All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  “You remind me of someone. Have we met before?” she asked.

  “I thought you might have recognized me when I kissed you.”

  Was that disappointment in his voice? Why did the fact she hadn’t recognized him bother him so much? If they did know one another, it had to be in passing. She was usually very good at remembering names and faces, but the gray makeup did complicate things.

  “I remembered you.” Sam gazed into her eyes. “That gorgeous hair, liquid fire, is unmistakable. We were in the Voodoo Lounge at the same time last night. I offered you a drink,” he lifted his glass in the now-familiar gesture, “but you declined and left. I was crushed.”

  He was the player from the lounge. She frowned. “Sure you were.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “I might have accepted if you’d offered earlier, but you were otherwise occupied when you did.” She heard the censure in her voice. Damn, she sounded like a bitch.

  “You’re the Chippendales from last night!” Mitch’s voice was a high-pitched squeak.

  Cleo glared at her friend. “Mitch,” she spoke through gritted teeth, her teacher look firmly in place.

  Charlie choked, as if his drink had gone down the wrong way.

  “We thought we’d fooled everyone.” Sam shrugged, his lips twitching. “What gave us away?”

  While Mitch shook her head and gave him her patented how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am look, Cleo watched the bottom fall out of her weekend. Damn! And she’d had such hopes.

  “You mean other than the thong cash? Do you honestly think gods like yourselves don’t stand out among lesser mortals? There wasn’t a man in the bar who could hold a candle to you. I checked them out. I figured it out the moment I laid eyes on you. I said so, didn’t I, Cleo?”

  Mitch kicked her under the table and brought her out of her daze.

  Stunned, Cleo nodded. The man was definitely forbidden fruit—alluring, enticing—and she knew he meant trouble. But, oh my! She was sorely tempted to just ignore it and let the chips fall where they may. This was Vegas and she wanted to gamble on one spin of this wheel. In costume as he was, he was no more recognizable than she was tonight. Why not grab one night of pleasure? Who would know? She would, but did she have the guts to go through with it?

  “So, are you off all weekend?” Mitch wasn’t ready to give up on her snooping, and Cleo clung to every question he answered.

  “Yes. Actually, we’re on holidays for the summer,” Charlie piped up. “We let the college boys take our place and earn a few bucks.”

  Mitch frowned. “I bought a calendar, and you’re not in it. Believe me. I’ve checked the pages thoroughly.” Her eyes narrowed, and she assumed the what-are-you-talking-about look she’d nailed years ago.

  “The calendar’s optional. I haven’t posed for it in years, neither has Sam. Let the kids pick up a few extra bucks. I get more than enough handed to me each night.”

  “Speaking of night, what did you do with the women you were with?” Mitch eyed them cautiously. “We don’t poach in anyone’s territory, and the redhead had a bun in the oven.”

  Sam laughed. “The women were my sisters, Jane and Liz. Jane is expecting her second child in September. She’s rather proud of her little bun. Believe me when I say you aren’t poaching in anyone’s territory, but let’s be honest, shall we?” He looked directly into Cleo’s eyes. “Is there a Mr. Orion out there waiting for you to come home?”

  “The only Mr. Anything in my life is my father,” she mumbled, and then covered her mouth. God, the alcohol was making her stupid.

  Sam’s laughter warmed her. “In that case, can I claim the right to post a no poaching sign? This property is off limits from now on.”

  While part of her rebelled at the idea of being anyone’s property, the thought of belonging to him, even for one night, appealed to her. She knew it was wrong and went against everything she’d ever been taught, everything she believed in, but the smoldering heat in his eyes tore her breath away. He took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and placed a kiss in her palm. She melted like butter in the hot, summer sun.

  “At least for the rest of the weekend?” His voice pleaded and she couldn’t deny him—she didn’t want to.

  If he wanted to stake a claim to her for the next two days, she wouldn’t stop him—she wanted it, too. She might live to regret this, but at least she would’ve lived.

  Sam watched her cheeks darken under the fading green makeup. Was she blushing? He hadn’t seen anyone blush in years. So far, he didn’t know much about Cleopatra Jones, but he found that what little he knew, he liked. She was full of contradiction, and that piqued his curiosity.

