Читать книгу Baring It All - Sandra Chastain - Страница 7

RYAN MALONE SAW HER the minute she walked into The Palace Of Sin. She was all legs in an emerald-green gown that was split from the floor to a spot high on her hips that screamed of her lack of undergarment. Her hair was Pretty-Woman-red, falling in a wild mass of curls across her shoulders. He had a sudden mental picture of those red curls cascading across a white satin pillow. He didn’t have to ask, he was already certain the color was natural. She was hot, ready to brand any man who dared to touch her.

A totally irrational jolt hit Ryan in the pit of his stomach—like nothing he’d ever felt before. He knew now what “knees going weak” meant. This kind of reaction was supposed to happen to the women in the audience, not to him. Wearing no jewelry, nothing to take a man’s eye away from the woman, she was spectacular. Still, an almost imperceptible slump of her shoulders said she might not be entirely comfortable.

Although he’d quit performing five years ago, this night would be the public ending of Lord Sin’s career as the most successful male stripper in history. And Ryan Malone, always in control, was suddenly awash in feelings he couldn’t identify. Nostalgia? Intense desire brought on by emotion? He didn’t know how to explain or control the turbulence of his physical reaction to the woman.

Normally, as Lord Sin, he would have passed on a woman like her and chosen a patron who was what he politely termed “lonely.” But nothing about tonight was normal, certainly not his physical reaction to the siren in green.

The redhead walked past one of the booths selling roses, paused and gave a puzzled look at the buyers. He frowned. Any other woman would have given the baskets of roses a smile or a glance of longing. But not this one. She took a deep breath and kept going, as if she were looking for someone.

But no one came forward to join her. Maybe she was alone. He liked that idea, then wondered why. A beautiful woman alone was a Ryan Malone thought and tonight he was Lord Sin. He also wondered how she’d react to Sin’s performance. Would she focus her concentration on him? Or would she be as indifferent to his dancing as she was to the roses?

He considered that and felt his lips curl into a reckless smile. Indifferent? Not if he had anything to do with it. Tonight he’d change his routine. Tonight Lord Sin would give his best performance; he’d play to her—alone. By the time the curtain came down, she’d leave The Palace Of Sin aching with desire. He certainly was.

As always, the front row of tables along the stage was vacant. His assistant, Lottie, earphone discreetly hidden in her left ear, waited below for him to decide who’d occupy them. Tonight, because the entire program had been designed as a fund-raiser, catering to the wealthy, she’d allowed for the possibility of escorts for the women, but so far, the redhead seemed to be alone.

As if she knew she was being stared at, the object of Lord Sin’s attention looked around once more, then glided toward the entrance with long fluid movements that verified his earlier speculations about what she wasn’t wearing beneath her dress. As she walked, he caught the flash of bare flesh, a warm peach color that said she liked the sun as much as he. He wondered if she looked like that all over.

A dancer or perhaps an athlete, her grace was obvious in her walk. But who was she? Ryan Malone thought he knew every single society woman in Atlanta. The cost of the tickets tonight should mean that the attendees were all well-heeled. Only wealthy women had been invited to the Valentine Gala at the Palace this evening. She spoke briefly with a big burly man carrying a television camera who handed her a microphone. When she stepped up and began talking to a couple just entering the theater, he had his answer.

She was a member of the press. One he hadn’t met. Must be new in town. He grimaced, a charged feeling rippling down his spine at the challenge. “Lottie,” he spoke into the mike attached to his jacket pocket. “Put the redhead in the green dress in the center seat.”

On the floor below, the elegant older woman looked up at his spot in the shadows and frowned. “The redhead may look like a society girl, boss, but she’s a reporter. Lay off.”

“I know. None of the reporters who tried to interview me ever looked like her. If they had, I might have been a lot more cooperative. Tonight, in honor of Lord Sin’s final performance, Lottie, I’m going to give myself a treat and give her the royal treatment.”

“What’s got into you, you rascal? You’ve avoided the press for ten years and now you’re playing to a reporter?”

“Playing. Yeah, I like that.”

“Too big a risk, boss. Tonight Lord Sin retires. As Ryan Malone, you’re free, just like you planned. Why take a chance on her finding out that you’re really Jackson Lewis Ivy? Unless you’ve changed your mind and want the world to know what kind of scoundrel your late father was.”

“I don’t care about Jack Ivy or his father. This is Lord Sin’s night. With the redhead for inspiration, my performance will be his crowning glory. Sin’s been good to me and he deserves to have a little personal fun.”

