Chapter One - They Meet

"T hey were nude but they were not ashamed." Furthermore, because God created it, "The human body can remain nude and uncovered and preserve its splendor and its beauty."

Pope John Paul II, from Genesis

 

Stood Up? No fucking way. Once again he scrutinized his watch, as if the minute hand would go backward instead of forward and he would not yet have been stood up. Eleven-forty-five is not eleven o'clock. Where the fuck is she? Once more, his eyes roamed the bar searching for Carol's curvy form heading his way.

Could she have had car trouble?  No, she'd have called.  His jaw tensed in denial, though the inescapable fact remained, he had been stood up. Too bad. He really dug Carol-her casual attire yet formal appearance, with nary a hair of her highlighted page boy out of place, not to mention her sexy blue eyes and friendly smile.

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the bar and glanced around again. God is paying you back for all those wicked, sinful one night stands, His Reverend Pat Robertson whispered in his ear.

He felt a flush of annoyance color his face "Fuck you Reverend Robertson! And fuck the horse you rode in on. What's that Pat? You're can't ride a horse. Well... then fuck Carol too!"

A smoky feminine voice came from his left, "You sound rather perturbed. Do you know the Reverend Robertson personally?"

Damn!  He grimaced and looked down at the scarred wood of the bartop. I must've said that aloud.

Turning his head slowly, He expected to see a Brunhilde type, but was pleasantly stunned. A long-haired brunette knockout with startling grey-blue eyes smiled at him.  Carol, who?

As she scrutinized him, amusement gleamed from her mesmerizing eyes. Her beautiful face was cocked and her head rested on her fist, her lips forming a lopsided smile. He was flummoxed.

His eyes drifted lower, taking in dark tanned skin contrasting sharply with the orange and yellow print halter and skirt that left her midriff exposed to his examination. A diamond and pearl pin adorned her navel. Her bare thighs and calves were lithe, but shapely with beige canvas two-inch wedge sandals on her narrow feet.  Gotta love Las Vegas in July!   A hundred degrees at midnight and beautiful near naked women on the prowl.

* * * *

Her lips twitched with ill concealed humor at the handsome man's faux pas. She couldn't hold back against her disloyal mouth as she felt it form the dreaded lopsided grin.

Earlier, she noticed him as she took the open captain's chair next to him. She snuck a peek at his reflection in the mirrored back bar, but he seemed engrossed with some inner conflict. It was reasonably obvious he'd been waiting for someone. Glancing from his watch to the entrance and back again, in frustration he finally vented his grievances, albeit under his breath. Something about fucking Pat Robertson, his horse and someone named Carol. Having piqued her curiosity, she turned toward him and inquired if he knew the reverend.

His body slowly angled in her direction. Then his face turned, eyes unmoving, on hers. His intense blue eyes seemed to glow with appreciation, scanning down and then up her figure, she suddenly realized how attracted she was to him. Close cropped sandy hair, chiseled cheekbones and strong chin gave the impression of rugged strength complementing the wide shoulders and narrow hips of his strong athletic build.

"Hi. My name is Rachel Cooke."  She offered her hand. When he took it, she continued, "You didn't answer my question. Do you know the Reverend Robertson personally?"

He didn't release her hand, but he did answer, "Scott Rader. Actually, no...well yes. Not the Reverend Robertson you are thinking of. I mean...I know who he is all right. I've seen him on TV. Who hasn't? The Reverend Robertson I was referring to is my Reverend Robertson."

The slight inflection on 'my' told her there was something interesting here. "Really? Your own personal Reverend Robertson?  You must tell me more."

He cast a sheepish grin. "This is embarrassing. Are you sure you want to hear about my Rev?"

"Absolutely, I'd love to hear all about him." She leaned forward in her chair to listen carefully, but Scott's furtive glances kept distracting her, making it difficult to concentrate on his words.  Those blue, blue eyes. And those soft, manly lips. She couldn't help but wonder what they would feel like.

He picked through the bowl of pretzels in front of him. "I guess the reverend is my personal imp. When I'm about to make a questionable decision he appears on my shoulder and whispers in my ear."

Scott cast a longing gaze at her. "You know," he paused, "you have two of the largest, most beautiful..." His torrid gaze traveled down her frame and back up again, fondling her body like a slow, heated caress. "eyes!"  He grinned like a pony player, who'd just the hit the trifecta with that proclamation.

Courtesy of her mother's dark ancestry, her complexion covered the heated rush raging through her skin. "Thank you." God, he's hot!  And he knows exactly what to say... "You're sweet. However, you're not going to change the subject that easily."

He slid his chair closer to mine until the sides were touching and he leaned over to whisper, mere inches from her ear, "I'll tell you all about the Rev and me, but let's go somewhere fun to do it." 

His cologne fired along her senses with its masculine balm causing her pulse to jump and flutter. Is it hot in here? Her rising temperature made her want to fan herself to cool off. She needed to fan under her skirt to quench the fire there, too.      

"Like where?" She responded quickly. So much for propriety.  

"Do you like to dance? I know this great place called Pussy Cats. How about it?" His mouth said dance club, but his eyes seemed to convey king sized bed. Or...could that be what she wanted. No! Shame on me for having wicked thoughts. I refuse to jump in his bed on the first night.

Not about to let her restrained lust show, she asked, "How are you ever going to tell me about your Rev in a noisy club?"  She suppressed a snicker.

He never missed a beat, "We can talk about it when the band takes a break and while they're playing, I could whisper in your ear. If that doesn't work, we could go someplace else."

This guy is smooth.

Remembering the fire he stoked when last he whispered in her ear, She replied breathily, "I can hardly wait."