “Not your speed, huh.” He took the cookie from her unresisting hand and set it on the plate then grabbed another serving platter to her left.
“Here you go. These are gingerbread. They last for months—vacuum sealing. I think that’s a real selling point for my product, don’t you?”
“Certainly,” Melanie agreed, taking the gingerbread very-much-a-man from him.
“The frosting is a basic but very excellent vanilla,” the man explained.
“It’s very, ummm, realistic,” Melanie said, “much better than the last wedding shower cake I saw.” She opened the cellophane without taking a solid look at the contents. She’d never seen a gingerbread man with an anatomically correct groin before.
“Thanks. I design my own cookie cutters too.”
“I’m sure they’ll be a huge hit.” Melanie gently took a bite off one foot, three toes worth. “This is great!”
“The gingerbread is from a family recipe. My grandmother would decorate our Christmas tree with gingerbread men—not quite so detailed of course.” He offered her another grin and ponytail wag. “They lasted for months. I got the idea when I was going through her stuff after she died.”
Melanie bit off the leg up to the knee and took a closer took at the rest of the cookie. It looked like a cowboy, with boots and hat and kerchief. “You’re quite an artist. The detail is great.”
“My lover came up with the frosting detail. We have policemen, firemen, GIs, businessmen, adventurers…”
“Wow. I wish I had a business to sell them in—I’m just looking around though.”
“Trying to break in?” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’ll do fine—you’ve got a great look. But if I could give you a piece of advice—I’d sex it up a bit. Like lose the blouse. It’s clear you’ve got a great body, but in this crowd, it helps to flaunt it.”
Melanie glanced down at her sea foam-green blouse. “Oh I’m not really here—”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most girls get started younger, but you still look great. Coming here was a good idea.” He pointed toward the back of the ballroom. “I think Red Velvet is casting for a new series.”
“Thanks,” Melanie said, flattered. She gave the vendor a wave and headed toward the front of the ballroom. Melanie had focused her attention on the Exit sign but as she was nearing her goal a booth on the right caught her eye. Oils.
Rats, was her first thought. Her second was curiosity. She edged up to the booth, wondering if the proprietor could sense a competitor. The bottles of oil were made of lovely cobalt blue glass, shaped like Egyptian perfume bottles. Their sensuality made Melanie itch with a desire to touch them.
The booth was deserted. Melanie realized the crowd had diminished considerably due to the hour. The conventioneers would be off at a comped lunch in one of the casino’s restaurants.
She sighed, knowing she needed to get back to Tommy Joe, who was probably through the line by now. But a bottle on a table in the back of the booth caught her eye and drew her closer. This bottle was slender and amber-colored. She lifted the vial, running a finger along its cork, which was wrapped with copper wire. It had no price tag. Perhaps it belonged to the premium line? She tugged at the cork and it came away easily in her hand. The scent was divine. Lemon and sandalwood. The kind of scent that energized you, made you want to snuggle into a Jacuzzi with a lover. She smiled. Tommy Joe just might be getting lucky that night.
“Admiring your own product? Is that how Shari recommends you bring in the customers?” said a deep male voice behind her.
Melanie twirled around. Her personal idea of Adonis leaned over the counter in the front of the booth. He was thirtyish, with a tight build, mischievous dark eyes and blond hair with ash brown streaks.
“Considering the way you were fondling that thing, it would be worth a penny for your thoughts. Maybe even a buck,” he drawled.
Melanie bit her lip, feeling exposed. Of course, there was no way she would meet anyone classy at a place like this. Still, a tremor shook her from the crown of her head to her toes. He was downright yummy. She looked at the vial in her hands, imagined chasing the fluid down his chest with her tongue. Oh yeah, it could be done. She forgot all about young Tommy Joe.
“Honey?” His eyes twinkled. “Cat caught your tongue?”
“Do you always talk in clichés?” she asked, hoping that she sounded saucy.
“Do you always daydream on the job?” he countered.
“I have to go,” she stammered, tearing her gaze from his and pushing the cork back into the bottle. Maybe that was why she couldn’t think straight. Sandalwood had a reputation for putting you into a meditative state.
“Why are you still here when everyone is supposed to be at lunch?”
“I was just looking. I don’t work here. Though apparently I fit in.” Melanie instinctively tugged down her skirt then reminded herself that this was her new look.
“A woman with a body like a pinup girl always belongs in a place like this. In fact, you look a lot like a walking, talking fantasy of mine.”
“There you go with the clichés again,” Melanie blurted.
Adonis raised his eyebrows. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I fell like I’m listening to an X-rated Mother Goose.” Melanie patted her hair then realized she had just made a spontaneous flirtatious gesture. Her new wild life aside, did she really want to play with a porn person? With his looks, he could be a big star. How would she know? “I’m meeting someone. I need to go.”
