Quick Dirty Luck: A Love Between the Pages Novel

by Heather Guimond

  “Stefan never disappoints,” I said with a grin. When she looked at me quizzically, I continued. “Our chef. He is a personal hire of Dustin’s, one he’s especially proud of. He stole him out from under some Michelin-starred restaurant in New York.”

  “Well, let me see if he was truly worth whatever you’re paying him. I know good meat,” she said with a wink as she popped a small morsel in her mouth. I lost whatever hand I’d been holding as Kent Jr. sprang to life. He was betting the farm on her knowing good meat too.

  Eight

  Alexis

  I couldn’t believe after the way he’d shut down our business discussion how easily I’d transitioned to personal talk. Initially, I wanted to punch him in his straight, strong nose and walk out. I thought if he wasn’t willing to hear me out, he wasn’t taking me seriously. However, a cooler head prevailed, and I stayed diplomatic, letting him take control and guide the conversation where he wanted it to go. I hadn’t expected the turn it’d taken, and I sure as fuck didn’t expect to be disarmed in the process.

  Kent wasn’t an asshole without reason. The story about his fiancée struck a powerful chord in me. When you learn the person you love is only using you, it fractures more than your heart. It shreds your perception of yourself, your self-worth, and most of all, your belief in love being this amazing, real, and honest thing everyone wants for themselves. At least for me, it had, and I could tell by his words and body language, it had done the exact same thing to him. It only made me want him more.

  I dug into my food with gusto, not just because I needed a break from the emotional attraction that had just hit me, but because it was also the best thing I’d ever put in my mouth—although I suspected Kent might taste equally satisfying. I groaned inwardly. I had to find my professional woman cap and put it back on. I couldn’t let him sway me with a sob story even if he hadn’t meant it to be that, or that it matched my own. At least, not until we’d struck a deal.

  We stayed away from business talk until we’d both cleaned our plates. I was tempted to lick the remaining butter from mine, it was that good. However Dustin found Stefan, they both deserved gold medals. I started envisioning a sit-down, formal meal for the last night of the event where everyone got decked out, and we celebrated a successful and fun occasion with a special dinner prepared by Stefan himself. It’d probably break Andrea’s budget all by itself, but I was going to try to get Kent to agree.

  Nothing we said after touched on business or tugged on any heartstrings. We chatted about his plans for the hotel, then my transition to writing sinful romance novels. In hindsight, that was a topic we should have stayed far away from, but I loved talking about my books. I felt the same enthusiasm and excitement I imagined other people did when they spoke of their children.

  “How did you go from writing ultra-clean stuff to what amounts to literary porn?” he asked. He wasn’t being insulting, his face showed genuine interest.

  I drained my third martini of the evening, then signaled Oscar for another one. Looking at Kent, he inclined his head to indicate he wanted another as well.

  “I’m not sure what made me start out writing the sweet stuff in the beginning. It was probably because of how young I was, not really knowing much about life or myself. I can’t say Charles was a tiger between the sheets. It was nice, he wasn’t a selfish lover, per se. He just didn’t light my fire, you know?

  “Once I got out on my own, I was influenced both personally and professionally when a Gage Blackstone novel was recommended to me.”

  “Gage? Really? He’s an old college buddy of mine. We went to UNLV together. I was thinking about contacting him about your event.”

  “I know, Stacy told me,” I replied, nodding. “She’s the one who recommended your hotel in the first place.”

  “Gage’s Stacy is your Stacy?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t put that piece together since you must know she’s a novelist, too.”

  “I knew she wrote, but assuming two authors know each other is like assuming everyone in Las Vegas knows each other,” he pointed out. “Was Stacy the one who turned you to Gage’s books?”

  I nearly snorted when I laughed in response.

  “You really don’t know Stacy. Absolutely not,” I said waving a hand as Oscar came back with our fourth round. “Stacy was this well-mannered, good girl until she got hooked up with Gage. Well, she still is, for the most part, now she’s just got an open mind she didn’t have before.”

