by Michele Hauf
More than a little annoyed at herself for being caught looking, her tone was sharper than she intended. “They’ll see you. You’re practically drooling.” She reached for her Witch Doctor cocktail and sipped.
“I want them to notice us, silly. That’s the whole point. It’s called flirting or have you forgotten that, too? Besides, you’re just as guilty. I’ll bet you can tell me what color tie the guy’s wearing.”
“He’s not wearing a tie.”
“Gotcha!” Mitch nodded. “Now who’s looking? Gorgeous guys like that are used to being checked out. Come on, live a little.” She turned away from her perusal of the men and took a sip of her martini.
“The bartender said some of the male dancers come up here to relax after the revue when they aren’t on duty fraternizing in the Flirt Lounge. Just look at them: tall, handsome, in phenomenal shape, and sexy as hell. They have to be Chippendales. Have you noticed they’ve been paying for each round with cash—small bills, no change. I read these guys can pick up as much as eight hundred bucks a night.”
“Seriously?” Cleo’s cheeks burned as she pictured where those bills might be stashed. “You’re letting your writer’s imagination run wild. This must be one of the most popular nightclubs in Vegas. I’m sure lots of attractive businessmen come up here for drinks. Many people carry small bills. I do.”
“Uh-uh. Not buying it. Those guys are wearing thousand-dollar suits. Why aren’t they running a tab? We are. I’m right, and you, with your old-fashioned notions of what’s acceptable for you and that outdated morality clause that hamstrings you, don’t want to admit it. I wouldn’t mind letting them entertain me. You can be my private dancer,” she sang the last few words softly offkey before licking the martini off her lips. “Seeing that blond in nothing but bowtie and white cuffs would definitely ring my bells … aw, damn.”
Cleo’s heart echoed the sentiment. Two women, one noticeably pregnant, joined the men, who’d obviously been waiting for them. The pregnant redhead kissed the blond, while the brunette whispered something in the other man’s ear that made him laugh uproariously.
“I should’ve guessed they would be taken.” The disappointment was heavy in Mitch’s voice. “Come on, we might as well go down. It’s after midnight. If you want to check off all the sites on your to-see list, we’ll have to be up early tomorrow.”
“That works for me. Another drink, and I would fall off my shoes.”
“You mean you would fall off my shoes. We seriously need to do some shopping tomorrow. I think my aunt, the nun, is more stylishly dressed than you.”
Cleo frowned. It was true she hadn’t bought anything new in a while, but skin-tight clothes and stilettos weren’t on the acceptable dress code for elementary school teachers with a limited clothing budget. Living at home gave her a break on the rent, but she would have that additional expense if she took the job in Alamo. Her black dress was a classic, and paired with Mitch’s spikes, she thought she looked chic and stylish. So far tonight, she’d managed to walk without a telltale wobble. It was better to leave while she still could.
When she stood, the alcohol played havoc with her equilibrium, and she grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself before following Mitch. Cleo moved carefully. The last thing she wanted to do was fall flat on her face. She looked straight ahead and tried not to notice milk chocolate eyes staring curiously as she made her way across the room. She moved passed the table, distracted by the intensity of his gaze. She’d almost made it to the exit when she realized she’d left the brochures about the Grand Canyon helicopter tours on the table. She turned to go back and get them, and watched in surprise as her dark-eyed hunk lifted his glass in mock salute and gave her an approving nod. She frowned. What kind of man flirted openly—even from a distance—with a woman when he had one sitting right beside him? She’d dated that kind of jerk. She had no intention of getting involved with another one. She pivoted on her heel and moved as quickly as she could toward the exit, praying she could get there without incident.
2
Cleo turned off the shower, wrapped her hair in a towel, donned a fluffy bathrobe, and stepped out of the bathroom. The room, while not as luxurious as some in the hotel, was large, with two queen-sized beds and plenty of space. Up high like they were, they had a magnificent view of the immediate area around them.
