Must Love Vampires (15 page)

Chloe was concerned about her sister, but also knew Chuck could take care of herself. She wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity for a night off, either—with pay. Especially since Chuck’s plans just happened to play in perfectly with her own.

So she’d been more than happy to sneak Chuck backstage and help her wiggle into her “Flames of Hell” costume. The sheer stockings with the dark lines running up the back; the red-and-orange sequined body suit; the tall, feathered and sequined headdress. Not to mention the glitter eye shadow, long fake eyelashes, and enough sparkling rhinestone jewelry to wave in a fleet of 747s.

“If anyone finds out what you’re doing and why . . .” she began, feeling the need to warn her sister one last time of the consequences of going through with this.

“They won’t,” Chuck insisted. “We’re identical, remember? We used to do this all the time in school. I can pretend to be you almost as well as I pretend to be me.”

They both chuckled, remembering all the fun they used to have as kids, trading places and convincing people they were the other twin. Everyone but their mother; the single mother and former showgirl herself had always been much too street smart to fall for her daughters’ antics.

A shout from the dressing room on the other side of the bathroom door made them both jump. Their eyes met, and Chloe knew Chuck’s heart had to be pounding as hard as her own.

“Showtime,” Chloe said.

She gave Chuck a final once-over, checking the makeup, the jewelry, the headdress, the fit of the costume, and the straps of the high-high platform heels.

“All right,” she said, blowing out a breath. “Break a leg.”

Her sister winced, and she immediately regretted her choice of words. But they were good luck and might actually keep her from doing so literally, so she didn’t take them back.

“You go out first,” she told her, hand on the knob, “and I’ll hide here until the coast is clear.”

With a final hug, Chloe saw Chuck out, then locked herself back in the broom closet of a bathroom, listening to the stampeding
clack-clack-clack
of heels as dancers rushed toward the stage, the stage director’s shouted orders, and the strains of the music
she
was usually out there shaking her moneymaker to.

She loved being a dancer, really she did, but being a
showgirl
lifted the term to a whole new level. She and the other girls she danced with were all extremely talented. They could have danced on Broadway, if they’d wanted.

But working nights, in the heart of one of Las Vegas’s most popular adult casinos—as opposed to those that catered to children in an effort to be family friendly and bring in even more tourist dollars—meant that people made a lot of assumptions about her character. Especially people of the male persuasion, who thought the word “showgirl” was synonymous with “high-priced hooker” and spent more time ogling her boobs than paying attention to what was taking place onstage.

It was to be expected. As were the pinches to her morebare-than-not bottom and being propositioned multiple times a night. Even if she wasn’t in costume, wasn’t even on the clock, once folks found out she was a showgirl, she often got the exact same treatment.

It had been fine for a while. Her mother had been a showgirl, so long before she’d ever balanced her first thousand-pound headdress, she’d known what to expect. And some of it was even enjoyable. The attention. The flattery. The parties. The flowers and gifts that often showed up at her dressing table from not-so-secret admirers.

But things were different now. She was getting older, as were her knees and ankles and every other joint in her body.

And she had a little boy to think about. Kids hadn’t been part of the plan—at least not in the short run—and her relationship with his father hadn’t lasted much longer than it had taken her to get pregnant, but Jake was the love of her life. One of those things you didn’t know you wanted or needed until it was thrust upon you. Which was why she could call him a surprise, but never an accident or a mistake.

Having a child made her rethink her priorities, though . . . and her future. Her family was great about Jake, and hugely supportive of her, despite some of the less-than-stellar choices she’d made. Her mother—retired now and living in Henderson—kept him overnight while Chloe was at work. And Chuck was not only her back-up sitter, but the world’s greatest aunt. Between the three of them, it was a wonder Jake wasn’t spoiled rotten.

But she was tired of dropping him off at her mother’s every night, then being too worn out most of the day to give him the attention he deserved.

She was tired of feeling guilty that her son’s only influences were women, and worrying about whether or not he missed—and needed—a good male role model.

And some days, she was just plain tired.