“Hah! Don’t tell me that. Lord Sin always had fun. I don’t know why you ever quit performing. You were a master showman. You loved the stage.”

“I loved the money, Lottie. I could make all those rich women feel good, take their money, and they never knew who I was.”

“It was more than that. You loved to make women feel special. You loved making love with your body and with that low, sexy whisper.”

“Still do, darling. I just do my lovemaking in private now.”

“Take up with that redhead and your lovemaking won’t be private long. She’s with WTRU.”

“Of course. The station known for its exposés.” He laughed. “I like it. That makes it even more of a challenge for Lord Sin. In spite of that dress, I don’t think she’s happy about covering Lord Sin’s farewell. I’m going to have to win her over.”

“Sin, don’t get crazy now and take a chance on ruining what you’ve built. You know that if anyone found out you were really Jack Ivy it could put you at risk again. That’s why you gave yourself a new name. Now Sin and Jack will be gone and Ryan Malone, real estate tycoon, is above reproach.” Her voice turned serious. “I think it’s time for you to find a respectable woman and get married.”

“Respectability,” he repeated. “Respectability was always the goal, Lottie, but it wasn’t mine I was concerned about.” His voice went suddenly tight. “I just wanted to give my mama what she never had. She may have been a nobody, but when I’m done, all those people who turned their backs on her, including my dear daddy’s family, will know and remember her name long after Lord Sin and Ryan Malone are distant memories.”

“Your mother would have been just as proud of Lord Sin. She would have loved the man you became, no matter his profession or what name he used. Now, are you sure you want the reporter to have the seat of honor?”

He nodded and watched as Lottie moved across the lobby and spoke to the redhead. Damn! He should have asked her name. No, that was part of her mystery. He’d know her soon enough. But more important, she’d know Lord Sin. At least, he planned to make her want to. For now, he’d just listen.

SUNNY FELT AS IF she’d been swept away to the land of the Arabian Nights. The building, with its onion-shaped domes outside and Eastern decor inside, was a bit worn but it was still amazing. She stood in the reception area stalling while she looked around. If this was the big time, she was going to have to find a way to fit in. Covering a Valentine’s Day charity fund-raiser where the prime attraction was a male stripper known as Lord Sin was a far cry from the investigative reporting she’d expected to do on her new job with WTRU TV. What was she doing here? She ought to be back in South Georgia covering the February meeting of the Kiwanis Club for the Martinsville Times.

“Well?” Walt, her cameraman, prodded. “Shall we go to work, or are we just a couple of groupies ogling the rich and famous?”

“We…we go to work.” But she didn’t move.

“Look, this isn’t exactly my cup of tea either. I videotape sporting events, not strippers.”

“And I’m an investigative reporter, not a…a voyeur,” she snapped.

“Not yet, Miss Clary. So far, you’re neither one and you won’t ever be unless we go inside.”

Sunny swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Sorry, Walt. Guess I’m just a little nervous.”

He gave her an amused glance. “Hum. I would have said cold.”

In his Falcons’ Starter jacket, Walt was as out of place in this gathering as Sunny was in the slinky dinner gown. The butterflies in her stomach reminded her that she was country casual, not a glamor girl. The joke about everyday reporters was that you could always spot them because they were the grungiest people at any function. She still didn’t understand why the station had been willing to spring for a dress for her, even if it was her first official appearance as a representative for WTRU.

Her new boss, Ted Fields, had taken a chance on hiring her after she’d been…released was the polite term…from her job as a reporter for the Times. Calling herself a reporter was just an exaggeration. She’d covered local events and meetings, sold ad copy and written a column called Happenings in Martinsville, which didn’t even have her byline on it. If she’d described Candy Smithwick’s wedding dress wrong, she could have understood what happened, but she still couldn’t believe that her discovery of political wrongdoing had cost her job. Her editor, the man she’d thought was becoming more than just a friend, explained that the truth could hurt the county and her story would not be printed. When Sunny argued, wild rumors began to fly that her ambition had led her to speculation and exaggeration. Her credibility tumbled. In the end, she became the scapegoat and the politicians still had their jobs. Money spoke louder than words.

A flood gave her a chance to do some remote coverage for WTRU which brought her to Ted Fields’s attention. The hardest thing about relocating was leaving her father behind.

Lord Sin would be her first story for WTRU. Maybe it did make some kind of sense. A reporter whose credibility was zilch ought to be just about right for covering a scandalous event where a stripper was donating a million-dollar piece of real estate formally known as The Palace Of Sin to the Atlanta Arts Council for a community theater.

