Baring It All. Sandra Chastain
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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