But all that was about to change. If tonight went as she hoped, she would soon have a husband for herself, a father for Jake, and enough money to make the need to dance ancient history.

Ace

Once she was sure everybody was onstage and the dressing room was empty, Chloe cracked open the bathroom door and slipped out. Sneaking over to her section of the long, lighted makeup table, she grabbed her small clutch purse, checked the drawer for anything else she might need, and hightailed it out of there, taking the back exit so no one would see her.

Of course, even if they did, she would merely claim to be her sister. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was onstage right now, shaking her feathered booty in front of a hundred-odd witnesses. And the way she was dressed, she didn’t think anyone would suspect otherwise.

Where Chloe was a girly-girl, always madeup and perfectly coiffed, going for the fancy and frilly over sensible, Chuck was the opposite. Chuck went for simplicity above everything else; easy wash-and-go hairstyle, jeans and tees, and very little to no makeup. Oh, she cleaned up nice.
Real
nice, if her gorgeous,
identical
twin sister did say so herself, but only when absolutely necessary.

It had been kind of a thrill to dress her tonight, and spackle on about ten pounds of makeup. She wondered if Chuck knew how to get it all off when the time came, and made a mental note to leave a message on her cell, just in case.

So while Chuck was dressed like Chloe right now, in walking Sin City Barbie attire, Chloe was dressed like Chuck. Faded low-rider jeans, low-heeled ankle boots, and a black baby doll tee with the slogan
I’ll try to be nicer if you try to be smarter
emblazoned across the front.

Taking a lesser-used entrance/exit at the rear of the club, she made her way out of Lust and onto the main floor of the casino. As usual, the place was bustling. Slot machines dinging and whirring, cards being shuffled and dealt, chips being laid down or collected, and scantily-clad waitresses in their short red skirts and devil horn headbands zipping around taking orders and delivering drinks.

The whole place was wired, cameras in the ceiling and security people milling around looking like Secret Service wannabes. There were a few dressed in street clothes, too, she knew, blending in with the crowd and keeping an even closer eye on Sebastian Raines’s milliondollar interests.

But it didn’t matter who saw her now. Not only did she fit in perfectly with the gamblers littering the floor, but she was on her way out, and no one really cared what guests were doing unless money, cheating, or impending violence were involved.

Wending through the casino, she headed for the hotel’s main lobby, and straight out the front doors, avoiding the bellmen and other Inferno employees as much as possible. Vehicles came and went beneath the wide portico, making it easy for her to slink along the side of the building and onto the sidewalk.

She only had to go a couple of blocks. Even though Aidan’s brother owned the Inferno, and he could come and go as he pleased, they’d agreed to meet down the street so fewer people would be likely to see them together. Aidan was too identifiable, and his presence tended to draw a crowd.

Tonight of all nights, she did
not
want to draw a crowd. Not until the deed was done and she had the younger Raines brother’s ring firmly on her finger.

Skirting a group of boisterous fraternity boys who were whistling and sending cat calls in her direction, Chloe spotted Aidan’s sleek black Ferrari Scuderia Spider idling at the curb, and a wide smile stretched across her face.

He always made her smile. From the moment she’d met him—backstage after one of her performances—his carefree demeanor had kept her laughing and made
her
feel carefree for the first time in a long time. Being with him was easy, and she hoped it stayed that way, because she intended to be with him for a while to come.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she should have told him about Jake, introduced him to her son, and waited to see how they got along before thrusting them together indefinitely. But she was too nervous, too afraid that if she did that, everything would fall apart and she would lose her shot at the future she was trying to create for her son.

Reaching the snazzy sports car, she climbed into the passenger seat and leaned in for a long, liquid kiss. He kissed like a dream. And Chloe should know; she’d kissed a lot of frogs before finding this prince, and none of them could hold a candle to Aidan’s lips—soft and smooth, but firm and masterful. Or his tongue—bold and seeking. Or his hands, which always seemed to be involved in his kisses, touching her, stroking her, soothing her.

When they parted, they were both grinning.

