Skintight Page 7

  Trying to remember where he’d seen Bernini’s, he sauntered past an upscale jewelry store near the fine Italian apparel store, then abruptly stopped.

  A woman swore and careened off his side. He reached out to steady her and even remembered to apologize, but it was an automatic reflex, for his mind was engaged elsewhere. Staring up at the casino’s enclosed, temperature controlled sky, currently fading from its bright high-noon mode into the golds of afternoon, he reflected that for a supposedly smart guy, he could be one hell of an idiot.

  Hadn’t he tossed and turned until the wee hours after that case of blue balls Treena’d given him last night? Hadn’t he sworn at the end of it that he’d learn to play the game as well as she did? Well, this was his opportunity. She was a high-maintenance showgirl who’d married a rich old man. No wonder he was getting nowhere with her—he hadn’t coughed up the proper incentive.

  Turning on his heel, he headed back to the jewelry store.

  He expected to walk in, grab something with a lot of spangle, and walk right out again. Instead, he found himself spending more time than he would have believed possible searching for just the right piece because he couldn’t remember ever seeing her wear jewelry—sparkly or otherwise. He didn’t know if that was because she didn’t wear it, or because she did and he’d simply overlooked it.

  He dismissed the rings, because he didn’t know her size and he imagined nothing would bust a mood faster than asking a woman to give back the gift she’d just received so it could spend a week in the shop being adjusted. Earrings were out, because he didn’t know whether or not her ears were pierced. He looked at the case of gemstone pendants and bracelets, but nothing seemed quite right, and he was on the verge of leaving when a necklace behind a bunch of larger pieces caught his eye.

  He gestured to the saleswoman who’d been hovering a few feet away and she opened the case and pulled out the piece. It was simpler than the others he’d been inspecting. Instead of diamond piled upon diamond, it consisted of a single delicate platinum chain, from which a tiny pavé diamond pendant was suspended. It was shaped like an evening bag and reminded him of the one Treena had knocked off her chair the other night.

  It was perfect. The piece was dainty, it had meaning, which women always seemed to get off on, and it was…holy shit…just this side of four thousand dollars!

  With a mental shrug, he pulled out the roll he’d won. What the hell. Easy come, easy go. He informed the woman the sale was hers—provided she could expedite the rest of his requirements.

  She leaped into action, and fifteen minutes later, he walked out of the shop with a tiny gift-wrapped package in his pocket.

  He went to Bernini’s next, but discovered he was no longer interested in looking at jackets. So he headed back to his hotel.

  He tried to reach Treena on his cell, but no one answered at her place. Belatedly, he remembered her telling him about a rehearsal this afternoon for a new number that was being introduced into the show. So instead of going up to his room when he reached the Avventurato as he’d intended, he found himself trying the ornate doors of the showroom where la Stravaganza was staged.

  They were locked. Rolling his shoulders, he turned away. It hadn’t been a well-thought-out decision in the first place.

  Then one of the doors suddenly banged open behind him, and he swung back. A harried-looking young woman barreled out of the auditorium and headed with long, purposeful strides toward the casino. Jax dove for the door, hooking its handle with a fingertip just before it slammed shut again. He slid into the showroom.

  “And, rock, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” a female voice called out, and he paused at the back of the immense room to stare at the lighted stage.

  At least a dozen women and four men were dancing in sync with directions being snapped out by the young woman who’d made such a production out of Treena’s age on her birthday. Jax swung a chair away from one of the tables at the back of the darkened room and straddled it, looking among the dancers for the woman who’d drawn him here.

  She wasn’t difficult to spot without the showgirl headgear. Her colorful hair was pulled up in a ponytail high atop her head, shining beneath the lights and floating like a cloud on the wind, a dawning sunrise of color above the drab charcoal-colored getup she wore.

