Slippery When Wet
Copyright 2011 by Kimberly Raye
The place reeked of testosterone.
This was Riley Vaughn’s first big clue that something was desperately wrong. Clue two came when she stared across the massive warehouse that housed the set for the day’s magazine shoot.
Her breath caught as she eyed the individuals who emerged from the dressing rooms and took center stage in front of the white backdrop and blazing lights. They were the best of the best when it came to stock-car racing. They all looked hot and hunky and totally GQ in black Armani tuxedos.
This was a photo shoot for Vogue showcasing the new women’s line. More importantly, one of the “Fab Four” was a woman. A stubborn, unreasonable, irrational woman. Wearing a tux.
Riley frowned and started toward the quartet. She’d barely made it two steps when a wail split open the busy hum of people working and bounced off the twenty-foot walls.
“No, no, no!” A fiftyish woman rushed toward the group, a camera in her hand. She wore an NYU sweatshirt, a long, flowing, flower print skirt, flip-flops and a thunderous expression. “What is this?” Her narrowed gaze swept the Fab Four before shifting back to the eager young assistant who carried her camera bag. “She’s supposed to be wearing The Dress,” she growled, before shifting her attention to the frazzled-looking costume designer. “Rochelle!” she wailed at the woman. “Where’s The Dress?”