by Crowe, Liz
Vegas Miracle
By
Liz Crowe
Vegas Miracle
By
Liz Crowe
Copyright 2012 Liz Crowe
A Tri Destiny Publishing – Sizzlin' Books Publication
Cover Art Copyright 2012 by JJ Silver Designs
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Contents
Cover Page
Copyright
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
The sun reflected an extreme Lake Michigan sapphire blue on the hot August afternoon Grace Irwin’s life changed forever. As she sought refuge further back on the large deck and reached for her water bottle, absently fixing an awkward sentence in the document open before her, she acknowledged she really ought to vacate her hide out. The thought of making her way inside for the party that was just starting made her a little ill. Three years of crafting the young-adult-genre story about a child television star who travels the familiar roads of fame into teenage mistakes and bad choices were about to come to an end. She’d critique partnered, beta read and professionally edited the two-hundred-thousand-word manuscript within an inch of its life. She was ready to submit the cherished work and was aiming for several agents and publishers alike.
Voices behind and above made her sink back down into the cushions, hoping to be ignored. While she was never one to miss a good party, while in the zone as she was then, Grace wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Pulling her hat down over her eyes, she focused on her laptop screen.
"Yo, Ryan," Grace heard the party’s host, her boss at the bookstore, holler, "Where’re you going?"
The deep voice that answered was near her ear. Deep, a little gravelly, it sent a shiver down her spine.
"Just gonna catch the view a minute. Decompress from the drive. I’ll be back in a few."
Within seconds, Grace caught sight of the voice’s owner and sucked in a breath. Easily six-feet four-inches tall with thick, wavy-blond hair, Mr. Perfect had strong shoulders that tapered into a narrow waist covered in plaid shorts and a cream polo shirt. She only got the back view at first as he placed his drink on the railing and leaned out over the beach, and had to bite her lip as the fabric of his shorts stretched and cupped his butt. She resisted the sudden compulsion to put the laptop aside and fluff her hair. Chiding herself as she pushed sunglasses up her nose, Grace sighed. Guys like that never noticed women like her.
Grace considered herself mousy, bookish and smart and although she wasn't shy, she wasn't confident enough about her looks to be truly comfortable around attractive men. When Mister Perfect Butt turned to lean back on the railing and take a sip of his drink, Grace felt herself flush. A strong profile, covered with slight stubble, full lips and expensive Ray Bans completed the picture of masculine perfection. The man could be an aging Hollister model. Where in the hell had he come from?
The party hosts owned a chain of independent bookstores in and around Detroit and Grace managed one of their stores in Ann Arbor while consulting at the other two. But her real dream was to someday be the author doing the signings at the table with a crowd of adoring fans, not the flunky fetching them water. It was a struggle every month to make ends meet and she lived frugally, but with occasional cash infusions from her father, she never went hungry. Although a night out at the movies would be nice every once in a while.
Where the aging couple that had invited her out for a weekend of peace and quiet so she could write with just a "small 'shindig' on Saturday" found this guy, Grace had no idea. She scrunched herself further down into the chair, hoping to stay out his sight but still be able to admire the fine blond hair that covered his chiseled legs.
The man ran a hand over his face and pulled his sunglasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Grace resisted the almost irresistible urge to jump up and run a finger down his cheek just to see if he felt as good as he looked. She shook her head and crossed her legs, repositioning the laptop at the same time. If she weren’t mistaken, her bikini bottoms were damp. It had been a long damn time since a man had laid a hand on her. Too long. Her body’s reaction to the manly perfection before her was flat out embarrassing.
The flash of her laptop’s silver cover must have caught his eye. He squinted into the gloom at the back of the deck. Slipping his sunglasses back on, he took a few steps toward her. Grace held her breath. The quick glimpse of his bright blue eyes nearly made her fall off her chair. No man had a right to look that good. And if she were not mistaken, he was headed straight for her.
She stared at the computer screen, ignoring his approach, her heart pounding as she caught the light, woodsy scent of cologne. To her utter amazement he took a seat right across from her and stretched his long legs out so they were nearly touching her bare feet, which were desperately in need of a pedicure. She glanced up, attempting nonchalance.
"Sorry," that deep voice nestled inside her ear, curling up and making itself at home. "Didn’t know anyone was out here."
She stayed silent but was certain he could hear her pounding heart. The sound was positively deafening to her.
"You’re Grace, right? The writer?"
She flushed.
"Well, calling me a writer is pretty generous. I’m more like ‘bookstore manager’ and struggling writer right now." She uncrossed her legs but didn’t know where to put her ungainly feet. Settling for crossing them at the ankles like a fifties magazine model, she took a deep breath. "But thanks for the compliment."
He chuckled. It sounded like honey sliding off the end of a spoon.
Damn.
"Well, it’s what Janice and Ron called you, so," He took a sip of his clear, lime-garnished drink.
Grace shrugged.
