Seducing Seven (What Happens in Vegas)

by MK Meredith

  Wiggling her shoulders, she stepped back to Blake’s door and slipped inside with as little sound as possible, pulling the cart carefully behind her.

  Finally, she stopped to let her eyes adjust to the darkness and catch her breath. She listened to Blake’s soft, rhythmic breathing over the drumming of her heartbeat. His bathroom fan hummed in the silence of early morning. Seven liked a soft white noise, too, when she slept.

  His room had one king bed, a laptop case on the desk, papers stacked, and his cell phone and tablet of some sort in a neat line on his nightstand. No clothes hanging off his chair or out of his luggage. Shoes lined straight. She smiled.

  Crossing to the far side of the bed, she positioned the coffee cart in front of the bedside table. A loud buzzing filled her head. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but Mr. Turner needed a wake-up call. Even if it was just coffee, entering a man’s room—especially one she’d only just met—could possibly give her a heart attack.

  She took a moment to study him. His skin glowed against stark white sheets, all thick muscle and sharp angles. In sleep, his face released the arrogant cock of his brow and the crooked smirk of conceit he hid behind while awake. Seven’s hand itched to run her fingers along the smooth lines.

  She bit her lip. Well over six feet of bronzed skin, wrapped tight over ridges and mounds of muscle, stretched before her. He certainly wasn’t a lazy man. And damn if she didn’t really want to win this bet; seeing him like this wasn’t easy. It was like unwrapping a Reese’s cup, but not eating it.

  He turned his dark head from one side to the other on his pillow and sighed.

  Walking to the window, she pulled back the heavy curtains, allowing the sun’s morning rays to flood the room.

  Blake’s face twisted and his hand flew to cover his eyes. Blinking at her through sleep-fogged eyes, he cleared his throat. “Seven? What’re you doing?”

  “Good morning.” She gestured toward the table set with coffee, cream, sugar cubes, honey, and two cups. God, she really needed that coffee. “You gave me a good idea. Meals are mine, or did you forget?”

  Pushing himself up against the headboard, he rubbed his hands briskly over his face. “What’re you wearing?”

  Her robe had fallen open, revealing the matching set beneath. Forcing herself to leave it, she shrugged. “I haven’t changed for the day yet.”

  “You sleep in that?” His question held a note of incredulity. What the hell did he think she slept in, a sack?

  “What do you sleep in?”

  He froze.

  Now wasn’t that perfect? Poor Mr. Blake Turner was at a disadvantage. She grinned as he tucked the sheets more firmly around his waist.

  She served them and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.

  He tensed.

  “I would never have pegged you for the shy type.”

  With a scowl, he sipped his coffee. “I’m not shy, I just don’t trust you.”

  She shrugged, and her robe slipped from one shoulder. “What’s not to trust?”

  Looking her up and down, he swore. “You know, we could be having a lot more fun right now if you hadn’t attached meaning to sex.”

  Picking up her glass, she winked. “But at this point it wouldn’t be meaningless. We’ve already begun to build something.”

  “The hell we have.”

  “Are you always so grumpy in the morning, or are you just happy to see me?”

  He followed her gaze to the tenting of his sheet at his waist and studied it. With a half smile, he crossed his arms at his chest and left it. “Like I’ve been saying all along. Biology.”

  That’s it? He was just going to leave it there, pushing toward the ceiling tall and proud like the damn Washington Monument? She sipped her coffee, trying to swallow past the tightness in her voice. She’d never resented a sheet so much in her life.

  “So what’s on your agenda today?”

  He emptied his cup, then slid it back onto the breakfast cart. Damn it, the sheet never budged. “We have a leadership meeting on industry growth solutions, and I have a meeting for level-one interviews for the new VP of sales.”

  She glanced up at him. “That’s a big deal.”

  He nodded. “It’s what I’ve been working for. I’m not going home without this promotion.”

