Lethal Seduction (54 page)

•

“Where's Rosarita?” Chas inquired, happily ensconced between Varoomba and Renee.

“On her way,” Dexter replied. “She left her wrap at the party.”

“Was the party nice, dear?” Martha asked plaintively. “I suppose you saw all kinds of stars.”

“Didn't notice.”

“Dick!” Martha admonished.

“Dexter,” he corrected, glaring at his forgetful mom.

“Excuse me,” Madison said, making her way along the row of seats past Dexter, who seemed vaguely familiar.

“Hi,” he said, recognizing her too.

“You're my friendly neighborhood jogger, right?” she said with a pleasant smile.

“That's right. How's that magnificent dog of yours?”

“Pining, I'm sure,” she said, moving on to her seat. Not quite ringside, but near enough. She searched for Jake, spotted him in the photographers' area.

He saw her and waved. She blew him a kiss. He mouthed “Happy birthday.”

“Nice going,” said Natalie, already in her seat. “That's two days in a row, isn't it?”

“Will you
stop,”
Madison said, leaning across her to kiss Cole, who immediately introduced her to Mr. Mogul.

And then the fanfares began, announcing the entrance of the two boxers.

Antonio appeared first, waving his arms in the air as if he'd already snagged the title. Resplendent in a gold-and-blue cape, with matching satin trunks, black boots and white-and-silver striped socks. He jumped into the ring like a tiger, threw off his cape, made a victory sign with his hands, and the crowd went wild. Antonio was a big favorite.

Next came the champ. A more serious man, clad entirely in white. Bull Ali Jackson was bigger than Antonio and quite ferocious-looking. His skin was ebony. His head, bald. His eyes said he was ready to kick the shit out of anyone who dared to get in his way.

The crowd was impressed. They began chanting his name, “Bull Ali! Bull Ali! You're the champ! Bull Ali!”

His wife, a serene black beauty, took her seat ringside, clutching a string of diamond-and-pearl prayer beads.

And so the fight commenced.

T
RYING TO STAUNCH
the flow of blood pouring from his nose, Joel staggered back into the hotel. He was beyond furious. That he, Joel Blaine, had been subjected to the indignity of being beaten up by a couple of hired thugs was unfuckingbelievable.

His father could buy and sell Las Vegas. And
they
were worried about a measly million bucks. It was unreal. It didn't make sense. Fuck 'em all. He'd leave town and never come back. They could whistle “The Star-Spangled Banner” for their lousy money.

He made it to a men's room, stuffed Kleenex up his nose and splashed cold water on his face. Then he set off for the front of the hotel.

•

Jamie elected not to go to the fight, even though Mr. M. assured her he could get her a ticket.

“Not interested,” she'd said offhandedly. “I'll meet you all at Madison's dinner.”

“Stay away from Kris Phoenix,” Natalie said, wagging a warning finger.

“Of course.”

“What'll you do?” Natalie asked.

“Play blackjack,” she'd said. “Joel Blaine taught me everything I need to know.”

“Stay away from
him
too. We'll see you at the restaurant.”

“Call me when the fight's over so I'm not sitting there by myself.”

“You got it.”

She hadn't told anyone about Peter's upsetting and belligerent phone call. How dare he track her down and demand that she come home. Did he honestly believe she was too stupid to have found out what was going on? She ran a very successful interior design business, she was no dummy.

Peter simply didn't get it. And he sure as hell didn't get her.

She sat at one of the blackjack tables, accepting pointers from a fat, red-faced man in a too-tight, striped seersucker suit, who squeezed in next to her.

The man made sure the champagne flowed, and her hangover from the night before soon vanished.

Gambling was definitely the perfect way to pass the time.

•

Rosarita paced back and forth by the pool, getting angrier by the minute. Was Joel Blaine actually standing her up? What kind of a shitty move was
that?

“Hi, honey,” slurred a drunken man with a bad rug perched crookedly on the top of his head. “Lookin' for company?”

