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“Wait up!” I call, going to scoop it up. It’s a whip, I realize: tooled brown leather with a braided tail. I pause. What kind of kinky stuff is this guy up to …?
It’s almost a relief when he turns, and I see he’s wearing an Indiana Jones costume, complete with brown leather jacket, linen shirt, khaki pants, and a brown fedora pulled low over his blue eyes.
His startlingly attractive blue eyes.
I blink, taking in the rugged, handsome picture.Wow. The man is about my age, in his thirties, for sure, with dark hair curling under the brim of the hat, and slim, limber shoulders filling out that jacket just right …
“You, um, dropped this,” I tell him, holding out the whip. I can feel my cheeks flush already, and I’m glad they’re hidden behind the sleek bob cut of my black wig.
Down girl, I scold myself, but I already know, it’s no use. Did I double-major in history and archeologyjustbecause I fell in love with Harrison Ford wearing this outfit at an impressionable age?
Nope.
But it sure didn’t hurt.
My rogue adventurer stares back at me for a moment, looking just as dazed as I feel. I wonder if my wig’s askew, and then I remember: the spandex.
“I, uh, thanks,” he finally replies, taking the whip. “I’m losing track of all the stuff that came with the outfit,” he adds, with a bashful smile. “There were gizmos, and doo-dads … I think I left my holster somewhere back thataway,” he says, gesturing down the street.
“Careless. You better hope you don’t run into any villains tonight,” I quip. “Get taken hostage, race to find Nazi gold …”
“No, we should be good,” the man smiles wider, and damn, he doesn’t need any other weapon, because that’s enough to lay a girl flat on the floor. “Nazi gold is Tuesday nights, and I like to keep fights-to-the-death for my weekends. You know, for the recovery time,” he adds with a grin.
“A busy schedule,” I smile back. “So what’s tonight for?”
“You tell me.” The man’s gaze slips over my outfit. Not gross, like the guys at the bar, but clearly admiring. “As of ten seconds ago, I’m officially at your disposal.”
I blink.
Hello.
Since when has a man ever said those glorious words to me – and not immediately then off-loaded the task at hand, leaving me to do all the work alone? Let alone with a look of such smoldering attention in his eyes …
And as my mind races to adjust to this sudden gift from the gods of Halloween, a group of co-eds stumble past in tiny skirts and fishnets, a matching pack of slutty Supreme Court justices, all boobs and hair and bright-eyed youthful shrieks.
But this guy’s searching gaze never leaves mine. Intelligent, with just a hint of boyish charm.The kind of eyes a girl could get lost in …
“I’m Reeve,” he says, reaching out a hand.
I surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palm on my spandex-clad thigh before shaking it.
“I’m … Lola,” I blurt without thinking.
He arches an eyebrow, amused.
“I mean, obviously, that’s my cover identity,” I add hurriedly. “But if I told you my real name, I’d have to kill you.”
“Well, obviously,” Reeve chuckles. He’s still holding my hand, warm and steady, and I feel a rush of heat from the touch.
Lola. I can be Lola. After all, that’s who caught his attention tonight, with the skintight catsuit and the boots and the bright red lips. International woman of mystery. Dangerous temptress.
D-cup, with a license to kill.
In an instant, the costume takes over. “I was on my way to this party …” I tell him, fluttering a seductive smile from under my fake eyelashes.
“Want to join me, and have a little fun?”
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