"It makes them cool to have a writer in residence I guess. Even if the writer has no publishing contract to speak of yet."
"What’re you writing," he crossed one ankle over his knee, giving Grace an unimpeded view of his zipper. She shivered and made a mental note to masturbate more to take off the horny edge toying with her nerves.
"It’s, um, sort of a young adult thing about a child television star who goes bad then gets redeemed by, ah, you know, love." Grace winced at how ridiculous it sounded and mentally started re-writing her query letters.
"Interesting. What made you want to write about that?"
"All the best vampire, werewolf and wizard story lines were already taken." She trailed off, realizing she sounded whiny.
He took another sip of his drink and pulled off his sunglasses. The intensity of his stare was overpowering. Grace had to remind herself to take a breath.
"I think anyone who can make the real world as interesting as a fake one deserves to be published." He held her gaze and tilted his head as if studying her
while the dampness in Grace’s panties got a fresh infusion. God help her but the man was mouth watering and he was interested in her book? She slid one leg back over the other, hoping he couldn’t read her mind as it played a porn loop with him in the starring role.
"But what do I know," he leaned back and put the sunglasses back in place.
"I don’t know. What do you know?" she shocked herself with the blatant flirt.
"I know hotels, resorts and how to make people spend way too much money," he smiled at her unleashing another torrent of fantasy and before she knew what was happening, he was standing in front of her with his hand outstretched. "Ryan Sullivan, hotel and resort consultant, at your service. Pleased to meet you."
She stood on shaky legs and took his hand. The spark that jumped through his skin to hers, burrowed deep into her nerve endings, nearly forcing her to sit back down. But she was not too flustered to notice his eyes had widened as well. Grace pulled away and took a step back.
"I’m Grace Irwin. The bookstore manager." She rubbed her sweating palms on her batik print swimsuit cover while Ryan remained standing, seemingly as shocked as she was. "And budding bestselling novelist."
She took a shaky breath and started to turn.
"I guess we should head back," she stopped when a hand settled on her shoulder.
"Not yet. I just drove hours from Detroit to Chicago and then here after a week of intense bullshit from a downtown hotel owner who wanted to pay me to not take my advice. I like it out here better." To her utter amazement, Ryan ran his large hand down her bare shoulder then took her hand as she let herself be guided back to the chairs. "The view is much better now."
Grace frowned.
"Spare me." She pulled her hand back, feeling bereft where his skin had once touched hers. "I’m not interested in being bullshitted."
He laughed and crossed his arms, leaning back into one hip easy, casual, mouthwateringly perfect.
"I mean thanks and everything but I know I’m not your type," Grace swallowed.
"How do you know what my type is, Grace Irwin, budding novelist? You just met me ten minutes ago. And by the way, I don’t think "bullshitted" is a word but I could be wrong." He dropped back down in his chair.
Grace smiled, her momentary anxiety forgotten as she mirrored him. Ryan shook his empty glass.
"I’m going back up to sneak another drink out here. Can I get you one?"
"Sure. Gin and tonic, extra lime."
"Perfect." Ryan leaned forward and put a hand on her knee causing Grace to flinch. His palm was hot unless her overheated imagination was playing tricks on her. "Don’t run away." Before she could answer, he stood and strode to the stairway up to the lake house where party noises could be heard streaming from all the open doors and windows.
Grace took a moment to catch her breath and fantasize that a guy like the one that just touched her knee might actually be interested. She pulled her long, dark blond hair up into a messy bun all the while commanding herself to stay calm. By the time Ryan returned with two sweating tumblers full of ice and her summer drink of choice, she’d managed to work herself into a sweat, changing her position and rearranging her legs and skirt, her feet, her hair. Finally after settling on "casual slash sexy" by leaning back on the chaise lounge with her laptop beside her, Grace accepted the drink without looking up, not trusting herself to stay cool.
With a deep sigh of contentment, Ryan sat in the chair she’d vacated right next to the lounge. He took a sip and looked up into the deep blue sky. The quiet swirled around them like a fog as party noises made their way down to the deck.
"So," Grace winced at the croaking sound coming from her throat. "Hotels, eh? How does one become an expert in such things?" She was grasping but wanted to hear his voice again.
Ryan put his drink on a small table and put both hands behind his head. His long legs stuck out in front of him and Grace pulled her feet back so as not to risk contact. She didn’t think she could handle it.
"I earned money as a teenager working summers at a resort not far from here," he waved an arm in the general direction of Mackinac Island, the city at the tip of Michigan’s lower peninsula. "By the time I graduated high school, there wasn’t enough money for me to go to college. So I applied for scholarships related to my "life experience" and came up with a full ride to UNLV where they offer "the best hotel restaurant management program on the planet" as they say."
"You went to college in Las Vegas?"
"Yep. And I worked the door at a strip club. It’s a rite of passage. Made damn good money at it, too."
She widened her eyes.
