Flirting With Fire: A Witch's Night Out (1Night Stand) Page 3

  “And having mind blowing orgasms? Hell, yes. It’ll help relieve stress, and doesn’t pose any risk of spontaneous combustion.”

  Conceding her point, Cat skimmed over the invitation. “It says here I’m supposed to meet my mystery date at the Castillo Capital Hotel at 7:00 p.m. for Masquerade Night. How am I supposed to get a Halloween costume on such short notice?”

  Her sister’s triumphant smile exposed two rows of perfect white teeth. “According to UPS, the package I ordered for you was delivered yesterday.”

  Since she bought all nonperishable household items online, a small mountain of brown boxes sat on the kitchen island. Having a subscription for cereal said something about her impending insanity. “I’m not going to like it at all, am I?”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s perfect for you. Go open it and see.”

  ***

  Averting his gaze from the bedraggled ten-year-old folder containing what might one day be an approved patent application, Leo watched his best friend drop into a rolling office chair. Seated on the opposite side of his desk, Jackson Frost III leaned back and swung his legs in the air. Missing the edge by an inch on the way down, he nonetheless achieved a half-recline. A paralegal had deposited a tall stack of binders on the carpet this morning, so it didn’t take much brainpower to deduce the current location of those shiny lace-ups. If it had been anyone else, the offensive transfer of dirt would have prompted immediate eviction. But since their friendship spanned a decade, Leo gritted his teeth and let the transgression slide.

  Picking up the invitation that had been tossed onto his desk, he read it out loud. “Madame Eve cordially invites you to a one-night stand. Please meet your mystery date at the Castillo Capital Hotel for Masquerade Night at 7:00 p.m. A Halloween costume and mask is highly recommended.” He set the thick piece of vellum down. “You must be joking.”

  “I have a strict budget for jokes, and this setup wasn’t cheap.” The firm’s most notorious spendthrift laced his hands behind his blond head. “Happy twenty-eighth, old man.”

  “Dude, I’m not sleeping with a hooker. Not even a pre-paid hooker.”

  His friend’s brows lifted, the pasty-white face morphing into a comical facsimile of affront. “It’s ‘Madame Eve’ not ‘Madam Eve.’ The French use it as a term of respect, and she doesn’t run an escort service. My gift to you is a genuine no-strings-attached one-night stand with who I assume will be a hot chick.”

  With a dismissive grunt, Leo tossed the card into the empty trash can. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you think the woman will be hot?”

  Reaching down, Jack retrieved the invitation, and placed it back on the desk. “Madame Eve’s service has received multiple accolades….”

  “From whom?”

  “Don’t get all lawyerly on me. I have it on good authority you’ll have a good time—let’s leave it at that. Lighten up, will you? All the secretaries call you ‘the comma Hitler.’ Get that stick out of your butt.”

  Leo had never understood why insisting work be done to his exact specifications, on time and free of typos, had earned him a reputation as a domineering hard-ass. “I bet all you’ve done is read half a dozen Internet reviews. Did you even get past the star rating to see what people wrote?”

  His persistent benefactor’s comeback was enunciated in what no one would consider an inside voice. “Do you think there are user comments for this shit? Roll with it, okay? Haven’t you been complaining about lack of action? How long has this dry spell been—six months? Time to get back on the horse.”

  Raising his gaze to the ceiling, he fought for patience. While he’d gained maturity and a hint of ennui by the tail end of his late twenties, his pal seemed to have regressed to an early-pubescent mental stage. “I don’t have a problem securing dates. You’ve been my wingman too many times to say otherwise. But I’m pickier now. If I don’t like the woman while at the bar, I don’t ask her to spend the night. If I bring her home and it feels wrong, I don’t go through with it.”

  “Uh-huh. Pickiness is your problem.” An exaggerated nod accompanied the retort. “I was around the other day when you complained about your aunt’s cat cock-blocking you.”

  There had been a grain of truth to the statement. Ever since he moved in with Cat, mustering the enthusiasm to close the deal had become impossible, regardless of the hotness rating of the date in question. “You try fooling around with someone while a cat stares at you, its whiskers twitching in judgment.” Maybe he did sound a little insane.

