Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Sheridan’s jaw dropped as the cab pulled up outside the Masquerade Hotel and Casino. Her only perception of Las Vegas came from photographs and TV, but seeing the city in real life exceeded her expectations. The hotel’s towering striped poles adorned with flags and the huge ornate fountain made her feel as if she’d been dropped into a Tim Burton movie, and she was only seconds away from trying to find Johnny Depp.

After registering, she took the elevator to the thirtieth floor and found her room. She breathed a sigh of relief once she saw a view of the mountains and not the Strip, because all those lights would have driven her bat-shit crazy. She had to hand it to the hotel, though. The Masquerade certainly knew how to look after their guests. Even though she was in a standard room, she still had floor to ceiling windows, a king-sized bed, a comfortable ottoman, easy chair, and a desk.

She hung her clothes in the vast closet and unpacked her laptop. She scrutinized the program for the day. Panels were on until four thirty, so she’d head to one of them. The lanyard she’d been given said “press” under her name, and she positioned it inside her jacket in such a way that it would be hard for people to read, since she wanted to check things out first and remain anonymous. Once people knew she was a journalist, they would either clam up or tell her their whole life story while smoothing down their hair for a photo. Unlike the president gig, she didn’t have a photographer with her, meaning she was responsible for everything.

She took the elevator to the convention floor. Outside the first room she came to was a sign stating there was to be a
Q
and
A
with the author B.A. Mackenzie. She popped her head around the door and gave a double take. The room was so full that almost every chair was taken. The level of noise was practically at fever pitch as they all eagerly waited for it to start. Even though Sheridan hadn’t heard of her, she guessed that B.A. Mackenzie must be a huge deal.

She noticed a table with drinks at the back of the room and decided to grab a coffee before joining them, that’s if she could find somewhere to sit.

“Sorry,” she said as she knocked the arm of a man who was reaching for a cup at the same time.

She glanced up, and her chest constricted as she looked into the most beautiful cerulean eyes she’d ever seen. She licked her dry lips.

“No problem,” he said, smiling at her.

She scanned his face, mesmerized by his chiselled jaw and dark curly hair, which hung just below the collar. Illicit shivers coursed through her veins.

She shook her head, blaming the feelings on the ridiculous pseudo-romantic surroundings. She wouldn’t put it past the hotel management to pump some sort of aphrodisiac through the air conditioning. She’d put it to the organizers when she interviewed them. It could make a good hook for her story.

She forced her mind back to the task in hand and poured some coffee into her cup. She then offered the jug to the guy who held out his cup for her to fill.

“Have you been to the convention before?” he asked.

She could detect a faint southern drawl in his warm, deep tones. Her pulse fluttered.

“No, this is my first time.” Sheridan heaped a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and stirred, anxious to keep occupied and not show how his presence had affected her. “You?”

She couldn’t imagine him being a romance reader, lover, or whatever the people who attended the convention were, and guessed he probably worked for the hotel. As an outsider, he’d make a good interviewee, and might even offer an interesting perspective on what went on there.

“I’m here most years,” he replied.

“What the hell did you do in your past life to be punished that much?” She laughed and he smirked. A man who appreciated her sense of humor couldn’t be all that bad.

“Mac.” He held out a hand. A tanned and very masculine hand.

“Sheridan.” She took his hand and jolted as electric tingles shot up and down her arm. “Static,” she added, giving her hand a shake and forcing a laugh. Except it didn’t feel like the static shocks she’d had in the past. This was way different.

“Sorry,” Mac said, a grin hovering around his mouth. “I don’t usually shock people. I hope it wasn’t too painful.”

Not in the way you’re thinking.

“I’m fine.” Sheridan waved dismissively. “I’m going to try and find a seat. Good to meet you, Mac.”

As she turned to walk away, his hand rested on her arm.

“Wait,” he said. “Would you like to go for coffee after the
Q
and
A
?”

Butterflies whizzed around her stomach. “Yeah, sure.” She shrugged in an attempt to disguise the turmoil going on inside her. It was like she’d turned into a love struck teenager.

“Cool. Let’s meet back here in an hour.” He glanced in the direction of the podium and then checked his watch. “Crap. I’ll be in trouble if I don’t get on stage right away.”

He hurried off, leaving Sheridan staring at him, uncertain what she’d just experienced. She headed toward the back row and sat on the end. By this time, Mac had reached the stage and was taking the steps two at a time.

What was a guy like him doing here anyway?

“Hello, everyone,” a woman’s voice echoed through the PA. “Welcome to our
Q
and
A
with best-selling romance author B.A. Mackenzie.”

