He took her hand, kissed the back of it.
Oh, he was smooth, no doubt about it. Still, it would bode her well to remember which side of the blue line he was on…and which she was on.
She pulled her hand away, smiled a sweet half-smile, and stepped back, to be absorbed into the crowd celebrating the Festival. His eyes followed her, her eyes on his, until enough people passed between them, and she turned and slipped away.
That had been uncomfortably close. That was the first time in the two years they had been doing unspoken battle that he had touched her. She pondered that. He could have taken her down, right there. He was bigger. Still, she would have been able to raise a ruckus, and he surely didn’t want that, either.
Discretion was his byword, or so it said on his business card. So, he was here, and watching for her. She’d have to be very careful. But his presence here would not deter her.
Minx, he thought to himself, watching her slip through the crowd like water through a sluice-gate. She was as stunning as he had remembered, the waterfall mane of sleek black hair a standout in any crowd. Yet for all her beauty, she was quite adept at becoming invisible. Slippery.
She was slippery, to be sure, but tonight, at long last, she would be checked …and mated.
He had been pretty certain the allure of so many shining baubles would attract her, his little ‘fly’. And he, the master-weaver would soon catch her in his web.
He could hardly wait.
He’d tasted her now. Smelled her scent for the first time, and met the challenge in her azure eyes with his own. Time would show whether she would still be smiling when she knew she had been well and truly caught.
She made her way around the ballroom for the last time. She wondered where he had gone. Disappeared, he had. And frankly, that made her nervous. She slipped into the ladies room, and pulled the bag she had stored in the bottom of the trash barrel out from under the trash liner. She stepped into a stall, and began her transformation.
First to go was the long, black wig. Her ‘trademark’, it was the only way he had ever seen her, and then only twice. She’d left ‘evidence’ at crime scenes but only of this, the luxurious wig of straight, jet-black natural hair. She pulled a second wig from her ditty bag. This one was sleek and blonde, a shoulder-rubbing swing, blunt cut, it was a common enough look to not draw undue attention. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out the tummy panties and bra set. She shimmied out of her thin red sequin dress, heels and hose, and slipped on the panties, which added close to 15 pounds to her frame. The bra went on next, thrusting her tits out to nearly a ‘D’ cup. She put on the polka-dotted top, the black pencil skirt that came well below her knees, and the black sensible shoes. A gray sweater completed her ensemble.
She turned to her accessories, which were packed into the new handbag, a sensible black double-strapped thing. Dental covers gave her a wide-toothed grin; contact lenses dulled the blue eyes to brown, and black plastic-framed glasses completed the transformation. She slipped her first outfit into the bag, and put the bag back into the trash barrel, under the liner. She’d be back for that later. She took the make up bag out of her purse, and put on the new layers, meant to sallow her, age her.
She was someones secretary, personal assistant–and now able to blend in with the support staff for this event. She slipped the insert into her left shoe, which made her cant to the right just a little–and walk with a faint limp.
She slipped from the ladies room and walked purposefully around the perimeters of the gathering room. She spied an elderly dowager sitting on a settee, her shawl of glittery golden threads on the floor behind her. She slipped up, and scooped up the shawl, then murmured to the woman as she tucked it back around her shoulders. She received a pat from soft, pampered hands as her reward, and thus established herself as ‘staff’.
She nodded as she stepped away, as if taking note of an instruction, and headed towards the stairs.