Her Secret Lover (What Happens in Vegas)

Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.

Kelsey Kyle will do whatever it takes to get into the management trainee program at the casino where she works. So when she’s given the opportunity to get a VIP customer’s endorsement for the program, she jumps at the challenge. All she needs to do is arrange a one-on-one fan experience with the woman’s favorite author, tall-dark-and-intense Micah Holmes.

An entire week at a Vegas romance readers’ convention, surrounded by hundreds of people, is Micah Holmes’ idea of hell. But one look at Kelsey, his assigned hotel concierge, and the attraction is immediate. Maybe this week won’t be so bad after all…

Anything beyond a “strictly professional” relationship will get Kelsey fired, but she needs to get close to Micah to get the super fan experience her client wants. Hot sex in her apartment pool begins a game of “undercover lover” that quickly escalates to something more. But when Micah discovers her secret agenda, all bets are off.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Robin Covington. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Alethea Spiridon Hopson

Cover design by Heather Howland

Cover art from iStock

ISBN 978-1-63375-540-6

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition January 2016

Chapter One

Wednesday

Who knew a box of dildos would weigh so much?

Kelsey Kyle watched her reflection juggle her parcels in the high-gloss metal of the elevator doors as she headed to the VIP level of the Masquerade Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Yeah, she could have taken the cart offered to her by “Pervy” Dave who worked as a bellhop, but he got her hackles up, and she didn’t want to accept any of his assistance. Now, she was regretting her decision.

Of course the elevator stopped at almost every floor and dumped out passengers as she made her way to the Executive Level concierge floor, where they were housing the VIP guests of the eighteenth annual Romance Lovers’ Convention. The actual event didn’t start for two days, but already attendees were pouring into Sin City to either enjoy the nightlife or to set up displays and have meetings.

It was because of the early arrival of the folks from Love You Big Time that she was rising above the ground forty floors carrying enough sex toys to keep an orgy going for at least a couple of days. Once again, she’d saved the day for a guest and even Perry, the second shift Head Concierge, had to offer up one of his smiles that never quite showed in his eyes.

“Fuck you too, Perry,” she muttered under her breath, remembering at the last moment that she wasn’t alone in the elevator.

She glanced over and smiled at the older couple wearing sandals with socks and carrying bags with labels from some of the pricier tourist traps, and wished they’d come to the concierge to ask about where to shop. As a lifelong Las Vegan, she knew where to go to get the best and cheapest
anything
. It was why she was always the most highly rated Junior Concierge at the Masquerade and why she was a shoo-in for the spot in the management trainee program. She’d worked her ass off for years, during college and after, to get to this point.

The spot in the program and the subsequent job at the Masquerade would give her extra cash to pay for her mother’s special medical care. With her dad still working, her share was more than enough, but he wanted to retire and she wanted him to take it easy for a change. She took a moment to send a prayer to Lady Luck, the patron saint of Las Vegas.

“Have a great day,” she said to the couple as they got off on their floor and waved. The doors slid shut and she adjusted the heavy box again as her Bluetooth device beeped in her ear. Kelsey threw up a silent prayer of thanks that the device was voice-activated, because there was no way in hell she could let go of the box to tap a button. “This is Kyle.”

Perry’s voice, even insincere over the wireless, assaulted her ear. “Kyle, you need to come back down here when you’re done delivering the parcels. We have a special request from a high-roller VIP, and since you’re so used to playing Supergirl, it’s yours.”

She stuck her tongue out at him even though he couldn’t see it. He never failed to give her a hard time. She would have been ass hurt about it, but he treated everyone the same way. It was like he was always waiting for someone to make that
one mistake
so he could throw it up in their face for eternity. But she didn’t make mistakes, and she would always do whatever it took to get the job done. If the request was impossible, she got the guest the next best thing or something better. She was that good.

“I’ll grab my cape and fly on down as soon as I’ve completed my deliveries,” she said.

“Uh huh,” he grunted into the phone and disconnected.

She refrained from verbalizing the thoughts running through her head, since she wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he couldn’t tap into the security feed in the elevator, but she thought them
…
oh yes, she did. The cab stopped at her floor, and she heaved out a sigh of exertion as she readjusted the box and prepared to step out onto the Executive Level. Once she was in possible sight of guests, she needed to be professional and poised. A perfect example of the superb hospitality offered by the Masquerade.

A quick
ding
and
swoosh
of the metal doors and Kelsey put one high-heeled pump on the plush carpet and walked as briskly down the hall as she could, stopping in front of the suite currently occupied by Micah Holmes, the
New York Times
bestselling novelist and hermit. He’d checked in the previous Friday night, and the only evidence that he was still alive was the requests for extra towels, and orders placed to room service and Barakoa, the coffee shop. According to her review of his file, Mr. Holmes loved his bath linen plentiful and his caffeine “black, strong, and not filled with any of that hipster sweet crap.”

Good to know. And it was her job to know since he would be her responsibility from today until the conclusion of the romance convention. The fact that he was her very favorite author had nothing to do with the flutter in the pit of her stomach.

“Professional, Kelsey. Not a fangirl,” she muttered to herself.

