Girl of My Dreams (10 page)

He made a cutting motion. As soon as the curtains had closed, he turned to the offending parties. “Okay, you two. No more fooling around. Get ready for the last segment.”

“I’ve had it with your ordering me around,” Troy snarled.

The mikes were still on. Their voices rang out. The din from the audience rose to a crescendo. Blake grabbed Troy’s mike and flung it onto the floor beside Jillian’s.

“And I’ve had it up to here with your bending the rules. You just broke the morals clause of your contract.”

“Sue me. I can afford it,” Troy said.

“I just might.” Blake stared hard at the billionaire.

“Fine, but remember, there’s nothing in the contract about what I do off camera.” Troy spun around, giving Blake the shoulder.

Blake barely restrained himself from picking up the card table and heaving it at the billionaire’s back.

He turned to Jillian, the instigator of the commotion. “What I said goes for you, too. I don’t care if you were my assistant. If you cross me, I’ll have your hide.”

“When did Nevada secede?”

“What?” She wasn’t making sense. Nothing did.

“You’re worse than Troy Langley. He broke his contract, but you broke the law of the land. I’m entitled to a fair trial before being declared guilty.”

With that, she spun on her heel, took two steps, then slipped on the mixture on the floor. Her skirt rode up. Blake hardened at the sight of her classic hide barely covered by the bikini panty.

Instinctively, he reached down to scoop Jillian into his arms. At contact, electricity shot through him. His hold tightened, even when his fingertips encountered something sticky. What was that concoction she’d mixed?

She struggled to break free. “Stop that.”

“I was only helping,” he said, loosening his grip.

“Some help you are. I’m safer with Troy.”

With that, she pulled down her skirt and flounced off the stage.

Glancing around, Blake tried to get his bearings. The show must go on. He must maintain a semblance of order. What was next?

His fingers stuck together as he motioned for the grips to change the set. Absently, he licked them. Ambrosia, the food of the gods. It tasted sweet.

Damn, what was he thinking? He had work to do. He dashed backstage to alert the pages of the ten minute warning. Thanks to that uncalled for scene, Ms. Suzy Homemaker would have to get her pretty butt in motion or be ruled out.

He half-hoped she’d disqualify, so he wouldn’t keep wondering how Troy had felt smothering himself in her breasts.

CHAPTER TEN

IF SHE COULD, Jillian would kick herself. What had made her say those silly things? Stepping out of the stiletto heels and wriggling her toes, she wondered if she’d ever understand herself. Since the makeover, an alien being inhabited her mind and body.

It had suggested she act as provocative as her outfit and attract Troy’s attention so Blake would notice her. He had, but not in the way she’d hoped.

As she slipped out of her sultry homemaker costume, she could no longer deny her attraction to Blake. She might intellectually despise what he stood for, but physically her own body incriminated her. She remembered too well the hunger he’d awakened when he’d scooped her into his arms after she’d fallen on the stage.

She reached for the snowy white Roman gown and quickly threw it over her body’s treachery. She didn’t want to think about the savage trip of her heart, and the urge to mash herself against Blake and submit to his every wish. She had to remember he was off limits—a ladies’ man, not a family man, definitely not her type. That article she’d seen about his mother and her leading man was proof enough.

The best plan would be to avoid Blake as much as possible. If she happened to run into him, as she surely would while performing on the show, she’d ignore the treachery of her melting body.

Jillian tied the gold tasseled belt around her waist and slipped into the matching high-heeled sandals. It was time for the finale.

She climbed the back stage stairs until she stood at the top of the winding staircase. Blake gave the signal. One by one, as if they were Vegas show girls, the contestants descended the staircase in cadence with the music. When each drew up to the billionaire, she curtseyed deeply, reminiscent of a scene at a royal court.

With a bland smile, Jillian followed, hoping she wouldn’t trip over the overlong skirt and disgrace herself by pitching forward.

Wouldn’t that cause a commotion? The picture of her pristine gown marred by ugly crimson stains made her almost miss her step. Like in the movie,
Carrie
, the red would spill onto the floor, cover the wooden planks, creep between the cracks and drip below. The ghoulish spectators would crane their necks to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate contestant who’d died in the line of duty. My, wouldn’t that be grand! For sure, the ratings would be cinched. The tape would be played and replayed on the ten o’clock news. The show would get lots of coverage. Blake would have his hit.

Her lips formed a grim smile. She automatically performed the requisite curtsey before Troy, then made the mistake of looking up at him. In his crested gold tunic, with the crown of fig leaves circled around his glowing hair, Troy nodded to her, accepting her homage as his rightful due. His supercilious grey eyes enforced the notion he was the lord of a castle deigning to look down at the mere peasant girl. What a snob.

Jillian stifled a grin and moved to her designated spot. Let Troy enjoy his moment of glory. He didn’t mean anything to her.

With amusement, she watched the billionaire rise from his lofty throne. Holding up three olive branches, he sauntered to the waiting contestants.

He stopped first at the redhead. “Care to do the horizontal shimmy?” he asked, proffering the branch.

She accepted it, placing it between her breasts before breaking into another shimmy to the delight of the audience.

Next, Troy approached Ms. 44D, glanced down her well-endowed bosom and extended the second branch. “I won’t even try. Can you make it fit?” he asked.

“I’ll squeeze it in,” she said.

The audience hooted with laughter.

Troy made an about turn, then stood in front of Jillian and held out the remaining branch.

His glinting eyes slowly gave her the once over, mentally stripping her of her gown, making her feel soiled. Heat rose to her face.