  He noticed that there were as many styles of workout gear as there were dancers up on the stage, and that some of the outfits barely covered the essentials. He saw bouncing breasts in tiny tops, G-strings, naked abs and chests, bare feet and high heels. A woman with a long braid wore a crop top and fishnet stockings with minuscule panties built in, and one guy up there danced in nothing more than a loincloth. Treena’s tastes, on the other hand, apparently ran toward old ratty leotards under T-shirts with the sleeves and bottom halves hacked off.

  He shifted in his seat. Her gear was a world removed from the costumes she wore in the shows or even last night’s dress. While her breasts were fully covered, her legs were bare. They were sleek, toned, and they exposed a yard of creamy skin from her scuffed black, medium-heeled Mary-Jane-like shoes clear up to the high-cut leotard. And when the line of dancers turned and shimmied with their hands on their knees, he couldn’t help but notice that she had a world-class ass, with a thumb-print dimple where her thigh flowed into her hip.

  So, big surprise, genius—look around you. They’re Vegas dancers, for chrisake. A great body is the name of the game.

  Even so, except for his one brief assessment of dance attire he barely spared a glance for the other females up on the stage.

  “Ric,” Julie-Ann suddenly barked. “Do you think you could shake a little life into your sorry ass? And you, Treena—let’s see some energy in that high kick. We’re professionals here, so if you two would be so kind as to quit dancing like a couple of first-year students, maybe we’ll all luck out and actually come across that way in tonight’s show.” She strode to center stage and stopped in front of the chorus line, where she turned her back on them to face the showroom. “Now watch and I’ll show you again what I want. Try to get it right this time.” She began moving her feet in rhythm with her snapping fingers. “And two, two, three, four—”

  A guy Jax could only assume was Ric flipped her off behind her back, but also launched into the routine with the rest of the line and was dancing flat out by the time she turned around to inspect them again. They all looked very professional to Jax, so he couldn’t see what her bitch was.

  On the other hand, what did he know? He wouldn’t expect Julie-Ann to understand the nuances of poker, and he freely admitted he didn’t know squat about the shades and graduations of professional dancing, either.

  They all looked damn good to him.

  After only a few additional snarled remarks from Julie-Ann and one more run-through, the session broke up. Jax watched Treena yank her butchered T-shirt off over her head as she walked over to a pile of gym bags at the back of the stage. She pulled out a towel and blotted herself dry as she looked up at Carly who stood over her chatting while taking swipes at her short blond hair with her own towel. A couple of other dancers that he recognized from her birthday party joined them. Finally, Treena stuffed the towel into her bag and pulled out what looked like a thirties-era fringed table shawl. Rising to her feet, she folded the rose-strewn black material into a triangle and tied it around her hips. Then, even as she and Carly continued talking to their friends, they began backing toward the wings. He wondered if they’d leave through a rear exit and was debating whether or not to call attention to himself when they suddenly rerouted for the edge of the stage. They hopped off and started up the aisle toward the exit behind him.

  When they were almost parallel with the row of tables where he sat, he rose to his feet. “Treena.”

  She stopped dead. “Jax? Ohmigawd. I thought you were going to be in Los Angeles today.”

  “I was.”

  “How did you get there and back so fast?”

  “Learjet.”

 
; Carly raised her brows. “Well, ooh, la, la.”

  He laughed. “Be a lot more impressive if it were mine. But it was sent for me.”

  “Like I said.”

  “How did you get in here?” Treena asked.

  “The door was open.”

  Both women gave him skeptical looks and he grinned. “Okay, I caught it before it closed when some woman left in a big hurry.”

  “Mary,” Carly said, and Treena nodded.

  “She’s the assistant company manager,” she explained to Jax and pointed out an older woman he hadn’t even noticed seated at one of the banquettes down front. “That,” she said, “is Vernetta-Grace, the chief manager. Be very glad she didn’t see you sneak in. You’d probably be cooling your jets in the county clink about now if she had.”

  “Not a happy proposal,” he said gravely.

