All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  “You might even work your way up to a whole quarter. In fact, let me spot you five bucks and we’ll split the winnings.”

  She snuggled closer into him. “Maybe.”

  They swayed and danced in silence as she indulged herself in this wonderful, alien sensation. The music ended too soon, and she stepped back.

  “So, you definitely don’t live on the edge. Your dad must be really important to you if you still let him tell you what to do.”

  “You’ve got it wrong. Dad doesn’t tell me what to do, he strongly suggests, and since they’re my rules—well, most of the time—I follow them because it’s who I am. My dad’s the most important man in my life. He’s my hero—always has been, always will be. Over the years, he’s helped me through some dark times, and I’m doing my best to help him through one now. Since my mother died, it’s just been the two of us, and he hasn’t been the same. I know Mitch thinks he’s old-fashioned with definite ideas of right and wrong, but he’s no different than a lot of people back home. There’s no gray in their world.” She giggled and looked up at him. “I guess there would be if they ever met a Chippendale dressed as a Cardassian.”

  “Well, he’s raised a fascinating daughter. I hope to meet him someday.”

  The music started anew, David Bowie’s, “Starman,” and while the tempo was a little upbeat, Sam pulled her into his arms again. Unwilling to dwell on the possibility of this man ever meeting her father, Cleo nestled into his chest again.

  “You’re a terrific dancer, but I’m sure you’ve heard that a thousand times before. I’ll bet you’re really good at other things, too.”

  She felt his chest quake when he laughed. “I’ve never really thought about it. No one’s ever complained about my technique.”

  His teasing words slapped her, reminding her that she was just another woman in the long list of women he’d entertained. How many had he taken to bed?

  When the song ended, he escorted her toward the table where Mitch and Charlie sat. Mitch was obviously enjoying herself, too. She and Charlie had hit if off nicely.

  “Hey, you two.” Charlie looked up as they approached. “Mitch and I are all registered for tomorrow. There are still a few spots open if you want to join us.”

  Sam turned to her. “Do you? I thought maybe you’d like to do something else. It sounded as if you’d enjoyed sightseeing today. We can visit the casinos, but I’d prefer to be outside. It’s up to you. What would you like to do?

  Cleo chewed her lower lip. Part of her wanted to spend the day in his bed, having him do all sorts of things to make her body sing, but the rational part answered.

  “If the weather’s good, I’d planned to take the helicopter tour. The one I was interested in goes to the Hoover Dam and then provides a champagne lunch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon beside the Colorado River.”

  He grinned. “A helicopter tour it is. I have a friend who owns a helicopter. He lets me use it anytime it isn’t being used for business. I’ll see if I can arrange something special for us. Since you’re not familiar with Nevada, maybe I can get him to throw in a couple of ghost towns, Death Valley, or another section of the Mojave Desert. There’s one old mining town where you can tour the place where Clark Gable and Carol Lombard spent their honeymoon. And some of the smaller tourist places may have something special planned tomorrow since it’s the Fourth of July. There’ll be extra fireworks in Vegas, too. How does that sound?”

  Cleo considered his words, wishing her rational mind had stayed clouded by the champagne.

  The fact he’d suggested a private tour made the offer more appealing. It lowered the odds of his being recognized by one of his fans, and made the option of spending the day with him possible. So far, Sam hadn’t asked many personal questions. She might have inadvertently given away more than she’d wanted to about her dad, but he’d caught her off-guard.

  Although she knew it wasn’t wise, she was drawn to the man in a way she’d never been. Weren’t all women supposed to be attracted to bad boys? Why would she be any different? There was no way she could deny the chemistry that flared between them. She wanted to spend as much time as she could with him, even if it meant she would end up another notch on his belt—or would it be his bedpost?

  Ah, but what a perfect lover he would make, the kind women dreamed of. Every woman deserved a night in the arms of a man like that, so why wouldn’t she? Rules be damned. It would be only one weekend. They had no future, just the present. Falling in love with this guy would bring nothing but pain and heartache.