Sheridan frowned. She thought the woman at the front was the author. Heat flooded through her. If she was introducing the author, and there were only two people on stage, that meant…holy crap. That meant Mac—who she’d just arranged to meet for coffee—was only…a romance writer.

Chapter Three

Mac scanned the room, as Jenny, the MC for his session, thanked him for taking part in the
Q
and
A
.

Where is she?

Whenever he’d thought about the convention, meeting a woman like Sheridan definitely hadn’t been part of it. His gaze finally rested on her at the back of the room. He was transfixed by her irresistible slender, jean-clad legs, which seemed to go on forever. And as for those large, dark chocolate brown eyes, he could drown in them. She certainly stood out as different from the usual convention attendee, and he ached to get to know her better.

His attention wandered back to Jenny. It seemed like she was listing his entire backlist of published books. He didn’t mind. Fan events and special appearances generated more sales, for which he was extremely grateful. Because it meant he could work full-time at what he loved—being an author. Not to mention it helped pay his crippling mortgage, which had almost doubled since he bought out his ex. He’d put so much time and effort into remodeling his house that when they’d split, he was determined not to let it go. Even if he had to hold down three jobs and forego all sleep. Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that, thanks to how well his romance books were selling.

The sound of applause cut across his thoughts, and he quickly plastered on a smile and thanked everyone once again, while at the same time keeping an eye on Sheridan. His eyes widened as she stood and walked toward the door instead of to the back of the room where they’d arranged to meet.

Crap.

He hastily picked up his bag and descended the podium steps. He hurried toward the exit, keeping Sheridan in his sight. He was within a few yards of her when someone took hold of his arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt.

“I loved hearing you talk. I missed the book signing earlier. Please, would you autograph your latest for me?”

Disappointment flooded him. How the hell would he reach Sheridan before she disappeared? He had to stop and talk. He was there to work, to make sure the money he so desperately needed kept coming. And more importantly, people had paid to see him, so he couldn’t let them down. “Of course.” He smiled at the middle-aged woman looking up at him with a coy expression on her flushed cheeks, and quickly signed the book.

But before he could move away, a line had formed. And fifteen minutes later, he was still signing.

“Who shall I sign it for?” he said as another of his books was thrust under his nose. He forced his voice to sound friendly, though he didn’t bother to look up. Surely he’d get to the end of the line soon.

“Sheridan.”

His gaze shot up, and his breath hitched in his throat as he locked eyes with her.

“I thought you’d gone.” His heart pumped, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a huge smile. He guessed he wasn’t coming across as cool.

“I popped to the bathroom, and when I returned, you were being mobbed. So, I bought a book from the bookseller by the door, and here I am.” She laughed. A deep throaty laugh that kicked him in the stomach.

“I’m glad. Come on, let’s get out of here.” He rested his hand in the small of her back, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle, which drifted from her, and led her out of the door and to the elevator. As he pressed the button, he noticed Sheridan staring across the concourse, her eyes wide.

“What’s that all about? And who is he?” She nodded toward one of the escalators where there stood a group of thirty-something women surrounding and stroking one of the young cover models, whose fitted T-shirt was too tight to not be damn ridiculous.

“Those abs are a work of art,” Sheridan commented, and Mac felt a pinprick of jealousy.

“You’re such a noob,” he said, grinning.

Sheridan frowned, her bottom lip twitching slightly. “What did you call me?”

Mac sensed he’d touched a nerve, though he had no idea why. He certainly didn’t wanted to upset her. “I meant nothing by it. Just that it’s obvious you haven’t attended the convention before. This is the place where everything gets crazy. Normally sane women go totally insane whenever they come across one of the cover models, throwing themselves at them in the process.”

“And do they do the same to you?” Sheridan arched an eyebrow.

“I’m not a cover model, as you can see.” He glanced down at his body and briefly wished that he worked out more. Or at all, even. He grinned and a slow, sexy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His fingers ached to trace the contours of her flawless porcelain face.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of the elevator arriving. Several people got out, and then he and Sheridan stepped inside and rode down to the casino floor. As the elevator doors opened, a cacophony of sound almost knocked him backward.

“Let’s go to Barakoa, the coffee bar, and try to escape some of this racket,” Mac suggested, turning left as they walked out of the elevator.

“Sure.”

She put her arm through his, and they weaved in and out of the milling crowd until they reached the café. Which, by an amazing stroke of luck, wasn’t too busy.

“Grab a booth,” Mac said, nodding toward the back. “And I’ll order. What would you like?”