For now she was trying to get past the tattered grandeur of that Moorish palace and get her bearings. Ted had given her a tiny tape recorder, now hidden in her purse, and a guest list for the gala affair, with a few lines of description beside each name. Even if she was new to Atlanta, she didn’t need the notes to recognize two of the beautiful people, Sam and Nikki, hosts of Atlanta’s top morning radio show—their billboards were everywhere. With them were the mayor and his wife and the president of one of the local colleges. As Ted had forecast, the audience was mostly women. But what surprised Sunny was the number of younger women in attendance, and something told her that charity wasn’t what attracted them. She hadn’t expected to get a personal interview with Lord Sin tonight, but the number two man on her interview list, Ryan Malone, the real estate tycoon who was running the show, was missing as well.

She was ready to signal for Walt to begin taping when she was intercepted by a statuesque silver-haired woman in a purple dinner gown. “With Lord Sin’s compliments,” she said coolly, handing Sunny a ticket. “He’s arranged for you to have a seat, close to the stage.”

Sunny was taken aback. “Me? Why?”

The woman in purple forced a faint smile. “Lord Sin always selects a special guest to honor.”

“And he selected me?” She spoke with the same frosty air that Lord Sin’s messenger had used. “Where is he?” She looked up, studying the private balconies hugging the stage, feeling an odd sense of being watched nudging at her. Why would he select her? She shifted her tiny shoulder bag higher on her shoulder and said, “I’d like to meet him.”

Ignoring Sunny’s request, the woman withdrew her hand. “This seat is normally considered an honor, but if you’d prefer to sit elsewhere, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Sunny would prefer to sit anywhere else, but Lord Sin was her focus and she was not about to blow any chance of meeting him. This might not be real news, but Sunny Clary always did her job. When Ted Fields had told her that after ten years of unbelievable success, Lord Sin’s identity was still a mystery, she knew that was her story—her chance to prove herself. And she had to succeed.

Her father had gotten past the lies that ruined his reputation and sent him to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. On his release, he’d made a new life for himself, and so could she. She’d made a vow not to rest until she’d done here in Atlanta what she’d been blocked from doing in South Georgia—report the truth. She just hadn’t expected the truth to be about a male stripper.

“No, thank you, I’ll accept his gift,” she said primly, then squared her shoulders. If he’d selected her, he had to have seen her. Somewhere he was watching the proceedings. Maybe the green dress was worth her discomfort. He didn’t know that it was rented, that it was her badge of courage. “Tell Lord Sin I’ll look forward to being favored.”

The woman in purple cleared her throat in resigned disapproval. “You should also know that photographs are not permitted during his performance.”

At that moment the lights flickered and summoned Lord Sin’s representative and his guests into the club. Sunny suggested that Walt should stand against the wall out of sight and tape as much of Lord Sin’s performance as possible. “Let’s try to get a good close-up of his face,” she added.

Clutching her seat of honor ticket, Sunny stepped inside the main room and gasped. From the streets of Cairo she’d left Egypt and entered the Sheik’s palace. The stage was draped with a red velvet curtain that wasn’t one of the Valentine’s Day decorations. Overhead there was no ceiling, rather a night sky filled with twinkling stars. As the orchestra played “Some Enchanted Evening,” Sunny took her center stage seat at a tambourine-size table only large enough for her purse and a fat cream-colored candle that twanged when she flicked it with her fingernail. It wasn’t real. Somehow that seemed appropriate.

When the last strains of music died away, the curtains parted and a man holding a microphone and a rose stepped out. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Ryan Malone and, on behalf of the Arts Council and our benefactor, Lord Sin, I’d like to welcome you to our Valentine fund-raiser for the new Community Theater.”

From the moment Ryan Malone stepped from between the folds of the curtain, Sunny’s mind went into some kind of surreal overdrive. Her heart literally lurched and she could hardly breathe. The man was magnificent. In a black collarless tux with a crisp white shirt, Ryan Malone was tall and lean and dark. Ten years ago, every afternoon soap opera would have cast him as their resident bad boy. Now he might be older, more polished, with a hint of silver in his midnight-black hair, but the suggestion of danger was still there.

There was an enthusiastic outbreak of applause followed by “We hope to raise enough money tonight to turn this building into a state-of-the-art community theater. So, if you haven’t already done so, stop at one of our booths on the way out and buy your sweetheart a rose.” He laughed lightly and added, “Of course we’d appreciate it if you’d wrap the rose in a nice check for the Arts Council.”

