Joyride. Colleen Collins

had been hidden behind a sign most of the time. Although during those fleeting moments when he’d been forced to make eye contact, he’d caught those curvy lips, slicked with that same searing red as her nails. Pert nose, the kind that probably crinkled real cute when she laughed.

      If she ever laughed. That broad seemed pretty damned serious, and scared, for a showgirl. And then there was that mane of glossy blond hair, so shiny it almost looked metallic.

      He whipped the toothpick out of his mouth. Blond hair? He grinned. Hell, there was his clue. If he hadn’t been riding his hormones back there, he’d have put two and two together and realized he’d found his mark. The curly hairs between a lady’s thighs never lied.

      That lady’s were a delectable crimson.

      CORINNE STARED AT herself in the full-length dressing mirror. “I think the plastic wrap hid more,” she murmured, staring at the black string bikini that covered the essentials, but barely. Thanks to those wedgie cup-things in the top, her breasts had leaped across the alphabet, from “Bs to Ds” as Sandee had said. Corinne wasn’t just hanging out, she was spilling! It’ll be good when Sandee gets back, Corinne thought anxiously, because playing sex bomb is out of this girl’s depth!

      The bikini bottom was almost worse than the top. The triangle that covered her privates was smaller than one of the cocktail napkins she found stacked all over Sandee’s apartment. The rest of the bikini was string. Stretchy rayon strings that crossed her thigh and tied in bows on her hipbones.

      She’d tied those bows so tight, she could feel the double-knotted, supertight knots boring into her hips. She’d checked out the ring earlier and even though she’d be strutting above people’s heads, she didn’t want some bozo running up and pulling one of those strings. Exposing herself to one stranger was plenty—but exposing herself to a roomful of strangers? She wouldn’t just tighten her knees, she’d tighten her whole body. The first living human being to experience rigor mortis. She’d have to be carried off the stage, like some kind of bikini-clad mannequin.

      “And for the rest of her life, Sandee would have to hear about it,” Corinne said, giggling nervously.

      The giggle escalated to a laugh. People thought she was Sandee Moray, not Corinne McCourt. Even if the worst happened, people would think it was Sandee who’d been carried out, not Corinne. Extroverted, wild Sandee—no one would believe it!

      “That’s me,” Corinne said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Extroverted, wild Sandee!” A thrill raced through her, zinging her insides. When in her entire boring life had she ever been given carte blanche to act as wild and sexy as she wanted? To be a bonafide sex bomb? Never! Tonight, it wouldn’t matter if someone pulled a string—or if the whole damn bikini fell off—because after Corinne left Vegas, no one would ever know it had been her.

      Realizing she would survive the very worst that could possibly happen filled her with a giddy confidence.

      Looking at her reflection, Corinne stepped to her right, then pranced a little in her heels. “If I feel like prancing, I can.” She shook her butt. “If I feel like shaking my bootie, I can.” She shimmied and tossed her head back. “If I feel like doing the come-get-me shimmy I can!” Suddenly, Corinne stopped as a realization hit her. Maybe she’d been inconspicuous because she’d never felt the freedom to be anything else. Tony had been so possessive, so jealous, that she’d retreated into herself, always trying to figure out how to please him. Blaming herself if he got mad or moody. Reading all those stupid books because she felt responsible for their relationship…books with stupid titles like Making Your Man Happy and 101 Ways to Get Your Guy to Say “Yes!”…were just concrete signs of her insecurity, her putting Tony’s self-centered ego before her own self-esteem.

      Hell, if there was any book that had helped her with their relationship, it was How to Make Your Man Howl because it made her stay home that day and face the truth.

      Corinne smiled knowingly, and a little sadly, at her reflection. “Being forced into this crazy situation—pretending to be Sandee—is probably the best damn thing that ever happened to mousy, Inconspicuous Corinne!” she whispered, feeling the truth right down to her core.

      Knock knock. “Five minutes, doll.”

      Had to be Robbie G, the guy who managed this part of the MGM. Sandee had said he expected her to be punctual and sexy. Corinne was definitely the former, and she hoped the latter. “Be right there,” she called out in her best sexy-as-Sandee voice.

      She breathed deeply and gave herself one last once-over. Bikini bottom was tied. Breasts were spilling. Makeup was bright, unsmeared. And to top it off, she’d brushed and teased her blond mane into a wild, frothy hairdo that would fit a “Sandee.”

      She swiveled and strutted to the door. “I’m the one who should’ve been nicknamed ‘Tiger,”’ she murmured, ready to face the crowd.

      But more than that, ready to face the rest of her life.