  “You can’t deny you’re in a slump when you’re blaming your pet each time you crash and burn. It’s not the cat’s fault. All you need to do is lock it in the bathroom.”

  Confining the cat to any part of the house had no effect. Of course, if he voiced this observation, he’d sound even crazier. “Since when is my sex life your problem?”

  “Since you blew me off for the hundredth time.” At long last, he revealed the motivation behind this bizarre gift. “All you do is stay home, watch TV, buy new furniture, pick bathroom tiles, and figure out why the damn cat isn’t eating. You even cancelled your gym membership. I need my spotter back.” Aside from being the managing partner’s son, his friend’s professional success resulted from unabashed selfishness.

  “I told you, it makes more sense to buy the machines than to pay over a hundred bucks a month to use a bunch of gross ones. People don’t always wipe after they sweat.” Wincing at the thought, he continued, “And I’ve been cutting down on my beer intake. With thirty around the corner, my metabolism is slowing.”

  His perpetually lean workout partner snorted. “The things some men do for vanity. Cut loose for one night and get your mojo back, will ya? I even paid for a hotel room—the sex-toy-equipped No Dreams Required suite. If this doesn’t work, then we’ll have to repeat our trip to Amsterdam this Thanksgiving.”

  While he’d learned quite a few new tricks and eaten some interesting baked goods during the spring break in question, the thought of repeating it left him bored and tired. “If you’re right, and this woman isn’t an escort, won’t she slap me in the face as soon as she sees the setup?”

  “If she’s so prudish, count yourself lucky for escaping her clutches. Besides, this is a legit hotel, not a BDSM club. With the steep discount from Priceline, I’d be surprised if they’re giving you more than condoms, lube, and a pair of handcuffs.”

  One of the firm’s partners walked past their door, angled her head in their direction, and glared at them for a long moment before continuing forward. Great. This conversation improved by the minute. He lowered his voice in a not-so-subtle hint to his conversation partner. “This is a shit-load of effort, and you’re the opposite of altruistic. Can’t you make new friends or something?” Despite the man’s tendency to be blunt and abrasive, he wouldn’t describe his friend as a bad guy.

  “I’ve already put too much work into us.” Jack drew a circle in the air with his index finger. “High School. College. Law School. I’m counting a lot of years here, and I won’t lose you to a fucking cat.” An intern pushing a file cart ambled by the office, her gait slowing to a crawl as she passed. Glancing in her direction, the manipulative bastard rose, positioned himself in full view of the doorway, and continued in an even louder voice. “Get your dick in gear, my friend. It’s time it sees some action. When everything’s functioning down there, maybe you’ll show me some love.” As if the inappropriate statement weren’t enough, he grabbed his own crotch and made a pumping motion with his hips.

  A paralegal poked her head out of a cubicle. A loud crash echoed from the direction the file-cart had disappeared, followed by a muffled curse. Tempted to grab his friend by the shirt collar and duct tape his mouth shut, Leo warned, “Keep your voice down. Our admin staff gossips like there’s no tomorrow. I’m going to get an e-mail from Human Resources any moment now.”

  “And what’s the mousy little thing going to do, stammer at you to death?” A low hum of
murmuring female voices followed the insult. “If anyone needs a one-night stand, it’s her.”

  Since his single other option was to engage in a shouting match, he lifted his hands, palms up, in surrender. “If I promise to think about this invitation, will you shut up and leave?”

  “Talk about a low-ball offer. Can we skip to the part where you promise me you’ll show up at the restaurant tonight?” A smug grin accompanied the question.

  He made one last-ditch effort to worm his way out. “It says I need a costume. I don’t have one.”

  The invitation was launched into the air, landing on his lap. “Recommended isn’t the same as required. I’ll send my secretary out to buy you one of those Phantom of the Opera masks at Walgreens—and maybe a few condoms, while she’s at it. Those are for me, not for you. You should get your own. A dozen or so.”

  This time, the eavesdropping paralegal stepped out of her cubicle and marched in the direction of the HR office. “I’m pretty sure Courtney prefers the title administrative assistant, and I think we’re about to be fired.”