  Drop-dead gorgeous, and yet she didn’t like drawing attention to herself. While he didn’t think she was a ball-breaking feminist, she didn’t like being judged by the clothes she wore or treated like an item on the dessert menu. Despite the fact she’d been interested in him last night, she’d backed off when she’d thought he’d belonged to someone else. It seemed the lady had boundaries she wouldn’t cross. Interesting. Most of the women he knew went after what they wanted regardless of who might get hurt in the process. She was interested in flowers and photography, but he’d noticed she was as camera-shy as he was. The most intriguing fact he’d learned was that the only man in her life was her father. She was refreshingly honest and outspoken, even if she was a little tipsy. She had a multilayered personality and he was peeling back the layers one at a time. He was anxious for the next revelation. Reaching across the table for her hand, he caressed her soft skin with his calloused palm.

  “Well, can I post a no trespassing sign?”

  “Just for the weekend,” she answered, so softly he almost missed it.

  He might want to renegotiate that later, but this called for something special. Instead of wine, he ordered a bottle of 1980 Dom Perignon. Cleo’s eyes widened as the waiter popped the cork and then handed it to her. The lady wasn’t accustomed to expensive wine. Good. He wanted to impress her. Hell, he wanted to knock her socks off—and everything else.

  After Sam had tested and approved the champagne, the waiter poured the wine into flutes. She smiled her thanks. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, and then she bit down on the lower lip, her teeth barely showing.

  The gesture went straight to Sam’s groin. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Somehow he doubted it. Not even the most consummate actress could pull off something like that. Her hazel eyes, the color of amber in this light, sparkled like a child’s who’d been handed the largest present under the Christmas tree. He raised his glass.

  “Here’s to the beginning of a friendship that’s going to be out of this world.” He sipped his wine, and she followed suit.

  “Oh my God, this is the best champagne I’ve ever tasted. It’s wonderful.”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Sam found himself appreciating the unique freshness of the oak-cured wine created using equal proportions of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. He wasn’t a wine snob, but he knew how to appreciate something unique and delicious, something like her.

  “At the price of this stuff, it should be.” Mitch took a drink and smacked her lips. “Yummy.” She winked at Cleo, and Sam got the impression her comment wasn’t reserved for the fine wine alone.

  “So, not that it’s hard to understand, but how did you guys get to be Chippendales in the first place? Not everybody’s comfortable stripping for sex-crazed females. I’ve heard they can go a little crazy.” There was genuine interest on Mitch’s face.

  She was probably the kind of woman who liked to take things apart and put them back together—she wanted to know what made them tick.

  “A little crazy?” he chortled. “You have no idea. Women like to have a good time, and Chippendales fulfill their fantasies. Last week, the club hosted a private party for a group of women who belong to a Midwest chapter of the Red Hat Society. They were all up there in years, and believe me, they had a great time. I’ll probably never again see a woman in a re
d hat and purple dress without thinking of it.” Sam remembered the way Liz had described the antics of the ladies last night. The women had definitely enjoyed themselves, spent lots of money, and promised to come back next year. As the hostess, Liz felt the event had been a huge success.

  Cleo’s flush he’d noticed earlier hadn’t abated. She hadn’t said anything, but her brow was furrowed, and she was chewing the inside of her cheek, suggesting she was waging an internal war over something.

  Mitch guffawed. “I can just imagine. Maybe the next time I come to Vegas, I’ll bring my grandma. She’s always up for anything. So, you didn’t answer my question. What made you become strippers?”

  “The money and ladies, of course, but we prefer the word entertainer,” Charlie answered. “We’re more than pole dancers.”

  Cleo choked on her wine. Sam could imagine what image Charlie’s words had created in her mind. He remembered her reaction to his information on the Ghost orchid. Could her eyes get any bigger?

  He leaned over and spoke softly. “You’re awfully quiet. I can almost see the wheels turning in your beautiful head. What are you thinking?”

  He saw her swallow and knew she wasn’t going to share her thoughts—at least not the ones that had intensified her color. She probably didn’t realize the darkening was visible, assuming the cosmetic paint would hide it.

  “I’m trying to figure out why you’re with me, with us.” She inclined her head to include Mitch and Charlie in her statement. “I mean, look at you both. You can have any woman in the place.” She lowered her gaze, and he read her confusion.