  “So, whoever it was unleashed your dark side?” Kent chuckled.

  “I suppose that’s exactly what happened. I read about wild, animal attraction, hedonistic lifestyles, unbridled passion. It excited me, and I realized that was exactly what I wanted in my life. If love was a myth, then mind-blowing sex was my new goal.”

  I paused for a moment, wondering if I was giving Kent the impression I was a janky slut who hopped from bed to bed capriciously. That wasn’t me. I had to feel a certain level of attraction—it was never just a matter of me thinking a man was good looking, so he was good enough. I had to feel heat pouring off him. I never saw a guy across a room and knew I just had to have him. A man had to make me want him. At least until I met the one in front of me. I wanted him almost right away, and he’d been sucking me in deeper ever since.

  “I’d give you a high five for that if we weren’t in such a nice place. I’m a big proponent of mind-blowing orgasms, myself. Unfortunately, it’s a crap shoot most of the time. You can never really be sure what you’re going to get until you’ve passed the point of no return,” he said, not seeming to think there was anything wrong with a woman choosing orgasms over love.

  I laughed, imagining us slapping palms over the candles that were flickering in the center of the table. I’d have done it if he’d raised his hand for me, but then I prided myself on a certain amount of impropriety all the way around.

  “I don’t usually have that problem,” I admitted. “I’ve learned it’s in the way a person kisses, Kent. If they give you a soft, sweet, tidy kiss, chances are they’re not going to want to eat you alive later. Their sexual appetite must rule from the very beginning—not yours, theirs.”

  He seemed to consider this, then his eyes zoomed in on mine. His gaze was smoldering, and the warning bells started ringing in my head. Oh no, oh no. Time to turn the subject back to safer topics, my last ounce of sense whispered to me.

  “Why don’t we finish our drinks and get back to discussing the event,” I suggested before making a show of taking a large swallow of my martini. Kent followed suit but tossed his entire glass of vodka back in one swallow.

  “Finish yours, then we’ll head up to my office. I have the counter-proposal I worked on this afternoon for you to look at. I think you’ll be pleased with not only the upgrades I’ve worked in but the terms as well,” he said, pushing my glass closer to me. I picked it up with a smile, taking three full sips in rapid succession. It probably made me look overeager, but damn it, I was relieved to have gotten us back onto safer topics.

  Kent led me into his spacious nineteenth-floor office in a separate wing of the hotel. He explained although floors one through twelve served accommodations for guests, fourteen through sixteen served their high rollers, and sixteen through nineteen were devoted to personnel. The entire twentieth floor was his parents’ suite, but they spent most of their time either traveling or playing golf, so they were rarely in attendance.

  He pulled out one of the chairs in front of his desk and motioned for me to sit down, then grabbed a folder off his desk and took the chair next to me. He scooted it closer to my side, then pulled out a few sheets of paper.

  “Here are the details I was working on this afternoon. Rather than just one room you have to arrange, break down, and rearrange every day, I propose we use four different rooms. You’ll need at least two for the lectures you have planned. Based on the preliminary attendance figures Ms. Cifelli sent me, you’d have too many people crammed into a room. You can either offer a c
hoice of different lectures or if one is wildly popular, we can use two of the adjoining spaces and just pull back the movable wall that separates them, giving you one giant room. Another room should be reserved for authors and readers who want to mingle. A place where swag and free books are always available, and a chance meeting with authors who aren’t giving lectures, but aren’t stuck to a table signing books. A place where they can truly connect with their fans and hopefully, make some new ones while they’re at it.

  “The fourth room should be dedicated to catering. I think having at least two sit-down meals a day, with finger foods, snacks, and beverages served all day long would help make your event stand apart from the usual ones.”

  My mind reeled. It all sounded so fantastic, what I’d been hoping for the subsequent annual events, but couldn’t afford this time around. My stomach dropped with that realization. Kent had some grand plans, but there was no way we were going to be able to afford it all.

