When she left the office, he closed the door and collapsed in his chair, readjusting himself in his shorts. She’d have to have been blind not to see the effect she’d had on him by just the mention of her in lingerie. Already he was regretting asking her to go with him. If he couldn’t trust his body not to react so boldly to her when it was just his own imagination fucking with him, how was he supposed to spend the evening standing next to her in a crowded bar full of half-naked women?
He hoped those rented suit pants had extra room in the crotch.
* * *
“So, who is this guy?”
Parker tried to keep her face from twitching as she answered. “No one you’d know.”
Ally, her friend and makeup artist stood back to admire the zombie makeup she was applying to Parker’s face. “Is he an actor?”
“No. He’s an MMA fighter,” she said quietly. “Do you think my face is pale enough?” she asked, glancing in the mirror, hoping to change the subject. She was trying to keep her upcoming role hush-hush, especially from anyone involved in the movie industry. Everyone talked to everyone else. Ally may be in Las Vegas working on set, but news of Parker’s new role would spread quicker than wildfire through Tinsel Town.
“I’ll be adding blue undertones,” Ally said, turning her face back toward her. “An MMA fighter?” Her eyebrows shot up. “How did you meet him?”
“Ah . . . well, this is Vegas. There are MMA clubs everywhere. I, uh, was looking for a gym to start working out more.” That much was true at least. As a rule, she tried not to lie as much as possible. It was the one value her parents had managed to instill in her before they’d died. One even Grandma Abigail’s insistence that little white lies were okay hadn’t shaken.
“Right, because the home gym complete with sauna and yoga studio downstairs isn’t good enough?” Ally laughed.
“I don’t know how to use any of that equipment; you know that. It’s only there for show.”
“That’s probably true,” Ally said. “So how long have you been seeing him?”
She’d been seeing him every day for almost a month, they’d had sex and a real conversation once . . . but she still wouldn’t classify them as “seeing one another.”
“Just a little while.”
“Does he have those gross cauliflower ears?” She wrinkled her nose. “I had to apply a prosthetic for them once on a boxing movie set.” She shuddered, reaching for the blue makeup from her kit.
“Um . . . yeah, I guess he does.” They didn’t bother her though. In fact, they seemed to suit him and make him seem that much more real and vulnerable. His unbreakable spirit and amazing body made him seem intimidating and indestructible. The damaged cartilage around his ears was a sign he wasn’t as bulletproof as he appeared. Or wanted to believe he was.
Ally applied the blue undertone makeup and several drips of red bloodlike paste around Parker’s mouth and turned her around to face the mirror. “Ta-da! The undead.”
“Wow!” Parker smiled at her ghoulish face. “This is amazing.”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” Ally said with a grin, admiring her work over Parker’s shoulder. “This is airbrushed on, so it should last throughout the evening as long as you don’t make out too much.” She winked. “I haven’t tested its ability to withstand club bathroom sex.”
Parker’s smile faded as her pulse soared. Club bathroom sex. The memory of the bulge in Tyson’s shorts earlier that day at the mere mention of lingerie made her smile return. Huh, maybe it was time to find out just how good this makeup really was. “I’ll let you know,” she said, dropping her robe to reveal the red and black bustier and stockings she wore. “What do you think?”
Ally grabbed the silver and black feather boa that funny enough she’d found in the back of her closet and draped it around Parker’s neck and over one shoulder. “Perfect.”
Turning toward the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom, Parker studied the risqué costume, momentarily nervous. Sure, she’d worn less than this on sets, but out in public at a Las Vegas nightclub full of people? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure it was such a great idea. She was trying to recharge her career with this serious indie film . . .
She shook it off. It was Halloween. The one night every year women are allowed to dress like whores and with all this makeup, she doubted anyone would even recognize her.
Besides, now that the seed had been planted, she was really desperate to find out if club bathroom sex was really all that.
* * *
“Where are your costumes?”
Walker and Grace stared at him, mouths open, wearing matching shocked expressions but definitely no zombie burlesque attire.
“Um . . .” Grace started but as a laugh escaped her, she turned and buried her face in Walker’s shoulder.
Tyson glared at his fighter. “What the fuck, Walker?” He glanced around the crowded new nightclub, decorated in black, red, and silver, illuminated only by thousands of battery-powered flameless candles. No one else was dressed like the undead or in burlesque clothing.
“Sorry, man. When I said it was Zombie Burlesque themed, I thought you knew it was just the entertainment that would be wearing it.” Walker suppressed a laugh as he took in the costume. “Wow, you really went all-out.”
His hands clenched at his sides. “I could kill you right now.”
Walker held up his hands. “Hey, it could be worse. You could be dressed like one of the women.”
Shit.
Grabbing his phone, he texted Parker. He’d offered to pick her up but she said she had something to do first and she’d meet him there.
Have you left your house yet?
After hitting send, he waited, praying she was running late. Otherwise, she was going to want to hurt him more than he wanted to hurt Walker at that moment.
Just getting out of a taxi outside the hotel entrance. Be there in five. came her reply a second later.
Damn. Well, there was no saving her from the embarrassment now. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
Rushing out of the club, he sprinted toward the front of the hotel, catching her just as she reached the revolving door.
His mouth gaped at the sight of her in a short silk shiny robe that did little to hide the sexy red-and – black lingerie beneath. His eyes slid the length of her body taking in everything but air as he scanned the six inch platform heels, the fishnet stockings that rose to meet a silver garter belt on her right leg and the sexy-as-all-hell lingerie.
She looked drop-dead gorgeous.
At least from the neck down. Once his gaze reached her made up zombie-fied face, he snapped out of the trance and rushed forward. “Hi,” he said removing the tattered, fake bloodstained suit jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Uh . . . okay . . . Wow, that makeup is insane,” he said, losing his train of thought and courage as he stared at her.
“Tyson.”
“Right. Don’t freak out,” he said, holding her shoulders.
Her eyes widened. “In other words, freak out,” she said, her dark eyes still pulling him in and making him want to kiss her, despite the seriously ugly makeup. “What is it?”
“When Walker told me about this, he didn’t mention it was only the entertainment dressing up for the party,” he said quickly.
Realization dawned on her face. “You mean we are the only two people dressed up?” She scanned him. “And you barely look dressed up . . . Oh my God.” She pulled his jacket tighter around herself.
“I’m sorry. Trust me, I am going to beat the shit out of Walker.” He ran a hand over his head. “Anyway, let’s get out of here.” Grace would understand. He couldn’t ask Parker to go inside the club dressed like that. And he couldn’t hide the fact part of him also wanted to get her alone—a big part of him.