by Sara Hantz
“I was joking,” he said.
“I know.” She giggled
It was the sexiest giggle he’d ever heard and sent his heartbeat racing.
“So what do you say? Italian?” He changed the subject before he lost total control.
“Mmm. It’s my favorite.” She ran her tongue over her top lip. He didn’t know whether it was deliberate or purely unconscious, but it sent arrows of desire shooting through him.
“Mine, too.”
They walked through the foyer of the hotel and out into the street. He waited for her to link her arm through his, like she’d done earlier, except she didn’t. They walked in silence down the Strip, Sheridan’s head shooting from side to side staring at everything they passed.
Suddenly, she pointed across the street. “Look at those people taking photos. Do you think they’ll go home and tell people they’ve seen the Eiffel Tower?”
“Yep. Vegas is like no other place on the planet. You can see the most famous monuments from all over the world on the same street.”
“That’s assuming that people actually want to see them away from their natural setting.”
Mac didn’t disagree with her, but he also didn’t want the evening to turn into a hate-Vegas-fest, which it easily could.
“There is that.” Mac nodded. “But you have to admit it’s quite a feat to have access to the Egyptian pyramids, at the same time as the canals of Venice, the Statue of Liberty, and the aforementioned Eiffel Tower. And all without needing a passport.”
“Feat, it might be. But if you ask me, it’s ridiculous and disconcerting.” She waved her arm in the direction of the Eiffel Tower.
“Just give it a chance. Suspend your intellect and let the atmosphere take you with it.” He gestured with his arm to the outlandish opulence surrounding them.
“You mean think of it more as a hybrid-cultural experience?” Sheridan chewed on her bottom lip, mesmerizing him.
“If that helps, then by all means do so,” Mac said, forcing his thoughts back to their conversation and away from how kissable Sheridan’s plump lips were. “But if I were you, I’d just stop overthinking it.”
“Yes, that can be a problem for me.” A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “My first grade teacher got annoyed with me for wondering why we always said A for Apple. Why not A for Antelope. Or Animal. Or…whatever.”
“I guess that’s why you became a journalist. I’m the same with books. But sometimes you have to suspend your belief and feel the magic.”
“You’re right. It’s just this place is so…so—”
“Surely you must have known what to expect of Vegas, even if you hadn’t been here before,” he interrupted.
“I did. But when you see something in the flesh, it’s very different.”
They continued walking in silence for a few hundred yards until reaching the Saxon hotel.
He held open the glass door for Sheridan to walk through, and they headed to the elevator, which was reserved exclusively for the restaurant.
“Whoa,” Sheridan said as she glanced out of the window from where they’d been seated.
“Impressive, huh?” Mac replied. “That’s why I like eating here. It’s my favorite view of the Strip and especially the Bellagio fountains.”
“The view is pretty amazing.” She nodded slowly.
Mac sensed the turmoil going on inside her. She didn’t really want to enjoy Vegas, yet it was slowly pulling her in. Like it did to everyone. You just had to go along with it.
“Enjoy.”
They both picked up their menus and studied them in silence.
“I’m going to have lemon spaghetti with some rosemary focaccia and lemon flat bread,” Sheridan said after only a few moments. “I’m starving. I’ve hardly eaten anything all day.”
Music to his ears. She was clearly a girl after his own heart in the food department.
“I’ll join you. And a bottle of Pinot?” he asked.
“Perfect,” Sheridan replied, rewarding him with a smile that lit up her entire face. And he was hooked.
“Tell me, is there a Mr. Sheridan?” Mac asked.
The smile on her face vanished. “Why?” Her tone was uncertain.
“Just curious.” He shrugged. “Is there a problem?”
It was a natural question to ask. He didn’t get why it had upset her.
“Not at all.” She waved her hand dismissively. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Good.”
The server arrived with the wine and poured some for Mac to taste. He took a sip. “This is fine, thank you.” They didn’t speak while their glasses were being filled.
“Why good?” Sheridan asked once they were alone.
Mac’s brow furrowed, puzzled. Until he remembered what he’d said. “Because I’d like to get to know you better, if you’ll let me.” He winced at how clichéd and boring he must sound.
“Oh.” Her facial expression was unreadable.
“Or we could just do the interview.” He picked up his glass and took a large drink.
“No. I mean yes. I’d like for us to get to know each other better.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes, and a faint tinge of pink colored her cheeks. Gorgeous.
“Cool. What would you like to know?” He leaned back in his chair and focused all his attention on her.
“Well, my spies have already told me you’re not married.”
“Your spies?” He paused for a moment. “Ah. Deidre and the others. So you know I was married, but it didn’t work out.” It had taken a lot of therapy for him to be able to say those few words without sounding bitter.
“Sorry.”
Sheridan’s response surprised him. “It’s okay. I realized very early on that we weren’t a match made in heaven. It happens.” He stopped himself from talking about the failings of his marriage. He was having too much fun to go down that road.
“Your girls didn’t say whether you’re seeing anyone. Are you?” Her mouth turned up into a sexy smile.