  Seven held his intense gaze. She appreciated the passion to fulfill his dreams she saw there, because it mirrored her own. Void of his usual cockiness, she saw something a little different. A desire, a need, to be something. She didn’t know his story, didn’t know what drove him, but she got it. And getting him opened a little something in her chest. She clamped down against it with ruthless determination, but smiled at him with genuine encouragement. “Then the position is going to be yours. I truly believe if you set your sights on something, work for it, and don’t give up, then it belongs to you. Just the short time I’ve known you tells me you don’t take no for an answer, and you lead with competence and confidence.”

  And oddly enough, no part of what she said had been to seduce him.

  Blake stared at the pink confection in front of him, and for the first time in his life craved a piece of cake. Rich, buttery, and heavy on the frosting. And he didn’t even like cake.

  Her belief in his desire to succeed left a weird feeling in his chest, and he shook it off. He was surprised she didn’t take the opportunity to try to undermine his confidence, to make him insecure, just to see if it would translate to their bet.

  Other people would have. His father’s voice echoed in his head. “You can’t get to the top with timid steps, son, you have to stomp. Never show fear, even if you have to fake it.” The fear bit was actually pretty good advice, even if it was coming from a less-than-ideal individual. His father treated people like disposable goods. Great when they were shiny and new, but as soon as a little wear and tear showed, he’d be on to bigger and better. He was on about the same schedule with divorces as he was with replacing his dress shoes.

  Most women Blake dated stared with a glazed look in their eye when the topic of work came up, but not Seven. She listened, remained engaged, passionate about her thoughts and values. Or was it just rule number three: always be interested?

  He sighed. Well, what was the difference? They weren’t dating. He sure as shit wasn’t losing this bet, and after tomorrow, he’d never see her again.

  He rubbed his chest. It was for the better. He wouldn’t know how to commit if his life depended on it, and he was too logical to get caught up in the life of a woman fueled by romance.

  Seven tipped her head back, finishing her coffee. His eyes followed the line of her throat. He pulled his leg up, bunching the sheet over his waist.

  “So, what does success look like in your line of work?”

  She paused, as if surprised by the question. Narrowing her eyes, she stared out the large window to the Vegas strip of sky-rise hotels and neon signs. “It’s different for everyone. For me, I want my books to sell well, to contract regularly for more books, keep consistent momentum, but even more, I want to stay connected with my fans. I want to matter to them, because they matter to me.”

  “That’s a tall order.”

  She nodded. “It’s what I want.”

  “I get that.”

  She stared at him a moment, then, pushing the cart back, she replaced the lid. “Time to get up. Let’s go grab breakfast real quick, then I’ll see you this evening.”

  He watched her rise from his bed, his dick trying to follow her. She smiled. With a sigh, she stretched, turning her head to the right and then the left. He resisted the temptation to glance at her stomach and thighs. Her gaze settled on the nightstand. Touching her finger to his tablet, she tapped once. “What does a guy like you read?”

  He shot up in the bed, but forced a casual tone to his voice. “Nothing you’d be interested in. Smithsonian mostly.”

  She narrowed her eyes and gritted out, “And why wouldn’t I be interested?”

  Blake re
sisted the urge to sigh in relief. Thank God her pride could be counted on to keep her distracted. He dropped his legs over the edge and stood up, wrapping the sheet securely around his waist as he went. She stepped back, but before she could go far, he stepped in front of her. Time to work his own kind of magic. If he had anything at all, it was self-discipline, so he could afford to indulge a little here without risking a loss. For her. He could give her something, at least.

  Pulling her body to him, he stepped in close so there was no space left to tell where she started and he ended. Holding her gaze, he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers in the sweetest of caresses. Once, twice. Lifting his head, he whispered, “Thank you. I wouldn’t want you to think I wasn’t a gentleman.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t.”

  He released her with a wink and the devil’s smile.

  Seven hesitated, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Go, get dressed. I’ll meet you in fifteen.” She belted her robe and stepped to the door.