“Get lost,” she snapped.

“I won me two hundred bucks and now I gotta find a place t'park it,” he said with a lascivious twitch of his right eye. “Get my drift, cutie?”

Outraged at being mistaken for a hooker, Rosarita stalked off.

•

Round one. Antonio on the attack. Cocky. Bouncing on the balls of his feet. Diving right in on the offensive, using his fists as lethal assault weapons.

Bull Ali taking it all in his stride. Standing tall. Unfazed. He is, after all—the champ.

The crowd picked up on the rumble and began a steady yell of encouragement.

The vibes were in the air. This championship match was destined to be a good one.

•

“You
see?!”
Madison said, hunching up in her seat. “I told you—he's full of confidence.”

“Sexy with it too,” Natalie remarked, crunching on a handful of popcorn.

“He's got me sold!” Cole said.
“Nice
abs.”

“Be quiet,” scolded Mr. Mogul. “It's not polite to admire other men's bodies when you're in my presence.”

•

“Joel?” Jamie said, reaching out to grab his arm as he passed by the blackjack table she was sitting at. “We've got to quit meeting like this.”

“Huh?” So intent was he on getting out of there, that he almost didn't stop.

“Guess what?” Jamie said, gathering her chips and getting up from the table.

“What?” he said shortly, as the fat man in the seersucker suit gave him an “if looks could kill” glare.

“I won a thousand dollars! You taught me well.”

“Yeah?” he said, not remotely interested.

“What
happened
to you?” she asked, taking in his disheveled appearance. “You're a terrible mess.”

“I uh . . . had a nosebleed.”

“You're very pale. And anyway, why aren't you at the fight?”

What was she—dense? “ 'Cause I had a nosebleed,” he said, repeating himself.

“You don't look good at all. Come upstairs to my room and I'll try to clean you up.”

“That's sweet, Jamie, but . . . Aw . . . jeez,” he said, almost doubling over from a sudden shooting pain. “Maybe I'll take you up on that.”

“You should,” she said, holding onto his arm. “It's the least I can do after you helped me win all that money.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “An' I didn't think you could play for shit.”

“Thanks,” she said with a wry laugh, leading him over to the elevator.

He stifled a groan. His balls felt like they'd been through a shredding machine.

“How come
you're
not at the fight?” he managed.

“Too violent,” she said, screwing up her nose. “I can't stand the sight of blood.”

•

As the elevator doors closed on Jamie and Joel, Rosarita stalked past, missing them by seconds. She was fuming. Next time she got hold of Joel Blaine, he would
pay
for keeping her waiting and making her miss the beginning of the fight.

How rude! No fucking manners.

Busily muttering under her breath, she strode through the casino until she reached the red carpet that led into the arena. The area was deserted as everyone was now inside.

“Damn!” she exclaimed, still furious at Joel. “Damn, damn, damn!”

She sought out an attendant at the back of the arena and thrust her ticket at him.

“You can't go in now, ma'am,” he explained. “They're in the middle of a round.”

“I can see that,” she said shortly.

“You'll have to wait.”

“I'm not waiting for anybody,” she said, steaming. “My seat's ringside. Take me there right now.”

“People don't like being disturbed in the middle of the fight,” the attendant said, foolishly arguing.

“Fuck 'em,” she said forcefully, sounding suspiciously like Chas. “Lead the way, or I'll make damn sure you're fired.”

•

“Tell me the truth about what happened,” Jamie said as they entered her room.

“What truth?” Joel said, collapsing in a chair.

“Well, frankly, Joel, you look like you've been beaten up. Your jacket's ripped, and you're white as a ghost. I repeat—what happened?”

“Aw, shit,
I
dunno,” he mumbled. “Coupla guys had a beef with me about money they think I owe.”

“How can
you
owe money?” she said incredulously. “Your father's one of the richest men in America.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—tell me about it. Stupid, huh? A bad fuckin' joke.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, so am I.”