“No. I’m single at the moment.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t date; but it had been a long time since anyone had piqued his interest as much as Sheridan had.
“You mentioned earlier that I shouldn’t have asked what the deal was being a man writing romance. So what should I focus on?”
He shook his head. She’d gone from the personal back to the professional. He’d go along with it.
“The more appropriate question is: why do people think a man writing romance is such a big deal? A romance book has two points of view. Male and female. It’s acceptable for women to write from a male perspective. So why not the other way around?” He shook his head.
“And this whole debate gets you pissed?” she asked.
“Not pissed, exactly. Frustrated. Nicholas Sparks writes great romances, and I doubt he has to defend himself all the time like those of us men who aren’t so successful.” He drew in a long breath and released it slowly, allowing his body to relax. Despite trying not to let it rile him, it did.
“And do you think you’d sell more books if you were a woman?”
Ah ha. The sixty-four thousand dollar question. Something he’d deliberated on for many hours as his career took off.
“Yes, I do. Although I refuse to write under a woman’s name, like some do.”
It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, and at times, he’d wondered whether he’d made the right one. But it was pointless pondering on it because he couldn’t change it without starting again under a brand new name.
“B.A. Mackenzie doesn’t exactly imply you’re a man.”
“My publisher’s idea. Initially, they wanted me to be Bernice Mackenzie instead of Bernard. I refused and we compromised at B.A.”
“Bernard?” She slapped her hand in front of her mouth, but it didn’t cover the wide grin plastered across her face.
“It’s a family name,” he said, shaking his head. “I know it’s not cool. And why I�
�ve always gone by Mac.” He laughed. He was long over the embarrassment of his name. And it was a great conversation starter.
“I don’t get it. You use the B.A., so people don’t know that you’re a guy, yet you attend the convention, and then they can see that you are one.” She frowned.
“I don’t hide it,” he said. “I just don’t publicize it. When you’re talking hundreds and thousands of sales, a few people at a convention knowing you’re a guy isn’t a big deal.”
“And is writing romance what you always wanted to do?”
“I’ve written ever since I can remember. I hadn’t particularly intended to write romance. I just sort of fell into it.”
“And do you see yourself branching out into any other genre?”
“Funny you should ask. As much as I enjoy writing romance, my goal is to publish something more literary, but it’s finding the time to finish my novel and, of course, find the audience.”
He couldn’t believe he’d actually mentioned his novel. No one knew about it. Absolutely no one. Especially not his agent. Because he knew what he’d say. What he always said when Mac talked about branching out… Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, blah, blah.
“Money is a big driver for you?”
Her question took him by surprise. Though he guessed it was a logical leap to make. “I have a large mortgage. And I have to live. So, in that respect, yes.”
“I get it. Would you write literary fiction as B.A. or use your real name?”
“Not something I’d thought about. I guess maybe my real name, but not hide that I also write as B.A.”
“What’s your novel about?”
“It’s set in the nineteenth century about a Russian revolutionary who escaped one of the labor camps in Siberia and traveled across Europe.” He scrutinized her face for a reaction. Most people he knew would be shocked as it was hardly his usual type of story. Then again, Sheridan wasn’t like most people he knew.
“Whoa.” Sheridan’s eyes widened. “Very different from the formulaic romances you’re known for.”
“Spoken like someone who has no understanding of the romance genre.”
Sheridan flushed. Mac laughed. He couldn’t be mad at her ignorance. And she wasn’t alone in thinking that.
“Well, it’s not my reading matter of choice. No offense,” she said.
“None taken. But that doesn’t condone your stereotypical view of the genre.” He tried to sound firm but couldn’t.
“Sorry. I’m a cynic when it comes to romance.” She sighed.
“Why?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “When your father is on his fourth trophy wife, and your mom dates guys young enough to have gone to school with you, then it gives you a certain perspective on life.” Hurt flashed across her face, and Mac had the urge to pull her body close to him so he could hug away all the bad times that she’d obviously experienced.
“In that case, I’m guessing you’ve never been in love before.”
“Not if it means being all breathless, with wobbly knees and a heart that pumps out of my chest. I mean, really, a heart that pumps out of your chest?” She laughed, and he sensed she felt relief that the conversation had lifted to a lighter level.
“You’re not meant to take it literally.” He shook his head.
“Look. I’m twenty-five years old and have clearly had a romance bypass, for which I’m eternally grateful. I’ve seen the most ridiculous things done in the name of romance, and for what purpose? Usually sex or control.”
“No. It doesn’t have to be for that.” He wanted to swing at all the people in her life who had impacted her distorted view.
“Speaks a true romantic. How many times have you been in love, then?” Sheridan asked.
He was about to make a flippant retort when he realized he was no different from her. That his experiences were at total odds with what he was preaching and writing about.
He drew in a breath. “I do believe in true love. I might not have found it yet. But it exists. And for all I know it’s right around the corner.”
