She sipped her wine. A fellow patron to her left jabbed her once more with his meaty elbow, causing her wine to slosh over the rim. Nellie stifled the irritation rising within her and drummed her nails on the scarred bar. She hated the airport, hated waiting, and hated sitting alone at a bar.
As she reached to take another sip of her chardonnay, the man next to her jostled her again. Her hand clipped the goblet of lukewarm wine and it flew off the bar, spilling its contents into the lap of the man to her right. The wineglass bounced off his thigh and smashed to the floor.
Nellie shoved her stool back and, in a belated effort, grabbed for the glass. “Oh! Sorry! Here, let me…”
Everyone in the small bar stopped what they were doing and stared.
Great! Just one more thing to go wrong with this stupid trip.
Nellie stared at the mess lying at her feet. Then she looked up and her breath stopped.
Like literally stopped.
All the people around her blurred into the background and the apology she was about to repeat died on her lips.
Good God! He was magnificent.
Not even handsome, or hot, or any of the other words girls used to describe guys. Nope. Just plain magnificent. Like in the “on the front of the romance cover” way.
Her mind took a picture—irritated blue eyes beneath slashing black brows, dark shaggy hair, and a sensual mouth boasting a full lower lip Nellie strangely wanted to slide her tongue over. Magnificent.
“Oh, God! I am so sorry!” she squeaked after finally remembering to take a gulp of air.
The stranger ignored her and busied himself with shaking droplets of wine from his hand.
Nellie grabbed a handful of ridiculously small cocktail napkins from the holder on the bar and held them out to him.
He took them and dabbed at the spreading stain.
Nellie watched him swipe uselessly at the dark patch spreading over his crotch. Lord, it looked like he’d wet himself.
The bartender tossed a towel to the man, giving everyone in the bar permission to go back to whatever they had been doing before the glass shattered. Guilt settled in her stomach. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
He lifted his eyes. Electric blue eyes that pierced the depths of her soul.
She lost her breath. Again.
He said nothing. Just looked down at his ruined pants.
Feeling totally incompetent, Nellie crouched down and began clearing the fragments of glass from the well-worn tile.
“Ouch!” A sliver of glass sliced her index finger. Bright drops of blood popped up.
Suddenly the man was beside her, his grip firm and warm.
“Hey, don’t bother. Let the barkeep get it.”
Nellie totally forgot the cut. Her body was preoccupied with the fact his touch had sent sparks up her arm. Seriously. Shivers right up her arm. Then her heart flopped over.
And for some reason she felt like she wasn’t Nellie from Oak Stand. The world slowed down and she became one of those smart women from the black-and-white films they showed on TNT. The shabby bar faded away to lush tropical foliage, piano keys plinking in a smoke-filled room. Suddenly she was Ingrid Bergman, a fair damsel in distress, rescued by the handsome, no,
magnificent,
stranger.
Nellie stared at her dripping finger and then back up at him. Could he feel it too? The frisson of electricity that overshadowed the throb in her finger. Would he sweep her into an embrace and murmur in her ear about having searched the world and finally found her? Oh, and something about “of all the gin joints…”
Reality clicked back into place as the man wrapped a cocktail napkin around her finger and pulled her to her feet. He deposited her onto the abandoned bar stool.
“Hey, Eduardo! Get the lady another glass of wine and put it on my tab. Oh, and a bandage or something for her finger. Wait! Did Pujols just strike out?”
Nellie blinked.
Pujols? Strike out? Was the man more concerned about baseball? Surely not after what had occurred between them? Didn’t he feel it? The electricity? Hello? What did baseball matter at a time like this?
She tried again. “Um…I just wanted you to know I am terribly sorry for spilling my drink like that. I am usually not so…” She trailed off because the man didn’t turn toward her. His eyes were riveted on the television mounted above the bar, broadcasting the St. Louis game.
He waved in her direction. “Look, just an accident. No big deal. We all have bad days.”
That was it. Nothing more.
Nellie murmured a soft “okay” and picked up the chilled goblet the bartender had set in front of her. She stared at the adhesive bandage lying beside her purse and took a sip of the wine. Her finger wasn’t bleeding any longer. It was her pride that needed the bandage.
He had dismissed her.
He’d rocked her world, but she didn’t even merit a second glance. Great.
But what did you think, huh?
a little voice in her head mocked.
That a gorgeous hunk like that would notice a country mouse like you? You’ve never turned heads, have you? So why now? Get real, Nellie. Men like him are not for you.
A voice over the speaker interrupted the spiteful one careening about in her head and announced her flight was boarding.
Thank God. She could escape, tail tucked and all that. She grabbed the bandage from the bar, jabbed it into her purse, and took a last swig of the crisp chardonnay, trying to forget how rotten her day had been. Time to move on. Go to Vegas. Forget Texas for a few days.
