Accidentally in Love With the Biker (What Happens in Vegas) (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Quinn tried to forget the family drama and let the ride wash away his tension. The wind and vibrations from the road calmed him, and having Kellie at his back—both lite
rally and figuratively—helped.

The late-afternoon sun threw beams of light over the road, reminding him that time was passing. But she was still with him. For now.

He’d been thinking he’d ask if she was interested in staying in contact, but if that whole “coulda been a lawyer” and “in debt to your parents because you’re a motorcycle-building dreamer” thing was going to stand there between them, it would be better to just forget it.

He’d been down that road, although seeing Rachel and Kellie in the same room tonight drove home the point that he hadn’t lost a thing when his ex had left him.

The Masquerade came into view, and Kellie loosened her hold on Quinn’s waist.

He missed her embrace.

What would happen now? Was their time together over? He didn’t want it to be. He didn’t want to watch her wander off into the hotel and out of his life.

They pulled into the parking garage and rolled into the space designated for bikes. Kellie dismounted behind him like an old pro, taking off her helmet and shaking out her long brown hair.

She looked like she belonged on the back of his bike, even in her conservative skirt and top.

Now she’d give him the big heave-ho. He should probably scoot before she did, but he couldn’t bring himself to go. Not until she told him to.

He had to speak before she could say good-bye. “So…you want to get a drink or something?”

“I…I guess so.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. No. Maybe.” She shook her head. “Let’s go get a drink.”

They settled into the sushi bar where they’d met her friends just forty-eight hours before, at a small table next to a big group of women who were talking about sumo wrestlers being smaller than they expected. It was a testament to the fact that he’d been at this romance convention long enough that he wondered if they were discussing body mass or penis length. He decided he didn’t want to know and focused on Kellie and her unreadable expression.

He decided to start. “Sorry about all of that. I didn’t expect my family to go full-on drama for you today,” he said, as soon as the waiter had their drink orders. “I thought taking you with me might keep them on good behavior—that wasn’t fair to you.”

She stared at him blankly for a minute, then began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was trying to find the right words to apologize for going all psycho nutjob on your mom.”

Something loosened in his chest. He laughed, and it felt good. Really good. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“I made everything worse. I couldn’t not say something, but I should have said it differently.”

He hesitated, then said, “I wouldn’t want you to say anything you didn’t mean.”

Those big green eyes widened and took him in—Quinn felt like he was stripped naked. “I meant every word. I think you’re brilliant. Seriously. If you weren’t designing and building motorcycles, the world of bikerdom would be a darker, uglier place.”

Jesus, she believed what she was saying, and she had him convinced, too. What the hell? He’d started out this weekend determined to make the little writer give herself a chance, and here she was, working to reinforce a decision he’d already committed to.

“If I even get this thing off the ground. It’s going to take forever before I’m financially stable.”

“So?”

Of course she wouldn’t care. She was leaving.

“If things get tough, there are always fast-food jobs to fill the refrigerator.” She grinned.

Okay. Maybe she cared, and her glass was half full. “Would you quit the bookstore if you could make it as a writer?”

She sighed, looking across the restaurant to the lobby, where readers and authors moved back and forth, celebrating their romances. “I don’t know. The bookstore—it’s been in my family for years. My first job was there, reading to the kids in the neighborhood. As the demographics changed, it became a positive place, somewhere for kids who might not otherwise ever get to know how fun books can be. But now that the new development is pushing people aside, I feel like I can’t close up, no matter what.”

He was struck by her passion.

“Except…sometimes it’s exhausting. Constantly fighting with my landlord, who wants to shut me down, trying to keep enough
paying
business in to make rent…”

“Doesn’t sound like that leaves you much time and energy for writing.”

“Not so much. The writing? That’s what gives me the energy to keep the bookstore going.”

She ran a hand through her hair. He followed up by tucking a loose strand behind her ear. She smiled at the gesture.