  “Is this going to be a regular thing?”

  She looked over her shoulder, her lips spreading in a slow grin. Then her smile shifted into the kind that fully engaged him, left him feeling warm and relevant. Goddammit.

  She held his gaze for a moment longer. “Wouldn’t that be lovely? But today’s Saturday. It all ends tomorrow, one way or another. We don’t have time for ‘regular’ anything.”

  He clenched his jaw, turning away as she stepped through the door. It shouldn’t bother him, logic told him that, so why then did he feel the disappointment so sharply?

  Turning on the shower, he stepped under the spray, thinking of her smile, the soft tone of her voice, her smell and feel and taste. He admired how hard she worked to be bold, and loved the hint of vulnerability he saw with every action, every word. With a jerk, he turned until the spray hit him in the face. If she could weave this little spell over him so effortlessly, what did that mean about him?

  Sales were always about self. Maybe this romance thing was, too. Filling a desire, selling a way to find happiness and self-worth. All expensive paths to temporary fulfillment. And he especially knew how temporary it was. A sports car a buyer paid through the teeth for one year was upgraded the next. The dream yacht would get traded up for a more extravagant model as soon as it showed wear. Bigger and better, always moving forward. Well, he wasn’t buying, because he was happy how he was. He didn’t have that desperate hole inside to fill with expensive, temporary solutions.

  By the time he’d showered, dressed, and grabbed his papers for the meeting, Seven was knocking on his door. He braced himself for what he’d find on the other side. Ever since she showed up for sushi the first night, the sight of her jarred him. Pulling back his shoulders, he opened the door.

  She stood before him in a pair of distressed dark denim shorts, with a blousy button-up tucked in the front and out in the back, the edge of her bra teasing him with memories of his wake-up call.

  Gold bracelets circled her wrists, and matching earrings hung from her earlobes. She flashed her disarming smile and stepped back on platform wedges, giving him room to close the door.

  He clenched his hand around the handle of his laptop case to keep from touching her. She didn’t need any help winning this damn bet, and he’d have to keep a sharp mind to make sure he didn’t lose it.

  Clearing his throat, he pulled the door shut behind him. “Good morning.”

  He looked her over quickly, taking in the toned, tanned legs pouring out from her short shorts. How the hell did such a petite woman have legs that long? He closed the door on his libido with a slam.

  She needed to learn love was not the answer to self-fulfillment, could never be the answer, and she needed to learn it in a big way. In the end he’d be doing her a favor. As if she were nothing more than a work colleague, he passed by her and called over his shoulder. “Come on. We need to eat so I can get to work.”

  He’d keep her right where he wanted her. Working her ass off to win. Come tomorrow, he’d be celebrating his knockout victory all the way to the airport. And he’d be fine with that.

  Chapter Five

  Seven settled into her seat across from Blake at their table at Cafe Masquerade and studied him. They had time for only a quick bite, since their schedules were so tight. She was a little more than worried by how easily he’d dismissed her at his door. And here she thought she’d pulled out all the stops. With a tug on the hem of her short shorts, she sipped on her mimosa. He couldn’t be as completely unaffected as he let on.

  No matter, she’d just have to work harder. The image of his sheet tenting came to mind, and she grinned with a bit of relief. Funny how easy her smiles had been lately. She had to admit they had a lot more to do with Blake himself than rule number two. At least he was a fun companion.

  Fun. Yeah, that was it.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  She needed to find a way to connect with him. Originally she thought the physical temptation was the way to go, but he was so casual about sex, she needed to connect with him on a much deeper level. On a level he couldn’t resist. To get passion from him, she needed to find his passion. Business.

  She raised a brow. “I’m in Vegas, it’s a beautiful day, and I’m already drinking alcohol. What’s not to smile about?”

  Blake shook his head. “And here I thought you were going to tell me it was the company, the handsome view, or some other compliment bent on seduction.”

