Pepe's Discothèque was filled to capacity- as it usually was this time of year. Conventioneers, tourists, the beautiful people, all mingled in the great salon, enjoying the music, food, and wine.
In a dark corner near the bar, however, a man sat alone at a table, his dark blue eyes scanning the crowd, picking out those who would likely be an easy mark. There was the white suited Mexican businessman with a crowd of lovely ladies- no; he wouldn't be at all easy to get close to, the man thought. Now, the group nearest him, by the bar,- they were a different story. He sat back and watched them with an air of amused detachment.
Probably American businessmen in Acapulco on holiday, he decided at last,- or a convention of some sort. Taking advantage of being away from their staid, boring lives to kick up their heels a bit.
There were six people in the group. Five men, all wearing conservative suits, and one woman. All were already well on their way to being inebriated-laughing loudly. Especially the heavyset man. His tie was loosened, and his vest was unbuttoned. He ordered yet another round for his friends, even as the youngest man in the group suggested that maybe they'd had enough.
The man in the corner lifted his hand to summon the waiter to his table so that he could order another Tequila Sunrise, and he considered asking who the men were- although it wasn't the men who had attracted his attention. The young woman was laughing and drinking as much as the men she was with, hanging all over the youngest one. He'd never seen someone as full of joie de vive as she appeared to be. Slightly tilted dark eyes, enchanting dimples that appeared when she smiled, brown hair with golden highlights, combined with long legs and a lithe body.
But he didn't satisfy his curiosity. He'd come to Acapulco to lay low until things cooled down and he could leave the country without being hassled. Mexico City had been a disaster. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself by asking questions.
He wasn't even sure why he had stopped by Pepe's tonight, except that the idea of spending the evening alone had been more than he could bear.
Besides, hadn't Daniel always told him that there was safety in anonymous crowds?
He went back to looking at the other customers to take his
mind off of the girl. The blue haired dowager dripping in gems
and furs- even in this hellish climate- was a possibility. A quick
brush behind her, releasing the clasp of one of those necklaces
would be a cinch. She probably wouldn't even know it was missing,
there were so many of them.
The heavyset man near the bar was trying to convince his companions
that they should move to the nightclub, where a well known fan
dancer was supposed to appear. His friends weren't as sure about
going- and then the girl stood up, finishing off her drink, and
announced that she would show them a fan dance if they wanted
to see one.
As she began to unbutton her blouse, she leaned across the table and planted a long, wet kiss on the young man's mouth as he made a feeble attempt to stop her. Laughing, she slipped easily out of his grasp and pulled two small palm fronds from a nearby planter. By now, the entire salon was watching her as she nimbly climbed up onto the bar and did a slow strip tease as everyone but the young man- who, he decided, was the boyfriend- sang an off-key version of "The Stripper" as accompaniment. Each item of clothing was tossed to her fellow partiers who gave out appreciative whistles and yells.
She turned away from the room to remove her white lace bra, then bent to lower her matching bloomers, covering her bare bottom with one of the palm fronds. From their vantage point, her friends only saw her back and little else. But from his dark corner, the blue eyed man could see everything. If he'd been a real gentleman, he would have averted his gaze, but something about this young woman drew his attention like a moth to a flame.
As he watched, she managed somehow to turn and cover the necessary places with the makeshift "fans" as she glided along the bar. Her friends were thoroughly enjoying themselves- all except the boy friend, that is. He was glowering at her, sitting with his arms folded.
The two of them heard the doors open at the entrance at the same moment and looked up to see several local police entering the building. The boyfriend turned to look at the girl in terror, but the man in the corner took the moment to slip out of the room using a poorly marked exit that led out to an ante room- which opened into a dimly lit hallway. The last thing he needed was to come under the suspicious gaze of the local constabulary. As he headed down the short corridor, he heard the door open once again, and turned, expecting to see a uniformed officer.
But instead his gaze fell upon the young woman. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes- *Good Lord,* he thought. *Those eyes.* They fairly shimmered even in the dim lighting. She laughed, but he heard little of the nervousness he had expected. She sounded- exhilarated. Free.
He could see the goose flesh from the cooler temperature of the corridor and removed his jacket, slipping it over her shoulders. "Thanks," she told him, slightly out of breath. "But I don't think we should hang around here. It might not be too healthy."
"I agree," he told her. "But we're not going to get very far with you dressed like that," he pointed out; indicating the white jacket that barely covered the curve of her bottom.
She laughed, and he was enchanted by the sound of it. "Follow me," she told him, leading him easily to a linen storage closet, where she frowned upon discovering that it was locked. "Wouldn't happen to have a hairpin or such, would you?" she asked.