“I feel like, if I sold a manuscript to a publisher, even for a tiny advance, I might have hope and keep going. If a miracle occurred, and I made some real money, I could keep Rocky, my assistant, and write more, which would keep the wheels turning. But I’m having so much trouble finishing this story…and everything else I’ve ever written is in a very sturdy file with a million nice rejection letters. I don’t think I’ve got what it takes.”

“Maybe you’re writing the wrong stories.”

She smiled mischievously, and the spark was back in her eye. “You’re right. I probably need to write about bisexual pirates. Or alien bikers. Or—”

“Sheesh! What happened to boy meets girl?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She feigned horror. “That’s just—you can’t
do
that. You have to have a hook.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks, and they were quiet for a minute, sipping.

The bitter hops in his beer chased the first half of the day from his mouth and gave him a chance to think about what might come next.

“So,” he said, taking a breath. He felt like a sophomore in high school. “What happens when you go back to Georgia?”

Her eyes pivoted to his face, and he glimpsed—fear?—in her eyes.

Was she interested in what he was going to suggest? Or dreading it?

Better to just get it out there. If she said no, well then…

“I go back to Georgia and sell kiddie books.”

“I meant—”

She twisted around in her seat and pointed toward the lobby. “Oh, wow! I forgot all about the masquerade ball!”

…

“Huh?” Quinn’s brow wrinkled.

Kellie felt like the biggest chicken in the world, but she couldn’t think right now. He was going to suggest they keep in touch after she left Vegas, and… Maybe she should revise her self-imp
osed rule. Maybe Quinn was different from the guys she’d met online. She’d met him in person before getting involved, or whatever this was, so she knew who he was: a really nice, fun guy, with his own business—one that he was honest about and that he truly loved.

But she’d been in a relationship like this one. He’d seemed like a perfectly good guy, too. When he graduated from college and moved across the country to work at his father’s firm, they planned for her to move out there after she finished school. She spent her whole senior year arranging her plans to follow him. A week before graduation, she got a “Dear Kellie” letter, leaving her hopes and dreams in the dust. Out of sight, out of mind. She told herself it was just as well. What was the point of a relationship with someone you only saw once every five years? Neither of them had the money to hop on a plane more often than that.

So no, she wasn’t going to try that again. But darn it, there were still twenty-four hours left in her visit, and she wanted to spend them with him. The ball was the perfect excuse.

“Hey, do you want to stick around and go to this masquerade ball thing with me? I wasn’t going to go, but—”

He paused. “A masquerade ball? Like in another costume?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. I had just planned to wear the kitty-cat ears and tail that I had for last Halloween at the bookstore.”

He smiled in what she thought was supposed to be a leer, but didn’t quite look skeevy enough. “Do you have one of those stretchy suits that sticks to every nook and cranny of your body?”

Every nook and cranny of her body flushed with heat when his gaze raked over her. “Um, yeah.”

“Maybe I should be a lion tamer.”

“Oh, boy.” The mental images she got did not involve the two of them doing the Electric Slide in a crowded room of romance fans.

He laughed. “As long as I don’t have to wear Toby’s leather pants again, I’m good.”

A commotion at the entrance had them both looking up.

“Oh, Kellie! Thank God you’re here.” Brae rushed the table with the finesse of an offensive lineman. Her face was white, except for the mascara tracks running down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Tobeeeeeeeeey,” she wailed. “We broke uuuuuuup!”

Quinn looked like he’d eaten bad sushi. Kellie didn’t blame him, so she said, “Why don’t you go check out the costume situation in the shops. I’ll catch up with you soon?”

…

Quinn wandered through the casino, watching people. He didn’t have anything to wager today. Except, possibly, his heart.

Why had it been so hard to ask a girl if he could call her? He’d already slept with her. But even though that had been an
amazing physical experience, he felt like his heart was involved today. It actually mattered to him if she thought he was a good catch, even without a lucrative law career.

“Hey, Quinn.” Toby, the heartbreaker of the hour, stood next to a roulette wheel, despondently holding a fistful of chips. “You any good at this game?”

“No one’s good at this game,” he told the man, taking his arm and leading him away from the table. Kellie and he might have done okay yesterday, but today? No, Toby didn’t need to be playing roulette.