“There’s room for more. Will you join us, fair maiden?” he asked.

Jillian nodded, ignoring the double entendre. It was obvious Troy meant a threesome. For certain he wouldn’t get such behavior from her. That sort of thing was Ms. 44D’s department.

The theme song played. The curtains closed. As Jillian and the other contestants filed into the hallway, the eliminated Nadia, of splits fame, nudged Jillian on the shoulder and flashed a dirty look. “You won’t get away with it,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re the producer’s assistant. I was there.”

“Where?”

“In the bathroom. You know, when you did the counting.”

“We were short a contestant. I had to fill in.”

“You’re an employee. It’s against the rules.”

“I was only a temp. I was never hired by the studio.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“There’s proof.”

“It won’t wash. The thing’s fixed and I’m suing.”

With that, the girl stomped away, leaving Jillian standing in the hallway with her mouth gaping.

She’d thought no one would make the connection. She’d assumed all the girls in the bathroom had been there because of the food poisoning. She shouldn’t have overlooked another possibility. One person, who had not been ill, had gone there to perform normal bodily functions.

Nadia had held on, waiting until the right moment to play her insurance policy. What did the others think? If questioned, would they offer testimony that the contest was fixed? If so, the backlash would be disastrous.

The hurt part of Jillian said it would serve Blake right and teach him a lesson for putting the show first. The soft part said he’d worked hard and deserved success. It wasn’t his fault she’d stepped in before he could do anything to stop her. By trying to help him against his wishes she may have hurt him even more. Guilt churned inside her. Had her motives been entirely selfless? In the back of her mind had her plan been not to help Blake but to make him notice her?

Her motivation didn’t matter. The important thing was to get to Blake and warn him of the potential calamity before it was too late. Any minute Nadia might release her story to the press. Blake needed a chance to defend himself.

That meant finding him. Since the show had been live tonight, Blake wouldn’t be looking over the tape. Maybe he’d already gone back to his suite.

She didn’t have time to change. Still wearing the Roman gown, she rushed from the backstage area, passing staring people in the hallway. Ignoring cries of recognition, she dashed on. Before anyone could tell where she was headed, she slipped into the elevator, ascended two floors, got off, then punched the button for another elevator, rode back down and headed out.

Darting into the main lobby, she headed for the reservation desk to get Blake’s room number. With any luck, she could still catch him.

Ten steps from her destination, a fan yelled into his cell phone, “I see Veronica.”

A horde of excited fans descended on Jillian, begging for her autograph, some making flattering, others lewd remarks. Where was security?

Apparently now that the taping was over, she was on her own. There was no escape. Too late she realized it would have been wiser to have called from her room and asked for Blake’s number.

Precious time was wasted as she smiled and signed autographs for the ever replenishing line. She pretended nothing was wrong, but inside the tension mounted. Hers and Blake’s reputations were at stake, not to mention the show’s life.

She couldn’t let on. She had to be gracious. If the story broke, everything she said or did could have lasting repercussions.

Finally, she escaped to her hotel room. From there, she rang the switchboard and asked to be connected to Blake’s suite. The telephone rang, but no one picked up. She was too late. He’d left.

She had to find Blake. Hopefully, he was still in the hotel. She headed for the door, then paused. What if the fans mobbed her again? Could she escape?

She had no choice. She had to make things right. If she stuck to the casino proper, where people were more intent on gaming than anything else, maybe she’d be safe. It was worth the chance to ensure Blake wasn’t the next person in his family to be plastered on the front page of a magazine.

Realizing her efforts were probably hopeless, Jillian began her search, glancing at each patron next to each slot machine. Smiles and raised eyebrows greeted her. When anyone showed recognition, she raced ahead.

She was fighting a losing battle, but had to do something. She couldn’t sit in her room and wait for calamity to strike. There had to be a way out.

There was no guarantee Blake was even in the building. If so, he could be on the other side of the hall moving to another machine, one step ahead of her. She might never catch up with him. Also, he may not be playing the slots. He could be at the baccarat table or betting on a race or any number of things.

She had to think. Had Blake ever mentioned Vegas? If so, what had he said about it?

A stray quip about reading poker faces flashed in her mind. Hadn’t he mentioned he could usually tell when a person had a good hand? That’s it. She’d try the poker tables.

As she surveyed the area, the pit bosses flashed appreciative, then wary, glances at her. After circling the card tables a dozen times, she finally gave up and turned away. Her only hope was that, by some miracle, he’d end up back in his room.

Just then she spotted a man with dark hair at the far table. He tilted his head. Something in the gesture seemed familiar. She stepped closer for a better look. At the same time, a scruffy man, clutching a bucket of dollar coins, darted in front of Jillian. The law of physics demands that no two people occupy the same space at the same time. In the resulting collision, coins rained across the carpet.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll pick them up.” Jillian started to bend down.

“That’s mine. Get away, lady,” the man said. He raised his foot as if to kick her.

Fearing violence, Jillian jumped up and darted away. She had to be more careful. Her mission was to reach Blake and tell him the news before he disappeared again.

She continued on. Suddenly her nerves flashed into full alert. Her inner radar screamed that Blake was near. She didn’t even have to look. It was him.

Warmth flooded through her at the sight of the broad shoulders, rippling biceps and clean, dark hair. A funny feeling clutched her in the stomach, as if she’d hit a huge dip in a roller coaster.

She tiptoed up. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, “Blake, I have to talk to you. It’s important.”