Worth the Risk_ A Contemporary - Megan Hart Page 0,172

either."

Surprisingly, and luckily for Tom, whoever the costume had been meant for originally was just his size. Even the flat leather sandals with rawhide laces fit him, though the laces did pull on the hairs of his leg rather annoyingly.

"You’ll get used to it." Emma blushed. Tom didn’t ask any more questions.

So now here he was, dressed as Mark Antony. Another gust of winter wind swirled around his legs and chilled him in places he’d rather not have chilled. Tom needed to enter the party before he lost all sensation in his toes. Mingling with the other guests pushing through the front door, he no longer felt self-conscious. He spotted two men dressed even more skimpily than he was, both wearing little more than a pair of socks and a bunch of balloons. Green for one and purple for the other. Grapes, Tom realized.

"Tom!" Rivka called to him in an imperious voice from across the room. She flicked open her fan. "Come here! We can’t move in this gown!"

She must be using the royal "we." Tom pushed his way through the throngs of costumed revelers. Mick was nowhere in sight. Martin, however, was close at hand. His only concession to the party was a polka-dotted bow tie that lit up and twirled around. He was demonstrating the tie to a man dressed as a sailor and a beautiful woman in a red sequined gown who looked like Diana Ross. Tom nodded a greeting when he finally got close enough to speak to Rivka without shouting. "Quite the turnout."

Rivka looked pleased. "Yes, thank God. I hope there’ll be enough food."

Tom grinned at her pointed remark. "Of course there will be, Your Majesty."

"Good." Rivka let out a peal of nervous laughter. "Oh, Tom, isn’t this great? Everyone’s here. Did you see the mayor? He came as old George, of course."

"I saw him." Tom looked around. "Where’s Mick?"

"Rowf." Mick stuck his head out from beneath Rivka’s voluminous skirts. A brown fur cap with long floppy ears covered his black hair. Black face paint covered his nose and ringed one eye. He waved a bone at Tom.

Tom just goggled for a moment, stunned by Mick’s sudden appearance. "What are you doing under there?"

"He’s my little dog." Rivka rapped Mick on the head with her fan as he tried to lick her hand. "My naughty little pooch. I take him with me to the guillotine, you know, and have his little head chopped off, too."

Tom grimaced. "Ouch."

"That’s what Martin told me anyway." Rivka poked her dealer unceremoniously with her fan. "Right?"

Martin pulled his attention away from the woman in the red dress long enough to reply. "Certainly, Rivka."

"I don’t believe we’ve met," the woman who had so captivated Martin cooed, extending one slim hand to Tom. "I’m Miss Ross, of course."

"Pleasure." Tom took the woman’s hand. "Tom…I mean Mark Antony."

The woman’s fingers squeezed his for a moment, her dark eyes shimmering against her caramel-colored skin. She swept a mane of curly black hair out of her eyes. "Mr. Gorgeous." She nudged the sailor.

"Have we met?"

"No, honey," Miss Ross said. "But I’ve heard all about you. I’m Lila’s assistant, Darren Ramsey."

Martin choked rather loudly. Tom did a double-take. Miss Ross smiled, obviously pleased that her costume had fooled them.

"Is Lila here?" Tom was unable to think of any other response.

Darren waved a sequined arm around the room. "Oh, yes. She’s around here someplace."

"She’s supposed to be dressed as Little Bo Peep," Rivka said in disdain, every inch her royal majesty. "How bourgeois!"

"I’m going to find her."

Darren’s hand on his arm stopped him. "She’s not dressed as Bo Peep."

"What is she dressed as?"

"That," Miss Ross said Supremely, "is for you to find out, honey."

Tom shrugged, confused. Taking his leave of Rivka and the others, he began making his way toward the food. He wanted to make sure everything was all right since The Foxfire was doing the catering. He’d just take a quick look and be off on his mission to find Lila.

He found the buffet table groaning with food. Emma, delightfully whimsical in her frothy pink costume, was making suggestions to several hungry revelers who seemed overwhelmed by the choices. Michel, looking rigid and uncomfortable dressed as the Cowardly Lion, was overseeing the servers who stood on either side of the table.

"Looks great," Tom complimented the chef.

Emma waggled her brows at him. "So do you, boss. Look at those knees!"

"Nice costume." The man to Tom’s left was dressed as Julius Caesar.

Something seemed familiar about him, though