Flirtinis with Flappers (12 page)

"Put Aveda gel in your hair

And wear your Jimmy Choos to the fair

And all that jazz!"

Gaining courage, I pranced backwards over to the piano, placing my hands behind me and leaning up against it like the sexy singing siren they all thought I was.

And then I got an idea.

They wanted a show? Well, I was going to make love to the piano, baby. I could lie on top of it and roll around, just like Catherine did in the movie. The audience would go wild. And long after I had returned to the twenty-first century, these party guests would remember me as that sexy soloing sister on the piano.

"Hold on, dude.

We're gonna bunny hug

I
bought some Excedrin

Down at Eckerd's Drug."

For those of you who have never done so, it turns out hopping backwards onto a piano isn't as easy as one might expect. Especially when it turns out the piano in question has its cover open, and one hasn't turned around to notice this before making one's move.

Therefore, instead of sliding onto it and slinking around, I ended up falling inside. And as my butt made contact with the piano's interior plate, obscene musical sounds that should never come out of a jazz piano echoed through the hall.

Oops.

"What are you doing?" the piano man hissed at me. If he were a gentleman, he would have stopped playing and gotten up from his seat to help me out of my precarious situation. However, it turned out, he was a card-carrying member of the "show must go on" school of thought, and therefore he continued to play, the piano hammers slamming against my butt as I struggled to free myself.

To make matters worse, I soon realized the fringe of my dress had somehow gotten tangled in the strings.

"And all that…jazz!" I sang out as I tugged on my dress. Hey, if Piano Man was going to keep playing, I sure as heck wasn't going to stop singing.

I could hear laughter erupting from the hall as I fought with the dress. I would love to tell you they were laughing with me and not at me, but I'm afraid that would be a dreadful lie, as I was definitely not chuckling with mirth at this point in time.

I tugged again. No dice. The dress was stuck fast. If I had to stop the show and get someone to come up here and cut me free, I was literally going to die of embarrassment.

"And all that…freaking jazz!" I muttered, using all my body weight for one last furious yank.

The good news was that the last effort worked to free me from my piano prison. The bad news was it also worked to send me crashing out of the instrument and onto the stage floor, face-first, in a very undignified sprawling position.

Well, one thing was for sure. Louise was definitely not getting her big Hollywood break while I was caretaking her body. She'd be lucky if she escaped the ER.

More laughter came from the peanut gallery. Losers. I'd like to see them come up here and try this. I lay on the stage, considering my next move. Should I jump up, run stage left, and disappear into the night? That seemed like the completely rational solution.

But no, I couldn't do that. I had too much pride to give up now. Besides, it couldn't get any worse. I would finish my song. Rally and end on a high note.

Scrambling to my feet, I turned to face the audience, defiant though red-faced, and started the next verse, singing as loud as my vocal chords would allow, if not necessarily in tune.

"Find a six-pack

We're playing fast and loose

And all that jazz.

Cause in the woods

Is where you'll find…bear and moose

And all that jazz."

I sang my heart out, making up verse after verse, not caring if the words made absolutely no sense whatsoever or what the audience was thinking of them or how badly my screwup could affect the future as I knew it.

I just sang. And sang. And sang
.

And eventually, after what seemed like a millennium of torturous verses, I came to the last.

"No, I'm no one's wife.

But I've got
a heck of a life!

And all…that
…
ja-ee-azz!"

I ended the song with a huge sweeping bow, and the crowd went wild. Absolutely wild. Clapping and cheering like crazy.

Wow! They loved me. I was a hit. Even after the Great Piano Incident That Shall Henceforth Not be Mentioned Until the End of Time, they still dug my act.

I grinned triumphantly, wiping the beads of sweat from my brow. I couldn't believe I'd actually pulled it off. I'd fooled everyone in the room into thinking that I was not only a girl from the 1920s but a girl from the 1920s who could sing and dance. (There was no way I could have pulled that off in modern days!) How amazing was that? I couldn't wait to tell The Rat. This would
have
to impress him, even if he'd rather die than admit it to my face.

