Drop Dead Gorgeous by Anna Cheska

Author:Anna Cheska
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Chapter 17

Imogen watched Jude sashay back to their table. The flickering lights were making her dizzy and the music pounded in her head before vibrating through her entire body down to the floor.

‘He’s a poet,’ Jude announced loudly. She rested her arms on the table and stuck out her backside.

As far as Imogen could see, one had no choice but to stand up and kind of lean over it as Jude was doing. There were no chairs, only carpeted ledges – some way from the tables – that could be pulled out on a hinge from the wall. Modern, yes, but extremely uncomfortable. In the centre of the room was a small circular dance floor. And a lot of lights – some moving, most flashing.

‘Really?’ Imogen regarded the man at the bar with whom Jude had been dancing. If you could call it dancing … Talk about rubbing people up the wrong way. Would he be brave enough to take on a woman like Jude? Seductive, exhibitionist, straight to the point.

Imogen looked sadly at her pineapple and vodka cocktail which also left a lot (vodka mostly) to be desired. She was getting cynical. The White Rabbit Singles Club, as joyfully proclaimed over the door tonight, was only bringing her down.

‘Yes, really. C’mon, Imo.’ Jude wiggled her hips. ‘Get in the mood.’ She was wearing a startlingly sequined number in black and silver, with a low neckline and a high hem that left about the same – nothing – to the imagination. Her blonde hair was highlighted with fluorescent purple and her eyes were bright, though their colour couldn’t be identified in here. Was the White Rabbit Singles Club ready for Jude? Imo wondered.

In her close-fitting backless grey jersey dress that had seemed elegant before she left tonight, she felt overdressed and about ninety. It wasn’t so easy to get in the mood, especially when you glimpsed the predatory males clustering in safe groups at the bar, lurking at the edge of the dance floor, ready to lunge at the first bar of a slow song.

‘We’re gonna have a ball.’ Jude leaned closer to make herself heard. Was she drunk? Not on these vodka-pineapple cocktails, she wasn’t. Imogen realised she even had sequins on her temple. ‘Look at that…’

Imogen looked. And so did the predators. Female, pin-thin and dressed in crimson with stilettos to match. ‘Hmm.’

‘Where does she put her internal organs, I’d like to know?’

Imogen tried to grin, but her pineapple-coated lips were stuck tight. What was the matter with her? Why was she being such a drag? Why did each and every man here fill her with a primitive kind of terror?

Jude turned her attention back to the one she’d been smooching with. ‘Relax, Imo. He’s got a friend.’

A friend? Relax? Imo tensed as she examined the two men fast approaching their space. Number one, the poet, looked suitably wild and Heathcliff-esque enough to impress even Jude. But number two, though an improvement on most of the men here – at least he was under fifty – was blond.

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