Melanie stepped away from the counter. As she came around the corner, she tripped on an exposed electrical cord. Throwing out her arm, she caught her hand onto a firm object. When her vision cleared, she blushed to see she had her palm slammed up against Adonis’ left nipple, which immediately hardened under his shirt.
“Shall I tell Shari you stopped by?” Adonis said with a grin.
Melanie snatched her hand away. “No, that’s okay.”
He stopped her with a look. “Considering the way you were making yourself at home in her booth, I thought you were a personal friend. Not to mention I’ve just noticed you aren’t wearing a badge.”
“I left it upstairs,” she lied, hated to give up the protection of the counter side between herself and this unnerving man, but she did, skirting him and the cord as unobtrusively as possible. She could feel his eyes digging into her back as she walked away.
Rob watched the woman rush away. She was as skittish as a colt, he thought. Then he
winced. She was right! She made him think in clichés. She reminded him of Bombshell, but she had something extra, some special spark. And his response was to behave like an idiot.
So how should he describe her beauty, if he didn’t use clichés? He couldn’t say “She walks in beauty, like the night” for two reasons. She was blonde and Byron’s words were now a cliché! Or even Campion’s “There is a garden in her face/where roses and white lilies blow”, even though her skin was like that, with rosy cheeks and fair skin.
Maybe that should be his new career, he thought sardonically. A bad poet. He never should have taken that poetry appreciation class in college. All he ever remembered was the descriptive love poetry. He’d have no problem whispering sweet nothings into this mysterious beauty’s ear, that’s for sure.
Then a thought struck him. Who was she? She might have been up to no good. The business was full of crooks and con artists.
* * * * *
Melanie sped down the hallway outside the north end of the ballroom as fast as she could, furious with herself. She hated lying, but she had been afraid Adonis would arrest her if he discovered she shouldn’t have been in the trade show, not to mention fondling someone’s products. He had that commanding air she connected with law enforcement, though he didn’t wear a uniform.
She hit the down button on the elevator, wondering idly what Adonis was doing at the conference. He seemed too conservatively dressed to be a part of the crowd she’d seen at the tradeshow, though he was pretty outrageous in his appraisal of her. What had he said? That she had ‘a body like a pinup girl’? If she fit that statement, it was certainly true of him. He could be a real pinup boy. She wondered if she’d run into him again. The odds weren’t good, which was a pity. She’d have liked to get a second look. Just for fun.
The elevator opened. Empty. She got in and pushed the lobby button. So was he a distributor? Or maybe some kind of entrepreneur? He obviously knew the woman who owned the edible oil company. That would be fine. He’d make a great playmate as long as his professional interests didn’t involve being filmed with playmates.
The elevator descended to the lobby and she stepped out to the ringing of the slot machines. Melanie tried to orient herself, walking deeper into the casino and the raucous chimes that made you think people were winning big bucks. A few yards on, she found a sign pointing toward Registration and figured out where she was.
Maybe Adonis belonged to the hotel staff, not to the convention itself. Maybe he was a security guard! He had taken her lack of a badge quite seriously. All she knew for sure was how hot he looked, how warm his chest had felt, how his nipple had hardened under her hand. She wondered if the rest of him would come to attention as quickly if her hand had dropped there…
By a large fern in the reception area, Tommy Joe waited for her, his arms folded across his chest. Melanie noticed that his chest wasn’t nearly as large or defined as Adonis’s had been.
“You took your sweet time,” he pouted.
How hostile, Melanie thought. Tommy Joe had been so even-tempered until now. “I’m sorry, I got distracted.”
“Didn’t you find anything to eat?”
Melanie blushed at the memory of what she had nibbled on. “Just a cookie.” She noticed the luggage at his feet. “Did you get our rooms?”
Tommy Joe produced a key packet for her. “I couldn’t get us rooms next to each other, but we are on the same floor. On opposite ends.”
“Fine.” Melanie didn’t like the idea of them having rooms next to each other anyway. Too intimate. “It’s not as if we’re going to be spending any time there.”
Tommy Joe smiled shyly. “Our rooms are near the pool. I still remember all those trophies you had in the case in your entryway,” he said, enthusiasm in his voice. “I bet you still like to swim.”
The diving trophies. Gerald had insisted they be displayed prominently. You couldn’t get much more prominent than a lighted case in the one hallway every visitor walked through. She had packed them away as soon as Gerald moved out. Her diving career was ancient history.
“I appreciate that, Tommy Joe. I would like to swim while I’m here.”
A security guard stopped their progress as they came into the hotel part of the enormous casino and made them show their room cards.