“I've got an idea,” she said. “Why don't we order a bottle of champagne and celebrate?”

“Celebrate
what?”
he said sourly. “I've got nothing to celebrate.”

“My thousand dollars,” she said, smiling brightly. “Pretty good for a novice, isn't it?”

“I guess so,” he conceded.

“Some man was trying to give me pointers. He wasn't as helpful as you, though.”

“No?” he said, perking up, because if he wasn't mistaken, Jamie was coming on to him.

“Oh God, I've had
so
much champagne,” she sighed, throwing herself down on the bed. “I feel a little bit crazy.”

“You do?” he said, taking another look at her. How come he'd never thought about Jamie Nova in a sexual way? Was it because she was married, and he didn't care to deal with
her husband? No, that couldn't be the case. What did
he
care about husbands? His affair with Rosarita proved
that
wasn't an issue.

The truth was that he didn't find Jamie that sexy. She was too pure-looking, too Grace Kelly in those old TV movies. There was something about her that wasn't his style. She looked like she'd have
clean
sex, not
dirty
sex—the way
he
liked it.

But still . . . she
was
a beauty. And those legs! Jeez! They went on forever.

He wondered if she realized that her skirt was riding up so high, revealing acres of succulent thigh. Then he wondered if she was doing it on purpose.

“Order the champagne, Joel,” she murmured, yawning. “I'm feeling mighty thirsty.”

Who was he to turn down an opportunity when it was staring him in the face?

“Yeah, sure,” he said, trying to forget about his aching balls. “I'll order the champagne. You put on the music.”

“Music?” she said, amused. “Oooh, are you trying to get me in the mood, Joel?”

“Why would I wanna do that?”

She rolled over onto her stomach. “I've always found you
very
attractive,” she murmured seductively.

“You have?”

“Yes.” A soft laugh. “I kind of . . . you know . . . had little fantasies about you.”

“No kiddin'?” This could work out better than he'd imagined. “Wanna tell me about 'em?”

“Well,” she said, pausing provocatively. “You're different. You've got energy. Peter is too uptight, he
never
has energy. Peter is actually a walking, talking Ralph Lauren ad.”

“No shit?” Joel said, grinning.

And suddenly the ache in his balls was not as bad as he'd thought.

•

Round two belonged to the Bull, and he took it with a great deal of pride.

Antonio was surprised. Round one had definitely been his, but now the Bull was all over him like a Mack truck, and he didn't appreciate it.

He tried giving back his best, but the Bull was having none of it.
I'm getting rid of this cocky little bastard up front,
the Bull was saying to himself.

And it showed.

•

Rosarita squeezed past Bruce Willis, allowing her ass to graze his knees.
Hmm . . .
she thought with a self-satisfied smirk—
that'll give the famous movie star something to think about.

Finally she made it to her seat next to Dexter, out of breath and still furious at Joel.

“Where have you been?” Dexter asked.

“I told you, I had to get my wrap,” she replied, peering at him, wondering when the poison was going to take effect. “Then I got stuck in the bathroom.”

“What do you mean, ‘stuck in the bathroom'?”

“Oh forget about it,” she said irritably, turning her attention to the ring.

Two half-naked, sweaty men and the promise of blood.

What more could a girl ask for?

T
HE ROOM-SERVICE
waiter was Cuban, and although unfortunately short, was quite attractive. He delivered the champagne in an ice bucket. “Would you like me to open it?” he asked, slyly checking Jamie out.

“Yeah,” Joel said, reaching in his pocket for a tip.

“Oh, yes,” Jamie agreed, giggling. The waiter was so cute that if she didn't score with Joel, then he'd definitely be a contender.

•

Round three, and Antonio was making another stab at dominating the champ.

No go. Bull Ali was a wall of muscle. A solid brick wall of a man with a devastating right-hand punch, which he now started to use to good effect, pounding away at Antonio's face.
Not
a popular move with The Panther, who was very protective of his handsome features.