The Cop And The Chorus Girl. Nancy Martin
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why he’d agreed to come, Flynn carried the leotard with him as he looked around some more. A few books and magazines were stacked on a table, but they looked as if they’d been ignored by someone who spent every waking minute rehearsing. Using the remote control, he turned on the television and discovered that Dixie—or Joey—watched CNN instead of game shows or soap operas.
A kitchenette lay adjacent to the living room. A peek into the small refrigerator revealed half-empty cartons of Chinese takeout, a couple of containers of yogurt, some apples, carrots, and a six-pack of Mexican beer. From all the police files he’d read, Flynn knew that the mob boss’s favorite drink was vodka. Clearly, the beer was for Dixie.
The beer kicked Flynn’s imagination into overdrive again. His brain quickly concocted a scenario that included an undressed showgirl sharing a cold bottle with a very turned-on cop. Ever since her kiss, he’d been aroused. No woman had ever affected him like that before. Flynn wondered if all men reacted the same way to the Texas Tornado.
A tentative knock sounded at the suite’s front door. Flynn slammed the refrigerator shut.
“Will you see who that is, sugar?” Dixie called from the other room. “I can’t find my shirt!”
The thought of a topless Dixie answering the door sent Flynn hurrying to greet the visitor himself.
“Who is it?” he growled through the door.
“Maurice,” squeaked a terrified voice. “Is Miss Davis available?”
Flynn opened the door and stepped back to permit the concierge to enter. He was a panic-stricken little fellow in a black suit who scuttled instead of walked, and he wrung his hands as he rushed into the suite.
“Oh, Miss Dixie, I’m terribly— Oh! Where is Miss Davis?”
“Getting changed,” Flynn said shortly.
“Who are you?”
Flynn came up with a lie after a second’s pause. “Her bodyguard.”
That was a logical explanation to the concierge. “I see. Is Miss Davis all right?”
“I’ll be out in a minute, Maurice!” she caroled from the bedroom.
Pinpointing her location, Maurice forgot about Flynn and hurried to the bedroom door. “Oh, Miss Davis, I’m terribly sorry the Honeymoon Suite isn’t ready yet. We weren’t expecting you for several more hours and—”
“Cool your tamales, Maurice.”
The bedroom door opened, and another woman walked out into the suite.
She was even prettier than Dixie Davis—tall and slim, with laughing blue eyes and a wide, happy mouth. But she wasn’t caked with makeup or dressed like a ride at Disneyland. Gone was the flamboyant showgirl. In her place arrived a fresh-faced young woman with an eye-popping figure and a sweet smile. Barefoot and wearing a pair of snug, faded jeans and a man’s plain white T-shirt that was loose everywhere but across her generous breasts, she looked delectable and innocently young.
Her hair was blond and cut short in a face-framing pixie style that accentuated the sharpness of her chin and nose.
From one slender hand dangled an enormous blond wig.
Flynn blinked and realized the woman was Dixie Davis—but without her trademark haystack of hair, the gaudy clothes and the hooker’s makeup. She tossed her wig onto the sofa beside her hat.
Flynn was speechless. Her transformation was amazing.
“Now, Maurice,” she soothed, curling her arm around the concierge’s trembling one. “Don’t worry about a thing. I just came up with a plan to surprise Joey.”
“A—a surprise?”
“Precisely. I hope I can count on you to help?”
“Well, I—I— It won’t get me—or the hotel—into any trouble, will it?”
“Of course not!” She laughed sweetly. “Would I toss you into the pigpen, Maurice?”
“Not you, Miss Davis, but Mr. Torrano is—”
“Just leave Joey to me, Maurice.” She patted his arm placatingly.
“Will you be moving to the Honeymoon Suite?” the concierge asked, still a little nervous.
Dixie bit her lip as if to hold back a flirtatious smile and shook her head. “Not yet. I’d like to stay in this suite without Joey knowing I’m here. For just a couple of days, you understand.”
A smile broke across the concierge’s perspiring face. “Oh, of course, Miss Davis!”
“You’ll keep an eye peeped for Joey, right? I, er, don’t want his surprise spoiled.”
“I’ll alert security immediately.” The little man bent forward and bestowed a kiss on Dixie’s hand. “You can count on the Plaza, Miss Davis.”
A dimple popped on her cheek as she smiled. “That’s wonderful, Maurice.”
She ushered him to the door of the suite. “Now, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be out of your hair quicker than an armadillo out of a sausage grinder, I promise!”
“You can stay as long as you like, Miss Davis.”
“That’s downright neighborly, Maurice, honey.”
When the concierge was gone, Dixie leaned against the closed door and said with an amused sigh, “He’ll change that tune as soon as Joey stops paying my bill.”
Flynn folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Davis, I think you’ve got some explaining to do. I don’t understand most of what’s going on. Maybe it would be better if I just left.”
“No! Please, don’t go.”
“I’ve got to get to work.”
“Well, could you take a few days off from the garage?” she asked, heading for the kitchenette.
Flynn followed. “The garage?”
“Where you work on your motorbikes. Couldn’t you take a little vacation?”
“What for?”
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Flynn’s imagination immediately came up with several possible propositions—all of them including scenarios that required the removal of clothing that casually clung to Dixie’s curvaceous figure. Flynn had a good idea of what she would look like naked, but he wondered exactly what shade her nipples might be, what the texture of her skin would feel like, how her voice might sound softly whispering nonsense in his ear. He could feel his whole body tingle and harden at the thoughts that crowded into his mind.
Unaware of Flynn’s nosedive into sexual fantasy, she opened the refrigerator and removed two apples. Calmly, she offered him one of the pieces of fruit. “I’d like you to stick around and help me.”
He accepted the apple automatically, although he wasn’t thinking about his stomach. “Doing what?”
“I heard you tell Maurice you were my bodyguard.” She polished her apple on the belly of her T-shirt and regarded Flynn. “That was pretty quick thinking.”
“I had to come up with something.”
She bit into her apple and chewed, studying Flynn carefully. “Would you be interested in the job?”
“What job?”
“Guarding my body. So to speak, that is.” She swallowed her bite of apple and headed for the living room in an easy saunter that showed how perfectly her jeans fit the curves of her hips and thighs. “I mean, I might be needing some protection. Nothing life threatening, but it would be nice knowing there was somebody around here if I needed a—well, a witness or something.”