MARRIED . . . WITH FANGS
“I think Aidan might be the one.”
Chloe’s identical twin sister, Charlotte—Chuck for short—lifted her head to meet Chloe’s eyes, but then ducked back down as Chloe raised the gigantic feathered and sequined headdress to place on her sister’s head.
Although they’d both spent their lives in dance classes, Chloe was the only one who did it now professionally. She’d been a showgirl for the Inferno Hotel and Casino’s dance revue club, Lust, going on almost ten years now.
Sigh. Time sure did fly when you were a single mother living from paycheck to paycheck. She was so ready to give up her stilettos and skintight costumes for a more reasonable nine-to-five.
Or better yet, the life of a stay-at-home mom. If she ever got such an opportunity—which she was hoping she would very, very soon—she swore she’d be the best little housewife ever. She would wear an apron and a string of pearls. She would dust and vacuum and starch her husband’s collars, bake cookies and pot roasts and homemade bread.
Okay, so her idea of a home-cooked meal was walking in the door with Chinese takeout, and the only way she normally knew dinner was ready was if the smoke alarm went off. But she was willing to learn.
“‘The One’?” Chuck asked, wincing as Chloe drove hairpins into her scalp to keep the “Flames of Hell” headdress in place. “Capital T, capital O?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Aren’t you moving kind of fast?”
Chloe’s stomach dipped at her sister’s question and the thought of what was going to happen later tonight.
Was it the right thing to do? She had no idea. A part of her was hugely excited about it, while the other was scared stupid.
But she’d made her decision, and had every intention of following through with it. It was what was best for Jake . . . and hopefully for herself.
Adopting a flippant attitude she didn’t quite feel, she said, “You know my policy—the faster the better. And this one is on the hook.”
On the hook and about to be reeled in. She just hoped she wasn’t the one who ended up flopping around on deck, gasping for air.
“Just be careful, okay?” Chuck told her.
“I will,” she promised. “You, too.”
Taking a step back, she studied her sister, feeling as though she was looking in the mirror. Her sister was dressed from head to toe as Chloe, because tonight she was Chloe.
It might not be the smartest plan in the world, but Chuck had insisted she wanted to take Chloe’s place onstage tonight. They ran through Chloe’s dance routine together on a regular basis—Chloe for her job, and Chuck simply for the exercise. (She had a small addiction to chocolate that she was trying to keep from settling for too long on her hips.)
Chloe wasn’t worried about Chuck messing up as much as she was about her sister getting caught. If that happened, Chloe honestly didn’t know what the ramifications might be. She could lose her job, and Chuck could go to jail, she supposed. Or at least be charged with . . . something.
But the more dangerous part of Chuck’s plan was that she intended to stalk the Inferno’s elusive owner, Sebastian Raines. The man was richer than triple-layer chocolate fudge cake, oozed charm like a sieve, and had danger written all over him. Even Chloe, who felt as though she spent ninety percent of her life at the Inferno, had only seen him a handful of times. And each of those times, he’d been surrounded by bodyguards who looked as though they’d recently escaped from the gorilla enclosure at the local zoo.
And her sister—intrepid tabloid reporter, more used to making up stories about potato chips popping up in the shape of dead celebrities or religious figures—had gotten it into her head to break through the veil of secrecy surrounding the casino mogul and prove that “something was up with him.” She hadn’t given Chloe a clue of what she suspected that something might be, but she’d been adamant about going through with her nefarious plan.
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.