Tempting Her Best Friend(14)

The poor girl was oblivious to the torture she’d inflicted on her audience and then some, but if the dozen or so cell phones being held up were any indication, she’d probably know tomorrow via YouTube.

A year later, he finally reached the second floor and possibly another dimension. It was like stepping outside of a black and white farmhouse into the Technicolor crazy Land of Oz.

Ninety-nine percent of the people on this level lacked a Y chromosome and came in all different shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. Like a gigantic box of assorted candy.

A group of women walked by wearing strange outfits that looked like they couldn’t decide if they should attend a ball, work on a railroad, or challenge someone to a duel with pistols.

Hell, maybe a bag of mixed nuts would be a better analogy.

A closer look revealed many of the women wore costumes, but he couldn’t see any sort of theme or pattern. Did romance readers dress up as their favorite characters like the people who went to comic cons did? If Alyssa was made up as some fictitious character, it would take him even longer to find her. By then, she could be itch-free, courtesy of some asshole with strong aversions to wearing shirts or even his own body hair. His heart picked up a beat and so did his legs. He needed to find her fast.

Every time he saw the back of a blonde with long hair, he expected to find Alyssa. But each time he tapped someone on the shoulder, he’d been disappointed when they turned to him. One time, it had actually been one of the cover models, which made Dillon literally jump back. The guy tossed his hair behind his shoulder and winked suggestively. Dillon mumbled an apology and made a hasty retreat.

Finally, he noticed a commanding woman in her seventies, her gray hair smoothed back into a perfect roll, pointing and handing out orders to staff members as easily as he did on his jobsites. Maybe she could tell him where the night’s big event was being held so he could look for Alyssa as people walked in and out. He’d probably have better luck that way than walking around playing a real life version of Where’s Waldo?

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m trying to find the big event for tonight’s conference.”

“You must mean the Welcome Party, but I don’t see your registration badge.”

That must be the name tag pouches hanging around everyone’s neck. “I’m sorry, I just got in so I’m not exactly sure—”

“Oh! No, I’m sorry. I completely forgot that my assistant told me one of the models had a delayed flight. I’m Patricia, the hostess. Come along, I’ll show you where the dressing room is.”

Patricia slipped her arm through his and led him through the crowd as she glanced at her watch. “Nine thirty. Well, the party started at eight, but better late than never.”

Dillon knew he should say something. He should come clean about his identity because somewhere out there was the actual model arriving on a delayed flight and then Dillon would be discovered as a fraud. But what if this was the only way he could get access to the convention? He supposed he could wait until the next day when registration opened again. Then he’d have one of those badge thingys and be allowed in anywhere.

But by then Alyssa could be having breakfast in bed with Fabio Junior.

Fuck. That.

Patricia opened a door to a small conference room that had been turned into a pseudo-dressing room. Men’s clothes and gym bags were scattered across various chairs. A full-length mirror was turned on its side and propped on a long table against the wall. Hair products and makeup were lined up in groups on the table in front of chairs.

Dillon was lost. “Now what, ma’am?”

“Oh, sorry. Your costume is hanging on the rack over there, and you can use the mirror to get yourself all gussied up.” She pinched his cheek like his grandmother often did, then spun on her heel and clipped over to the door. “Once you’re ready, just go through that other door and you can slip into the party with no one the wiser.”

In the next moment, Patricia breezed out of the room and left him isolated in a room with man makeup and… Dillon crossed the room to the rack with the costume. Oh, hell no. A Tarzan costume? He might as well cut his balls off now because there was no way his dignity or male pride would survive wearing that in public.

Suddenly, a woman’s squeal cut through the din of muffled voices near the door that led to the ballroom. The murmurings of a man and their joint laughter followed. An image of Alyssa on the other side of the flimsy partition being fondled and cajoled into another man’s bed set his teeth on edge.

To hell with his pride. He’d be the best goddamn Tarzan this conference had ever seen until he found his “Jane” and cut her night—and her quest—short. Then, in the privacy of her room, he’d give her exactly what she wanted: excitement, passion, and multiple orgasms. Batteries not included.