By Hook or By Crook by Linda Morris Read Free Book Online Page B

with a little black purse.
    The outfit was downright demure compared to the way some of the women on the gaming floor dressed. If they weren’t actually prostitutes, they certainly dressed the part. But somehow none of them had Ivy’s elegant but very real sensuality, with her little heeled sandals and her subdued dress. She had left her legs bare, and if he wasn’t mistaken, they had a slight sheen. He realized she’d caught him staring when she cleared her throat.
    “Are your legs...sparkly?” he managed to ask, feeling the need to explain since he’d been caught leering.
    “My body lotion has a little bit of glitter in it,” she said with a trace of diffidence.
    She seemed apologetic. For what, he had no idea. He luxuriated in a fantasy of her smoothing cream on the inside of her thighs and behind her knees. The heat in his groin flared hotter. He hoped she didn’t notice his reaction, which was obvious if she looked.
    “Is it too obvious?”
    He forced his gaze away from her glittery legs and up to her face. He’d promised Richard Smithson he’d leave his daughter alone. He really couldn’t afford to let his mind dwell on the picture of her rubbing glistening, sweet-smelling lotion on her bare legs. Her bare, smooth-looking, toned, shapely legs.
    “No, it’s not obvious at all,” he said, strangely embarrassed to have been caught eyeing her so blatantly. But for some reason, she didn’t seem mad. Instead, she seemed as uncomfortable as he was. “Shall we go?”
    ****
    At the door of the Bellisimo Grand Ballroom, a uniformed usher took their tickets. The decor reminded her of the Royal Palace of Caserta she’d once toured in southern Italy, minus the authenticity. The surreal scene baffled her. Near the center of the vast space stood a boxing ring, surrounded by rows of hundreds of folding chairs. She halted, taking it all in. Joe shot her an inquiring look, but she shook her head in negation. The sound system blasted hip-hop, the thrum of the bass making conversation impossible.
    The glitz and faux European glamour of the Bellisimo struck her as ridiculous compared to the effortless sophistication of, say, a Monte Carlo casino. Throw in a mixed martial arts brawl, and the scene became truly ridiculous. She opened her mouth to say so, but then closed it abruptly. She didn’t want to share her thoughts with Joe and have him think her a snob—any more than he already did.
    None of the other guests seemed to mind, though. Many in the crowd had money riding on the event, if the conversations she overheard were any indication. Ivy somehow doubted that many of the women present were actual martial-arts enthusiasts. Mini-dresses, halter tops, towering heels, poofy hair, and fake tans appeared to be the fashion. She knew she was conservative compared to Daisy, but how had her sister ever gotten involved in this scene?
    As a couple appeared at the end of the aisle, Joe and Ivy rose briefly to let them squeeze past to reach their seats. The young man had a shaved head and colorful tattoos up and down both of his arms, bared by a tank top with the picture of some metal-rap band Daisy used to listen to in high school. Tattooed guy’s girlfriend, spray-tanned an appalling shade of orange, wore a tiny gold-spangled black micro-mini dress that strongly hinted she wasn’t wearing a bra or underwear beneath. Catching herself gawking at the girl’s abbreviated hemline, Ivy quickly swept her eyes upward, not wanting confirmation of her suspicion.
    Ivy crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to find something to do with her gaze. She met Joe’s eye, and he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. His lips curved into a slow smile, and she couldn’t help but return it.
    “Like the dress?” he asked. “We can get you one, if you like.”
    Ivy shook her head repressively, pressing her lips tight to contain her grin. The moment in her room, when he’d helped her with her dress, had been weird, without a doubt.