  “I would love to see the Mojave Desert, but won’t you find it dull? You must have done it a hundred times,” she said. And with hundreds of other women.

  The thought depressed her, and she reached for the glass of champagne that had materialized in front of her. She took a large mouthful and then put the glass down. Time for a reality check.

  “I shouldn’t have any more of this tonight. I don’t want to be hung over in the morning. Besides, the paint is really getting itchy. It’s time to take it off.”

  “We’ll need to get an early start to do all those things I’ve mentioned. I’ll take you up.”

  Now that the possibility of having sex with Sam loomed before her, her insecurity took over. Part of her was dying to know what it would feel like to be in his bed, while another part was terrified of showing him how inexperienced she really was. What had she gotten herself into now?

  Sam stood, and short of being rude, Cleo couldn’t think of any way to tell him she could manage alone. She looked toward the exit and the men she would have to pass to get out of the room and reach the elevators, and slipped her arm through Sam’s. Better the devil she knew.

  After saying goodbyes all around, she allowed Sam to escort her out. She was most definitely drunk and found it was hard to walk straight. If she were in one of those television shows where the police made the drivers get out of the car and put their fingers on their noses, she doubted she would be able to do it, let alone walk a straight line. Champagne was a wonderful beverage, but one she would definitely have to watch. Too much of the stuff, and she would lose all of her scruples and inhibitions. But, wasn’t that the point? She hiccupped and giggled.

  “You know, Sam, you’re a very nice man. A lot of the men who approached me tonight weren’t. I had no idea there were so many predators in the world.” She smiled shyly. “In spite of all that, I had a wonderful time.” She hiccupped again.

  It was a good thing she wasn’t trying to be sexy and glamorous. Sam’s women probably didn’t get hiccups after a few glasses of champagne.

  She glanced around, conscious of the leers she was still getting. The concourse was as crowded as it had been earlier. Didn’t people sleep in this town? What was it with this new obsession with sleeping and beds? Looking up at Sam, she smiled. The last thing she wanted to do with him was sleep.

  This was Vegas, the city that never slept. Many of the conventioneers were headed to the elevators, no doubt to go up to the Voodoo Lounge or down to the casino floor. One man looked at her and made strange gestures with his tongue. She scrunched up her face in concentration. How did he do that? Moreover, what did it mean?

  She looked over at three girls in similar costumes walking toward her. The guy with the tongue said something to them, and the tallest girl gave him the finger and said something. Whatever it was, Super Tongue walked away. Good for her!

  “No question about it. I’ll have to find a new costume for tomorrow night—one with shoes. This floor is gross.” She pointed to the woman dressed in a navy blue bodysuit, knee-high heeled boots, and metallic accents on her face. “I rather like that one. That’s Seven of Nine, Borg drone re-humanized. No one’s looking at her as if she’s the top choice on the dessert menu.”

  Sam turned her to face him, his face more serious than she’d seen it all night. “Cleo, I have two sisters. One works here. I know what asses men can be whether they’ve been drinking or not. I’ve been to New Orleans during M
ardi Gras and seen similar behavior. It’s never right for a man to treat a woman the way those guys treated you tonight. I watched your face when some of them approached you in the booth. From the look on it, you weren’t too impressed with them either. Unfortunately, a lot of people just ignore men behaving badly. It’s a mindset that needs to change. You should wear whatever makes you happy. You shouldn’t let a bunch of thugs make the decision for you. Those guys tonight won’t bother anyone else. They’ll be on their way home tomorrow. They should have read the fliers in their rooms. The consequences of harassment were spelled out clearly.”

  “You say the nicest things.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  Sam pulled her more closely into him to avoid a reeling Green Lantern who seemed to have trouble walking. The superhero wasn’t staring at her; in fact, his eyes were barely open. She hoped he would make it to his room in one piece. Why did people drink so much?

