The Cover Model (5 page)

His eyebrows shot up. Feminine chuckles sounded in the room.

"That's debatable," he muttered loud enough for her to hear.

"Look, Miss I'm Not a Voyeur. I'm on a strict deadline for this photo shoot." The photographer's face furrowed in annoyance. "If you don't mind, I would really like to finish here and be done."

Photo shoot?
Model plus photo equals romance book covers.

Fancy's face burned like fresh asphalt on a hot summer's day as the puzzle piece shifted into place. "Oh." She blinked and glimpsed the haughty grin on Mitch's face. The ape reveled in her embarrassment. She hoped someone starched his underwear in the next washing. Twice. Or better yet, tie the laces of his codpiece in tight knots.

Codpiece?
She blinked and stared at the prominent material covering his groin, her mouth gaping open in amazement.

"Yes, photo shoot. You know. Pirate and the captive." The photographer waved at the couple. "If we don't get back to work, there'll be a definite shortage of pirate book covers this season."

"Pirate? As in eye patch, talking parrot, and a wooden leg?"

Mitch snorted. "Plundering and stealing the virtues of fair maidens." He grinned wickedly at Pocahontas who giggled in return.

Women lusted after pirates? Men who sailed the high seas and didn't bathe for weeks? Who hunted other water vessels, killing crews, and stealing their loot? What about scurvy and lice? Her mind whirled with amazement, comparing the realities of the occupation to the obvious fantasy version, which romance readers seemed to seek out.

The dark-haired female model ran her hands over Mitch's belly, her fingers dipping beneath the snug cloth, disappearing behind the thick codpiece before returning to his shoulders. She smiled widely and winked at him.

"More like yo ho…" Fancy mumbled under her breath, glaring at the beautiful woman shifting in Mitch's arms, leaning into his powerful chest, resting her raven head on his shoulder as he placed kisses along her shoulder and throat.

Her stomach turned as the green-eyed monster called jealousy reared his ugly head. Shaking her head, she threw the negative emotion away.

"Focus, people. I have to be done in a few minutes."

"Yeah, I have to make an appearance at the party tonight, too," Mitch chimed in as he climbed off the bed and stood beside it.

"What's tonight's theme?" A girl with long red hair and dressed in a long white satin gown asked.

"Paranormal," answered another girl, this one in a low cut fluffy blouse and skin-tight shorts that barely covered the essentials.

"Ohh. Vampires. Shapeshifters. Ghosts."

"Wicked. I can't wait."

Vampires? Shapeshifters? Ghosts?
Fancy blinked in bewilderment. She thought pirates pushed the line, making for a marginal hero to read about. Now to hear women also lusted after and fantasized about ghosts blew her mind. Truly, she missed some important detail. Heck, she missed the whole seminar. After all, she found nothing particularly sexy about a man who sucks your blood, an entity you can't see, or a human/animal cross who brings home dinner clamped between his jaws with the bone in, blood covering his face, and the hide still on.
Icky.

"I don't get it."

As a group, the women turned and stared at her with open mouths and shocked expressions on their faces.

"What's not to get? Vampires and shifters are damn hot." This from the redhead. "All those alpha males." She licked her lips.

A petite brunette spoke up. "A sexy vampire who wants to turn you and spend eternity together. Yum."

Fancy shook her head. The thought of sucking on another person's neck left her repulsed. What about personal hygiene? Bacteria present on the skin? Disease? She crinkled her nose. Eternity? They wanted to spend centuries with an arrogant fang-wielding man who could read minds and erase memories? From what she recalled of history, Dracula wasn't a sociable, polite man big on the rights of women. In fact, most would label him cruel and barbaric. Yet here stood some beautiful women who wanted to live by his side for thousands of years. For the life of her, she couldn't grasp their rationale. Definitely no accounting for taste.

Personally, she didn't think she could tolerate living with a man for a decade, let alone a century, after seeing what many of her friends experienced. What began with happiness and overflowing love soon turned to continuous bouts of bickering, arguments, and downright anger. Some men cheated. Others grew lazy and apathetic. One even labeled his wife too busy to give him the attention he deserved after delivering twins and returning to work full-time. None of those examples encouraged Fancy that a lifetime with even the love of her life would be possible.

A thought struck. Maybe that's why women loved romance novels? They imagined themselves as the heroine, falling in love with the dashing hero, a man above reproach who would cherish her forever. In this fantasy world, true love flourished, adventures proved exciting and exhilarating, and in the end, everyone lived happily ever after. So much unlike the real world of job stress, financial strain, communication difficulties, disease, and death.

Now that she considered it, maybe she needed to purchase another book and soon. Her life wasn't looking so hot, either. She worked, exercised, paid bills, and went grocery shopping. This conference was the first vacation she'd taken in the past ten years. Her last date, nearly a year ago, fell under the category of a natural disaster. Years sped by, and she had little to report on annual Christmas cards to her friends. No pictures of exotic places. No beautiful family photos to include. No big accomplishments.

Recalling the earlier conversation, she spoke up. "Can anyone attend the party?"

The redhead turned her head. "It's a costume party, and you have to buy a ticket."

"Where can I do that?"

The girl walked over, the high heels quiet on the thick hotel carpet. Flashes and clicks sounded in the background as the photographer continued on with the shoot. "Hon, that party isn't for you."

Years of nasty comments from other students prepared her for this very moment in life. Instead of crumpling or running, Fancy's ire raced to the surface. She lifted her chin and met the woman's gaze head-on.

The girl waved her hand. "There are loose women and men circling the flock, looking for a stunning beauty to select for a night of passion." Her gaze raked over Fancy's attire. "From what I can see, that's not the place for you. All proper and book smart. Always in bed by nine."

