by Michele Hauf
“Maybe it’s the hangover, guilt, or nerves,” Cleo admitted. “I just don’t seem to be able to think straight, and can’t get the idea out of my head that this could be the single, most stupid thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
Mitch chuckled. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never seen you drink as much as you did last night, but then neither have I. Who knew champagne cocktails made with Dom could be so yummy. I told you those guys made tons of money. You know, there’s no reason why I can’t come back and visit Charlie once in a while. I’ll get his number before we go. No one’s ever rung my bells like he did last night. How’s your head?”
“Better now. I’ve had a couple of glasses of orange juice, and the coffee is helping. I was afraid I might be nursing a migraine, but no.” She stopped talking as a thought struck her. “God, I’d better lay off on the liquids. They don’t have washrooms in helicopters, do they?”
Mitch laughed, snorted, and laughed again. Tears filled her eyes. “Cleo, you make my day. Here you are, considering violating the strict moral code you’ve adopted, getting ready for what could be the most important day and night of your life, and you’re suddenly worried about the plumbing. Let’s see if we can get you dressed and out of here before you do talk yourself out of this. I’m meeting Charlie on the concourse at ten, so I have more time than you do.”
“I’m not meeting Sam until nine, but I want to take my photographs first.”
“Let’s get to it, shall we?” Mitch pointed to the white eyelet sundress. “That can go back in the closet. It’s too dressy and white isn’t the best color for sightseeing in the desert. Besides with seduction on today’s menu, you don’t want to look too pure and untouchable. So what happened when he brought you upstairs last night?”
Cleo returned the dress to the closet. Mitch was right. She was virginal enough with her limited experience ... she didn’t need to advertise the fact.
Mitch picked up a boat-necked, t-shirt and denim capris. “These are cute, but too warm for the desert in July—you did say Sam is taking you to see a ghost town?”
Cleo nodded. “He mentioned a lot of places last night, some kind of private tour. From his note, he said he’s arranged everything, but didn’t say what everything was, other than I would need warm clothes in the evening. I wish he had. I’ve got enough people in my life telling me what I want to do, and you’re one of them. Oh God! What if it’s more expensive than I expected? I’ve only budgeted four hundred and fifty bucks.”
“A man who orders three bottles of five hundred a pop champagne isn’t going to expect you to go Dutch. Relax and enjoy getting spoiled for the day.”
Cleo frowned. “That’s another thing about him that doesn’t sit right with me. You know how I feel about money. The fact that he throws it around like that doesn’t impress me, but I will admit that champagne was far superior to anything else I’ve tasted.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I must be insane. I’ll never pull this off. I’m just no good at it—I’m not even certain I should try. I can send a note and tell him I’m sick.”
“Cleo, think of what you’ll be giving up. The whole point of using aliases is to prevent this weekend from coming back and biting us on the ass, and that’s a damn shame. I really like Charlie, and I don’t care what he does for a living, but if I have to choose between him and you, you win, girl, all the time. Stick to as much of the truth as you can. Don’t tell him you’re a teacher; instead focus on the fact that you’re a proofreader and an amateur photographer. You can go on for hours on that topic, and you know it. He’ll probably ask you where you live. We’ve chosen Hidden Valley, an imaginary place in Alberta near your Uncle Luke’s farm, because you know the area as well as you know this state. Describe the town the same way you would Gordon’s Grove. Use your imagination. Maybe you can write a book about your adventures—one of those romance novels you love to read. Vegas Vixen could be a bestseller.”
“Right, but I’d have to write it under a pen name or make sure there wasn’t anything racy in it. That might get me fired, too.”
Mitch shook her head, disgust on her face. ”You write it, and I’ll publish it under my name. Like it or not, having these two find us isn’t an option. Can you imagine the look on your dad’s face if Sam showed up at your door? I don’t think male exotic entertainer is the career choice he has in mind for a potential son-in-law, no matter how much money the man makes, and if dating one can get you suspended, being married to one would cost you the job for sure.”