“Okay, I’m freshly showered, now what?” She’d had a great day, but it was time to pay the piper—or in this case Mitch’s publisher.
“Now, I paint you. Come on. The can says it’s good for six to eight hours, and it’s best applied to clean skin right after a shower.”
“Why are you painting me? You said I was wearing a costume.” Cleo stared warily at the spray can in Mitch’s hand and the paintbrush and liquid sitting on the floor.
“It’s part of the costume. I have some too.” She removed the yellow rubber glove and lifted the sleeve on her robe to show off the mahogany skin on her arm and hand. “Don’t worry. It’s perfectly safe. I’ll use the liquid on your face.”
Cleo gasped as cold mist hissed from the can and chilled her skin. She tried not to twitch while Mitch covered most of her body in Irish green paint, and what little wasn’t covered in paint she hoped would be covered by her costume—in fact, she hoped the costume would cover a whole lot more. After the paint job, Cleo went into the bathroom to dry her hair, letting it curl and fall in waves down her back as Mitch had insisted. God, she hoped the green color came off her face easier than the green oil paint young Tyler had brought to school that had ruined her skirt and still stained the classroom floor.
“Okay. I think the paint’s dry. Where’s the costume?” She came out of the bathroom and jumped.
“Holy crap! You could have warned me.”
Mitch wore a long black wig, heavy brown makeup, and the facial ridges of a female Klingon warrior. Her body was shoved into a tight, black leather corset-styled top that accentuated her breasts and a long, leather skirt paired with heeled boots with silver toecaps. She had a knife of sorts shoved into her belt.
“Wow! You look fantastic. I could use one of those push-up bras from hell if I ever wanted to look sexy.”
“What are you talking about? You’re one of the sexiest women I know, and the worst of it is, you’re completely oblivious to it. Get your nose out of your father’s ancient history books and look at yourself in the light of the twenty-first century. You may be my best friend in the universe, but sometimes you frustrate me.”
“Let’s agree to disagree on that. I don’t want to be noticed that way. There’s more to me than a set of boobs and long legs. I’m much happier out of the limelight. Now, are you going to tell me about your makeup?”
“It’s a mask. My friend Hailey works at Paramount and made it for me last year. It gets a little warm after a while, but it’s a lot easier than putting the makeup on each time.”
“I wish I had something like that. Where’s the rest of my costume? I’d better be wearing more than green body paint, blood red lipstick, and gold eye shadow.”
“It’s on your bed.”
Horrified, Cleo stared at the scraps of fabric and jewelry on the spread.
“No way! There’s got to be more to it than that.”
The costume consisted of a burgundy silk bikini bra, a matching string bikini bottom with gold-colored sheer skirt panels front and rear, gold muscle bracelets shaped like snakes, and two-inch wide metallic fabric ankle shackles without the chain.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Not only will I catch pneumonia in that, I’ll look like a semi-naked leprechaun harem girl. How does that fit into a sci-fi convention?”
“It happens to be one of the most popular women’s costumes. For the record, leprechauns wear green, and unless they’re some kind of mutants, they aren’t green. With my five-foot-four figure, the costume loses something, but on you, it’ll be awesome.” Mitch handed her a glass of wine. “Here, take a drink and relax. You showed just as much by the pool this
afternoon.”
“Yeah, and whose idea was that? I don’t see why I couldn’t wear my black swimsuit. There’s nothing wrong with it. You seem to forget about the ethics clause in my contract. Lying around in the sun half-naked in public is pushing it. I certainly won’t be wearing that blue bikini to take the kiddies swimming at the local pool, and if anyone recognizes me undressed like this, well, it’ll be a case of don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“You worry about that crap way too much. You weren’t in public this afternoon. You were in a restricted pool area. That stupid clause is archaic, and I’ll bet a good lawyer could prove it violates your constitutional rights—you know, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Between your father’s ‘rules’ and the school board’s ‘thou shall not’s,’ you’re living in the past. Besides you needed a new swimsuit. Even my mother doesn’t wear a one-piece bathing suit like that one. I don’t even think my grandma would wear it. You chose the bikini—there was that gorgeous leopard one…”
“You mean the one cut down to my navel in front, and so high on the hips my ass hung out? No thanks. At least the bikini covered most of my boobs and butt. It’s a wonder I didn’t get parts of me burned to a crisp.”
