Free Hot on His Heels (What Happens in Vegas) by Margo Bond Collins

Meets in her aspect and her eyes,’” she muttered under her breath, too low for Jake, still behind her, to hear. Almost instantly, though, she found herself following it with, “‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun.’”
    Crap. That would never do. She couldn’t spend her evening quoting a Shakespearean sonnet about how ugly and unpleasant the narrator’s ladylove was.
    But she couldn’t get it out of her head, even as Jake smiled down at her, his green eyes bright with charm, then took her hand to lead her toward the buffet. The iambic pentameter seemed to match itself to their footsteps, the words of the poem echoing their progress through the elaborately decorated casino building, interspersed with Sadie’s own thoughts.
    Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
    Well. Maybe not tonight, given how much lipstick Ruby had painted on her earlier.
    If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
    She couldn’t help but glance down at her own tiny breasts, lifted high in their push-up bra. Who did she think she was fooling?
    If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
    Especially if the natural frizz of her hair showed up again.
    I have seen roses damasked, red and white, / But no such roses see I in her cheeks…
    Unless, of course, she couldn’t keep from saying any of this aloud. Then her cheeks would be plenty red.
    And in some perfumes is there more delight / Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
    Had she put mints in her purse? Crap.
    I love to hear her speak, yet well I know / That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
    If only she could make it stop. Even her own head was too loud.
    I grant I never saw a goddess go; / My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
    And sometimes tripped on her own feet. Or at least, over the heels she wore.
    At that thought, Sadie stumbled, and Jake turned, barely in time to catch her. As she fell into his arms, the last lines of the sonnet spun through her mind: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare / As any she belied with false compare.
    The flash of heat in Jake’s eyes as he pulled her upright against him made her wonder: Could he, like Shakespeare’s sonnet narrator, find it in him to desire a perfectly average woman?
    The tightening of her nipples as they brushed against his tuxedo jacket convinced her that she, at least, would find a way to pretend that Jake could—indeed, that he had—chosen her of his own free will.
    For tonight, she would be Cinderella.
    And if she left her heart behind in her metaphorical glass shoe?
    She would just have to deal with it.

    Sadie placed her loaded plate in her spot at the table, then glanced across at Jake’s as she took her seat. His plate had a few shrimp and a couple of pieces of sushi roll.
    Uh-oh.
    Should she have tried to limit herself at the buffet? All of the piled-high food that had looked so appetizing as she picked it out now seemed somehow inappropriate. But she was starving.
    With a mental shrug, she put the napkin on her lap and picked up her fork.
    “Looks good,” Jake said, tilting his chin toward her meal. “Tell me what you chose.”
    Discussing the food proved a nice diversion, and Sadie found herself relaxing even more when Jake decided to take another trip through the buffet, returning with even more food than she had chosen. Even better, he stopped someone on the waitstaff and asked her to bring champagne to their table.
    “If I were still modeling, Kamille would say I shouldn’t eat so much.” His tone was rueful as he slid back into his seat yet again, this time with a plate full of tiny desserts. With a flourish, he presented the delicacies to Sadie.
    “So you really were a cover model?” She hesitated, her hand hovering as she vacillated between two choices. Finally, she picked up a fruit tartlet.
    “Yeah, though I’d rather you didn’t mention it to anyone.” Jake popped a mini cannoli into his mouth whole and winked at her as he chewed.
    “Why not?”