Skintight (7 page)

“That's why I keep baking for you, sweetheart. You're so easy.”

“Yes, ma'am. But I'm not cheap.”

When Ellen laughed it was a deep, rich, surprisingly bawdy sound at odds with her short salt-and-pepper hair and neat-as-a-pin gray tank top, trim belt, and walking shorts. “Some might say that's debatable if I can buy your affection with a plateful of cookies.”

“Hey, I'll have you know it's a cumulative effect. It took a
lot
of platefuls to get me to this point.”

“Well, that's a relief—I'd hate to think you were selling yourself short.” She straightened a magnet on the refrigerator, then looked over at Treena. “So tell me about this new man in your life. A hottie, I believe is how Carly described him.”

The smile slid from Treena's face and her hands stilled over the coffee fixings she was assembling. “Carly talks too much.”

Ellen's brow wrinkled. “Oh, dear. Was I not supposed to bring him up?”

“No. It's fine. I'm being rude—I'm sorry.” That seemed to be her favorite new phrase. “It's just that I'm a little confused about my feelings for Jax at the moment, and I don't think I'm quite ready to talk about it.”

“Then we won't. Did I tell you I've been debating joining a tour for that trip to Italy I've been wanting to take?”

Treena studied the petite older woman for a moment, then released the tension that the introduction of Jax into the conversation had settled in her shoulders. She shot Ellen a smile and resumed getting their coffee ready. “You have got to be the politest person I've ever met.”

“Yes, well, what can I say?” Ellen shrugged. “Early training digs its roots deep.”

“It's very nice. I've never known anyone quite like you. So what's the debate?”

“I don't want to go to Italy by myself. But I'm not sure I care to travel with a bunch of strangers, either. Then there's the being-at-the-mercy-of-a-tour-group's-schedule factor.”

“Yeah, it's that last thing that would stop me,” Treena agreed and asked the other woman to grab the cookies. She poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the small dining room table. “Strangers, you can always get to know. But I'd want to be able to explore all the sights on my own timetable.” She reached for a cookie. “Don't any of your friends want to go? I know I'd go with you in a heartbeat if I had any vacation time coming.” She smiled ruefully. “Well, that, and if it were even remotely in my budget.”

“I took an early retirement and most of my friends are still working. And the only one of them I can actually imagine living with day in and day out for three straight weeks is Lois. In fact, we've sort of dream-planned this trip for years, and this fall was going to be the time when we actually took it. But her daughter in Minnesota found out two months ago that after years of trying she's finally pregnant, so Lois is saving up her vacation time instead to go help out after the baby is born.” Ellen raised one delicate-fingered hand and sipped her coffee. “I'll probably just postpone the trip until next year when she's free to join me.”

“You must be so disappointed, though. I'm sorry.”

Ellen flashed her an affectionate smile and reached across the table to pat her hand. “You're a good girl.”

“Can I have that in writing? My parents are positive my job is a one-way ticket to hell.”

“Ah.” The older woman nodded wisely. “I imagine it's hard for them to realize their baby dances topless in one of the shows.”

“Um, no, that would merely be the clincher. They've pretty much reserved my handbasket for the trip without ever having learned that part.”

Someone pounded on the front door and they both jumped. Treena got up to answer it, stopping to peek through the peephole first to see who it was. “Ah, Mack,” she said. He was the neighbor who lived on the other side of her.

Ellen made a small hissing sound of disapproval, but Treena ignored it and opened the door. “Hey there,” she said to the burly man on her threshold and cocked an eyebrow. “Is the building on fire?”

“Nope. But rumor has it your libido is. Hear you've got yourself a hot new guy.”

“Boy, that Carly's sure been a busy little beaver, hasn't she? I can see I'm going to have to talk with her.”

“Now, don't be mad, sweetheart. She's just excited for you.” He sniffed the air. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“It is. And some truly divine cookies to go with it.” She opened the door wider and stepped back. “Come join us.”

“Us? Who's us?” He stepped over the threshold, five feet nine inches of raw energy that stopped dead when he saw Ellen sitting at the table. “Oh, hell. It's you.” He thrust a weathered hand through his curly gray hair and glowered. “I should have known. Don't you have a home?”