  “Not happy at all.” She gave him a crooked smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “I knocked ’em dead in the game today, and thought it would be nice to see you in the honest-to-God daylight. Do you have any free time? I imagine it’s too late for lunch, but maybe we could grab a cup of coffee or something.” He looked at Carly. “You’re welcome to join us, too, of course,” he offered, counting on her turning him down.

  She flicked him a knowing grin. “Thanks, I’d love to.”

  Shit.

  “But I’ve got babies to feed and water.”

  Ex-cellent. Still, he knew his eyebrows had shot up in surprise. “You have kids?” She didn’t look like the maternal type.

  Both women laughed, and Carly said, “Pets. I have several pets.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head. “Obviously I’m confused. I thought you lived in the same complex as Treena.”

  “I do.”

  “Ah. There’s no covenant limiting the number of pets each unit can keep, I take it.”

  “Well, actually,” Treena said, and Carly shrugged.

  “There is,” she said, “but right now the apartment next to me is empty, and the rest of the neighbors have been great about my babies, so it’s never been an issue. And really, they’re very well-behaved. Well, Rufus, my newest, is still getting used to the place, so he gets to barking sometimes when I’m not there. He’s also got some obedience issues, but everyone’s been very patient while I work on getting him trained. Speaking of which.” She hiked the strap of her dance bag higher on her shoulder. “I’d better get moving. Do you still want a ride to work tonight, Treena?”

  Turning golden brown eyes on him, Treena quirked a questioning brow.

  “Oh, yeah,” he assured her. “This isn’t a date; that’s still on for tonight. This is just a quick cup of coffee.”

  “In that case, yes,” she said to her friend. “I’ll need to get a few things together.” The corner of her mouth quirked in self-deprecation as she cut him a sideways glance. “For my hot date.”

  “Yeah, yeah, rub it in for those of us who have no social life.” Then Carly turned a stern look on him that he found at odds with those breasts and legs and that funky hair. “Have her home by six-thirty, Gallagher.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Okay, Mom.”

  She laughed. “Be good, kiddies. Play nice.” She strode to the exit and pushed through the ornate double doors.

  He turned back to Treena. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Because it occurs to me my lunch hour and yours might be on two different timetables.”

  “No, I’m fine. A cup of coffee sounds great, though.” She, too, hiked her bag up. “Would you like to get away from the strip for a while?”

  “Yeah, that sounds like an excellent plan—all the noise around here can really wear you down. Direct me to a nice quiet coffee shop.”

  “What strikes your fancy? Starbucks, Java Hut, Miss Italia? We’re not in the same league as a certain coffee town up north that shall remain nameless, but we still have our share of national franchises to pick from, as well as a number of nice independents.”

  “I’m not fussy—you choose.” He reached for his cell phone. “I’ll call for a car.”

  She snorted. “It’s a coffee date, Gallagher. Hail us a cab.”

  Pulling his attention away from her lips, he realized she was serious. It caught him by surprise, and he had to slap his poker face in place to prevent her from noticing. He’d pegged her as a woman who would expect to travel first class. Always.

  And who says she doesn’t, bud? Face it, she knew how to play him. “You trying to save me money, lady?”

  “Oh, absolutely. I wanna be sure you have plenty of coin to buy me the biggest, priciest mocha Frappuccino on the menu.”

  “Let me guess.” He looked her over, studied that athlete’s body with its zero superfluous fat. “I bet you order it short, skinny, hold the whipping cream, am I right?”

  “You wish, pal. Get ready to lay down some cold, hard cash for a venti extra mocha, extra cream.”

  He emitted a rude sound. “You didn’t get that body drinking thousand-calorie drinks.”

  “Hey, I burn a lot of calories in my line of work. It’s when I quit doing this for a living that I’m going to have to start watching what I eat. That’s one of the reasons I’m having so much trouble keeping up with the troupe now—because I was away from it for almost a year.”

