by Lisa Wells
What little she’d taken in of the outside of the hotel had overwhelmed her. A little bit of jester, a little bit of international kitsch, and a whole lot of Bourbon Street. The inside besieged her eyes with exploding colors. Golds, purples, greens, and silvers. Excess appeared to be the hotel’s motif.
Would Ian follow her inside the hotel? Or had he fulfilled his promise to her brother by getting her here? Just in case there was more to the plan the two of them hatched to keep her safe, she whipped around a group of five women and three men and stood very still in an attempt to blend in with the crowd.
If Ian made an attempt to find her, he wouldn’t, and then he’d go away.
A voice behind her said, “Hey, what’s the rush?” Then a hand landed on her shoulder causing her to jump.
“Damn it.” She pivoted and glared up at Ian. “Can’t you take a hint?” The people around her gave them a funny look, so she stepped away from the group.
Ian gave her a smile that reminded her of the teenager he used to be when he’d hang out at her house after football practice with her brother. Of the boy who pulled her hair and teased her excessively.
But mostly, the smile reminded her of the boy who’d spent the evening watching movies with her when he found her crying because the cool girls didn’t invite her to the middle school end-of-year party.
He picked up her suitcase. “Shall we get you checked in for the Romance Lovers Convention?”
The breath she was about to expel tumbled back down her throat. She coughed. Wait. What? Her brother was sooooo dead for telling Ian about her dreams of being an author. Why would he do that? Why?
“This young lady needs to check-in,” Ian said smoothly to the attendant behind the desk. He stepped aside, and Kinley stepped up to the counter.
“Hi, I have a reservation under Kinley Foster.” Once she got to her room, she’d ditch Ian. Ditch the memories his presence stirred, both past and present. Then she’d call her brother and unleash her inner sister-bitch. This was the last time he’d ever interfere with her life. She was a grown woman. With a career. And her own apartment. She paid her own bills. She didn’t need a babysitter.
“Welcome,” the perky blonde said as she pushed buttons on the computer. Her smile dropped into a frown. She glanced at Kinley. “We don’t show you having a room for tonight. Your reservation starts in two nights.”
Kinley’s smile didn’t waver. “I have two confirmation numbers. One for the first two nights, and one for the conference nights.” During the nights of the conference, rooms had to be booked through RLC. Kinley had added two additional nights under a separate reservation so she could keep her writing expenses separate from her personal expenses.
She set her purse on the counter and searched for her confirmation number for the first two nights. She handed the computer printout to the lady behind the desk.
The woman plugged in the numbers. “You’re right. You’re supposed to be booked for tonight and tomorrow night, but you booked through a third party for those two nights and sometimes, unfortunately, they overbook us.”
Kinley placed her Mac on the counter. “What does that mean? I have a confirmation. I’m guaranteed a room. Don’t you have to give me a key?”
The lady shook her head. “I’m really sorry. I hate when these companies do this. I can offer you a room in a nearby hotel.” She started punching keys again.
“But, I’m here for a conference. I don’t want to go to another hotel. I might miss an opportunity to visit with an agent or editor.”
The attendant glanced up. “I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do.”
Kinley slid her glasses down her nose. “Please check again for a room at this hotel.”
“We’re sold out. We’ve been booked solid all week. We have a Tool Man’s conference in town.”
Kinley pushed her glasses back in place. Took a deep calming breath before the cloud of tadpoles in her stomach could become a knot of toads. First Ian and now this. What other surprises were in store for her in Vegas? “What is the name of the hotel you can get me in to?” Did the universe want her to go home? Was it trying to tell her if she stayed, her plane going home was going to crash?
“The Irish. It’s in the older part of Vegas. You should be perfectly safe…as long as you don’t go out at night by yourself.”
Kinley placed a hand on her stomach. The toads were frolicking. She ignored the voice in her head telling her to go home. “I can’t believe you don’t have to give me a room when I have a confirmation number.” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like kindergarteners did when she told them their books were due, and they didn’t want to give them up.
“If you’d booked directly with us, you’d be right. But as it is, this is the best I can do.”
“May I speak to your manager?” Kinley hated being that customer. The one who thought if they just go over your head, they’ll get their way. But what choice did she have?
The attendee pointed at her name badge. “I am the manager. I’ll tell you what. For the inconvenience, we’ll comp your room for two nights.”
Kinley sighed a sigh that didn’t nearly express the true emotions inside of her. This wasn’t how she wanted to start her first conference. No telling how many opportunities she’d miss by being in a different hotel. Everyone knew once a conference started, editors and agents were bombarded with pick-me, pick-me requests from authors. The trick was to catch the gatekeepers of publishing prior to the mad-zoo marathon they are about to run. When they are fresh and eager to say yes.
Ian placed a hand in the small of her back and leaned against the counter. He gave the blonde a dazzling smile causing the lights in the foyer to flicker. Or maybe it was something in Kinley that flickered to life. “Are you sure there isn’t something else you can do? Surely you have a few rooms saved back for minor glitches like this.”
Kinley watched him as he leaned across and whispered something to the attendant that caused her to giggle and touch her face.
