Page 4 of A Billionaire for Christmas
‘That bad, huh?’ laughed Keela as Molly approached. ‘Honestly, you wouldn’t believe the half of what goes on in this club, but my lips are sealed, and I get well paid to keep them shut.’ Her eyes were twinkling with mischief. ‘This place is a magnet for the world’s horniest people. A lot can happen in one night.’
At the thought of Levi, Molly experienced a warm flush. ‘Where next?’ she asked.
‘Hen party for some famous French actress, in the Chambre Rouge. It’s at the end of the corridor from the Stockings and Garter Room. Should be straightforward. They’ve got entertainment booked, so if you can get in and out before it starts, you might be spared some blushes. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t go behind the stage curtain. It’s hiding some priceless antique display that’s part of the act and was a total pain to get up here. But what the super-rich want, the super-rich get.’
Molly was used to being invisible. ‘Got it. They won’t even notice I’m there. I promise.’
As Keela disappeared through the kitchen door, Molly was desperate for information. Her handsome stranger was called Levi. She needed to find out more. In a state of excitement, she made sure no one was around and whipped out her phone. She would search the internet for details about him. How many billionaires called Levi could there be? In her hurry, the phone slipped from her hand and landed with a crack on the tiled floor.
Molly stopped. What was she doing? Googling hot men wasnotthe sort of distraction she needed right now. She needed to focus on the task at hand, delivering canapés to hungry hens. She picked up her phone, thankful to see it unbroken, and marched through to the dressing room to put it securely in her coat pocket. The copy of the bucket list was poking out. A reminder to get started. A reminder that she had until Christmas Eve, only twelve days, to tick off as many boxes as possible. Perhaps there was a small easy one that she could do once she finished her shift? Slipping the phone in her stocking, she stared at the challenges on the list, but it was as though the first item kept looming from the page, dragging her eyes back to it time and again. Daring her to be courageous. Daring her to be spontaneous. Daring her to break a few rules.Drink champagne with a billionaire while naked in a hot tub overlooking the Alps.
It triggered an instant flashback of Levi and his incredibly symmetrical bone structure. Okay, so maybe thiswasthe sort of distraction she needed right now.
3
RULES ARE FOR FOOLS
With the kitchen to herself, Molly decided on the spot that after she’d laid out the buffet for the hen party, it was almost her civic duty to go in search of Levi and somehow end up in a hot tub with him. This was a ski resort. And not just any ski resort. It was full of hot tubs and, more importantly, drunk billionaires. Besides kidnapping one, where else would she find a billionaire, never mind a smoking hot one, at such short notice?
She’d be a fool not to at least try.
Feeling dizzy with excitement, she surveyed the crates she’d brought. This hen party called for something special. Something romantic. Something audacious. She opened the crates and took out the pallets she was after and got to work. Once the trolley was loaded, she headed for the first floor.
When she arrived at the correct door, Molly smoothed down her costume. What little there was of it. She knocked on the door and entered. The room was tastefully decorated, every light fixture and fitting oozing high quality, and she was comforted to see that all the hens were in costume like her, although some not quite as sober or as dressed. The group was bigger than she had expected, and she was thankful she’d brought more than enough food.
Molly recognised a few famous faces straight away and as the women delighted in watching her create a swirling tower from the aphrodisiacs, canapés and edible alcoholic shots, they took turns elaborately feeding each other. It was all harmless fun, and Molly felt an unusual glimmer of pleasure at how excited these celebrities were to taste her creations.
The music was throbbing out of the speakers, the lights low and the champagne fountain in the corner was doubling as an excuse to toast the bride and bride. Molly hid her shock at the high number of Butlerettes in the Buff wearing nothing but tiny French maid-style aprons while they served drinks from trays. The party atmosphere was heating up in the room. A discreet knock on the door announced the arrival of a stunning woman in a black silk cape, looking as though she had swept in from the set of a Broadway musical. Molly busied herself putting the final touches to the buffet and tried not to stare as the hens made a huge fuss of her. As the lights dimmed, the music changed, and a single spotlight shone down on the woman in the cape, who began an intoxicating slow dance for her captivated audience. The rumbling beat of the song was mesmerising, the atmosphere suddenly charged with sexual anticipation. Molly had never seen anything like it. Burlesque was very sensual and arty to her eyes. She tried not to stare at two of the women kissing in the shadows while the show went on. She gulped as the lady taking centre stage, with striking red hair, batted her thick eyelashes at them and sauntered over to trail a large black feather down the hen’s cheek and across her cleavage. Then, while the tune thumped out its slow beat, the redhead reached out a gloved hand to tease at the hen’s corset before unhooking one of the buttons to free a single pert breast. She brushed the nipple with the feather, teasing it to a peak, before winking at the hen with a heavily made-up eye. The ladies were whooping and cheering, and the hen became instantly flustered. The mood in the room was electric.
