Definitely Dead
Chapter One
I was draped over the arm of one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen, and he
was staring into my eyes. "Think ... Brad Pitt," I whispered. The dark brown
eyes still regarded me with remote interest.
Okay, I was on the wrong track.
I pictured Claude's last lover, a bouncer at a strip joint.
"Think about Charles Bronson," I suggested. "Or, um, Edward James Olmos." I was
rewarded by the beginnings of a hot glow in those long-lashed eyes.
In a jiffy, you would've thought Claude was going to hike up my long rustling
skirt and yank down my low-cut push-up bodice and ravish me until I begged for
mercy. Unfortunately for me - and all the other women of Louisiana - Claude
batted for another team. Bosomy and blond was not Claude's ideal; tough, rough,
and brooding, with maybe a little whisker stubble, was what lit his fire.
"Maria-Star, reach in there and pull that lock of hair back," Alfred Cumberland
directed from behind the camera. The photographer was a heavyset black man with
graying hair and mustache. Maria-Star Cooper took a quick step in front of the
camera to rearrange a stray strand of my long blond hair. I was bent backward
over Claude's right arm, my invisible (to the camera, anyway) left hand
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