Chapter Six
Sheridan leaned back in her chair, admiring Mac’s slender fingers, which were wrapped around his fork as he speared the spaghetti and twisted it on his spoon. She imagined what it would feel like for his hands to be wrapped so protectively around her, and tiny shivers ran up and down her spine.
She was acutely aware of his sexiness, and if the evening led to something more, she wouldn’t say no. And it wasn’t just the wine talking. Although, they’d almost finished the first bottle, and Mac had just mentioned ordering a second.
“Earth to Sheridan?” Mac’s voice filtered into her consciousness.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” She shook her head, hoping her raunchy thoughts weren’t obvious.
“I asked you about the masquerade ball.”
“Ball?” She vaguely remembered reading something about it in the itinerary but dismissed it as unimportant.
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’m not going.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, she realized what a stupid thing she’d said. She was here to work, which meant she couldn’t cherry pick her activities. Not if it meant missing out on an important part of the convention. And she still had to decide how she was going to frame her story. She wanted to find a way to capture the ridiculousness of the convention, without making Mac, or Deidre and the girls, look like fools. “Forget what I just said. Of course I’ll be going. It’s not like I have a choice.”
“It’s an experience not to be missed.” His eyes shone mischievously. Was he now openly flirting with her instead of his clumsy get-to-know-you attempt earlier? She hoped so.
“I’ll take your word for that. I do have to find something to wear, though.” She didn’t think the dress she was wearing or her usual jeans and tanks would do. Why hadn’t she thought to pack her long, black dress-for-all-occasions?
“We’re in the perfect place. We’ll find something here after we’ve eaten.”
He wanted to go shopping with her? Well, that would be a first. She’d never gone clothes shopping with a guy before. Hadn’t wanted to. Didn’t know whether she wanted to now, either.
“Expensive no doubt.” She glanced at their luxurious surroundings. How could the clothes shop be any different?
“Probably.” Mac nodded. “Is that a problem?”
Was it a problem? If she thought about it too much, then yes. Just because she came from a rich family didn’t mean she could afford everything she wanted. Many years ago, she made the decision to support herself and not rely on family money. And when you’re on a journalist’s wage, it’s not easy.
Then again, the office sent her here, so they could pay. And Jane did say this was an all expenses paid trip. The thought of Jane’s face when she had to approve the expense struck Sheridan as so funny that she laughed out loud.
“Nope.” She grinned. “I’ll charge it to expenses. It’s the least they can do. But we can’t go until I’ve had a slice of that gorgeous looking chocolate cake on the dessert trolley over there. It’s been staring at me all evening, begging me to try it. And I can’t let it down.”
It hit her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a great time, all down to the sexy man sitting in the opposite seat.
…
“Do you often go shopping with women?” Sheridan’s eyes sparkled as she flicked through the dresses hanging on the rail.
Her whole body language was so relaxed compared with earlier in the evening, and it couldn’t all be put down to the wine, although they had gotten through a lot. Not that she wasn’t great to be with earlier, it was just that she’d seemed tense and uptight. Now, it was like she’d suddenly decided to let her true self come out. And she’d agreed to go shopping with him. Even though he hadn’t given her much choice. Why he’d actually offered in the first place baffled him.
“It’s not something I usually make a habit of, I have to admit.”
For very good reason. The last time he’d gone dress shopping, it had ended very badly, and he’d sworn to never do it again. He’d been with his, now ex, wife, and they’d had the fight to end all fights in the middle of the store. Something he wasn’t proud of. And he’d never been back to the store since. It was over something and nothing. In fact, he couldn’t even remember exactly what had happened to cause it.
“Do you like this?” Sheridan held out a long, black dress with short-capped sleeves, which had tiny gems on it.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Although, what about this, too?” he asked, holding out an emerald green dress that caught his attention.
“I’m not sure. It’s brighter than what I usually wear.” Sheridan ran her fingers over the fabric.
“Try it. This is Vegas. And anything goes here.”
Sheridan laughed. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’ll take them both to try.”
She walked to the changing room, and he sat on one of the chairs outside, checking emails on his phone.
“What do you think?”
He glanced up at the sound of her voice, and his chest tightened.
She was biting down on her bottom lip, looking very apprehensive. Totally unnecessary, since she looked so hot in the emerald dress that he had to fight the urge not to pull her down onto his lap and kiss every part of her sensual body.
“Gorgeous.” His voice was thick with desire, and he coughed to hide it. He wasn’t a teenager. He needed to keep his feelings in check when in public.
She ran her fingers under one of the tiny spaghetti straps, untwisting it. “I’m not sure. It seems too…too…”
“Too what?” he asked, his voice all husky.
He was unable to tear his gaze from her porcelain skin and the way the dress hugged every sensual curve of her body.
“I don’t know. Too obvious. Too red carpet.”
“Don’t you like it?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I do. I just don’t usually wear anything like this.”
“Well, you should. Come on. Buy it. Live dangerously. And then we can find you a mask to match. There are some over there.” He pointed to the other side of the store.
“One with feathers, no doubt. So I can look even more like a lorikeet.”