Cleo looked up from the two remaining choices on the bed and turned to Mitch. She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “You make Dad sound like a righteous prig. I’ll agree the idea of a son-in-law who’s an exotic dancer would shock the life out of him, and the money wouldn’t help. He believes the love of money is the root of all evil, and I learned that was true with Dave. He chose money over me. Dad loves me. He wants me to find the same kind of love he and Mom found. He wants me to be happy, but right now, he’s hurt and confused, and that’s stopping him from seeing things as they are.”
Mitch sipped her coffee. “I don’t doubt your dad loves you, but he’s not being fair to you, and I suspect you realize that. He’s living in the past, a past that still includes your mother. Until he can let go of that and move on, you’re both going to be miserable.”
“I know.” Her voice was filled with sadness. Trying to do what was best for Dad and for herself was ripping her apart. “It all stems from the fact neither one of us got to say goodbye to Mom. When we left home for work in the morning, she was alive and well. By lunchtime, she was dead. If she’d been sick, we might have come to accept it more, but she was gone, just like that, and there’s still an emptiness inside I can’t fill. I can only imagine Dad’s pain. She was his everything. I go by the cemetery and sit and talk to her, but he can’t bring himself to do that. It’s as if he expects her to stop this nonsense and come home.”
Cleo read the sympathy in Mitch’s eyes.
“I never talked about my dad when I was a kid because it hurt too much. It was better saying I didn’t remember him, but the truth was I did. My old man ran off with a bimbo from a cocktail lounge when I was four, just before we moved to Gordon’s Grove.” Mitch stared into space looking at something only she could see. “Mom waited for him to come home for months. I went to bed each night praying he would be there when I woke up, but he wasn’t. I blamed myself. Maybe if I’d been a better daughter, he wouldn’t have left. After a few years, that self-blame turned to anger. When he died ten years later, it came as a huge shock he hadn’t remarried. The money he left made life easier for Mom and me, but even after all these years, I’m still angry with him for leaving me, leaving us, like that. You and your dad must be angry with your mom, too.”
Cleo smiled sadly and nodded. “When it happened I was furious. I blamed her. She had no right to die and leave me like that. All of a sudden, I was chief cook and bottle washer without a life of my own. It took me months to get over it, but anger is a healthy part of grieving. Dad’s still in denial. I’ve made it too easy for him. I’ve made the meals, cleaned the house, done the laundry … the list goes on. To make things worse, there hasn’t been any closure. Whoever the hit-and-run driver was has never been caught, and the case is sitting there waiting for answers—answers that may never come. There are thousands of similar unsolved cases around the country.”
Mitch refilled her coffee mug and offered more to Cleo. “Your dad needs grief counseling. I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain about it. Call me when you go all wishy-washy on the transfer papers, and I’ll remind you of what you said today. Now, it’s seven thirty and you still aren’t dressed. If we’re going to turn you into a femme fatale for the day, we need to get our butts in gear.”
“So, what do you suggest?” Let Mitch choose. She’d made the only one that truly counted.
7
Sam glanced at his watch. It was 8:52 a.m. He raised his eyes and focused once more on the entrance t
o the restaurant. What if she decided not to come? What if all the alcohol he’d plied her with last night had made her sick? There was nothing worse than your first major champagne hangover. What if it had all been an act and she stood him up? It had been a long time since that had happened—not since tenth grade to be exact.
That thought stopped him cold. In many ways, he was being as single-minded as the horny teenaged boy he’d been. Yes, he wanted to bed her, but was he really only looking for another in a long line of one-night stands? He didn’t know the answer to that anymore. Cleo had gotten under his skin. He’d never been this nervous waiting for a woman in his life.