“How’d it go?” Aidan asked.

“Fine. Chuck’s onstage now. I hope she’s okay.”

As far as he knew, Chuck had agreed to take her place so she could skip work and slip off to meet him. She hadn’t filled him in on the fact that this whole thing had actually been Chuck’s idea, giving Chloe the unexpected opportunity to get away without being missed.

“If she’s half as talented as you are, she’ll be fine.”

Her limbs went warm and loose at his words. Oh, he was a charmer, all right. She just hoped he stayed that way, instead of being one of those men who was all sweet and kind before the wedding vows, then turned angry and controlling after them.

“Are you ready, then?”

Butterflies broke through their cocoons inside her stomach, flapping around and sending her pulse rate skittering. Was it excitement or trepidation? Or maybe just plain old generalized anxiety?

She nodded, and he offered her another dazzling smile that flashed a hint of dimple at each cheek. Checking the flow of traffic behind them, he waited for an opening before putting the car in gear and peeling out. Once his hand was free, he reached for hers and held it as they tooled down The Strip, wind blowing her loose hair into a tangled mess.

Before she knew it, he was slowing down and pulling in to the Little Blue Chapel—which was, as the name suggested, little and blue. And it looked like a chapel, small and square, with stained-glass windows, a steeple on top, and a short set of steps leading inside.

From the moment they’d concocted their plan, Chloe had let Aidan make all the arrangements. She didn’t care where they did this, she just wanted it done before he had a chance to change his mind. So Little Blue Chapel, Chapel o’ Love, or Hank’s All-Nite Fish Fry—she didn’t have a preference, as long as it did the trick.

Still, when he cut the engine and turned in her direction, she shot him a “really?” look.

He shrugged. “You told me to pick one, and as long as we’re doing it this way, we’re going to do it right. Vegas style,” he added with a teasing wink.

They climbed out of the car, and he met her on her side before she’d even gotten the door closed. Then he took her hand again and led her inside.

The Little Blue Chapel was known for its theme of “all things Elvis,” especially of the “Blue Suede Shoes” persuasion. The chapel itself was covered in blue aluminum siding, followed by blue walls, blue carpeting, and blue curtains separating the vestibule from the main ceremonial room.

“Well, hi, there,” a woman dressed in—you guessed it—blue chiffon greeted them with a wide, toothy smile. Her light blond, blue-washed hair was blown up into one of the biggest poofs Chloe had ever seen, a la Priscilla Presley, circa 1967 or 1970.

“We’re here for the Raines-Lamoreaux ceremony,” Aidan told her, obviously loving all the pomp and circumstance.

“Monroe,” she corrected with a tug at his arm. If she was going to do this without being entirely sure it was the smartest thing in the world, she was going to make sure it was legally binding.

“Right, right,” he agreed, then told the hostess, “Aidan Raines and Chloe
Monroe
.”

The woman nodded and started digging around in her paperwork. “We’ve got you right here,” she said, coming around a counter covered in Elvis memorabilia—movie posters, photographs, magazine covers.

“The first thing we need to do is get you changed. You step right in there and pick an outfit,” she told Aidan, pointing to a door marked LITTLE BOYS. Then she took Chloe by the elbow and tugged her toward one that said LITTLE LADIES. “And we’ll get you all decked out in a beautiful new gown.”

Chloe let the woman lead her away with only a quick, backward glance at Aidan. She found herself in a room the size of a small closet, already half filled by a long rack of assorted wedding gowns.

It came as quite a surprise to discover that most of them were actually white. She would have expected blue. But apparently, the Little Blue Chapel was fully traditional—in this sense, at least. Priscilla had been married in white, so they wanted to give their customers that same option. But there were also a few off-white, and yes, blue, dresses to choose from, as well.

The hostess pulled gown after gown from the rack, holding each up to Chloe’s neck in front of a full-length mirror tacked to the wall. And though she gave Chloe plenty of time to insert her own comments, Chloe got the feeling this was really the other woman’s show, and she would wind up being married in whichever dress the Priscilla-wannabe found most fitting.