Page 86 of Fairy Tale Lies
“Finally. You ladies are ready. I was afraid we were going to turn into pumpkins before ever arriving at the ball…” The rest died on Jacob’s tongue as Greta emerged from the hallway.
“Pumpkin huh? Are you my chariot or my prince charming?” Greta tugged at the hem of a tantalizingly short dress. Her legs were about a mile long.
“Hell if I know.” Jacob tore his gaze from her beautiful limbs, feasting on the rest of her. “I’ll tell you this, if the women in those fairy tales looked like you two, I might have paid more attention. Maybe remember the stories.”
Jacob thumped fists with Miguel and stood, moving in a trance to Greta. She was always the epitome of elegant beauty. Tonight the blast of blatant sexuality had him dreaming of sweat-soaked flesh and savage orgasms.
The tight, shimmery dress hugged her upper thighs and had him yearning to run his hands along the material to the silk of her stockings. He circled her, running his fingertips along her waist. When he saw the back of her dress, his heart stopped. The shimmering material dipped low, almost to the curve of her firm, sexy ass.
“Told you, Greta,” Susan crooned, somewhere off to his left. “You’re scorching. You’ve left your man speechless and hot around the collar.”
All true.
Though, for reasons he didn’t understand, Greta’s posture was stiff. He faced her again. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “What’s the matter?”
“Do I look okay?” she whispered, staring at his chest.
He was astonished. How could she even doubt her sensuality? Hell, she’d be sexy in a potato sack. Not that he’d suggest her changing out of the dress and into one. “You’re always beautiful. I’ve just never seen you like this. It’s different.”
“Different? In a bad way?”
He traced his fingers along her glittery sides. “Honey, you’re always stunning. Tonight, you’re a different kind of beautiful, more sexual than elegant. Both suit you.”
A smile played at the corners of her sexy lips, and she finally met his gaze. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.”
“This isn’t flattery. It’s the truth. You. Are. Stunning.”
A small caveman part of him wanted to shut her away, where he was the only man able to ogle her. The dress showcased her sensuality. It’d attract the attention of almost every male in the damn club.
Luckily, before his jealousy made him say something stupid, a car horn blared from outside.
“That’s our taxi. Let’s go,” Miguel said. “The night waits for no one.”
~ * ~
Entering through the brass and stained-glass doors of Oriole Terrace, Greta was dazzled. She expected chrome and sleek edges. Instead, they’d gone back in time. Jacob told them on the drive over the building had been a popular theater in the 1940s but had closed during the ‘67 riots. However, he hadn’t mentioned the new owners had maintained the original style and décor when they reopened about fifteen years back.
Making their way across the lobby, Jacob wrapped an arm around her waist, and she did the same. It allowed her to gawk at the ornate plasterwork without having to worry about losing him or falling. The detail, colors, and artwork were astounding. It must have taken ages to repair this remarkable piece of history.
Her gaze bounced from the polished wooden bar and its array of drinks lining the shelves behind it, to three enormous projection screens mounted on the walls. One showed the ball in New York. The other two displayed “the D” dropping in Campus Martius.
Jacob led her through a set of open arches she guessed had held the doors leading to the theatre’s main floor. Where seats once rested in neat rows awaiting patrons was now an enormous, polished wood dance floor. Gyrating bodies flooded the area, and all Greta could see of the stage was the upper half. It had been remodeled to its previous French Renaissance glory, which was slightly at odds with the modern music pulsating from the live band speakers.
Jacob pointed at a wide, curving set of stairs leading to the upper balcony, indicating they should go there. She nodded, not even attempting to compete with the loud music.
Once upstairs, she discovered another smaller dance area, along with a bar and seating along the balcony’s edge. Greta peered at the party revelers on the main floor, letting the magic of the evening sink into her. She didn’t want to forget this night.
A complicated guitar riff sliced through the air, and she glanced at the stage. Squinting, Greta eyed the group. They were familiar. The lead singer stepped forward to adjust her mic, the overhead lights shining on the woman’s deep purple locks.
“Is that your friend Tanner’s band on stage?”
“Sure is. After playing here, he’s going to have to make some difficult choices.” Jacob raised both hands, palms up, as if weighing Tanner’s decisions. “CPA or rock star?”
So true. Greta had learned from Susan the Oriole Terrace was the “it” place for up-and-coming bands. The sort of venue groups played when they were on the precipice of fame.
The two of them had wondered how Jacob managed to get reservations. Now she had an idea.
“I cannot believe I’ve never been here before.” She ran a hand along the intricate iron balcony railing.