He grinned and drew a stick pin from the back of the lapel of his jacket, then handed it over to her. "Will this do?"
Taking it from him, she knelt before the doorknob. "Keep a watch, okay?"
He did- keeping an eye on the hallway- as well as on this amazing young woman who had performed a more than adequate fan dance on the spur of the moment, and was now picking a lock with as much ease as he might have done. "Have you done this before?" he asked.
"Trick of the trade," she told him as the lock gave. Grinning at him, she returned the stick pin to the lapel as she slipped into the closet. Shaking his head, he followed her inside as she grabbed a white tablecloth from a shelf and wrapped it around her like a sarong. "How's that?" she asked, handing him the white linen jacket he'd let her borrow.
"Lovely," he confirmed. "Do you do this kind of thing very often? Fan dances, I mean?"
She laughed again as she opened the door and lead him back into the hallway. "First time. Was I any good?"
"Well, as a connoisseur of exotic dance, I'd say it was- intriguing." She grinned and her dimples showed.
"You really think so?" she asked.
"Where are you staying? I'll make sure you get back to your friends."
She pulled him against a wall as several other police officers appeared at the club's gated entrance. "This way."
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Out of here. I know a back way."
"You've spent a lot of time here, then," he said, following her toward another exit set into the stone wall.
"We used to come down here during college," she told him. "During spring break."
"Ah," he nodded as he watched her remove the stick pin to try and work the rusty lock.
"It's one of my favorite places," she told him. "I love it. Have you ever been here at midnight?" He shook his head. "The ceiling opens up and balloons come down. It's like New Years Eve every night. There," she said as the lock finally gave way. She lifted the latch and stepped through the wall.
"You didn't tell me where you were staying," he reminded her as he took her arm to cross the street.
"Because I'm not ready to go back just yet. Wilson's going to be furious."
"Wilson. The young man who tried to stop your- artistic expression?" he questioned.
She nodded. "My boy-friend. Well, he's more than that, really, but- sometimes he just doesn't understand, you know?"
"I think so. Tries to stifle the real you."
"Yes. Constantly. He's always saying that what I want to do looks badly on him. And this- well, I can just hear him now."
"So what are you going to do instead?"
She smiled at him. "Wanna have a drink?"
He saw the police car turn the corner and head slowly toward them, so without thinking of the consequences, he pulled his companion into his arms and lowered his lips to hers, giving the appearance of a young couple in love and overcome with the romance of Acapulco. When he lifted his head, he felt dizzy, and could tell that her reaction was much the same. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be seen in public right now. We could have a drink in my hotel suite," he suggested, watching her face for reaction to his words.
"Lead on," she told him bravely, slipping her arm through his. Laura Holt ignored that little bell of warning- as she had earlier when she'd started dancing. Okay, that had been crazy. Even for her. But this- Was she really going to the hotel room of a perfect stranger to have a drink? Okay, so he was a damn good looking man. Hell, he was gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome didn't begin to cover it. And that accent. It was like melted butter. Smoooth. She really didn't want to face Wilson just yet. He was going to need some serious time to get over her fan dance. And maybe he'd worry a little about where she'd gotten off to and it would moderate his anger enough that she'd be able to tease him out of it.
Besides, what could one or two little drinks possibly hurt? She asked herself as they entered the lobby of one of Acapulco's more expensive hotels and went straight to the elevators. She didn't get nervous until he was putting the key into the door of his suite. But she bravely hid her nerves as he glanced at her and opened the door. "After you," he said, letting her into the room first.
"I'm impressed," Laura commented when he turned the light on and she had a chance to survey the room. "You really travel first class, don't you-" she looked embarrassed. "I don't even know your name."
"Richard," he told her. "Richard Blaine." He stood there, as if waiting for her to reciprocate, but Laura held back, uncertain about giving him that much knowledge about her. "I'll make some drinks," he said at last, turning to the bar. "What would you like?"
"What have you got?" she asked, and felt herself blush as Richard's blue eyes turned to look at her.
"Wine- white or red, your choice. Scotch, brandy- There's a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator, I believe, that I haven't touched yet."
"Champagne, then," she decided. Normally, she hated the bubbly wine. But tonight seemed a night for changes.
"Champagne it shall be," he told her, finding the bottle of wine and two chilled glasses precisely where he'd left them in the hope that he'd "get lucky" and find someone to share his bed that night while at the club. She jumped, and then laughed when the cork popped free. "Here you go," he told her, handing her one of the fluted glasses. "What shall we drink to?"
"Change," Laura said, lifting her glass.