“I don’t really care about winning. I don’t have anything anymore. Brae left me. Or kicked me out. Whatever.”

“Well—” What did he expect? He’d left a party with another woman and hadn’t come home all night, as far as anyone knew. “Do you want to get a beer and tell me about it?”

“I’m having Coke. Alcohol got me into this mess.”

“Alcohol does that sometimes,” Quinn agreed, thinking of his mother. He flagged down a passing waitress and ordered them each a soda, an
d found them a couple of seats next to slot machines.

“I got shanghaied last night.”

Quinn paused in the middle of putting a quarter into the slot. “How so?”

“I honestly thought we were going to talk business.” Toby’s big blue eyes were as innocent as a lamb’s when he said, “Joyce Rodgers told me she wanted to talk to me about a Web series she’s starting up. About hiring Brae as the head writer and me as the star. I was going to surprise Brae, but instead…” He shook his head.

“What happened?” Quinn found himself dying to know. Something about the way Toby looked had him convinced the guy had a legitimate story to tell. Of course, he was an actor.

“She wanted me to come to her suite because she had some sample scripts there. And when I got to her room, she tried to kiss me. I wanted to be nice, to remind her that I was engaged, but before I knew it”—he shook his head—“she unbuttoned my pants and grabbed me.”

“Ugh.” Quinn pictured the dragon lady from dinner last night.

“I know. I should have left before it got to that point, but I still thought I could rescue the situation.”

Could the guy really be this naive? Because he didn’t seem like that good of an actor.

Toby shuddered. “Fortunately, she passed out and I left before I had to fight her off. But then I felt so weird about what happened that I came down here and played blackjack all night. And now Brae doesn’t believe what happened. She thinks Joyce had her wicked way with me, decided I wasn’t what she was looking for, and cut me loose, so I came back to Brae. When it’s the complete opposite. Brae’s the love of my life.”

“How were you not suspicious when she asked you to her room? Doesn’t sleazy stuff like that happen in Hollyweird all the time?”

“I guess so, but…” He blushed. “I got my start on the Disney Channel. My mom handled my career. When I moved on to series TV and other adult stuff, it just made sense that she keep managing my career. I never had to deal with anyone like that. But when I met Brae, I kind of fired my mom. Told her I needed to do things on my own.”

“Oops.”

“Yeah. It made Mother’s Day a little awkward.”

They sat for a minute, staring into their drinks.

“How am I gonna get her back?”

Quinn barked out a laugh. “Buddy, I have no idea.”

Toby laughed, too, but it was bitter. There was more soda-bubble gazing, and then he spoke again. “Here’s the real messed-up thing. I signed a contract to act in the first season of webisodes just to get Brae the writing gig—and now she won’t have anything to do with me, or with Joyce’s project.”

“Dude.” Quinn shook his head, then said, “I know someone who can take a look, see if you can back out of the contract.”

“Really? That would be great. Thanks. The career hoops we jump through just to keep women happy, huh?”

Not him. He’d found one who didn’t seem to mind that his prospects were less than reliable. Except she didn’t seem interested in pursuing things after this weekend.

Chapter Thirteen

It took a hot fudge sundae and a jumbo frozen margarita for Brae to get the whole story out. She was devastated, because she thought she was responsible for Toby’s downfall as a real-life specimen of hero-osity.

“Let me get this straight. You’re not upset because you think
he cheated on you. You’re upset because he tried to cheat on you and failed?” Kellie was a little dizzy—and she’d limited herself to a virgin margarita and some cheese sticks.

“I’m upset because I’m not worthy of him,” Brae admitted. “I’m just not that good of a writer.”

“You’re certainly good enough to get a movie made from your book. And you’re a good enough human that a good man did something really stupid to please you.”

“That’s a great point!” She brightened. “You are such an awesome friend to me. I need you so much in my life. As a matter of fact, I need a personal assistant. It’s a part-time job, only about twenty hours a week, to do promo and administrative stuff. If you took the job, you’d have time to double down on your own writing and sell that ridiculous bookstore.”