  Hello, po. This is the kettle calling.

  She giggled once more and yelped when her bare foot struck a cold, wet patch of carpet.

  He stopped suddenly. “Did I hurt you?” The concern on his face and in his voice warmed her.

  “No, it wasn’t you. Somebody must’ve spilled a drink. The carpet’s cold, wet, and sticky. Yuck!”

  She tried to walk on tiptoes, but stumbled. Sam picked her up and cradled her against his chest.

  “A Cardassian Gul never lets a woman walk on yucky rugs, I’m a gentleman. Is this better?”

  She nestled into his arms. “Thank you. I’m sure my foot would have stuck to every little piece of trash on the floor.”

  Cleo noticed people staring at them, but she no longer cared. Instead of looking away, she waved. To hell with them. It felt good being in his arms, and that’s exactly where she planned to stay. When they reached the elevator, she expected him to put her down. Instead, he settled her more tightly against him.

  “You don’t have to carry me. I can walk now,” she offered half-heartedly.

  “Enjoy the ride. I’m quite comfortable showing off my strength.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he’d done earlier. “Where are we going?” he asked as he stepped into the elevator.

  “Suit yourself, He-Man. Room thirty-four ten, please,” she answered, glad the elevator ride wouldn’t be a short one.

  “Where’s your room key? I’ve been wondering about that all night. It isn’t as if you’ve got lots of hiding room in that costume.”

  He pushed the button for the thirty-fourth floor and the elevator doors slid shut.

  Cleo stared at herself in the mirrored walls, amazed to see how tiny and helpless she appeared in his arms. Usually, she was anything but. She’d taken self-defense courses, but the stamp didn’t work in bare feet. Another point in favor of those kick-ass boots Seven had been wearing. The questioning look on Sam’s face made her giggle. What had he asked her? Oh, yes. Her key. Was he eyeing her cleavage?

  “It’s not there,” she said and made what she hoped was a haughty pout. “Why do men always assume women keep everything in their breast pockets? It’s on my ankle.”

  “On your ankle? Where?”

  “There.” She wiggled her foot.

  Sam looked down at her as if she’d lost her marbles.

  “Sweetheart, it’s a very nice ankle, but I don’t see anything that looks remotely like a keycard.”

  Cleo huffed out a breath. “That’s because it’s hidden in a secret place, so no one can find it.”

  She tried to reach her ankle with her hand, but the zipper had twisted around to the other side. She pulled her leg up and tugged at the fabric manacle, twisting it on her leg until the tiny plastic zipper came into focus. This would probably be a lot easier if she were standing up, but she liked it up here. She stuck out her tongue in concentration, but it took three tries to get the zipper open and release the key card from the hidden pouch in the manacle. She handed it to him.

  “See? Told you it was on my ankle. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah. Really easy to see. You women and your purses. I should have guessed. I think Liz wears something like this on her wrist when she runs.”

  “Your sister wears a manacle on her wrist when she runs? That’s silly.”

  Sam looked down at her. “Not a manacle, a pouch thing that looks like a sweatband.”

  “You’re staring at my boobs again, aren’t you?” Cleo accused with mock indignation.

  Sam looked away. His shoulders shook. Was he laughing at her?

  “Busted,” he answered. Cleo dissolved into giggles.

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open, revealing the well-lit hallway.

  “Come on, my tipsy, little slave girl. Time for bed.”

  Cleo smiled nervously and let the words fall between them. She let him carry her down the hallway to her room, waited patiently as he inserted the keycard in the lock, and opened the door. He set her down on the floor, flipped the light switch, and moved inside, placing the keycard on the table between the chairs in front of the windows.

  She walked over to him. The curtains were open.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? All the colors and the way they flash, and they go on and on as far as I can see. They’re fairy lights in a magic kingdom. You can believe all your dreams can come true here.” Would hers? Somehow the normal husband, children, and white picket fence seemed farther away than ever.