Uncertain of her reasoning, he smiled and tapped his glass to hers. "To change." He stood there at the bar, watching as she moved restlessly around the sitting room until she got to the bedroom doors. There, she stopped and stared at the king sized bed.
She tipped the glass to her lips again to drain it dry, then held it out to him. "More, please." He refilled both glasses, and returned hers to her hand.
"How long do you think it will take - Wilson, was it?- to get over his temper?"
She shrugged, and he was mesmerized by the light scattering of freckles that dusted her skin. "Who knows? At this moment, I don't care." She turned into his arms. "I'm in the hotel room of an impossibly attractive man, drinking champagne."
"Uh-"
She placed a hand to his lips, stilling his attempt at speech. "Listen, Wilson asked me to marry him last night. I told him that I'd give him my answer tomorrow when we got back home. So this could be my last night of freedom, you know? My last chance to- kick up my heels. Find out what I might be missing if I marry him."
Richard wasn't going to turn down a prize that had practically dropped into his lap. He placed his still half full glass onto the nearest table, and then took hers to place it alongside before turning back to her and taking her into his arms. "I don't even know your name," he whispered.
"Make one up. Tonight, I'm whoever you want me to be."
"Ilsa, then," he said.
"Ilsa?" she asked as his lips moved inexorably closer to hers.
"From Casablanca," he told her as his lips found hers again. This time, he wasn't pretending for the police. This was real. His hands found the top of the tablecloth she was wearing and freed it, unwrapping it to let it fall behind her. "You're beautiful," he breathed.
His Ilsa was working at the belt of his trousers, having already unbuttoned his shirt. Strange thing was that he couldn't remember *when* she'd accomplished that task. The belt gave way, as did the zipper as she lowered it, the rasp sounding loud in the quiet room.
Picking her up, he carried her to the bed and followed her onto the cool, waiting sheets . . .
Three days later . . .
Laura woke suddenly, and looked around the bedroom, finally focusing on the man laying at her side. Even now, after having spent the last seventy two hours in his bed, he looked good. Too good. She recalled Richard telling her how much he'd like to show her the French Riviera. And Paris. And London. Shaking her head, she sighed as that wonderful dream faded. Her future was in Los Angeles. Probably as Wilson's wife, giving dinner parties and having the kids that her mother wanted her to have instead of continuing with her apprenticeship at Havenhurst. This had been a wonderful fling, but it couldn't be anything more than that.
She placed a light kiss to Richard's lips, watching him, burning his features into her memory to be recalled in years to come when she was a bored, unhappy housewife. Then she slipped out of bed and crept through the remains of the room service dinner from last night. Making her way to the other room, she picked up the tablecloth from where Richard had dropped it and fashioned it back into a sarong once more before leaving the room.
She returned to the more modest hotel at which she and Wilson had been staying- and wasn't surprised to hear that he and the others from the bank had long since checked out. "But your things are here, Senorita," the clerk told her with a smile. "Señor Jeffries asked us to keep them safe in case you came back for them." Laura frowned, realizing that Wilson hadn't been worried that something might have happened to her. What if she'd fallen into the hands of someone other than her mysterious knight in shining armor? What if she'd been hit by a car and died? Or gotten amnesia? He'd simply walked away with a second glance! Damn him! Furious, Laura asked the clerk to make her a reservation on the next flight back to LA, and then asked if there was a place where she could freshen up and change clothes.
*****
Richard stretched out his arm, intending to draw "Ilsa" back to his side for a little early morning love making- but he encountered only cool air. Opening his eyes, he sat up and looked around. "Ilsa?" he called, and felt strangely bereft when the only response was the echo of his own voice. Tossing the covers back, he stepped over the remains of their dinner and went into the sitting room. Her sarong was gone from the floor- and so was she. He grabbed his pants and shirt, and then stopped as he realized that he had no idea what her name was, much less where she might have gone. She was probably telling that bloody fool Wilson she'd marry him.
He went to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink, tossing it back in one gulp. She'd wanted a last fling- he only hoped she'd gotten what she wanted and could live with her decision to marry a man who couldn't hope to match her passion. Because Richard seriously doubted that he would ever forget her.
Deciding the best thing to do would be to get quietly out of Acapulco, he packed his suitcase and left the hotel via a rear service entrance. He didn't think that he'd ever come back here again, -too many reminders- and if he did, he simply wouldn't use the name Richard Blaine. At the moment, all he wanted to do was forget a certain sloe-eyed beauty.
Maybe Daniel had something working that would take his mind off of her, he thought as he flagged down a taxi to take him to the airport, to hop the first flight he could back to London.
To Be Continued---