Totally Spellbound Read Free

inside the nearest coat
closet.
    Nearest coat closet. There were
others.
    A shiver ran through her. This was
confirmation that Travers was in trouble. He would never
voluntarily take a place like this—and he would never pay for one
like it for her.
    Maybe she should check to see if hell
had frozen over.
    Instead, she pocketed her keycard,
spun on one toe, and walked out of the room. She stopped at the
only room beside it, the one with the same number she’d been using
when she called him back, and knocked. (There actually was a
doorbell beside the door, but she was too scared to use
it.)
    For a moment, she was
afraid that she had the wrong room or that no one had heard her.
She raised her fist to knock again when the door swept
open.
    A tall, willowy blonde
answered. She was stunningly beautiful, with delicate little
features that formed the most perfect face. She wore a pink
negligee and a matching robe with feathers trimming the sleeves and
hem.
    She was everything that Megan was
not—slender, gorgeous, perfect, tall—the kind of woman guaranteed
to make Megan even more nervous than she already was.
    “I must have the wrong room,” Megan
said.
    “Nonsense.” Even the
woman’s voice was feminine—light and floaty with just a hint of
dumb blond. “You’re Travers’ sister, aren’t you? Come on
in.”
    The woman stepped aside. Her negligee
flowed around her as if she were on stage. Megan walked in, peering
around the corner for Kyle.
    She didn’t see him, but she did see a
pristine comic book on one of the end tables. He was here
somewhere.
    This room was a suite,
too, only it was filthy. Two other women sat on the couch—a
brunette with a petite skinniness that made her look athletic and
breakable at the same time, and a redhead who was as heavy as
Megan. Only that redhead—whose hair really was flaming Vegas red,
not the auburn that Megan was blessed with—had her curves in all
the right places.
    She wore a green negligee,
while the brunette wore a white one. They were eating popcorn and
staring at the big screen TV, their mule-covered feet resting on
the coffee table.
    At that moment, Megan
realized she had seen them before. The three women had been at
Vivian’s wedding less than a month ago. Megan hadn’t had a chance
to talk to them, though, because every time she glanced at them,
they seemed to be talking to one another.
    The blonde walked over and shut the
television off. The redhead looked up grumpily. “It’s the best
part.”
    “We have to know if the nassty shadowy
creaturesss are going to get the hobbitsses,” the brunette
said.
    “We’ve seen it already.” The blond
sounded grumpy. “Besides, Travers’ sister is here.”
    The redhead stood and
extended her hand. She was tall, too. No wonder her curves worked.
“You’re Megan? I’m Lachesis.”
    “I’m Atropos,” said the
brunette.
    “And I’m Clotho,” said the
blonde.
    “Sure you are,” Megan said. “It’s
late, but it’s not that late. And if you ladies are the Fates of
Greek Mythology, I’m going to eat my shorts.”
    “Please don’t,” said the
redhead.
    “You’re not wearing shorts, are you?”
asked the brunette.
    “I think she means underwear,” the
blonde said.
    Megan wanted to slap herself again.
This was worse than a falconer in the desert.
    “And we are the Fates, I’m afraid,”
the redhead said. “Or at least—”
    “We used to be,” the brunette
said.
    “We’re trying to get our job back,”
said the blonde.
    At the mention of a job, Megan felt a
little calmer. They were some kind of Las Vegas lounge act, and
they’d hired Travers to help them.
    “Travers is good with money and
accounting,” Megan said. “I’m sure with his business savvy, he’ll
get the casino to rehire you.”
    “We’re not looking for a casino hire,”
the redhead—Lachesis?—said.
    “But close enough for the moment.” The
brunette—Atropos?—glanced at the other two. “Right?”
    The blonde, Clotho, nodded.