“Cappuccino, please.”

She removed her hand, her fingers lingering for a few seconds on his arm. A tremor of anticipation shot down his spine, and he just about managed to suppress a groan.

…

Sheridan rested her arms on the table and stared at Mac standing in line at the counter. Shivers raced across the back of her neck. So much for her theory that all romance writers were frustrated housewives. Clearly, Mac was one very masculine, very sexy exception to the rule.

After listening to him in the
Q
and
A
, she’d got to wondering whether he was too good to be true. She’d imagined a successful author like him, well, successful in the romance world, would be more arrogant and self-centered. But he was far from it. He seemed genuinely interested in the questions he was being asked and stood patiently while the women lined up for autographs.

Then again, he would hardly want to antagonize the readers. Well, he needn’t think she’d be falling under his spell without first checking him out. She could sniff out a phoney at fifty paces, so by the time their coffee date was over, she’d know all there was to know.

Did I say date?

“Here.” Mac’s voice cut across her thoughts.

He placed a mug of coffee in front of her and slid into the opposite seat.

“Thanks,” she said.

The deep, rich coffee aroma invaded her senses, and her body instantly relaxed. She’d been on the go since early that morning, and her mind had been on overdrive with no let up.

“So, now that I’ve got you alone, tell me what you’re doing here.” Mac smiled, and her heart did an uncharacteristic flip

“What do you mean?” She arched an eyebrow, desperately trying to come across as she usually did. Calm and in control.

“Well, you’re clearly not here as a romance reader,” Mac replied, arching his eyebrow right back at her.

“You can tell that from the few words we’ve shared?” She glanced up toward the ceiling.

“I earn my living from knowing about people.” He leaned forward slightly, and a shiver shot down her spine as the warmth of his breath caressed her cheeks.

Get a grip. This is ridiculous.

“Touché. Okay. I’m a newspaper journalist, and my editor sent me to cover the convention.” She pulled out her lanyard and waved it. “Lucky me.” She released it, and it swung from side to side.

“Not your assignment of choice?”

“I was meant to be covering the president’s visit to Minneapolis but got pulled off it at the last minute. So, what do you think?” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice.

“At least you got a trip to Vegas out of it.”

She gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m beginning to think I’m the only person on this planet who doesn’t see visiting Vegas as a plus.” She thumped the table, harder than she’d intended, and her mug shook.

“Ouch. It’s not as bad as you think. You have to accept it for what it is, and then you can have fun.” Mac took a sip of coffee.

“And I suppose you’re the one to help me with that,” she retorted.

“If that’s what you want, then I’m happy to oblige.” Mac gave such a disarming grin that Sheridan burst out laughing.

It alarmed her how much he was getting under her skin, and they’d only just met.

It’s this crazy place.

Of course. She shook her head to rid herself of the ridiculous thoughts. It was all down to being at the blasted convention.

“How about an interview sometime?” she asked, forcing her mind on to something she had control over.

“Sure,” Mac replied. He leaned forward and locked eyes with her. She shifted awkwardly in her seat. “I’ll check my diary later, and we can arrange a time.”

“Cool. But, off the record, a man writing romance. What’s that all about?”

She had to ask because she still couldn’t get her head around it. And even though she’d yet to read any of his books, they had to have some appeal or he wouldn’t be so much in demand here.

“I’m not the only successful male writing in this genre.” His tone had changed slightly.

“You’re evading my question,” she persisted.

“Because you’re not asking the right question.” He smiled, though she sensed some frustration behind it.

Normally, when someone questioned her ability, she would go for the jugular. For some reason she didn’t have the urge to do that, and instead, she was mesmerized by his perfect white teeth and the curve of his lips.

“And what is the right question?” Without thinking, she leaned forward and stared intently at him. Then wished she hadn’t because her heart did a triple-somersault. “Actually, save the answer for our interview. I’ve got to go call my editor,” she lied, anxious to leave before she totally let her guard down and said something she’d regret.

“Already? We’ve only just—” Mac’s cell rang and he glanced down. “Perfect timing. Sorry, it’s my agent returning my call. I’ll be quick.”

Sheridan slugged the rest of her coffee and then mouthed, “Good-bye.”

Mac put his caller on hold. “Meet me tonight in the lounge.”

Was that a request or a demand? She wasn’t quite sure. Even so, she hitched in a breath, trying to contain the excitement that bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

“Sure. I’ll be there around eight.” She stood and then walked away, forcing herself not to look back to check whether he was watching.

She hoped he was.