Ryan Malone was close enough to Sunny that she could have reached out and touched him. He never made direct eye contact with her. It was just as well. She’d have imploded, leaving nothing but the green dress in her seat. Every molecule of her body was, for lack of a better word, shimmering. There had been men in her life before, but there had never been an earth-moving relationship. Not even close. Now she was experiencing such an acute physical reaction that she entirely missed what he was saying. Unexpectedly, he leaned down, handed her the rose he was carrying and winked, then stepped back between the curtains. The stage went black, leaving Sunny Clary stunned in the darkness. Ryan Malone knew how to get to a woman and he’d done it without saying a word.

There was a rectangle of paper wrapped around the stem of the rose that was probably a check. Great bit, Malone, she thought, letting out the breath she was holding. He was setting an example for the other guests. Apparently Lord Sin wasn’t the only showman present. And if he was half as sexy as this Malone, she was beginning to get a hint of the stripper’s appeal.

Next a local rock group recently nominated for a Grammy performed their hit song to tempered applause. Then the outer curtain was raised for a beautifully choreographed modern dance presentation, and, finally, an original composition by the symphony who’d donated their services as the orchestra for the evening. By the time they’d finished, Sunny had gathered her senses and given herself a stern talk about staying focused on her assignment instead of Ryan Malone. She’d turn the check over to the council and send the rose home with Walt for his wife. For now, Sunny Clary, inquiring reporter, was ready for the grand finale, the last performance of Lord Sin.

Once more the theater went dark. The orchestra began to play a haunting melody. The curtain went up, revealing the skyline of a Far Eastern city in the background. The stage had been transformed into the balcony of a palace in old Baghdad. Someone in the audience must have rubbed Aladdin’s brass lamp. Stars twinkled in the distance while clouds moved across the night sky. Sunny opened her purse and flicked on the recorder and placed it on the table beside the fake candle. The melody would be good background sound for the interview. The music increased in intensity, as did the tension in the audience. Then came a crescendo of sound and a swirl of smoke and there he was.

Wearing the flowing purple and golden robes of an Arabian prince, Lord Sin sat astride a white stallion who held its head as proudly as the masked performer he was carrying. The horse stood motionless, until his master dismounted, administered an affectionate pat and let him go. A shake of his mane and the horse raced offstage and vanished into the wings. Then the smoke rose once more and Sin was alone on the balcony. Clouds seemed to surround him as he moved stealthily forward, his body swaying to the tinny sound of the flute and the heartbeat of the drums. An intense inner passion seemed to drive the dancer’s fluid movement.

From the cobbled floor, Lord Sin nimbly leaped onto a wall, his golden robe billowing out, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh beneath. Somehow, the music and the man gave the illusion of distance. Then, swaying and dancing nimbly along the top of the wall, he moved closer to the front of the stage.

Sunny felt herself leaning forward, shook her head and sat up straight. She didn’t know what the other women were doing, but she knew that this man was a master of seduction. Finally, he reached the front of the stage that extended in the audience. The music died down and she realized that he was speaking. At first the voice was just lyrical, deep and throaty, not so much words as sounds. Finally, he looked down into the audience and, for just a moment, straight at her.

He wore a mask that covered his face and head. Only his eyes and mouth were exposed. From beneath that mask a mass of golden curls fell across his shoulders.

“Hello, my lady in green. Welcome to Sin’s house. You know about sin, don’t you?” He paused and waited, as if he expected her to answer.

She swallowed hard and let out a deep breath.

“No? Then I’ll consider it my pleasure to make you want to.”

Someone behind Sunny whispered, “Oh, Lordy, he’s looking at me. I’m going to faint right here in front of God and everybody.”

The woman was wrong. Lord Sin was looking at Sunny Clary and he was talking to her. She felt every word reach inside her and snatch her breath away. There was no air. The crowd all seemed to inhale at the same time. She stared up at him, trembling, shaking with a need that came out of nowhere. The fantasy setting. The hypnotic effect of the music. Lord Sin was a David Copperfield illusion, a dream lover. The voice, a melodic whisper, indistinguishable, yet compelling, saying the kinds of things women secretly wanted to hear. All combined to weave his magic and create desire.

Sunny Clary was caught up in the spell of a master craftsman, the mysterious, passionate Lord Sin. At that moment, her rational mind knew that the story, whatever it turned out to be, was more than she’d bargained for. The sensual woman within her knew she’d never give up until she’d experienced the truth—whatever it was.