“Whatever.” Mitch rolled her eyes. “Let’s get you dressed. We need to be downstairs in twenty minutes.”
Mitch helped her put on what was surely the skimpiest alien costume in the universe. Cleo stood before the mirror staring at the creature looking back at her.
“I was right. I look like a mutant leprechaun belly dancer.” She took a sip of her wine. “It’s a damn good thing you didn’t show me this when you asked me to come. I would’ve said no.”
“For the record, you’re not a mutant leprechaun; you’re an Orion slave girl. Men are powerless before you. Too bad that cutie from the bar last night can’t see you. You’re worth a dozen of the brunette he was with. Come here so I can spray the glitter on you.”
Two glasses of wine in quick succession were easing her embarrassment, but as she allowed Mitch to spray the liquid shimmer on her hair and body, she couldn’t resist one final complaint.
“Well, I would rather be wearing what you are. If the air-conditioning is turned up as high as it was this morning, I’ll be an Orion slave icicle!”
“Seriously, Cleo, try to relax. No one’s going to recognize you. I know you’re not used to showing off so much skin, but you look fantastic, and the men will be drooling all around you. Every woman in the room is going to envy you. You’ll be the most sought-after slave girl there.”
“God, I hope not. That’s the last thing I want. I feel like a chunk of meat on display for a starving man. You’re the extrovert, the one who wants to be the center of attraction. I’m not. I think that’s why we’re friends—because we’re so different.” Horror filled her eyes as she thought of something else. “Crap, I hope no one takes my picture. The last thing I need is to have someone see us on the Internet and recognize me. I’ll wear this tonight because it’s too late to find anything else, but if you expect me to help out again tomorrow night, then we’re going costume shopping in the afternoon. I’m sure we can find something a little less revealing.”
“Whatever you say, but I don’t think anyone’s going to recognize you. I’m not sure even your father would. There’s something otherworldly about you. I need to make some notes and take a few pictures myself. A character resembling you, but blue rather than green, is just what my new book needs.”
“Have the decency to give the poor girl a coat of some sort. As I recall from the synopsis you sent me, your book is set on an ice planet.”
“Maybe, but what if her body temperature is normally super low? That would work,” Mitch said, already in writer mode.
Cleo shook her head and turned around, glimpsing herself in the mirror. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Good grief! It was even worse than she’d imagined. Thanks to the glitter, her skin reflected the light and looked alive, shimmering as she moved. Her hair, now resembling a river of flames, shone the same way, making her alluring and mysterious. Her large, hazel eyes seemed more golden than ever. Mitch was right about one thing: she didn’t look like a kindergarten teacher from Gordon’s Grove. She resembled a sexy, alien siren, and that was the last thing she wanted. Too bad Mitch hadn’t picked up two Klingon costumes.
“Just the look I want around a bunch of half-drunk Neanderthals,” she whispered, as she remembered how decent guys had turn into absolute jerks at university costumed frat parties. Would the same hold true for adult males?
“If it makes you feel better, you’ll be standing behind the table replenishing the books as I sign them and handing out bookmarks and the other swag the publisher provided. Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want to be the last one there.”
“Fine.” She shook her head. Why did she let herself get talked into these things?
Following Mitch into the convention hall packed with hundreds of people in various alien costumes, Cleo allowed some of the excitement in the air to calm her fears. She recognized outfits from various sci-fi movies and television shows—it was hard to be Mitch’s friend and not be familiar with the genre. There were several Orion slave girls in a variety of shapes, shades, and sizes, and Cleo saw the not-so-friendly glares she got from them—especially when one of their male friends stared admiringly at her. She nodded in return and chuckled when one girl gave the guy she was with a jab in the ribs.