“I really wish I could help you,” the manager said to Ian in a different tone of voice than she’d used on Kinley.
Kinley resisted the urge to make a gagging noise. She laid a hand on Ian’s shoulder to get his attention—not claim her territory. “Do you have a room here tonight and tomorrow night?”
Her touch didn’t draw his attention away from the attendant. But she did feel him stiffen. “Of course. I always book directly.” His voice was low and cautious.
The woman nodded approvingly.
Kinley argued with herself over the half-formed idea stirring her tired brain cells. It was a bad idea. A really bad idea. But staying in a hotel across town didn’t exactly meet her list of great idea requirements.
Next to them, a woman stepped up to speak to a different attendant. She gave her name. Liz Pelletier.
Kinley’s mouth went sidewalk-chalk-in-the-mouth dry. She knew that name. She was an editor for Entangled. She was in the market to acquire authors who wrote steamy romance. Was Kinley really willing to let a computer glitch keep her from achieving what she came to Vegas to achieve? “Does your room have a couch?” she asked Ian in a no-nonsense tone.
He straightened. Glanced at her with a hooded look. “I don’t recall.”
She could practically see the wheels turning in his head. How can I get rid of her? I’ve done my good deed.
Too bad. He shouldn’t have plotted with her brother to “watch after her.” And it wasn’t like he’d never seen her in her pajamas. He’d practically lived at their house for eighteen years. She gave him a crinkly nose smile.
He opened his mouth. The “no” formed on his lips.
She jumped in first. “That settles this mess. I’m going to stay with you.” She glanced at the attendee. Gave her a triumphant smile. “Please give him another key to his room.”
Kinley picked up her laptop and walked to an empty corner in the hotel and stopped. She tapped her foot and waited for Ian to choose helping her over the drinks a
nd sex with the manager he’d probably been hoping for.
After another brief conversation with the blonde that ended in the handing off of a key card, and if Kinley wasn’t mistaken, Ian’s business card, he strolled over to her.
Kinley held out her hand. “Key.”
“Still a bossy pants.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the reminder of his childhood nickname for her. Grown-ass adults simply didn’t say “bossy pants.” “Yep. Hand it over.”
He pulled at his collar. “This is a bad idea.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I agree. Although I doubt our reasons are the same.” She glanced back at the attendant who was staring at them.
“I’d say you might be right.”
A tiny part of her wanted them to be talking about the same thing. But that would be tantamount to becoming a traitor to herself. Something she’d never do.
He jerked his gaze back to her. “Your mom and brother won’t approve of us shacking up.”
“Then we won’t tell them.” And if they did find out, they would understand. The alternative was for her to stay on the seedier side of Vegas. Their fear for her safety would trump their desire to protect her good-girl reputation. And shacking up? Surely he didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
Ian reached out and tilted her chin up with his finger. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”
Oh shit. Yes, he had. She shivered at the sexy tone in his low voice and wrenched her chin away from his touch. “Considering you don’t have a stellar reputation for keeping your hands off property that doesn’t belong to you, I’d say you make a valid point.” She took a step back. “Am I safe in a room with you for a couple of nights?”
His nostrils flared. “Still trying to get me into your bed?”
Her nostrils flared.
Before she could wither him with another reply, her stomach growled sounding like an awakening bear.
His expression became concerned. “You must be tired and hungry. Your brother said you were afraid to fly. Let’s take your things to my suite, and then I’ll feed you, and then you can take a nap.”
She shook her head in dismay. “I’m not a dog. You don’t need to feed me. I can feed myself.” She held out her hand. “The key please.” A nap sounded lovely. Not that she’d let him take credit for the idea.
He held the key card high, out of her reach. “If I’m going to let you stay in my room, there’s one stipulation.”
She crossed her arms across her chest and widened her stance. She refused to jump for the key. “If there’s a necktie on the doorknob, I know enough not to come in. I’m not a moron.”
He blinked. “Well—there is that.”
“Of course, if there’s a pair of panties that means you stay out.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I was going to say, you’re not allowed to call your brother until after you and I have had a chance to talk.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Why did he care if she talked to her brother? Was there more to this than she knew about? “I can’t imagine what you have to say that I’m going to be interested in hearing.”
He waved at someone in the midst of a crowd of people.
Kinley didn’t know anyone in the group. She probably should. No doubt, there were agents and editors all around, and she didn’t recognize their faces. She needed to research the agents who were taking pitches at the conference. Put names and mugshots together. She’d been putting this task off until her manuscript was finished so she wouldn’t be tempted to submit before her story was ready—a common error with new writers.
Ian tapped her nose with the room key. “Oh, you’d be surprised how the things I could come up with to talk to you about.”
Chapter Four
Ian sat across from Kinley at a quaint table in Café Mascarade, a French café inside the hotel. The decor reminded him of sidewalk seating in Paris—a decadent city he’d visited once and would like to return to someday on his honeymoon.
He’d requested a booth as far away from the bustle as possible. They’d gotten a tiny table for two. Which wasn’t nearly secluded enough. He should have insisted on room service so they could talk in private.
Kinley bugged her eyes at him. “You’re staring,” she said in an accusing tone.