I bowed again, almost not wanting to leave the stage.

"Encore!"

Until I realized they didn't want me to leave either.

Gulp.

Luckily for me, there was another act after mine, and so I didn't have to come up with something completely different. After all, while I knew I could get away with "All that Jazz"—Nick had refused to rent Chicago on DVD with me, insisting it was a chick flick—I couldn't be sure he wouldn't recognize other twenty-first-century songs if he was at the party. For example, my reverting to college karaoke staples like Katy Perry and Beyoncé might clue him in that I was not who I appeared to be.

So the enthusiastic crowd allowed me offstage but not before giving me a rousing round of applause. I almost felt bad for the plate-spinning guy they had up next. No one could top my brilliant performance.

Heh. Well, okay, maybe I was overstating just a tad. But at least I hadn't fallen on my face. Well, only that once, but remember, we're not to mention that anymore.

I slipped offstage and into the shadows, relieved to be out of the spotlight. I found a side door at the far end of the ballroom that led outside. I was roasting hot from dancing, and the crisp air felt nice on my shoulders and face. I saw a cobblestone path leading down to the lake and decided to follow, to see what was down there. To have a few moments of alone time to clear my head before going back into the party. After all, I still had a mission to accomplish, now that I'd gotten that pesky singing out of the way.

"Boo!"

A whisper in my ear caused me to nearly jump out of my skin. I whirled around, raising my hands in a tae kwon do position. Then I lowered them and released my breath as I realized who had come up behind me.

Sam.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" I growled, not quite sure whether the instant goose bumps on my skin were caused by my being startled or turned on by his proximity.

"Why not?" he asked coyly, circling round to come up behind me again. I shifted to face him.

"Because it's rude."

"I never claimed to be polite."

"It's also childish."

"I never claimed to be a grown-up, baby."

"Don't call me baby."

"Do you prefer doll? Dame? Moll?" He asked with a sparkle in his kaleidoscopic eyes. "Darling? Dear?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "How about, oh, I don't know, my actual name?"

"Ah, yes. Louise. Louise, Louise, who is the bee's knees."

"Cute."

"I know I am."

"Modest, too."

"Never."

He glanced from left to right, then suddenly grabbed my hands and leaned in to give me a quick peck on the lips. I leaped back, surprised.

"And…brazen."

"Oh yeah. I'm a big, bad rebel of love, baby," he mocked in an almost Elvis-like voice. "Er, not baby. Sorry about that. Habit."

"S'okay. It's just that my ex used to call me that, and well, it's left sort of a sour taste."

"And I just want to be sweet to you."

"Argh!" I groaned. "What's with all the cheesy lines, man?"

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Not working, huh?"

"Hardly."

"How about this then?" He wrapped a hand around my waist and yanked me close so my body was flush with his. My knees trembled as I looked up at him, instantly caught in his smoldering gaze. He really did have amazing eyes. The kind that changed color depending on what he was wearing. Currently they were a vivid green with flecks of amber. Gave me the image of a storm-tossed sea.

I could feel every muscle in his chest, his breath on my face. He smelled slightly musky. More than slightly delicious. I swallowed hard, making a halfhearted attempt to squirm away. But he was having none of that. He had me captive, and he wasn't about to let go.

"Uh-uh, beautiful. There's no escaping this time," he said, almost apologetically, pulling me even closer. This guy wasn't playing games anymore. He wanted me. Badly, from the feel of it.

With his free hand, he captured the side of my face. Our eyes met, mine still defiant and annoyed, his wide and fascinated, his pupils darkened with lust. No more lazy grins and saucy winks. Now he looked dead serious. And drop-dead sexy, if we're being entirely honest. I drew in a shaky breath. It should be illegal for one man to be so hot. At the very least, he should come with a warning label.