  They hit the street and were immediately swept apart by the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk. When they came together again at the corner, Treena laughed. “Whew. You’d think this place would be a ghost town in the summer, wouldn’t you? But not even bake-your-brains-out heat can slow the Vegas tourist machine.”

  He stared at her, all easy in her skimpy leotard and hip-hugging shawl, grinning up at him with those golden brown eyes the color of honey in the sunlight, while a trace of perspiration began dewing on her upper lip. His own body felt stiff and jerky as he abruptly turned away. He stepped to the curb, thrusting his arm in the air when he saw a taxi cruising down the strip.

  Celine Dion’s voice soared in the air as the cab veered over to the curb, and Treena’s head came up as she sauntered over to join him. “Oh, look,” she said, “it’s the fountain show at Bellagio.” She gave a good-natured shrug. “Well, it’s the tip of it, anyhow. What is that, the theme song from Titanic? I love that song.” She began to sing along as he held the door for her.

  Jax stared at her. Her left thigh appeared through the widening gap in her shawl while she slid across the seat, but it was her complete lack of self-consciousness that really grabbed him.

  He’d worked like a dog to weed self-consciousness out of his own system, but it was something that never completely left him. While he’d come a long way from the days when his father’s constant pushing propelled him into extreme shyness, he would never in a million years burst into song in a less-than-perfect voice on a crowded city street.

  His expression must have been as poleaxed as he felt, because she bent that slight smile on him and said, “I know. It loses a certain something when I sing it.”

  “No, you sound great.” But inside he was shaking his head. Jesus. What was his problem? Shoving away the old familiar sense of inadequacy that had surfaced full-blown, he told himself it was allowing the sight of a little female flesh to turn him into a fool that sent uneasiness gnawing at his gut.

  Yeah. That was it. He didn’t usually act like a hormone-crazed adolescent when presented with a glimpse of leg.

  There was sure as hell no mystery why his old man had fallen for this woman, though. She was a walking, talking aphrodisiac.

  He had to remain immune to her charms. “So tell me about this trouble you’re having keeping up with the troupe,” he invited after she’d given the driver their destination. The cab took off like a rocket, and he settled into the corner to give her his full attention. “Did you keep eating like a trucker without your show to keep you in fighting trim or something?”

  “No, I actually did order short, skinny, hold the whipping cream then. But my husband took sick early on, so I didn’t go bac
k to work after the honeymoon like I’d planned. And I wasn’t able to take the classes I needed to stay on top of my game.”

  His heart thudded the way it always did whenever he thought of his father battling cancer. “How early on are we talking?”

  “Pretty much immediately.” She was quiet for several minutes, then shrugged as they pulled up in front of the coffeehouse. “He tried to hide it at first, but it soon became apparent he was very ill.”

  Jax wasn’t very proud of himself for wondering how his father’s illness had affected their sex life. But he was discovering that he didn’t like the thought of her getting naked with the old man. His feelings were most likely some competitive, knee-jerk juvenile thing he hadn’t entirely outgrown. Or maybe they were simply brought on by watching the ends of her shawl shimmying around her legs as he followed her into the coffeehouse.

  He swallowed hard.

  She grabbed a table while he placed their order with the barista. Fingering the tiny jeweler’s box in his pocket as he waited for the drinks to be prepared, he wondered if he should give the necklace to her now or wait until this evening. Giving it to her now seemed like a good idea, because then she’d have the rest of the afternoon and part of tonight to consider all the myriad ways she could show her appreciation.

  The instant he brought her Frappuccino and his cup of coffee to the table, however, he found himself returning to their previous conversation. “Help me understand why not taking a bunch of classes while you weren’t working made such a big difference.”

  “It’s the use-it-or-lose-it principle. I imagine you need to play poker on a regular basis to stay competitive, right? Well, I was away from a show that I was accustomed to dancing in five nights a week—four of which had twice-nightly performances. That’s nine times a week, Jax, not counting classes and practice sessions like today’s when there’s a new routine to be learned. And as it’s been pointed out, I’m not as young as I once was.”