Keeping up with Mitch, who barreled across the room as if she were in a speed-walking race, wasn’t easy, and within seconds, her friend was out of sight. Barefoot as she was, conscious of the icky, sticky carpet, Cleo moved slowly to avoid stomping boots and heels. She’d almost made it to the promised land of booth security when a giant, in snake-like makeup and the dark gray leather and chain mail associated with the Cardassians, grabbed her arm. He spun her around quickly.
“Hey, let go of my—” Her angry words died on her lips.
“What have we here?” He eyed her hungrily. “Are you lost, my pretty little slave girl?”
Familiar chocolate eyes pierced hers, and she couldn’t think straight. His whiskey-smooth voice caressed her; his touch ignited a fire along her spine. Realizing what he’d said, she searched for an answer.
“Lost? No, I got separated from my Klingon friend. She’s over there.”
She pointed to the publishers’ autograph area where Mitch stood speaking to a six and a half foot tall walking carpet.
“Then allow me to escort you safely to her.”
Holding her close to him, he ushered her across the congested convention floor. He bowed to Mitch and gave the Cardassian salute to her companion.
“I believe she’s yours, but I’m entitled to a reward for coming to her assistance.”
He smiled wickedly before pulling Cleo into his arms and capturing her mouth with his.
Cleo held herself rigid, but the kiss poured liquid fire through her. Of their own volition, her arms wrapped around his neck both to hold her upright and to encourage the incredible sensations to continue. His mouth devoured hers as if she was his last meal. She’d been kissed before, but never like this. When he slowly pulled away, she was breathless. She could see the heat of desire in his eyes.
“Later, my Orion beauty,” he whispered before turning and walking away.
“Cleo, meet Stan, my publisher liaison,” she introduced the man dressed as a Wookie. Now, who the hell was that?”
“I have no idea.” Cleo reached for Mitch’s blue-tinted Romulan ale and drained the glass.
Sam Mason turned from the enticing beauty and noticed the crowd staring at him. He’d just taken the sexiest woman in the room into his arms, and the men probably all envied him. So much for keeping a low profile. He made his way across the convention floor through the crowd of curious aliens, laughing good-heartedly at some of the comments and scowling at others. Okay, so maybe he’d gone a little over the top, but who could blame him?
Ch
arlie waited for him at the bar, a huge grin on his face. Sam’s breathing was ragged, and his heart beat madly. Another part of his anatomy clamored for attention, too. Thank God for Cardassian armor. It had been a long time since a woman’s kiss had turned him on like that. The chemistry between them was unbelievable. His companion was going to have a field day with this.
“Bravo!” Charlie chuckled and raised his glass in a toast. “I thought you wanted to stay under the radar. I think everyone in the room’s got your number now. Damn good thing no one recognizes you in that costume. The paparazzi would go wild.”
Sam reached for the scotch Charlie had ordered him and downed it in one gulp.
“Whoa, buddy. You keep pounding them back like that, you won’t last the night. I’ll say this much, you sure know how to pick’em. She’s superb. Maybe I should try my luck, too.”
Unexpected jealousy reared its ugly head and clawed at Sam’s stomach. “Don’t even think of it, Charlie. I’ve got dibs on the lady tonight.”
“Relax! I was kidding. I saw you stake your claim—so did half the people in this room. I thought you’d sworn off one-night stands, but maybe that decision was premature.”
Sam motioned to the bartender for another round. Talk about an adrenaline rush. He hadn’t felt this alive in months.
“She whet my appetite, but who’s talking one-night stands?” he challenged.
Charlie frowned. “Isn’t that what Orion slave girls are supposed to do? Knock your socks off and leave you wanting more? I seem to remember they ruin you for all other women. I know I’m not as up to snuff on all the sci-fi stuff as I used to be, but, man, she makes my blood boil just looking at her.”
“Yeah, but Orion women probably don’t exist. That lady is one hundred percent human. Don’t you recognize her? She’s the brunette from the Voodoo Lounge.”