  “But I’m with the most beautiful one now.” He tilted her chin up to look directly into her eyes. There was an innocence there that belied her costume, and he felt a momentary pang of guilt. “Why would I want another? It’s what I want to do to you later that you should be thinking about.” He winked to add some levity to what had become an emotionally charged moment.

  5

  Needing to get his mind off the images he’d conjured in his head, Sam smiled. “Now, how about something to eat? He indicated the platters the waiter had set in front of Mitch and Charlie. You mentioned you hadn’t eaten before coming to the convention.”

  “That would be great. I’m famished,” she said, sipping her champagne after grabbing the French fry Mitch held out to her. “And if I have too many more of these without eating, I won’t make it through the night.”

  The flush on her skin darkened, and he smiled. “Then, my Orion beauty, let’s get you fed.”

  The waiter returned, and after discussing it with Cleo, Sam ordered Caesar salad, chateaubriand, and cherry cheesecake for dessert.

  Conversation, like the champagne, flowed smoothly among the four of them, and Sam was pleased seeing Cleo relax. He wanted her to enjoy herself tonight as much as he was. The lady 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, what seemed most amazing to him, was the fact that she listened to others as if whatever they had to say mattered to her.

  When the food came, she surprised him once more. 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 as Cleo described the various activities she’d taken part in earlier in the day.

  Her genuine pleasure in the little things made him wish he’d been with her. He’d forgotten how much fun a visit to Vegas could be. When was the last time he’d visited the Luxor and its museum, taken a roller coaster ride, or sat to watch the dancing water at the Bellagio? How long had it been since he’d ridden the monorail across town or eaten at one of the massive buffets? This 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. Now, he was anxious to see how the rest of the weekend would unfold.

  Replete, he sat back, more content than he’d been in months, watching as Cleo polished off the last of the cheesecake. The food was as superb as he’d known it would be, maybe more so because of the appreciation of his dinner companion.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Sam took a mouthful of coffee, relishing her almost orgasmic reaction to the cheesecake, looking forward to eliciting the real thing from her later.

  She swallowed and licked her lips. “I’m having the time of my life. This is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had, and ... everything is great.” She grinned. “Thank you. I’m so glad I didn’t talk myself out of coming.”

  “So am I. Tell me, my pretty Orion lady, do you often talk yourself out of things?”

  She chuckled. “All the time. I make this pro and con list, and usually have more cons than pros, but I’m not as good at talking myself out of things as Mitch is into talking me into them. Coming here was her idea.”

  “Then, I owe the lady my thanks,” he said and raised his coffee cup in salute, even though the lady in question was no longer with them.

  After finishing their meals, Charlie and Mitch 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 a new sci-fi movie coming out in the fall that Charlie wanted to see. Now, they were alone as he’d longed to be.

  “Will there be something else, sir?” the waiter asked politely as Cleo finished the last of her coffee.

  “Do you want anything else?”

  “No, I’m good. I can’t possibly eat or drink anything else.”

  “Then how about we work some of it off on the dance floor?” He couldn’t wait to take her into his arms.

  She grinned. “I thought you would never ask.

  Cleo felt like a fairy princess—Cinderella at the prince’s ball. If this were a dream, she prayed she would 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 at the party 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?

  It wouldn’t be worth it. Look at what unlimited funds had done to Dave. He’d gone from being the sweetest man in the world, the man she’d hoped to marry, to a class-A jerk in one swift move. She might’ve blown her entire summer wardrobe budget on three outfits this morning, including the swimsuit she would probably never wear again, but she had her integrity.

  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 would 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. But how long would that last? He was probably already looking for a sugar mama to support him when his dancing days were done.

  “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.

  Although his costume was stiff and prevented her from getting as close to him as she would like, just being in his arms was a wonderful sensation. 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?” he asked, holding her as close as his costume allowed, his warm breath sending waves of sensation across her skin.

  “Uh-huh. I never expected the night to turn out like this,” she said, amazed she could still speak. She hiccupped. “Sorry. 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. “Hopefully, I’ll stick to the penny slots, but once the gambling bug bites, who knows?”