  “First, how do you know so much about book signings?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You’re describing a smaller version of some of the most popular conventions out there.”

  “Well, owning a hotel this size, I have some experience with hosting conventions of all kinds. With books specifically, I just used the power of Google and did my research. I think we can turn your little signing into a full-scale affair. Now, take a look at the cost projection and see what you think.”

  I glanced down at the bottom line warily. As excited as his plans were making me, it was probably still going to be cost-prohibitive. When my eyes landed on the total, my mouth dropped open in shock, and I whipped my head toward him.

  “Kent, you’re only asking for an extra ten-thousand for at least fifty in upgrades! Why? That can’t possibly be advantageous for you.”

  “There’s a condition. Flip to the addendum on the following page. You’ll see I’m asking for an exclusive arrangement for the next five years, to be renegotiated annually if the event exceeds or falls short of our projections as of this date.”

  “That seems like a real gamble on your part,” I said hesitantly.

  “I don’t gamble, Alexis. I have a pretty good head for business. After analyzing all the available data I could find for the romance industry as a whole and for events of this sort, I think we can make this a must-attend for every romance reader who has the means to travel. We’re in one of the greatest vacation destinations in the United States. Give them the authors they want, the words they love, add free food and flowing alcohol, and I have happy guests who are likely to be in the mood to drop some of their extra hard-earned cash in my casino and hotel. If I’m wrong, we can both say we gave it a shot. The days you’ve asked for are not a busy time in the convention center. I’m really not doing anything too dodgy on the hotel’s part.”

  “Andrea may balk at the extra money, but I’m the primary sponsor and have no problems with tossing that ten grand in on my own. I’ll do it now and ask for her forgiveness later,” I said, flipping through the other pages, scanning the minor details. There were no hidden clauses, only benefit after benefit. We would have a whole staff at our disposal, including not one, but a team of three event coordinators always available to make sure things ran smoothly.

  “Don’t you have to discuss it with her before you sign?”

  “Andrea made me a designated agent before she sent me. I have full authority to make this deal. She trusts me and knows I wouldn’t steer her wrong, and anyone with a lick of sense can see this is a hell of an offer. She may insist on paying me back, but that’s for me to worry about. Now, give me a pen.”

  Ken grabbed a Montblanc fountain pen from his desk, uncapped it, and handed it over to me. I signed my name in the appropriate spots with an extra flourish. This man had just made me happier than I could ever remember being before. I handed the packet back to him, and he signed in kind.

  When we were done, we both sat there with self-satisfied smiles. Gradually, his eyes changed and began searching mine. That smolder was back, and with the way my heart started racing, I knew I was in danger.

  Nine

  Kent

  The excitement radiating off her while I showed her the proposal was palpable. As her eyes widened with each and every perk I’d thrown into the deal, my cock leapt another millimeter. God, she was gorgeous. No matter whether she was about to jump with joy like she was now or was cursing me out, all I wanted to do was drag her into my lap, strip her down, and lose myself in her until we both were sweaty, spent, and half-dead.

  Once we’d both signed on the dotted line, I realized our business was concluded. I didn’t know how much more she’d be involved with the planning, and I’d be turning it over to the event team I’d be assigning. Potentially, she could walk right out of my life, and I’d be lucky if I even saw her when the conference came to pass. I studied her face, wondering if she was feeling the same. I saw nothing but glee. It softened me, and my dick quickly decided to take command of the situation. There was no fucking way she was walking out on me again.

  Without any real conscious thought, I stood and helped her to her feet. She easily followed my lead, her eyes darkening, but not in the stormy way I’d seen so many times over the last two days. I saw the desire taking hold, so I struck.

  I pulled her fast into my arms, taking the pins from her hair and winding a thick handful tightly in my fist, I yanked her head back. I stared into those luminous blue eyes for half a beat, then dove at her mouth like a man dying of thirst.