Kellie’s mind stuttered to a halt. “Oh, gee, that sounds—I’m not sure I could afford to quit my job.” Or that she would ever possibly trade bringing the
Very Hungry Caterpillar
alive for preschoolers for the opportunity to order promo buttons for
Lustful Lovers
.

Her friend thought a minute, and then named a figure, which wasn’t terrible. “It’s got to be more than you’re making now. And you could live in the mother-in-law apartment in the house we just bought. My own mother-in-law will never, ever be staying there.”

Chewing her lip, Kellie toyed with her straw. If the bookstore went under anyway—which was a very real possibility—this chance might never come around again. But still…

“Just think about it. You can answer me later. I may not have a house to live in if we can’t get Toby out of this ridiculous contract with Joyce Rodgers. I can’t believe he did that. And for me!”

“Isn’t there some kind of three-day take-backsies thingy on contracts?” Kellie asked.

“Hmm. I think that’s the lemon law, for cars. I don’t think it applies to buying people.”

“I know someone we can ask.”

“Really? You have a lawyer in your pocket?”

“As a matter of fact, I kind of do.”

“Really? What, your biker’s been in jail enough that he’s got his attorney on speed dial?”

“No.” She hoped she wouldn’t be breaking a trust by sharing this information, even if he wasn’t using it. “Quinn has a very nice law degree of his own. From Harvard.”

Brae looked over Kellie’s shoulder then and smiled. “Well, isn’t that convenient? A lawyer! Looks like you’ve snagged yourself a keeper after all, haven’t you?”

Kellie turned quickly enough to see the hurt in Quinn’s eyes before he masked it with indifference.
Crap
.

“Hey,” he said, not meeting her gaze. To her friend, Quinn said, “There’s a very sad clown in the casino about to throw away a few thousand bucks on some long odds. You might want to hop in there and see if you can stop him.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked away, in the direction of the elevators.

…

Quinn really didn’t care if Kellie outed him as “more” than a biker, but…yeah, he kind of did. Because he found that he cared a lot about what she thought of him, even though she wasn’t quite ready to talk about anything after this weekend.

She grabbed his arm as he pushed the button for the elevator, her co
ol fingers sending a wave of electricity over his skin. “Whoa, Quinn. I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have told Brae about the lawyer thing. I wasn’t trying to give your services away or anything. I was just telling her that you might have some suggestions for the mess Toby’s in.”

“I already talked to him about getting some legal advice,” he admitted.

Her smile lit up the elevator car. “So you’re not mad at me?”

And suddenly, he realized that he had to convince her to stay in touch. That it did matter to him what she thought of him, because
she
mattered to him. And not just because she was the first woman in ages who saw more than one side of him.

“I don’t know,” he said, pulling a pair of gold lamé pants and a plastic bullwhip from the bag he carried. “If I’m going to be a lion tamer, I probably need to practice disciplining my…uh, lioness.”

“Were you going to say
pussy
cat?’” she asked, as the elevator chimed for their floor.

“Uh…” He felt himself flush. “It came across my mental vocabulary list and I tried to ignore it, but it got stuck for a second.”

She led the way down the hall. “Well, Mr. Lion Tamer, you’ve got to start small before you move on to the big cats.”

He barely caught up to her before she was in the room, shutting herself into the bathroom by the time he made it all the way in.

“You get dressed out there. I’ll get ready in here,” she called.

Shaking his head and laughing, he threw his shopping bag on the bed and unbuttoned his khakis. He dropped them and grabbed the gold pants.

Jesus. If possible, these were worse than what he’d worn last night. At least that had been leather, for crying out loud. A nice rough-and-ready fabric, even if it had been ball-strangling.

He pulled up the Vegas-tastic stretchy gold “pants” he’d been sold and looked down. Well, the guys had plenty of freedom to move tonight. And this shiny crap was going to move right along with them.
Please, gods of all things kind and generous, don’t let anyone from the media photograph me and my man parts tonight, because this shit leaves nothing to the imagination
.