Last night, he’d been convinced of her sincerity, but he’d also had far more to drink than he usually did. This morning, in the cold light of day, he was doubting himself, and everything that had happened. She was almost too good to be true, and nine out of ten times, if he felt that way, he was right. Look at Lena. She’d seemed perfect for him. He’d been suckered in there nicely. Besides, the idea of soul mates was romantic propaganda publishers used to sell books and online dating sites used to attract lonely clients. Bottom line, once he had sex with Cleo, this craving for her would go away.
He looked at his watch again: 8:58 a.m. Reaching for the cup of coffee the waiter had just refilled when he’d brought a fresh pot, he second-guessed himself. Maybe he hadn’t been specific enough about where to meet. Should he have collected her from her room?
He’d spoken with Charlie a few minutes before coming down to the restaurant. His friend and the Klingon author—he’d never think of her any other way—were getting along well. They had a lot in common, and both got off on the sci-fi stuff. It was nice to see Charlie open up to someone. The man spent way too much of his time on his own. And he didn’t? Charlie had informed him that they needn’t come back early for the convention. He’d be helping Mitch, which meant he would get to spend more time with Cleo. Mitch might be the life of the party, but he preferred Cleo’s more subdued personality. He had enough high-energy people to deal with in the boardroom and on the job sites.
Sam reached for his cellphone, on the verge of calling the front desk and asking to be put through to her room when he saw her walk into the restaurant. She hesitated at the entrance. He could see she was nervous by the way she turned to look back at the hallway, and then pivoted toward the restaurant once more, her lower lip caught between her teeth, a gesture that had almost driven him wild last night. He swallowed with difficulty. She looked like she’d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She was absolutely magnificent, just as he remembered her from the first night he’d seen her in the lounge. His weren’t the only eyes that turned her way. The waiter approached her and asked her a question. She shook her head, and not a hair moved.
She’d tamed her wild curls into braids that ran down each side of her head and met in a long braid, a brilliant fiery snake, that hung halfway down her back. The severe style highlighted her incredible bone structure. Large white hoop earrings hung from her ears and dangled almost to her bare shoulders. A matching necklace with large white, round links encircled her long, graceful neck, filling some of the space above her breasts. She wore a brightly colored floral outfit that bared her creamy white shoulders and showed off her trim waist. The red and black camera in her hand was a Nikon, similar to the one he used on the job site. He was glad he’d remembered to ask Liz if she could go in and take pictures earlier when they’d met for coffee. He wanted to make this a memorable day for both of them.
How could she possibly believe it had only been the green makeup that had turned every man in the room last night into a seething mass of testosterone? He was rock hard, and he was across the room from her. How would he survive the day?
Unable to stand because of his arousal, he waved at her and saw the smile on her face when she recognized him and pointed him out to the waiter. As she came closer, he saw that her skin was devoid of the layers of cosmetics so many of the women he knew wore on a regular basis. Other than the shine on her lips that spoke of gloss, her face was fresh and clean. She walked toward him quickly, a friendly smile on her face.
From her gait he could see that she’d worn flats, proof again that the lady had a head on her shoulders—very nice, white, creamy shoulders. Lena would have worn some totally impractical spikes and bitched about having to walk on uneven surfaces as if the fact they weren’t smooth was his fault. What had he ever seen in her?
Similarly, Cleo’s choice of outfit spoke of relaxed comfort. Her loose, flowing pants emphasized her long legs and slenderness, and a sudden vision of them wrapped around his waist made him choke on his coffee. There was no false wiggle, no provocative head tilt, nothing staged in the way she carried herself.
She grinned, and her eyes glowed. “Hi.” Her voice was friendly and eager. “I hope I’m not late. I got carried away taking pictures. Thank you so much for arranging it.”
Moving to his side of the table, she bent down and kissed his cheek, the touch of her lips sending pulses of heat through his body. Before he could respond, she took her place across from him.
“That’s for the life-saving coffee and the lovely rose. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s absolutely perfect. I’ve taken pictures of it, too.” Her eyes shone with sincerity.