Not to be as easily dismissed, El Magnificent drew the eye of every lady under ninety when he stood and settled his tab. Sure, it still looked like he’d wet himself, but he didn’t try to hide the embarrassing stain. Confidently, he picked up his attaché and strolled out into the terminal. Normally, Nellie would have insisted on paying for her second glass of wine, but tall, dark and dismissive had obviously picked up the tab. She tossed a couple of one-dollar bills on the bar instead. She’d pay her own tip, darn it.
Nellie shouldered her carry-on and hurried out the open doorway, blinking against the harsh lights of the main terminal and the moisture that blurred her vision for no good reason. She caught her reflection in the shiny partition of a closed fast-food vendor and winced.
Ouch! No wonder Mr. Magnificent hadn’t given her a second glance.
She’d been in such a hurry to get out of the library that she hadn’t taken the time to change her clothes. Her navy cotton skirt was rumpled and her once smartly ironed linen sailor-top blouse was stained with grape juice, thanks to a certain raucous seven-year-old at the Read for Summer launch. Her brown hair was swept back into a disheveled ponytail from which several tendrils escaped to frizz unbecomingly around her pale cheeks. To make matters worse, her eyes appeared bloodshot from the seldom-used contact lenses.
Heck, she’d probably frightened half the people in the bar.
Well, she huffed as she hurried through the terminal, who cared? She was getting a makeover, wasn’t she? And though she’d fallen more than a little head over heels for the God-like creature in the bar, he still was just a man in a bar. No one truly fell in love at first sight.
Over a man. In a bar. At the Dallas airport.
That happened in movies, to the Ingrid Bergmans of the world. Not to silly, plain daydreamers.
God, she really was pathetic.
Nellie dug out her boarding pass and handed it to the trim, smartly dressed attendant.
Forget Mr. Magnificent. She would never see him again. He would be a memory, fading just like the throb in her finger.
“Another reason to forgo all of this torture.” Nellie tucked a hank of golden hair behind her now pink ear before turning her attention to the spidery faux eyelashes on the granite before her. “I mean, is it worth all of this trouble?”
“Are you really asking that question after that guy hit on you last night?”
Nellie tossed her a contrite look. “Sorry about that. You were talking to him first, and I—”
“That’s okay.” Kate smiled. “I’m not into personal trainers anyway. They’re always talking about protein and ways to define your abs. No thanks.”
Nellie picked up one of the eyelashes and practiced lining it up on her lid before giving up and tossing it beside the makeup kit sitting on the hotel room vanity. “He wasn’t quite the guy I thought he was.”
Kate rolled her blue eyes before applying mascara. “They never are.”
She picked up the abandoned eyelash and turned Nellie’s head toward her. “So what about this trainer guy? Is he gonna meet up with you tonight?”
“Not a chance.” Nellie watched as her best friend expertly set the lash into place. Kate’s forehead furrowed as she contemplated her work. She was a perfectionist. Always had been. Nellie had first noticed the trait in second grade when she’d watched her dress and redress her Barbie twenty times before the outfit was acceptable for dinner with Ken.
“Good, he was a total loser,” Kate concurred, handing her a tube of lip gloss. “I didn’t drag you here for losers. Tonight we find you a winner.”
Nellie swiped her lips with apricot lip gloss and smacked them before sliding from the stool centered in front of the vanity. As she rose, she almost did a double take at the sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like a stranger, so not herself. “I’m not here for guys, Kate. I came because I needed to get away—a little pick-me-up. Not a pickup.”
“Whatever. I say you need a dude, a seriously hot, make-your-knees-knock dude.” Kate’s voice followed her as she entered the bedroom. “And you ain’t gonna get that in Oak Stand, Texas. I know firsthand.”
Nellie sighed. She really didn’t want to worry about fending off prowling single men. The personal trainer had taught her that much last night on her first sojourn into Las Vegas nightlife. Boyish, blond and charming, he had made her feel like she used to feel back in college—young and free. But she’d found out pretty quickly what kind of slimeball he was. Seems he thought buying drinks equated with free sex in the back corner of the club.
Did she really look like that kind of girl?
She headed for the huge window showcasing the twinkling Vegas nightlife and pressed her forehead to the cool glass. The fountains danced beneath her. Vegas nights were incredible. Sheer, hot, pulsing energy. A far cry from the peaceful Texas nights she enjoyed from the front porch of her Oak Stand home.
Tonight she stood, a whole new Nellie, designed to make men drool. Kate had accomplished her mission. Maybe Nellie
did
look like that kind of girl.
“You look hot, Nell.” Kate confirmed her thoughts.
She spun around as her friend sank into an overstuffed chair with a huff. Kate bent over and fastened the straps of the mile-high sandals she’d bought that afternoon. Nellie had no idea how her friend would walk in them, much less dance in them at the clubs they’d visit that night.
“All thanks to you.”
Kate flashed a quick smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“And humble.” Nellie laughed.