Clenching her fists, Fancy bit her tongue.

"Go on back to your room, little girl. It's a night for women and decadence, not cookie sales."

"You little…" Grasping her fury in a tight fist, Fancy reminded herself that slapping the witch would land her probably in jail. The twit wasn't worth the effort or the consequences to follow. Heck, she wasn't even worth the upset. Like she could actually quench the old feelings the nasty-tempered woman reignited with a simple thought. Her confidence took a blow, but she refused to let them see her pain.

With a glare cold enough to turn a volcano to an ice sculpture, Fancy stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut in her wake.

* * * *

"Regina! That was uncalled for," Mitch barked across the room, his glare landing on the younger woman with the sharp tongue.

She whirled around, shooting him an innocent look with a small smile. "Everything I said was true."

"Jealousy doesn't become you," he admonished. Anger rode him hard, hearing Regina mock Fancy in such a bullying way. Why his next-door neighbor didn't stay and fight, he couldn't say, but probably leaned toward not wanting to rock the boat or cause a scene or interfere with this important photo shoot.

Still, he had glimpsed her face when she left. The words stung, and her confidence took a blow as well as set her rage to near boiling. Passion and a backbone resided in her, if someone would take the time to coax it out.

Guilt weighed on his shoulders along with a sense of responsibility. He would make this up to her. Replace the hurt with a happy smile.

"Mitch. We need you back on the bed."

Spinning around, he noted Regina reclining across his bed, her saucy red lips in a wide grin.

Instead of the typical rush of excitement he experienced when taking a beautiful model in hand, his gut churned in distaste. "No. I'm done."

Gasps echoed across the room.

"What do you mean? We have time for a few more shots." The photographer lowered her camera and stared at him in confusion.

"No. I said I'm done. Everyone out." Striding to the door, he opened it, gesturing toward the hallway. "Go finish somewhere else. Without me." Rightness buoyed his energy, giving him strength and conviction in his decision. Pouts and whimpers carried to his ears. He ignored them all. Men who dreamed of a harem at their beck and call had to be crazy to step into a group of ladies full of pettiness, envy, and temperamental natures. An hour was more than he could handle.

When the last woman walked out, Mitch stripped the bed, called the front desk asking for clean bed linens, and sat down to formulate a plan. He never could stand bullying of others, having been put down himself as a kid. That's one reason he worked so hard in school in order to pursue his dreams to become a lawyer, to have the power and position to even the odds against those that thought they ruled the roost, or at least even the odds for someone else.

Fancy's crumbling face popped into his mind, evidence of how much simple words angered and stomped on her self-confidence. With the image came a firm resolve. One way or another, Fancy would become the belle of the ball before the convention wrapped up and wear a smile to outshine all the others as she walked in on his arm.

But first came lunch and another opportunity to search for Donna the embezzler.

Chapter 8

Checking his watch, Mitch strode out the front door of the hotel, entering the sunny and cool day outside, immediately glancing around, and searching for potential eating establishments to visit for lunch. The past couple of days, he had relied on the hotel cafeteria for his nutrition needs, but the thought of returning there today zapped his appetite. He needed a change, not just for his taste buds but for the hefty hit on his wallet due to the overblown prices the small restaurant charged. Though the FBI picked up his entire tab for the convention, he still hated to hand over big bucks for marginal meals. He'd been raised by parents that worked as teachers with limited incomes. He knew the value of money, how hard one had to work to earn the currency, and still clung to a more frugal philosophy despite his decent lawyer salary.

He tugged his jacket closed against the chilly breeze and set off across the street where a flashing light advertised soup and sandwiches. Within a few steps of the entrance, he smelled the delicious fresh baked bread along with cookies right out of the oven. Both sent him to salivating.

Entering, he found the restaurant warm, cozy, and the perfect size for a casual lunch without the hustle and bustle of larger establishments. He stepped up to the counter, ordered his meal, then looked around the room for a quiet place to sit and eat.

Spying a figure sitting in the back corner booth, he did a double take. Sure enough, Fancy sat facing him, slowly nibbling on a sandwich and chips. As he watched, she picked up her drink and sipped from the straw, the action somehow sexy and alluring.

"Sir? Sir?"

He faced forward once more, smiled at the attendant, paid for his food, and picked up the tray, heading directly toward the far seats, not stopping until he stood at Fancy's side.

"Is this seat taken?"

She startled and looked up at him, recognition crossing her features after a quick beat. "Umm. No."

He smiled down at her, relieved she didn't reject him outright, placed his tray on the table, and slid into the booth seat across from her. "Thanks." Taking a moment to unwrap his food, he considered where to start the conversation. "I take it you're not here for the convention?"

"Not the one you're talking about, no."

"There's another?" He tilted his head while wrapping one hand around his sandwich.

Fancy popped a potato chip in her mouth and chewed. "A meeting of the regional Genome Project follow-through. I had to present the latest research my lab is working on."

"Wow." He blinked. Of all things she could be, he had never labeled her as a genetics researcher. Yet now that he knew, it somehow fit her and explained a few others things as well. His little wallflower possessed a great mind, high levels of education, and worked to find cures to deadly diseases. Definitely something to be proud of. "That's impressive."

She shrugged. "Thanks."

"Where do you work out of?"

"Denver."

His mouth fell open. "Seriously? Me, too." Taking a bite, he waited for her response.

Her eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I thought you were a cover model?" She shook her head and waved a hand. "Never mind. I guess you could work primarily out of one locale and travel as needed."

Swallowing, he grinned at her. "I could and do. However, I'm not just a cover model."