A week ago, Quinn would have never imagined he’d be dressing up like he was from…Vegas…and running around a hotel full of bisexual pirate wereparrots and eating sushi with the hottest bookseller in the country. But damned if he wasn’t ready to keep doing it. Somehow. If only she’d agree to continue this past this weekend.

“Hey, Kellie. I was thinking. Maybe when you—”

He didn’t get to finish his suggestion because the bathroom door opened.

Every thought of the future went out of his mind, because the present just about blew his mind. “Damn, woman. Are you trying to kill me?”

Kellie twirled, and her hair flew out in an arc behind her. She had, indeed, put on a catsuit thing. But she’d left out the underwear. At least the bra part.

“Is this too slutty?” she asked, cupping her generous breasts. “I feel like I’m flopping around like a couple of…well, I don’t know what, but—”

He was next to her in two steps, moving her hands and replacing them with his own. “Darlin’, you’re perfect.” He tested the weight of her in his palms, and her nipples peaked.

“Oh.” It was half sigh, half gasp, and it send a thrill down his spine, straight to his dick.

Stroking each breast, he leaned forward and kissed her partially open mouth.

She welcomed him, let his tongue slide across her lips, meeting him and tasting him right back. Her teeth nipped his bottom lip, and he groaned. He wanted her mouth on every part of him, but not as much as he wanted his mouth on her.

Sitting on the chair at the desk, he pulled her toward him so that she stood between his legs. He tugged at the front of her bodysuit, wanting to lick his way down her chest, to pull those nipples into his mouth while he squeezed—

“Oh, no you don’t.” She laughed, pulling his hands away from her neckline. “I spent too much energy getting into this thing once already tonight. I’m not taking it off now.”

“Aw, babe, you’re killing me,” he groaned, squeezing a breast in one hand and pulling her closer to him so he could nuzzle her.

She put her hands on his head, digging her fingers into his scalp, pulling him back from her as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “No wet spots on me, either.”

“Hey, who’s the guy with the whip here?”

She grinned up at him, sitting back on her heels. “Well, Master, you might have the whip and the chair, but I think I’m in control.” And with that, she slid her hands up his thighs, meeting in the middle, right over his straining erection.

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered, unable to do anything but hold on to the sides of the chair and watch her slowly unbutton and unzip his pants. His chest heaved, breath stuttering in and out while she freed his swollen cock, stroking him slowly from root to tip.

Had anything ever felt so amazing as her hands? Smooth and firm, she touched him, reaching one hand to cradle his balls as arousal sent his head rocking back.

Her lips closing over him answered his earlier—rhetorical—pondering, and the hot wet slide of her lips and tongue had him immediately ready to explode. Her head moved down as she drew him deeper and then back while she released him slowly, sucking and tonguing him.

“That might not be a good idea,” he managed to get out, although his body begged him to plead with her to keep going. “I’m going to come in about— Oh, fuck!—ten seconds—”

But she just looked up at him, a smile in her eyes, and kept going.

True to his word, his body began to tense, thighs quivering, balls drawing up tight, and he put his hands on her head and held her hair while he arched, and with one last thrust, shot into her throat.

She gripped his thighs while he pulsed for what seemed like minutes, and she greedily continued to suck until he had to push her away.

Sitting back, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at him with big wide eyes and swollen lips. “Was that okay?”

If he hadn’t been so completely drained of muscle tone, he would have laughed. As it was, the best he could do was squeak out an “Uh-huh.”

She shot him a mysterious, self-satisfied smile and leaned forward to push herself up with her hands on his knees. “We should probably go—”

“Wait.” He pulled her down onto his lap, heedless of his now-soft penis lying vulnerably exposed under her hip. “You’re amazing,” he told her, meaning it. He drew her face down to him, needing to kiss her, to make sure she knew how…“grateful” didn’t seem like the right word, but he needed her to know…something.

Staring into his eyes, she pressed her lips to his in a long, sweet kiss that had his heart thumping double time. After a moment, she pulled away, standing. “Come on, Siegfried. Put Roy back in your pants and let’s go to the party.”