“Well, you’ve got those good Tucker bones. Not to mention big tatas.” Kate bounced invisible breasts in front of her own small chest. “Seriously, you’ve always been pretty, Nell. You just never accentuate it.”
“There was never much of a need.”
Kate opened her mouth to impart more Kateisms, but the connecting door opened and Trish leaned in and asked, “Where we headed tonight, girls?”
Kate stood up and smoothed the short black skirt over her toned thighs. She wore her hair spiked around her angelic face. The cobalt streaks in her ebony hair matched the blue of her eyes. She looked like a Gothic Tinkerbell. “Down to Fontana. Friend of mine got us into a pharmaceutical party. Table service and everything. Then I was thinking about Agave Blue. I know one of the bouncers.”
Nellie’s stomach tilted south. Agave Blue. The hottest club in town. Owned by the guy she’d spilled her wine on in the airport bar.
Jack Darby.
When she’d seen him staring back at her from the cover of the
Las Vegas Life
magazine sitting on the nightstand in their hotel room, she’d nearly dropped the cocktail Kate had shoved in her hand. The man who’d made her pulse race leaned against a low-slung sports car with his arms crossed and a sensual grin curving his mouth. The words beside him read Sultan of the Strip, and the nightclub owner looked every inch of the moniker with a billowing linen shirt and harem girl at each elbow.
Of course, it was stupid to worry about Jack Darby. It wasn’t as if she’d run into the man again. And if she did, he wouldn’t recognize her. Kate had made sure by turning Nellie into a five-day, alter-ego party girl ready to take Vegas by storm.
“Here. I got you a little something to complete your small-town-girl-gone-bad image.” Kate rummaged through a bag.
“What, taking a fake name wasn’t good enough? I need more intrigue?” Her friend spun her around so she was facing the window again.
“Whoa! What are you doing?” Nellie squealed as something wet slapped against her bare shoulder—the shoulder just above the scandalous bustier Kate insisted she wear because it “rocked” the designer jeans dipping low on her hips. Kate started counting. “Wait! Are you putting a tattoo on me?”
“Just a temporary one. It’ll come off with baby oil.”
“No, Kate. Tattoos are trashy,” Nellie said, protesting but remaining still nevertheless. She didn’t want to mess it up.
“Says little ‘Miss Nelda Rae Tucker,’” Kate drawled. “I’ve got three permanent ones, Nellie.”
“My name’s not Tucker. It’s Hughes. And I didn’t mean on you. Just me,” Nellie finished lamely. Kate was different. Free. Able to live as she pleased. Nellie would always be a Tucker, no matter what her last name was. And Tuckers didn’t have tattoos. Tuckers didn’t wear bustiers, thongs or strappy, impractical sandals. Tuckers didn’t make out with virtual strangers in dark corners of dance clubs. Nope, Tuckers were dignified. Practical. Sensible.
But “Elle,” the identity Kate had insisted Nellie assume for her extended weekend, was anything but a boring Tucker. She was supposed to be a single, twenty-something Dallas interior designer with layered caramel hair and sexy new clothes. “Elle” was her naughty side.
Nellie sighed, “Okay. But it will come off, won’t it?”
“Heaven’s sake, Nell. Yes. It will come off.”
Nellie waited while Kate peeled off the backing and dusted her shoulder with baby powder before hurrying to the bathroom mirror to see the tattoo her friend had put on her shoulder. Nellie supposed it was tasteful as far as tattoos went—a small red heart with a crack creeping from the bottom. A blue tear leaked from the crack. It looked odd upon her shoulder.
“A heart?” Nellie called back at Kate.
“Not a heart. A heartbreaker. That’s what you are.”
“Okay. Enough drama. Let’s roll.” Kate’s friend Trish sauntered into the room. The Clark County assistant district attorney was followed by Billie Nader, a local artist. “I need a beer and some music.”
Kate handed Nellie a hotel key card. “Just in case you hook up with someone tonight.”
Nellie shoved it into her pocket. “Don’t worry. I’m not that kind of girl.”
Billie tossed Nellie a know-it-all smile. “Honey, everyone’s that type of girl.”
“Nellie’s not, but maybe Elle is,” Nellie laughed as they headed toward the elevators. Even as she said the words she didn’t believe herself. Elle might be her alter ego, but she wasn’t stupid. One-night stands were for true cosmopolitan girls of the world, not small-town librarians who had the town square named after their great-grandfather. Nellie couldn’t risk being so irresponsible even as the sultry Elle Hughes.
Or…could she?
Rule number one for Kate’s girlfriend getaways was “Be whoever you want to be.” Assume a name, an identity, or a whole new life. It was part of the game. Part of escaping the mundane of one’s normal life and embracing the freedom of being a hot, single girl in the most sinful city in the world.
Nellie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored elevators just before she stepped inside.
Damn, but after her makeover she looked the part. Could she forget everything she’d ever been taught so she could play the part too?