The Seduction of Kinley Foster (What Happens in Vegas) (4 page)

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 and 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 eyelashes 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.

End of advice.

He hadn’t even been able to give him an example of what
the
laugh
sounds like. Just
learn it early and never forget it
.

The conversation with his father prompted Ian to steal several of Kinley’s romance books to read and try to figure out what girls wanted, and what the laugh his father told him to tattoo to his memory was all about. And wonder if any girl had ever given him that laugh and he’d missed recognizing it.

The waitress came and set their meals down. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“We’d like another round of drinks,” Ian said.

“And some ketchup,” Kinley added, glancing at her salmon.

The waitress left.

“I forgot your terrible habit of eating ketchup on everything,” he murmured before taking a bite of his eggplant napoleon.

“I forgot everything about you,” she said, forking a piece of salmon. “So you’re telling me you have authors who let you represent them?”

“They do.”

Her brows furrowed. “Romance writers?” She took the ketchup from the waitress and dumped half the bottle on her plate.

“Mostly writers of thrillers and espionage, but I also have romance authors on my list.”

She slapped her palms down on the table. “Shut…up.”

He took a sip of his drink. Smiled at two women walking by their table.

She leaned back, crossing her arms under her breasts, once again drawing his gaze to where it didn’t belong. “
I don
’t believe you.”

He glanced up. His lips tightened. “That seems to be our pattern. I tell you something, you call me a liar.”

She grabbed her purse and pulled out the conference agenda. “You’re not in here. I’m sure of it. I would have noticed if your name had been on the list of agents attending the conference.” She thumbed through to a chart showing which agents were taking pitches and what they were searching for.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

She glanced up at him. “Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have come to a conference you were attending.” He refrained from telling her that the only reason he’d decided to attend was because her brother had mentioned in an email that she was attending. Then he’d casually replied he was attending the same conference. That’s when her brother called him, and they’d hatched their scheme for Ian to earn her forgiveness. Finally.

He pointed at a name. One that was highlighted in pink. “This must be an agent you really want to meet.”

She jerked the agenda away from his view. “Not necessarily. He’s just one who is taking pitches at the conference. Why haven’t I heard of you?”

He glanced around the room. Was anyone listening to their conversation? He lowered his voice. “
I don
’t agent under my real name. Like I said, I wanted to be successful on my own.”

She stilled like a child who’s just seen the boogeyman. Her eyes widened. She glanced down at her chart. “What name do you use?”

“I. Hartley. My mom’s maiden name.”

“You’re—”

He placed a finger on her lips. “Yes.”

She moved his finger. “You’re this I. Hartley?” she whispered.

He nodded. Leaned in. “So you have heard of me? I’m not just another agent taking pitches at this conference?”

She stared at him. “My brother told me on the way to the airport I should try to pitch to you. That you are the agent of his favorite author.”

“That’s not a lie. He told me the same thing.” The waitress set their drinks down and left.

“So my brother knows you are I. Hartley.” The whisper was gone, in its place a cold, hard accusatory tone. As if someone’s head was about to be chopped off.

He nodded and then sipped his drink.

“I can’t believe you guys are still friends. Still scheming up ways to annoy me. If I were him, I would have, at the very least, made you do something hideous before I would even contemplate forgiving you.”

Her words cut deep, but he smiled like they didn’t. “Vengeful wench.”

“I didn’t used to be.”

His pride told him not to even try. She wasn’t the forgiving sort. And he wasn’t the explaining sort—especially if never asked. And, unlike her brother, she’d never asked. “Tell me about your book. Pitch it to me now.” Kinley had taken Stacy’s version as gospel and never asked him for his. At least her brother trusted him enough to know there was more to the story. Although he hadn’t told her brother the whole truth. He couldn’t. The truth would have hurt Kinley.

Kinley gulped half of her drink. “I’m not ready.”

He took a sip of his, enjoying the burning sensation as it went down. “You’ve written it, haven’t you?”

“Why would I pitch a book I haven’t finished?”

“Then tell me in a conversation what your book’s about.”

She folded her hands neatly in her lap. “Why? So you can pretend you’re interested and then tell me no, because I just told you that’s the sort of thing I’d do to you?”

He sighed.
“
I don
’t have a reason to hate you. I wouldn’t do something so petty. Tell me about your book.”

“I’m not petty. Just loyal to my brother. And damn it, you hurt him. You hurt my family. You hurt…us.”

He rubbed his jaw. “I have a confession.”

“This should be interesting. Are you going to finally admit that the truth is you stole his fiancée from him because you were jealous and not whatever bullshit you told him that night to make him break off his engagement and take your side of things?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“If not that, then what big confession do you have?”

“I’ve read your book. Your brother sent it to me.”

Her eyes widened. Her face went white. “What? Why?” She looked like she might faint.

Ian’s stomach lurched. He didn’t want to continue this conversation. It was going to get harder before it got easier. He did anyway. “Your brother asked me to read your book and to keep an open mind about becoming your agent.”

“You read my manuscript? He sent it to you? Tell me he’s not trying to mend the broken fences between us by having you become my agent?”

“Yes, I’ve read your manuscript. I won’t tell you he’s trying to mend our friendship. And I’m free to reject your manuscript.”

“You’re free to reject my manuscript?” She nibbled her bottom lip. “He’s not twisting your arm?”

“He thinks you’re perfect. Nothing’s changed there. But yes, I can reject you. As I explained to him, I have very high standards. I’ve only added one new author to my list in the past two years.”

“And?”

He took another sip of his drink. “And what?” He braced himself for the next question. Wishing like hell he didn’t have to answer.

“You said you read my manuscript. Are you rejecting me?”

Tension snaked around his gut. “Not you. Your manuscript. And not outright.”

“What does that mean?” Her words were stiff as if they were weighted down with concrete bricks. Like she was trying to hold down her emotions so they didn’t attach themselves to the words coming out of her mouth.

He really hated rejecting authors. He knew how hard they tried and how much they wanted the elusive “yes” from an agent. “It means you’re a damn good writer. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

He placed a hand on her arm and then withdrew it when she jerked away. “Don’t take this personally, but you suck at sexual chemistry on the page.”