He hardened to the point of pain. It was going to be a long, long day, but a wonderful one. Thinking of all the things that would keep him away from her while he was in Wales for the next six weeks eased his discomfort—almost. He nodded.
“You’re welcome. I’d planned to send a red one up—that’s what I’d ordered last night—but when I met my sister for coffee earlier, the florist had just received his delivery, and I knew nothing else would do. You’re as gorgeous out of your makeup as you were in it last night, but I think green’s going to be my favorite color from now on.”
She blushed, the color filling her cheeks the way he knew it would.
“Thank you.” She smiled. “Having my face melt in the heat, whether flesh toned or green, has never appealed to me, but I love roses, in any color. Still, unless you stop giving me compliments like that one, I’ll spend the day looking like I’ve got sunburn. Unfortunately, I’m one of the few people I know who turns red at the drop of a hat, and I can’t control the reaction, much as I would like to. Mitch mentioned some people have surgery to limit their blushes. It involves snipping little nerves along the spine. I’m not that desperate, yet. There’s even a term for the fear of blushing. It’s called erythrophobia.”
Sam laughed. “There’s a term for everything these days. I think blushing becomes you, but I’ll try to keep your concern in mind. You do look fabulous.”
“I wasn’t sure what to wear since I didn’t know exactly what we were doing. I don’t usually dress up much. My work clothes are fairly plain. I do dress up for church on Sunday, but that’s about it, and this isn’t something I can wear to church. Our minister expects covered shoulders—it’s a very traditional congregation.”
So this was modesty. It was refreshing.
“Can I offer you some coffee?”
She nodded, and he poured coffee into a cup for her from the carafe the waiter had left.
“How’s the head?”
She chuckled softly. “It probably should be hammering like crazy, but it’s fine. It must be the anticipation and excitement. I’m really looking forward to today.”
Her tongue darted out, and he stifled a groan. He wanted to carry her out of the restaurant and up to his suite, where he would make love to her slowly, in as many different ways as he could think of, all day, every day for the rest of the weekend. Instead, he offered her cream and sugar.
“I imagine a private tour must be expensive. I don’t have a lot of money, but I can offer to pay for some of the trip. I know how hard you must work for your money…” she stammered.
Sam stared at her. Was she for real? She was offering to pay her way? No one had ever done that before. Even Charlie assumed he�
��d pick up the tab—it’s what multi-millionaires did. Her last words permeated his consciousness, and his lie sat heavily on his conscience. “Relax. Today’s on me. I want you to enjoy yourself. Maybe you can treat me to lunch or dinner tomorrow night.”
Her expression softened as she accepted the offer. “You’re on, but I hope you like hot dogs and hamburgers. I’ve seen the prices in some of the restaurants around here,” she quipped. “Of course, there are also some incredible buffets.”
He laughed, the first belly laugh he’d had in weeks.
“I love burgers, and I know the perfect place just off the Strip. Dinner’s on you tomorrow. Now, how about some breakfast? My treat.”
“I’m starving. I had one of the croissants you sent up earlier, just to take the edge off. I’ve never mastered the art of eating like a rabbit, so if you think I’ll order dry toast and water, you’re out of luck. What time do we have to be at the airport?”
“Around ten-thirty, so we have lots of time to eat, but first, I ordered us a treat.” He raised his arm, and the waiter came over with two champagne flutes. “Today calls for a mimosa, and it’s the restaurant’s specialty.”
“It’s a little early for alcohol, isn’t it?”
He chuckled at the wary look on her face. She was definitely the kind of person he’d missed in his life. She kept him on his toes, made him laugh, and he didn’t know how she’d react from one situation to the next. He’d been all set for the “hair of the dog that bit you” line and she’d surprised him with a look that said, “are you trying to get me drunk?” God, he really wanted to continue seeing her after the weekend. She was captivating. As he’d said last night, she’d bewitched him.
“Alcohol, yes, but it’s never too early for champagne. Try it, you’ll like it.”