He gave the horn a blast and her face appeared at one of the nearby windows as she gave him a wave.
It was a warm evening with no need for a jacket. Which was just as well, as a jacket would have totally ruined the effect.
Selena glided out from the front entrance. Her semisheer, white costume fluttered in the early evening breeze, the slits in the side giving a hint of flesh. The folds of the costume did nothing to hide the shape beneath it. From the wrist-length sleeves to the high-neck and hooded gown cinched in at the waist with a white leather belt. Her toes peeked out from leather sandals. Every part of her was essentially covered, but he’d never seen anything quite so sexy. Her hair was wound in buns in either side of her head and although she was blonde instead of a brunette, it was like every teenage boy’s fantasy.
He climbed out to open the door for her. It was as well he’d been given a heads-up by Lucille about what she was wearing. But he hadn’t quite imagined the effect.
“Good evening, Princess. That’s quite some costume.”
Her gaze ran up and down his body, and she reached up to touch the curling hairs peeking out from his cream placket V-neck shirt and black pocket vest. “Good evening, Han. Is that a blaster in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
He whispered in her ear. “You told me Star Wars was your favorite film. I’m only trying to keep you happy. Now, get in, Selena, or I’ll show you exactly how happy I am to see you. We’ve a fund-raiser to attend.” He could feel the reaction in his body. He placed his hand on the small of her back, the warmth of skin burning through the thin fabric.
This was going to be a long, long night.
If this were any other charity than Helen’s House, he would ditch it right now and throw her over his shoulder.
Selena still hadn’t moved. “So, what’s with the monster truck?”
He grinned. He’d wondered what her reaction would be. It wasn’t exactly the typical plastic surgeon’s car. “Are you surprised? Were you expecting some low-slung sports convertible?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what I was expecting. But it certainly wasn’t this.”
“Need a boost up?” He was only half joking. It might not be a monster truck, but it was darn near close.
“It’s okay. I’m quite capable.” She put her leg up on the running board and giving him a flash of a whole host of calf and thigh.
He gulped as he slammed the door behind her. A lightly tanned leg with gold laces around it was doing nothing to quell the swelling in his groin.
“So, who is the blabbermouth?”
He gunned the engine and started down the driveway heading out to the highway. He nodded slowly. “Blabbermouth. That’s an interesting expression.”
“You know what I mean. Tattletale. Gossipmonger.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Who told you what I was wearing? Because I don’t believe for a second you dreamed up Han Solo by yourself.”
“Would you have preferred I come as Chewbacca or Jabba the Hutt?”
She let off a peal of laughter. “Oh, I’d love to see you as Jabba the Hutt. I’d pay to see that.”
He tapped the side of his nose. “I never reveal my sources. Let’s just say someone gave me a hint what to wear.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lucille?”
He nodded. “Lucille.”
She looked at him through her thick eyelashes. “This actually isn’t my favorite Princess Leia costume.”
“It isn’t?” Now, he was curious. And he could tell by the wicked smile on her lips exactly what she was doing. Images of a gold, skimpy bikini were flashing before his eyes, and he prayed she had it on underneath. “What’s your favorite Princess Leia costume?”
Her face was the picture of innocence. Did this woman have any idea how good a tease she was? Every teenage boy in the world had fantasies about Princess Leia once they’d watched the film. Colt was no different, except his teenage-boy fantasies had turned into real-life adult ones.
“My favorite’s definitely in the Throne Room in the final scene of the original Star Wars. Gorgeous white dress, beautiful necklace, and an ornate silver belt.” She raised her eyebrows. “Every girl’s dream. I bet that’s your favorite, too.”
She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing. She might as well have projected the gold bikini into his head, then try and wipe it out with another white, sultry dress.
He nodded slowly. “Oh, I think my favorite would be pretty much whatever one you wore.” Safe territory. And with the pictures his brain was currently concocting, he wouldn’t be there for long.
“What did you dress up as last year?”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
He shifted in his seat. He had a bad feeling about where this could lead. “Zorro.” He kept his eyes fixed on the road.
“And did you have a Catherine Zeta Jones?” The question was simple enough, but there was slight edge in her voice. Was she jealous?