"Yessiree, graduated in three and a half years and got hired by Hilton right off the commencement floor. Cut my teeth on the far flung shit locations no one wants like Pittsburg, Birmingham and other meccas of cosmopolitan living."
"Well excuse Pittsburg for not being cool enough for you, Mister Strip Club Bouncer."
He leveled that killer smile at her again and Grace's insides resumed their meltdown.
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, I ended up a regional manager there and got cherry picked by Marriott. Even more glamorous locales--Louisville, Cleveland, Portland. Never at one site longer than about a year."
"Makes settling down sorta tough."
"That wasn’t a priority for me. Making as much money as I could was my priority."
She leaned back and sipped at her drink. Crossing her legs slowly, Grace watched him watching her and tried to suppress a shiver of sheer, unmitigated lust. To her amazement, Ryan’s gaze became hooded and he reached out to graze her dangling ankle with a fingertip. She yanked it out of his reach before realizing what was happening and Ryan sat back, shooting her an inscrutable look.
"Long story short," he continued as if the moment never happened. He held out one hand and ticked off the countdown as he spoke. "Hilton, Marriott, Wyndham, a very brief moment at Holiday Inn--don’t ask, then after twelve years of using my experience to benefit others, I was asked to work for a small group of boutique resorts on retainer. Haven’t looked back." He shook his glass. "I have a penthouse in Detroit, a suite under construction at the Aria on the Strip, which I'm helping open on time and under budget by the way, and more frequent flier miles than any decent human being should have."
Grace sipped her drink. "And what, two ex-wives, a couple of snot nosed, spoiled kids in both places and perhaps even an estranged, soon to be ex Missus Sullivan?" Grace wasn’t sure where that came from but was pleased when he shook his head.
"God no. I’m proud to say not a single Ex Missus Sullivan though not for lack of trying on the part of a few."
"Full of ourselves much?" She didn’t know why but his extreme confidence was making her want him even more. Usually she hated braggers, chest pounding alpha males who tried to prove something at every turn with the size of their wallets and their string of broken hearts. But this guy just seemed to be stating the facts of his life. A life that had to be lonely. She smiled at him and was thrilled to see his bright grin return.
"No, not really." He drained his drink and clinked the ice. "So soon to be bestselling author Grace. A boyfriend you’re escaping here at the idyllic casa de bookstore owner?" She pretended for a minute she saw yearning in his quick glance. But her laughter cut that short.
"Me? Not exactly. I don’t really go out much. You know, trying to get the next great American young adult novel off the ground. Or at the very least make as much money as that Twilight chick. That and earn rent money."
"Ah, yes, rent money," Ryan’s eyes moved away from hers and cast out over the lake. When he seemed to hone back in on their conversation, Grace felt their little moment pass and cursed herself for moving her leg out of his reach. And for burdening a guy who obviously has less than zero money worries.
Chapter Two
Ryan stood and stretched a minute before strolling over to the railing and Grace felt her eyes move in their sockets as she tracked his slow saunter across the deck. Anger flared whe
n she realized he knew damn good and well she was admiring him. The phrase "two can play" flashed through her mind giving her the courage to stand and stroll down the last flight of steps to the beach leaving him to observe her for a change. She let the small strap of her sundress covering her bikini slip off her shoulder as she took the last of her drink with her. Sensing his gaze as if it were a laser beam, she stopped at the bottom step, took a long drink of the juniper infused alcohol and set the glass on a table that had once been part of a large tree.
As she stared out into the bright, sunlit lake, Grace wasn't a bit surprised to find the fine male specimen who’d just been flirting with her standing at her elbow. He brushed past, slipped off his deck shoes and walked into the shallows and she gripped the weather beaten railing to keep herself from following him. She wasn’t quite sure how to approach him but the raw chemical pull of the man was nearly too much to bear. So she started walking barefoot in the opposite direction.
"So how does one go about getting a book published?" Every nerve in Grace’s body zinged in unison as Ryan’s arm grazed hers. He'd caught up to her and ambled along, hands in pockets, well inside her personal space bubble.
"You mean you don’t already have an agent and a nice fat advance to write your memoirs?" Grace held both hands up as if framing a photo. "How I made millions off stupid tourists and traveling salesmen?"
Ryan chuckled. "Do you need an agent?"
He seemed honestly interested so she regaled him with her own personal journey seeking agents, getting rejected, the round robin of query letters, partials, rejections, more query letters. By the time she finished and had him gasping for air after laughing so hard at her description of the "predator editor" loser who’d actually asked her on a date, they were a good two miles from the party. The sun was a glowing ball of pink and purple as the evening clouds closed in and Grace’s skin pebbled from the chill. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Ryan put an arm around her and pulled her close. She sighed, molding into his side, still trying to convince herself these last hours hadn't been a dream. Grace had never felt so completely at ease with a man. When she stopped and turned to face him, going up on her tip toes, their lips met as if they'd been lovers forever.