  “Please. My dad owns this company. I can also tell you Mr. Scrooge cares about one thing—billings. Since we both went over the minimum for this quarter, Ms. Mouse can tut-tut me all she wants.”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s Ms. Mao.”

  “I’m well aware. Since it gets her panties in a twist, I’m making up random names. I’m hoping one will stick, but the pencil skirts in the cubicle pool refuse to cooperate. So, are you ready to commit yet, or should I start discussing porn?”

  He hadn’t been given much of a choice. Lifting the invite, he slid it into his briefcase. “If she’s lame, I’m bailing. And you’d better not be lurking in some corner dressed up as Draco Malfoy.”

  “Who the heck is Draco Malfoy? A vegetarian vampire tween sensation or something?”

  After over a decade of friendship, Leo had learned to recognize genuine confusion. How the man had obtained an engineering degree while staying immune to anything dorky was one of life’s greatest mysteries. “He’s the platinum-blond bully in Harry Potter. Do a Google images search.”

  “Why would you think I’d spy on your date?”

  He managed to rescue his favorite blue pen before it made its way off his desk and into the grasping meddler’s hand. “Because you always do.”

  “No need to get testy. I can tell you right now I wouldn’t in a million years dress up as a wimpy wizard.”

  Which meant he should resign himself to having the most conspicuous voyeur imaginable. “Remind me—why are we friends?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” A mock pout turned Jack’s face almost angelic. “I balance you out—keep you off the straight and narrow.”

  Before he could come up with a retort, his phone trilled. Glancing at the caller ID, he pulled out his top drawer, dug around for an aspirin, and steeled himself for a lecture from Human Resources.

  Chapter Three

  “Have you been to The Cigar Lounge before, Mr. Difuoco?” Costumed as Gomez from The Addams Family, the mustached maître d’ wore a gray-striped suit, skinny tie, and had an oiled comb-over.

  Leo shook his head as he glanced around the dimly lit room. A boutique hotel with a view of the National Mall, the Castillo Capital made up for its intimate size with old-world luxury. With a burnished brass base and dripping crystals, an antique-looking chandelier provided a centerpiece for their opulent lobby, which projected an image of quiet efficiency despite the heavy foot traffic. Located not far from the entrance, The Cigar Lounge seemed transported from a bygone era. Mahogany paneling, sleek leather chairs, and the scent of unlit tobacco combined to make the small restaurant and bar classy without being pretentious. A cordoned-off smoking room, walled in with glass and furnished with plush sofas and armchairs, took up one large interior corner.

  Forty or so patrons milled about the much larger non-smoking section. Noting the number of masked men wearing business suits, he breathed a sigh of relief. He should never have been concerned about his lack of costume. This was 6:45 p.m. in downtown D.C. Like him, most young professionals would have come straight from work.

  The majority of guests loitered by the oval bar in the center of the lounge. Four bartenders wearing pirate costumes took orders from every direction. Most women held clear gothic-style dragon goblets containing colorful cocktails, while men chugged draft beer from pewter ale mugs bearing a similar design. Multiple standing tables surrounded the bar, and additional wait staff scurried about delivering drinks and taking orders.

  Deeper inside the room, eight bay windows formed a semicircle around the main lounge area. Each housed an eating nook containing a candlelit table for two. Costumed couples already occupied seven of these quasi-private spaces.

  Adjusting his white Phantom of the Opera mask, Leo replied, “No, this is my first time here. I believe my reservation is under Madame Eve.”

  The short, balding man smiled. “Ah. Then you have an interesting night ahead of you. You’re the first member of your party to arrive. Please, follow me.”

  Not long after, Leo sat at the remaining table, perusing a thick menu while sipping Blue Moon. Through the window, the carousel in front of the Smithsonian Castle spun. A horde of costumed children gathered on the lawn, their jack-o’-lantern baskets ready for candy. The National Mall served as an ideal meeting spot for trick-or-treaters intending to target the neighborhood behind Capitol Hill, where the most affluent movers-and-shakers dwelled. The trail ended at the historic Eastern Market up the road, which hosted an annual Halloween party many considered the city’s best. As a young boy, he’d always thumbed through photos of costumed classmates with envy, never quite understanding why his father planned their family trip to Vatican City for the end of October every year.