  “I haven’t looked at it that way it a long time. You make me see things differently. You see beauty in the neon glitz, and when I look at it through your eyes, it becomes otherworldly. You’re not a slave girl, Cleo, you’re a sorceress, and tonight you’ve bewitched me.”

  He pulled her into his arms, and his mouth captured hers as it had earlier in the evening. The room spun, and she leaned into him, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his neck. The kiss, sweet and tender, intensified, fueling her desire. His lips were firm against hers, just as they had been earlier. She felt the sandpaper of his midnight shadow against her face—it was strangely arousing and not at all uncomfortable as she thought it would be. His lips moved from hers to her eyes and the side of her face, down along her neck, nuzzling at the pulse point beneath her ear.

  He reclaimed her mouth with an urgency devastating in its intensity, and unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Sam pulled his mouth away slightly and licked at her lips and she opened to him. His tongue slipped between her slightly parted lips and swept her away on a sea of desire. He continued to stroke the inside of her mouth, creating wave after wave of pleasure. The slow, sweeping motions drew a moan from deep inside her. He pulled back and then thrust in again, leaving her tingling in anticipation of what was surely to come. His hands moved along her bare back to cup her butt and pull her tightly against him.

  Without an inkling of what she was doing, she let her instincts guide her as she responded. Her tongue tangled with his, and when he pulled his back to allow her to plunge into his mouth, she darted in quickly. He tasted so good; she would never get enough of him. Before she could continue her exploration of his mouth, he pulled back, rested his forehead against hers a moment, and then moved away. Something vital to her survival had just been ripped away from her. He straightened, breathing as heavily as she was.

  “You’re more potent than thirty-year-old scotch, and I’ve had more than my fair share of that. Now, before my baser nature talks me out of it, I’ll say goodnight. I’ll meet you in the breakfast restaurant at nine. Goodnight, Cleo. Dream of me.” He kissed her again, a quick, unsatisfying peck that left her craving more. He crossed the room and left, the only thing remaining was the sound of his footsteps as he walked away.

  What had she done wrong?

  Stunned by his abrupt departure, Cleo went into the washroom, removed her costume, and got into the shower. Hot water scoured her skin clean, sending the last of the green paint down the shower drain, while tears of frustration and rejection washed down her cheeks.


  Had he left her because he was being a gentleman as he’d implied, or had his interest in her all been part of his well-practiced act? A man with his skill could probably tell from her kisses that she wasn’t experienced. Here she was in Las Vegas, a weepy drunk in a shower, and that was probably all she would ever be.

  Turning off the water, she got out of the stall, dried herself, and applied lotion to her sensitive skin. It was a little red, but she didn’t see any rash, so she’d probably gotten the paint off soon enough. After donning the old football jersey she normally wore to bed, she dissolved into tears once more. It was just as well he’d left her. She didn’t own any sexy nightwear.

  Pulling down the covers, she crawled into bed, somewhat unnerved by the fact that the bed—or was it the room?—was spinning. Would she get sick? The feeling was unnerving, but the champagne buzz combined with the emotions of the day dragged her into a deep dreamless sleep.

  6

  Sam reached his suite in record time considering he’d chosen to climb the four flights of stairs to his floor. He’d needed to do something physical before he burst. He’d closed the door that had separated him from Cleo and leaned his head against it for a moment trying to get his heart, his mind, and his soul, not to mention his wayward body, under control. Parts of his anatomy had protested against his decision to leave her, but when he made love to her, Sam wanted to do it with all his faculties intact—and hers.

  Cleo deserved far more than slam, bam, thank you ma’am, which is probably all he could have managed tonight. He wanted her so badly, he ached. If he’d taken her tonight, it would have been over far too soon for either of them. When they came together, he wanted her to be aware of who he was, and what he was doing to her. He wanted to show her how beautiful making love could be, because with Cleo, he suspected it wouldn’t be just sex; it would be more, far more.