He dipped his head to kiss me. But this was not meant to be a gentle kiss, not a wisp of butterfly wings and rose petals this time. No, this kiss was more of a crush, a crush of his mouth against mine. His lips demanded my total submission. It was what they called in romance novels a "punishing kiss," and I wondered what I'd done wrong. (Mainly so I could do it again. And again!) An all-consuming fire scorched my insides as he took my lips, devouring them with a fierce intensity that made my toes curl. I moaned, surprised even myself by the desire he'd evoked, and he took advantage of my parted lips to claim the rest of my mouth.

"God, you have a hot body," he murmured against my mouth as his hands dropped down to hook at my waist.

I wanted to tell him it wasn't mine, but that seemed hardly appropriate and a good way to spoil the mood. No, I wasn't to let a little technicality like body-snatching time travel ruin the moment.

His mouth strayed from mine and began trailing kisses across my face, finding my ear. I shivered as his tongue licked at the lobe, holding it in between his teeth and taking tiny bites. He let out a hot breath, and the whoosh of air tickled my every extremity.

"Gah!" I cried, definitely not at my most articulate. Liquid lightning coursed through my veins, and my whole body reacted with a hard shudder.

He looked up, his eyes teasingly light. "You okay?" he asked with a grin. He evidently knew what he was doing to me and loved it. I had the urge to play harder-to-get but realized I was well beyond that point. He could easily have me. And he already knew it.

"Y-yeah," I managed to spit out. "I-I'm—"

A crash in the bushes and the tinkling of broken glass followed by giggling laughter slammed me back to reality.

"Uh, do you think this is really the best place to be doing this?" I whispered, glancing around the clearing.

Sam looked up at me. He grinned. "You got a better place in mind, baby?"

I shook my head. "But this just seems so open. Exposed. What if someone sees us and reports back to Machine Gun?"

"Awh, where's your sense of adventure?" Sam teased.

"Uh, right. There's adventure, and then there's being on your knees with the butt of a semiautomatic weapon to the back of your head."

"Touché." Sam scrambled to his feet. He attempted a blasé smile, but I could see the sweat dampening his temples. It was taking every bit of effort for him to cease and desist. Of course, it was the same for me. I couldn't remember a time being so turned on.

"Sorry," I whispered. "Spoilsport, I know."

"Nah, you're probably right," he said, raking a hand through the hair I'd just tousled. He looked around the clearing, his eyes resting on a neighboring mansion. He turned back to me with a devilish glint in his eyes. "How about there?" he asked, pointing at the house while raising his eyebrows in challenge.

I followed his hand to examine the suggested rendezvous more carefully. It was a large Tudor mansion, nestled in a grove of pine trees.

"There?" I asked, not quite following. "Doesn't someone live there?"

"I'm sure. So what?"

"Well, don't you think that someone might object to us breaking and entering their bedroom?"

"Nah, they're at the party."

I furrowed my brow. It was tempting, but…"Are we talking confirmed party sighting or total conjecture?"

Sam grinned and grabbed my hand. "Total and utter conjecture, baby," he said, dragging me off my rock and toward the house. "Come on. You know it's more fun when you might get caught."

I considered this as I relented, allowing him to lead me across the clearing. It
had
seemed more fun when I might get caught in the back of my high school boyfriend's mom's station wagon. And it
had
seemed more fun when Nick and I might have gotten caught in some random comer in downtown Baghdad for a quick make-out session between assignments
—
but that was the old Dora. The one who sought out that kind of adventure. The one who liked the adrenaline rush of running for her life.

The new Dora played it safe. She went to work at her mindless job each day, exploiting the dumb American viewers with inane advertisements disguised as news features stories. She went home after work to her cat and her TV. She defined the eighteen to forty-nine-year-old demo who was "too stressed for sex." Especially dangerous sex.

What has become of me? I don't even recognize myself anymore. Then again, maybe that's because technically I haven't been born yet.

I squared my shoulders and firmed my resolve. You know what? Forget the new Dora. The old Dora wanted to get it on, and I was going to give her the chance. God knew when she'd get another opportunity. Especially with someone so yummy.