He lifted a brow. “Do you object to a man being left speechless by your beauty?”
She had changed into a tan dress she’d cinched at her small waist with a wide leather belt. The top half of her dress fit snug and the lower half flared.
She gave him a what-the-Hades look. “Save it for someone who doesn’t know you. I’m impervious to your lackluster charm.”
He smiled. He wasn’t feeding her a line of shit. But it was just as well she thought he was. Truth was, the new Kinley really took some getting used to. “Impervious is a big word for such a petite thing.”
“Is that your way of saying you don’t know what such a big word means?”
Gone was the pig-tailed imp he remembered.
“I see you still have a smart mouth.” Damn, she’d changed—in a good way. Pig-tailed Kinley Foster had been easy to resist. But she’d morphed into Killer Kinley with long legs and a curvy ass. This Kinley wasn’t nearly as easy to ignore.
She leaned forward, placed her elbows on the table, and propped her chin on her laced hands.
He groaned, glancing pointedly at her cleavage. “You’re killing me, Foster.” Any man with a validated dude card couldn’t help but notice her tits were threatening to spill out of her V-neck dress. When had she grown those? They hadn’t been so noticeable ten years ago.
She glanced down, blushed, and sat up straight. “Enough with the suspense, what is it we’re supposed to talk about?” She picked up her drink, awkwardly stirred her lemontini with a rock candy swizzle stick, and then sucked the drink off the stick.
She had to be doing that on purpose. No way was she that naive. “I can’t think straight when you’re sucking on that.” His honesty surprised him and caused her to jump.
The stick dropped out of her mouth and bounced off the table. She ducked down and then popped up with the sex prop in hand. Rolling it between her fingers, she said, “Your room is fabulous.” Her cheeks were bright red. “It must be nice to be an endowment brat and be able to afford a suite in a hotel like this.”
Ian studied her face. He resisted the urge to ask her if she’d ever given a guy a blowjob. Not because he didn’t want to continue to shock her, but because if she said yes, he had a strange feeling he might want to strangle the recipient. “Usually when women mention my endowment, it’s not my bank account they’re referring to.”
Her elbows slid off the table and she made an awkward movement of grabbing the table to keep her balance, snapping her swizzle stick in the process, sending one end flying at him and the other hitting her in the chin. “I see you’re still as crass as ever,” she said.
He bit back the laughter filling his throat.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes warning him to choose his next words carefully.
“Tell me, Kinley Foster, what do you do for a living when you’re not chasing a fantasy of becoming an author?” He knew the answer—elementary school librarian in the town they grew up in—but he asked anyway.
She shook her head, causing her dangly gold hoop earrings to swing. “Enough. We’re not friends chatting over drinks. Let’s start with you answering my question.”
He’d always liked how straightforward she was. Even when she’d been shy, and wearing orthodontic headgear, she’d always said what was on her mind when she was around him. “Okay. When I graduated from college, I decided not to go into the family business.”
“I heard your parents disinherited you after the fiasco with my brother.”
He leaned back, stretching his legs out under the table. “I heard that rumor as well. And I also heard you started it.”
She gave him a serene smile. One as fake as most of the eyela
shes he’d seen today. “I didn’t, but only because I didn’t think to start that one.”
He believed her. “The truth is I wanted a career the family name couldn’t buy me a position into.”
She gave a bored sigh. “And what did that end up looking like?” She glanced at her pale, square nails. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re racing yachts for a living.” She picked up her drink and took a sip. “Am I right? That’s why you have that as your avatar.”
“I don’t race yachts. But I find it interesting that you know what my Facebook avatar is. I thought you never looked me up…”
She sputtered. “D-don’t get too puffed up. I only know because you commented on one of my brother’s posts. That does not count as looking you up. So if not a yacht racer, what?”
He scooted his chair around the table so that they sat side by side. He wanted to see her reaction when he told her. “I became a literary agent.”
Kinley choked on her drink, spewing it on him. She grabbed her napkin and dabbed at his chest, managing to spill more of her drink down his slacks. “Sorry.” She headed south with the napkin.
He captured her hand, stopping her. The last thing he needed was for her to realize he had a hard-on with her name on it. “I’m fine.” He took the napkin and cleaned up the mess, watching her as he did.
The blush from earlier traveled down her neck, drawing attention once again to her creamy cleavage. “I’ve ruined your suit,” her voice cracked. She fanned herself with her hand.
“If you were any other woman, I’d think you did it on purpose to get me out of my clothes.” He loosened his silk tie and slipped it off, stuffing it in his pocket. “Why does my being a literary agent cause you to get all hot and spewy?”
“I’m…” She stared at him for a long moment. “I just don’t see you as a reader.” Her voice was full of genuine shock. It deflated his ego like a pin to a balloon. “You honest to God read books other than Playboy?”
“Voraciously.” Why was that so hard for her to believe? His love of reading started when he tried asking his dad what girls wanted, and the only advice he gave Ian was that every girl had a certain laugh to be leery of. A laugh that signals she’s about to hand you your balls on a silver platter. A platter you unknowingly gave her.