Tommy Joe pulled his out of the paper sleeve and showed the hotel logo to the guard. “She’s with me,” he said officiously, as if she didn’t have a room key of her own.
Melanie, annoyed, started to pull hers out of her pocket too, but the guard waved her on with a bored look then checked the room card of a slim Asian woman with beautiful glossy black hair who stood behind her.
At the elevators, Tommy Joe said, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you by making it sound like we were sharing a room. As fun as this is, I realize we might not have traveled to Las Vegas together under different circumstances.”
“No problem.” Boy was that right. She couldn’t imagine this shy guy being her Devil-man soul mate. Now that Adonis guy with his commanding behavior, him she could see being a handful. But he had blond hair, which didn’t fit.
He smiled his shy smile at her. “C’mon, Melanie, let’s dump our stuff and find a restaurant.”
Melanie looked back at the security guard. He wore a matching puke green shirt and pants, obviously a uniform. If she recalled correctly, Adonis had on a tan cashmere T-shirt with black pants and ankle boots. Obviously he wasn’t a security guard.
She couldn’t get her mind off the feel of his soft cashmere shirt and the hardness underneath. Her skin still tingled. She felt like the little kid who swore he’d never again wash the palm of the hand that shook his baseball hero’s hand.
Who was Adonis? Had she ever been so attracted to a man in all her life?
Chapter Four
A few hours later at the LeatherWorks booth, Rob realized he was staring at Tim’s leather and metal dog collar. At least he was advertising the company’s products. Rob considered himself lucky his staff didn’t walk around the office in the black mask and leather underwear combo that had been their bestseller last Christmas. It was one hell of a business.
He smiled at Anita, who was walking by, hips twitching. She did stand out in the crowd.
She stopped at his counter, saying, “Sweetie!”
“I prefer Sweetums, you know,” Rob said, deadpan. The erotically charged atmosphere was getting to him. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t get that beautiful blonde out of his mind. Had he ever met a sexier woman in his life? He felt a stirring in his shorts that he tamped immediately, knowing full well Anita’s reaction if she thought his erection was for her. He really needed to get back to his office and spreadsheets.
“Oh you,” Anita giggled and ran a hot pink-taloned finger down his exposed forearm. “I was wondering…”
“Yes?” He jerked his arm away.
“Is there any chance you might be featuring anyone other than yourself on your packaging again anytime soon?”
“Anita,” Rob said, weary of this never-ending correction, “I’ve never been featured on our packaging. It’s my grandfather.”
“Sure it is, Sweetums,” she said.
“Scout’s honor,” he said, giving the time-honored salute.
“You know,” she looked him up and down, “I almost believe you were a Boy Scout.”
“I can prove that I’m not the Whipmaster. Grandfather and I don’t even remotely have the same physique.”
“I’d love for you to prove it.” She made a come-hither motion with her fingers.
He shook his head. “I don’t have to. You saw me at the pool yesterday. You’ve seen just about all there is to see of me, woman.”
Anita narrowed her eyes. “Not the best parts.”
“The Whipmaster’s ‘best’ parts aren’t displayed on the packaging of LeatherWorks’ products either.”
“I’ve always wondered about that. I mean, what are you hiding under those leather shorts?”
R
ob shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Anyway, Rob, about my question. I heard from someone that you were auditioning people?”
“No, where did you hear that?”
Anita shook her head. “I met this cute little Asian girl who said LeatherWorks was auditioning.”
“I don’t mind talking to her, but you know LeatherWorks is for sale, right?”
“I wonder who she heard about the audition from. Maybe someone was pulling a fast one.” Anita shrugged and asked, “What are you going to do with yourself if you end up out of work?”
Rob grimaced. “Right before lunch I considered becoming a bad poet.”
“There’s always a need for more good love poetry. Maybe you can come up with something that rhymes with Sweetums.”
“Ha ha.”
“But seriously, what is next for Rob Black?”
“I really don’t know. Maybe in six months I’ll come to you begging to be your manager.”
Anita smirked. “I represent myself better than anyone else could. But I’d throw you a bone. You threw me one once.”
“It was never like that.”
She gave him a sunny smile. “I always liked you. You’re a nice guy. Be sweet to that little Asian girl, Rob. She has that look in her eye.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I might do something stupid if I don’t get a break soon’ look.”
“The ‘I’m gonna get drunk and get a tattoo’ look?”
Anita laughed. “Something like that.” She waved her fingers at him as she turned to go and swiveled her hips down the corridor.
Rob leaned against the unsteady wall of his booth and let the noise of all the humanity bargaining at booths wash over him. He glanced at his product line. They were already getting low on the masks. Anita’s face on the packaging sure didn’t hurt his sales there. Maybe he could fit a new woman in somewhere. They were testing out a cowgirl kit. It might be nice to play against type.
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