Ellen took a dainty sip of her coffee and gave him a bland look. “I could ask the same of you, Mr. Brody.”

“Mack,” he snarled. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me
Mack
? Is that so fricking hard to remember?” He hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his Levi's and muttered, “Hearing myself called Mr. Brody makes me feel like a goddamn old man.”

She looked him up and down and raised perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Yeah, so, big deal,” he growled. “I'm no spring chicken.” He crossed to the table where he pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it. Stacking his sinewy arms upon the top rail, he propped his chin atop them and returned her perusal. “But then neither are you, Miz Librarian.”

Treena sighed. She adored both her neighbors but when they got together it wasn't pretty. “If you two are going to spar, take it outside,” she ordered. “I'm not in the mood.”

“Whoa.” Mack turned to look at her. “What's got your undies in a twist? One would think you weren't getting any.” He jerked his chin at Ellen. “Now, if it was this one I'd understand—”

“That's
enough,
Mack,” Treena snapped, and Ellen pushed her chair away from the table and rose to her feet.

“I have to go.”

“Ellen, please, don't rush off.” She started toward her but the older woman smiled determinedly.

“Thank you for the coffee, darling. I'll talk to you soon.” She nodded at Mack without really looking at him. “Mr. Brody.”

A second later she was gone.

Seriously irritated, she turned back to Mack. “Are you happy now?”

Mack jerked his frowning gaze from the door. No, he wasn't happy. He hadn't been since the day more than a year and a half ago when he'd taken one look at Treena's new neighbor and fallen headfirst in lust for the entire tidy little package even though he'd received nothing but cool-eyed disdain in return.

“I don't know what's the matter with you two.” He heard Treena chastising him as if from a distance, but he tuned her out. What was he doing fantasizing about a frozen-lipped little librarian? Like most guys, sex was pretty high on his list of gotta-haves, and age hadn't slowed down that particular need a whole helluva lot. He was a handyman by trade since retiring from the aircraft industry, and that meant he was good with his hands. His wife, Maryanne, God rest her soul, had always thought so, anyway.

But he knew that even if he was God's brand-new shiny gift to women, little Miss Ellen would hardly notice, and even if she did, the result would probably be about as much fun as fiddling with a piece of sheet metal. The woman was colorless, for God's sake. He'd rarely seen her smile, and he'd
never
seen her wear anything that wasn't a shade of gray or black or tan or that taupe color.

“You always start talking like some randy old goat,” Treena said, “and she invariably goes from sweet and funny to stiff and cold. And then there I am, stuck in the middle. How does that old song go? ‘Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right'?”

He'd expected that during the year Treena had sublet her place, the two of them would run into each other less. But he'd discovered that exchanging stiff little
nods in the hallway was ten times worse than exchanging insults in Treena's cozy little apartment. He admitted that while Ellen remained cool on the outside, he noticed that her cheeks heated up a little, and her pretty hazel eyes flashed fire when they sparred. He enjoyed seeing that.

He'd gone too far today, though. She'd refused to look at him after he'd said what he had, but he'd seen the hurt on her face anyhow. And now he felt like shit for being the one to put it there.

“I'm sorry I busted up your hen party,” he said in self-disgust, ignoring Treena's sudden silence and look of surprise. Shaking his head at himself, he climbed to his feet and headed for the door. And for the first time in his life, he felt like the old man Ellen had implied he was.

J
AX CAME BACK
from Los Angeles with a feeling of accomplishment in his chest and a sizable wad of cash in his pocket. He had the taxi driver drop him off at Bellagio, and grinned at a young bride and groom in full wedding regalia when they crossed his path several minutes later in the area where Bellagio gave way to Caesar's Palace. He'd seen more wedding gowns in the past few days than he'd seen in his entire life.

He headed for Appian Way with the vague intention of buying himself something to celebrate today's success. Once upon a time, he'd been a lousy dresser, but when he was sixteen and a junior at MIT he'd discovered the value of a good jacket. Once he'd learned a designer sport coat, a silk T-shirt and a pair of jeans would work for damn near any social situation, he'd never looked back. Every now and again he enjoyed adding to his collection.

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.”