  I plundered her mouth like a warrior, tangling my tongue with hers, sipping every ounce of her sweetness into mine. That’s all it took for the lioness in her to spring to life. She ripped at the lapels of my suit jacket, pulling it off my shoulders and down to my elbows, so I had no choice but to let go of her hair and whip it off. She tore at my tie, swiftly unknotting it and throwing it onto the desk before attacking the buttons on my shirt. When she couldn’t get them undone fast enough, she simply ripped the fabric apart, sending each little disk flying. I hurried to catch up with her, fusing my mouth back to hers as I clutched the back of her dress, searching frantically for the zipper. In my haste, the fabric shredded in my hands, so I just pulled it down until it pooled in a heap at her feet. The sight before me nearly made me lose it. She was wearing only a red lace shelf bra and matching garter belt. Her nipples were high and tight, the rosy color reminding me of ripe raspberries while the pale blonde swath of short hair framed by her thighs made me harder than I’d ever been in my life—harder than teenage Kent with his first glimpse of an amateur porn clip and almost as ready to bust a nut.

  I grabbed the remote on my desk and dimmed the harsh lighting in the office. I told myself I wanted to see her amazing, curvy figure silhouetted in the moonlight shimmering through the thick glass windows, but in truth, I needed to dim the incredibly powerful attraction to her body, her aura before I did come in my pants like teenage Kent.

  She leapt for my belt, pulling it free with just as little grace as she had disrobing my top half, tossing that to the desk too. I backed her against it, leaning away to see her plump breasts rise and fall with the heaving of her chest, those tight peaks begging for attention. I answered their call, sucking one deep in my mouth as my fingers made a beeline for the wetness also singing out for my touch. I deftly slid my fingers over her mound before dipping into the dripping cleft below.

  I smoothly thumbed the tight bud of her clit and slid two fingers deep into her pussy. She felt softer than silk as I plunged them in and out, again and again, faster and faster. She leaned back on her hands and spread those beautiful thighs wide for me, letting me play. She dropped her head back, her long blonde hair, almost white in the moonlight, cascaded over her shoulders, a curl attractively framing her other throbbing nipple.

  The need to be buried inside her rode me hard, but I wasn’t ready to plunge my cock in just yet. I needed to taste her in the worst way—a hunger, unlike anything I’d experienced before. I had a sudden understanding of w
hat it might be like for an alcoholic who desperately needed a drink—I wanted to taste her that badly.

  Crouching down, I popped the snaps on her garters and slid the stockings down her legs one at a time. I removed those fantastic fucking gold shoes only long enough to pull her feet free, then slid them right back on. I licked my way back up her legs as she struggled out of her bra, then hooked her legs over my shoulders. I took a moment to appreciate the splendor of her glistening, pink pussy. Then I struck again.

  The whimper that fell from her lips as mine made first contact with the heated apex of her thighs excited the hunter in me. I’d finally caught my prey, and now it was time to feast. I parted her swollen lips with my thumbs and flicked the tip of my tongue against her clit, strumming lightly, feathering little licks that made her clutch the hair on top of my head and yank hard. I could tell she wanted to grind herself against my mouth, and I chuckled inwardly. I should’ve expected she’d try to control the time and speed of her orgasm, but she didn’t know me well enough yet. I was in charge, and she’d come when I was ready to let her. I was going to manipulate her body like a puppet master, making her dance on the edge of ecstasy until she was screaming for relief.

  I pressed a hand to her abdomen, pushing her back down on the desk. She continued to writhe under me, working to reach that pinnacle I continued to move further and further out of her reach. I blew a heated breath over her nub once before spearing her center with my tongue. I worked it in and out, making her mewl and cry, then finally swear at me, threatening me if I didn’t make her come. I took it as a personal challenge and backed off, returning my fingers to play alternately between her clit and her core until she drove those spike heels of hers into my sides. The pain spurred me on until I couldn’t stand it any longer, myself.

  I rose from the floor, pushing my pants down to my ankles as I licked my lips hungrily. I brought her to her feet, groaning at the sight of her just like I’d imagined—wearing nothing but the pearls and heels, bathed in moonlight.