Luna clapped her hands. “Oh, you’re a conference virgin. How exciting. I’ll definitely have to make sure you enjoy yourself.”
“I’m sure I will.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby.
“This way.” Luna pointed. They headed toward the ballroom, which was already crowded with people.
Araminta stumbled near the door when she saw the life-sized poster of her book—Tiger’s Curse—with her picture inset near the top right corner. Below it was a table laid out with the promotional items she’d brought from home.
“Like it?” Luna asked.
“It’s wonderful. Thank you.” She hadn’t expected her work to be showcased quite so prominently.
Luna waved aside her thanks. “Oh, it’s no trouble. My people do great work.”
Araminta couldn’t imagine having people to do those kinds of things for her. She felt like Alice going down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. She was in a whole different world. There were large posters of the other guest authors ranging around the room, but the centerpiece was spotlighted near the back. Two enormous book covers flanked a life-size photo of Luna. It was spectacular.
Eight large, rather gorgeous male models stood four on either side of the display. They wore black boots, leather pants and nothing else. Araminta broke out into a sweat.
“Come on.” Luna tugged her into the room. “Time to get a drink and mingle with the fans.”
Araminta doubted many of the people in the room were here to see her, but she could definitely use that drink. She followed Luna but soon lost sight of her as the sea of fans who wanted to speak with the popular author swallowed her up. Araminta didn’t mind. It gave her time to get her bearings and let the moment soak in.
The ballroom was strategically lit with spotlights, leaving some areas lost in shadows. The effect was quite lovely. A bar had been set up along one wall, and it was there she headed next.
A tall, handsome man, clad like the male models in tight leather pants and boots, his chest bare, stood behind the makeshift bar. He smiled and her stomach knotted.
“What can I get you?”
“Ah, a ginger ale.” As much as she wanted a drink, it was probably better if she didn’t. She felt giddy enough without adding alcohol to the mix.
The bartender winked at her and grabbed a glass. “You’re hitting the hard stuff.” He filled the glass, his movements deft and sure.
Araminta gave a small laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. The life of the party.”
He set the glass down in front of her. “It’s nice to see a woman who doesn’t have to get drunk to have a good time. Some of these ladies will get crazy before the night is done.”
“Really?” Araminta wondered if he was putting her on. She studied his long, lean face, admiring the aristocratic lines. With his long black hair and muscular chest, which she definitely wasn’t staring at, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a historical romance novel.
“Absolutely. For a lot of these women this is their one weekend a year to just let go and have fun. And they take full advantage of it.” He wiped down the counter next to her and his hand accidentally grazed hers. Heat rushed up her arm and she pulled back, picked up her glass and took a sip of her drink to cover the move. Honestly, she was acting like a skittish doe during hunting season.
“I guess so. I hadn’t thought about it like that.” She turned her head and looked out over the room. Music was pumping through the speakers and people were dancing. The models had joined the throngs of women on the floor and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.
Araminta felt like a fish out of water.
“Hey, my name is Rick.” He wiped his hand on a towel and held it out to her.
“Araminta.” She took his hand and gave it a quick shake, expecting tingles to race up her arm. Instead, she shivered.
He released her hand and smiled. “Nice name.” He studied her for a moment and frowned. “You’re one of the authors, aren’t you?”
She gave a small laugh and nodded. “Guilty.”
“Writing a book is such a cool thing. Maybe we can talk about it.”
Araminta was suddenly tongue-tied. This gorgeous male specimen wanted to talk to her about writing? She really had entered an altered universe.
As quickly as she thought it, she mentally smacked herself. She was stereotyping. Just because the guy was good looking and working a bar didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot more to his life. He probably had a girlfriend or wife and was working this job to make extra money. Maybe he was even working on a book of his own. She’d found that many unpublished writers wanted to talk about writing. She could relate. It was rare that she had anyone to talk to about her craft. Writers, by and large, were a solitary bunch.
Before she could answer, a group of women sidled up to the bar wanting drinks. “Bartender,” one of them called as she banged on the counter.
One of her friends sized up Rick’s naked chest. “Or should we say bare-tender.” The woman laughed at her own joke and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Carol.”
“Gotta work, Araminta. Catch you later.” Rick left and went over to the ladies and took Carol’s hand. “Hi, Carol. What can I get you?”
Araminta strolled away before she could hear Carol’s reply. She doubted she’d see or hear from Rick the bartender again. She sipped her drink and watched the dance floor, envious of the women who were able to let go and just move to the music. Her foot tapped against the floor and she swayed to the beat. The atmosphere was lively and fun.
Luna swooped out of nowhere and grabbed Araminta’s hand. “Come on. You need to loosen up and have some fun.”
She barely had time to deposit her almost empty glass on a table before she was dragged to the center of the floor. Luna began to shake her hips to the beat. The movement was sensual and provocative. Sweat made her skin shimmer in the lights. Several of the male models joined them and one of them grabbed Araminta around her waist.
“Come on, baby. Dance.”
Araminta moved, but it was nowhere near as smooth and lovely as Luna. Still, she gave it her best shot. Before long, the model released her and moved on to another woman. A woman dancing near her accidentally bumped her, smiled and kept dancing. Everyone she looked at was smiling and dancing. Araminta did her best to keep up.
One song bled into another, the music never stopping. She danced with the other women, trying to get her feet to follow the intricate steps of those around her. And when she couldn’t follow the dance, she simply moved. Every now and then, she closed her eyes and let the rhythm take her wherever it wanted to lead. It was liberating not to care what anyone else thought of her dancing. The object was to have fun, not to impress anyone.
Another fast song and then another and another filled the space. Some of the music she recognized and some of it was new to her, but she enjoyed it all. No one seemed to stop dancing, so she didn’t either.
Luna’s laughter floated past her. Araminta turned but couldn’t see the other woman. She blinked as the lights seemed to dim and the shapes of the people around her began to blur. Her legs unexpectedly felt unsteady, probably a result of all the dancing. She wasn’t used to such vigorous exercise.
Araminta slowly made her way to the edge of the crowd and headed toward the doorway. Her head was spinning and she was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Too many people in a confined space was making her too warm.
She glanced toward the bar. Rick was talking to a woman, but he looked her way, raised his hand and smiled. She gave him a weak wave before shoving open the door and stepping out into the empty foyer.