  He had to give Madame Eve credit. Even if his mystery date never showed up, he’d categorize this night as a pleasant experience. Arriving fifteen minutes before his reservation time, he’d had the opportunity to scope the place out. The hotel housed a number of expensive oil paintings and sculptures, and whoever had decorated the interior deserved an award. He couldn’t wait to show Cat the photos he’d snapped on his phone. For some reason, the feline always gave him her undivided attention whenever he sorted through pictures on his computer, which was cute and freaky at the same time.

  The BlackBerry he’d placed on the table lit up with an instant message.

  J_Frost: Y r chicks always L8?

  Leo lowered his menu. His seat allowed him a direct line of sight to the bar, where a certain platinum blond in a Hogwarts uniform stood ogling a buxom redhead. He couldn’t figure out how Jack had found the costume so soon after their conversation, but he had to give the man credit. With his almost-white hair slicked back, he bore a striking resemblance to the Harry Potter character. Considering his messaging style, his friend might be a better fit for a magical high school than a grown-up lounge.

  L_Difuoco: Focus on your date.

  Less than a minute later, he received a response.

  J_Frost: Not d8. Random hot-e @ bar.

  It figured. Most women Jack spoke to for more than five minutes tended to never want to see him again.

  L_Difuoco: Then stop gawking at her boobs.

  J_Frost: Y?

  His friend’s brain wasn’t wired to understand certain concepts, common decency and social norms among them. He’d discovered this truth many years back.

  L_Difuoco: Higher chance of success.

  J_Frost: Tru dat…. Speaking of ta-tas. Boobilicious Cat Chiquita @ ur 3 o’clock.

  The message diverted his attention to the entrance, where a masked female in a black leather bodysuit waited to be seated. She towered over the maître d’, though her knee-high stiletto boots added at least four inches.

  Gomez’s manners thus far had been impeccable, but Leo could draw a straight line from the man’s eyeballs to Catwoman’s chest. To be fair, those were some gorgeous breasts—either that or the woman wore a killer push-u
p bra. High, pert, and full, they combined with lush wide hips to form a perfect hourglass shape. In those heels, her legs seemed to go on for miles.

  Distracted by the lithe yet voluptuous body, it took him a moment before he could focus on her face. She had straight, silky black hair, cut at the chin to form a short bob. Her dark leather mask started halfway down her forehead and ended under her cheekbone, lending her heart-shaped face a mysterious and sexy air. Plum red lipstick accentuated a pair of pouting lips, which were perfectly situated between a small button nose and sharp pointed chin.

  He had to agree with Jack. Catwoman was smoking.

  The maître d’ led her into the lounge’s interior. As she walked closer, her spicy perfume blended with the scent of fresh tobacco, the intoxicating combination interfering with his ability to focus. Spotting him, she stopped in her tracks.

  Her emerald-green eyes went wide. Then she swept him from head to toe with her gaze. The direct scrutiny triggered a sudden tightness in his pants. An electric sizzle spread over his skin and made his fingertips tingle.

  A collective gasp distracted him from the odd physiological reaction. The candle on his table now blazed blue instead of orange, the flame growing to twice its original size. He snuck a peek at the other tables, all of which seemed to be experiencing the same fiery effect.

  The lounge must have invested in some fancy pyrotechnic candles in honor of Halloween.

  Shrugging off the incident, he glanced back in time to see a smug smile on his future date’s face. She stood in place and waited for the maître d’ to collect himself. The man was a damn good actor. Wearing a stunned expression, he wiped the beads of sweat from his wrinkled forehead with a shaking hand.

  As the person in charge, he must have been forewarned about the little trick. Maybe he hadn’t realized when the stunt would go off.

  A patron wearing a Fantastic Four Human Torch costume applauded, and soon everyone followed suit. Since her escort hadn’t moved a muscle, Catwoman plucked the menu out of the man’s trembling fingers and marched over to the table. “So there’s no confusion, you’re here for Madame Eve’s one-night stand?” The end of her sentence lacked an upward inflection. As she spoke, her voice grew louder while the pitch lowered, making the statement seem more like an accusation than a simple request for clarification.