Colt wanted to cringe. He had brought a date last year. And she’d worn the red bodice and costume to great effect. But it had all fizzled out quickly. She didn’t have the spark, good humor, or intelligence of Selena. He changed the subject rapidly. “Have you been to the Rubenstein Hotel before? It’s gorgeous. We’ve used it the last four years for the fundraiser.”
“Really.” Her voice could cut glass, and it wasn’t really a question. It was a statement that she knew he’d clearly avoided the question.
“Wait till we get inside. You’ll love it.” He talked smoothly for the rest of the journey, trying to avoid the pictures dancing around his head of his “partner” last year standing on a chair and stripping her red-bodice dress off to the whoops of the crowd. Sometimes a free bar was not a good idea.
She pointed to the pager on the dashboard. “Do you need that tonight?”
He gave a regretful shrug. “Yep. My turn to be on call for Helen’s House. No alcohol for me tonight.”
They pulled into the parking lot and Colt hid his smile at the double take from the valet. “Park your car, sir?”
“Of course.” He left the engine running and walked around to open the door for Selena. It only felt gentlemanly to reach up and catch her around the waist and lift her down.
If only those gentlemanly feelings would stop translating to his groin.
He had to do something to lighten the tension between them. This was supposed to be fun. “Let’s get inside. You’re going to love this place.”
As usual, the staff at the Rubenstein Hotel had gone all out for the fundraiser. They never failed to deliver. It was a fest of gorgeous decor. Parts of castles decorated one corner of the room, with thrones and shields and swords along the wall. Another corner of the room had been transformed into a space-age theme, another a circus tent, and the final corner was covered in everything pink and fairylike. Depending on which part of the room they were in, the lighting changed from flickering candlelight to green or pink bulbs, giving everyone in the room a strange glow. As usual, the punch bowls and cocktail bar at either end of the grand hall were the leading attractions. The beautifully laid-out buffet in the middle of the room was getting barely a glance.
Colt put his arm around Selena’s waist, his hand settling on the curve of her hip as he guided her to the bar. “Would you like a cocktail?” He lifted the menu and handed it to her.
She rolled her eyes. “Ringmaster’s Whip, Princess Paradise, or Space-age Encounter. Nice-sounding drinks.” She leaned across the bar to the waiter who, much to Cole’s annoyance, was staring at Selena’s getup like a teenage boy. “Can you give me whatever they’re calling the strawberry daiquiri for the fund-raiser?”
The waiter blended the crushed ice, strawberries, rum, lime juice, and strawberry schnapps. “We’re calling this The Knight’s Blood.” He garnished the drink with a mini-sword speared through a strawberry.
“Lovely,” Selena said, then took a long draw through the straw. “Thanks very much.” She gave the waiter a win
k and turned to face the crowd. “So, I’m officially here as a Seacliffe employee. What are my instructions for the night? Who do I have to schmooze with? Anyone but Josh. Oh look, there he is.” She gave a shudder as she recognized the costume. A whole black body suit, a breastplate with a complex network of plastic hoses, and a painted, busted sports helmet, sprouting wires and part of a vacuum-cleaner tube. Along with eerily white face paint it was a real showstopper.
She gaped. “Wow. The Borg from Star Trek. Terrifying.” She screwed up her face as she tried to see Helen’s costume. She looked fabulous, her hair swept up into a bun and sporting the burgundy costume of the Voyager Captain Kathryn Janeway. Her hand went to her mouth. “Helen’s dressed as Kathryn Janeway?” She turned to Colt. “Is everyone at Seacliffe a sci-fi fan?” Her finger reached up and touched his collar. “And here I was thinking it was just you and me.”
He caught the twinkle in her eye and private look she gave him. It made him want to grab her by the arm and hustle her straight outside, fund-raiser or not.
Colt looked over to the entrance where Helen and Josh were reveling in the reactions to their outfits. “They coordinated their costumes. It’s effective, isn’t it?”
She looked at him coyly. “Anyone would think it was a plan. What is it with you folks and the old sci-fi theme? Doesn’t anyone dress up as a witch anymore?”
He laughed. “You were the one that picked Princess Leia.”
“True. But I didn’t know sci-fi was the clinic theme.” She looked over at Helen Ridgeway. “The woman doesn’t like me anyway. I’m staying out her road.”
Colt shook his head. “What does that mean?”