  She tilted her head and snorted. “I wouldn’t call you handsome.”

  “What?”

  Seven didn’t try to stifle the laugh at his slack-jawed look. “Because you’re more than handsome and you know it.”

  That had him settling back in his own chair with a smug grin. “Oh, I do. But I want to know what you see.”

  She snorted. “That’s a dangerous question.”

  “I can take it.”

  Sinking her teeth through the flaky crisp of a buttery croissant, she moaned. “Oh my God, this is so good.” She chewed and eyed him over her pastry. “You don’t need to be told, but since I’ve already had a cup of coffee this morning, I’m feeling generous. I find you hot, smokin’, sexy as hell.” She waved her hand at him. “It’s the whole dark hair, light eyes, and golden skin thing. You’ve got a roughened manly look that’s more ‘push me up against a wall’ than ‘pull out a chair for me,’ though I’ll admit you have very good manners.”

  He had the grace to blush a little. “So I guess this is what it’s like hanging out with a romance author?”

  She thought while she chewed. “Possibly, but I also lack a filter sometimes.”

  “And what times are those?”

  “You’re also a cocky know-it-all. Need more?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I always need more.”

  “Lucky for you, I was built for endurance.”

  Blake choked on his mimosa, covering his mouth with one hand while he coughed, and carefully setting his champagne glass down with the other.

  She winked at him. “Like those times.” Then with slow focus, she licked at the chocolate oozing out from her pastry. He was so fun to tease, she often forgot she was doing it for the bet. Closing her eyes, she savored the sweet goodness.

  He stared at her, his eyes slightly watering still as he sipped from his coffee cup.

  “You are something, I’ll give you that.”

  “Of course I am. That’s my goal. What’s your goal, Blake? With work, with life?”

  “That’s a heavy question, and we don’t have much time.”

  “Fair enough, give me one.”

  He thought for a moment, then washed down his pastry with the last of his coffee. “The youngest VP of sales in my company. I want it now, not next year or even next month.”

  “Why the rush?” Rule number three: always be interested. Problem was, she actually wanted to know.

  “I’m not rushing so much as ready. I have a knack for what I do. I’d be better abl
e to pass on what I know in a leadership position than as a peer. And I need to keep challenging myself or I won’t improve. I don’t want to stall out. I have to work like tomorrow is already here.” A smear of chocolate darkened the top corner of his mouth, and the sight of it clinging desperately to his lip while he was so adamant of his abilities spoke to something inside her. Her chest tightened, and she fought the urge to wipe the chocolate away and soothe his furrowed brow.

  Instead, she waved her hand slightly toward it. “You have chocolate on your mouth.”

  He paused a moment, his frown deepening, and wiped his mouth. “Thank you.”

  Seven smiled. She really needed to pull herself together. Wanting to soothe him, comfort him, ease him, none of those urges would get her anything but a broken heart. This was not a man who committed to anything but furthering his career. In his life, a relationship would only get in his way.

  Why was her damn heart so susceptible to the wrong men? Well, she was just going to have to lock it down, damn it. Straightening her shoulders, she leaned back in her seat. “I understand that. Being ready. Wanting to move forward. Writing is like that, too.”

  He raised a brow. “How in the world is writing like that?” His tone, more indulgent than interested, made her bristle.

  Sometimes she really wished she could slap him. “The sales of books run in cycles of interest. One year historicals are all the rave, then contemporary is the new it thing. Or sales run on themes, the down-and-dirty cowboy or the millionaire’s club. As a good businesswoman, I have to try to analyze the market, see what’s coming, and write it before it gets here.”

  “I respect the hell out of your awareness that you need to look ahead.”

  Her heart warmed.

  He shook his head. “But the rest sounds ridiculous. Down-and-dirty cowboys. Really? What ever happened to writing the book of your heart and all that crap I’ve been hearing all weekend? Or writing something relevant.”

  And back to wanting to smack him.