While the redhead was dancing seductively round the dimly lit room, Molly didn’t know where to look as women paired off to openly enjoy each other, licking, teasing, caught up in the heat of the show, easing one another back onto the sumptuous cushions of the giant, richly coloured sofas dotting the room. Above the pulsating harmony, Molly heard murmurs and kissing noises, the popping of suspender snappers and the low hum of sex toys being administered. As she kept her eyes trained on the buffet in front of her, her libido fluttered unexpectedly into life, creating a tingling sensation to flow through her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. Well, she could. It was three years, two weeks and four cosmopolitans at a Christmas party ago. Not that she was keeping track.
Molly popped a canapé in her mouth as a quick quality check – it was absolutely scrumptious – and decided it was time to leave. She was brilliant at what she did for a living, but she had a restaurant to save, and now an errant libido to dampen. And that was when she saw it. Hidden behind the stage area, curtained off, an Arabian-style tent had been erected, made of silk veils, with giant embroidered cushions scattered around, and there, right next to the tent, was a giant life-size model of a camel. It was too good an opportunity to miss. It was almost as though her friend was pulling heavenly strings from above.Ride a camel dressed in a costume.
When else would she get the opportunity to ride a camel while dressed in a costume? Molly checked that no one was watching her and grabbed a chair, ready to take a selfie of herself. She clambered from the chair onto the model camel, wedged herself between the two humps and took a photo. The first of the impossible boxes ticked! Her heart soared in triumph as she completed the mission. And although it seemed very likely a certain degree of pride would have to be swallowed with each task, she had a strong urge as to what the next one should be as she attempted to slide down.
Nobody ever tells you this, but once your suspender belt gets caught on a camel’s hump, they are notoriously difficult to unsnag. Molly clung to the camel’s neck, one leg almost on the floor, the other hooked over its hump. She’d never done the vertical splits in her life, and now she understood why. She let out a quiet whimper.
‘What are you doing? Get down from there!’ bellowed someone with a sharp, angry, Italian accent.
Molly twisted round to see the redhead performer standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t you know that was shipped in from Hollywood Studios? It’s from the set ofLawrence of Arabia. It’s a surprise gift from the bride’s father who starred in it!’ She marched over and reached out to unclip Molly’s stocking. ‘Show some respect.’
‘No, don’t!’ yelled Molly. She had nothing to grab onto for balance but the camel. Ignoring her, the redhead popped open the fastening. Molly’s weight immediately threw the camel off balance. As she tumbled backwards, she grabbed onto the nearest thing to her – the curtain.
An almighty ripping sound announced the poor workmanship of the flimsy frame and its curtain rings. Molly and the camel thudded to the floor in a heap, followed by a collective shriek of alarm from the hens.
Molly clambered to her feet, shrugging off the heavy curtain. She shook the hair from her face and straightened up. ‘Sorry about that,’ she told her captive audience, whose horrified eyes were drawn to the four stumps that used to be the camel’s legs. Keela’s reminder not to touch the priceless antique behind the curtain suddenly swimming in her ears, Molly looked down at the poor camel, snapped off at the knees, its humps no longer majestic looking.
The redhead shook her head, aghast. ‘Ah, you’re British.’ There was no mistaking the level of disappointment in the tone. ‘That explains it.’ She jabbed at her phone, perhaps to alert Interpol or Hollywood Studios or her team of animal rights activists over the shameful dromedary desecration. ‘Is that a phone in your stocking? You will get into a lot of trouble for this. A lot of trouble. Who are you? What’s your name?’
Molly panicked. ‘I’m no one. I’ll sort it. I’ll tell reception. I’ll hand myself in.’
With the party atmosphere ruined beyond repair and the redhead screaming after her, Molly picked her way out of the debris, apologising profusely to confused couples, many of whom had their heads jammed between a pair of thighs, and bolted from the room. She took a beat outside to gather her thoughts. Molly could not afford to be sacked or slapped with a huge bill. That bloody bucket list. She needed to flee this place. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she ran along the corridor with her trolley and turned the corner in this maze-like building. She had accomplished one of the most difficult challenges. And while it was by no means a positive experience, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. Maybe this list was not going to be so impossible to achieve after all. A thought formed in her brain. Before she fled the Cigar Lounge, did she have it in her to attempt one more? Searing flashbacks of the handsome stranger invaded her thoughts.
Molly wanted to find him. Maybe he was still at the party. She’d have to hide from the staff and the hens and any security guards who no doubt would be looking for her. Perhaps it would be too difficult. Although, seeing that almost all the women in this place were wearing burlesque-style outfits, it might not be completely impossible to blend in with the crowd. When she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she leaned against the wall for support, closing her eyes to take stock. Was he thinking about her the way she was thinking about him? Just as she was contemplating the wisdom of acting on this impulse, she heard the lift door ping, and as though she’d manifested him to make the decision for her, Levi appeared, walking in her direction.
His eyes travelled the length of her stockinged legs, hovering over her cleavage before raking slowly upwards. She was almost swimming with desire; it was dizzying. Any brief fantasy she’d allowed herself did not compare to the real thing standing in front of her.
‘Didn’t I see you earlier at the burlesque party?’ A half-smile hovered on his lips. ‘You’re not following me, are you?’