Kelsey pressed the buzzer next to the door and waited, listening to the sound of footsteps on the marble floor in the foyer of the suite. The lock tumbled and it swung open to reveal a tall man wearing a black T-shirt that read “I’m still kind of mad they never actually told us how to get to Sesame Street.” The snort of laughter pushed past her lips before she could stop it but immediately dried up in her throat when her eyes traveled back up and got a long, full look at his face.

Micah Holmes was fucking hot.

Gorgeous. Dark eyes framed by heavy-rimmed glasses, cleft chin peeking out from the several days’ growth of beard, and dark, coffee-colored hair sticking up in a way that should have been funny but only succeeded in looking sexy and rumpled. She let her gaze travel back down his torso, and she realized the shirt was pulled taut against his muscled chest and strained against the flex of his bicep.

Kelsey was a romance novel junkie and had read his books many times over and stared at his photo on the back just as often, but he looked
…
different. Better. Hotter. Maybe if he actually resembled the awful, stuffy author headshot on the back of his books, then she wouldn’t be staring at him like she’d missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner right now.

And he was staring back at her. His eyes made one long journey from her hair to her shoes and then made the return trip, stopping to look her right in the eyes.

“Wow,” he said, and she actually saw the blush creep across his cheeks.

“Hi,” she said, biting back the eye roll when she realized she sounded like an idiot, but it didn’t stop her from continuing to stare.

“Is that for me?” Micah asked, his voice low and even, with more than a hint of a southern twang. It was a deep and rich with an edge of gravel from either too much caffeine or too little sleep. When he made to reach for the box, she snapped out of her stupor and remembered to do her job.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes. I’m Kelsey Kyle, a junior concierge here at the Masquerade. May I come in?”

When he nodded and stood to the side, she entered the room, immediately looking for a spot to place the box as she conducted her business. The suite was formed in the shape of an arc, with an open living space on one side and the bed hidden behind an ornate wall. Every spot featured a stunning view of the strip, and the room also had a rooftop deck with a hot tub and sitting area.

“May I place these here for a moment, Mr. Holmes?” she asked, indicating an open spot on the long table situated behind the couch. It was the only space without something already placed on it. A laptop computer took up the coffee table, along with piles of paper and a printer. Other papers and books and newspapers were strewn over every surface in the space. It was
…
a mess.

Micah Holmes was a slob, and she even thought that was hot. Jesus.

“Here, let me help you.” He walked over, and she realized refusing would be wasted on a guy bred with southern gentleman manners, so she let him take the boxes and put them on the tabletop. She watched him, only ogling a little when his shirt hitched up on the side, and she got a glimpse of the top of that arrow thing above a man’s hips that seemed like God’s unnecessary-but-appreciated-GPS-direction to where the best bits were. He straightened up and turned quickly, and their eyes caught as she moved her gaze back to areas more appropriate for a guest of the hotel.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” Kelsey reached over and picked up the package meant for him, a large padded envelope that felt like a ream of paper was inside. “I need you to sign for this.”

She held it out to him while she searched in her inside jacket pocket for the pen she always kept there before remembering she’d stuffed it into her other pocket earlier on during her shift. She retrieved it and looked up to hand it over when she caught him staring at her…well, a part of her. Her breasts in particular, where they peeked out above the edge of her camisole.

Her hand remained suspended in midair as she watched his cheeks flush red when he realized he’d been caught. She lifted her lips in a tentative smile, trying to keep it on the correct side of professional but finding it hard since all of her female bits were outrageously pleased with the attention. Fraternizing with a guest was the fastest way to get your ass fired.

“Mr. Holmes,” she said, raising the pen higher in to his line of sight. He shook his head slightly and took the pen from her hand, his fingers brushing against her own and tempting her to linger. If it had been off-hours, she would have held on to it, flirting as she dragged out the contact, but not right now.

“I’m sorry.” He took the paper and signed it, indicating he’d received the package and handed it back to her. When he looked at her and offered her the paper, his smile was crooked, and she noticed that one of his bottom front teeth was chipped. So he wasn’t perfect
…
“I’ve lost my manners being cooped up in here for five days.”

“You should get out and see the Strip. I can recommend lots of places to you. I grew up in Las Vegas.”

“Oh, I’m not really a Strip kind of guy.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, breaking eye contact and glancing out at the view. “I was thinking of taking a guided hike in the desert, but time got away from me.”

“Well, I’m your assigned, personal concierge starting today and for the duration of the convention, so if you can squeeze in the time, I’ll be happy to arrange it.”

His head whipped up and he smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back as she handed him her card. His grin was
…
warm, heating her up down to her bones. “My personal concierge?”

“Yes. I’ll help you with whatever you need during the convention. Reservations, excursions, assistance at conference events. You call me, and I’ll help you. Okay, Mr. Holmes?”

He examined her card and then shoved it in a pocket. His smile was still warm, his gaze roaming a little. She fought the urge to make sure her hair still looked good and her skirt was straight. It didn’t matter what she looked like; he wasn’t a prospective boyfriend. He was a guest.

“Call me Micah,” he said.

“I can’t,” she said, rushing to explain when he frowned. “We aren’t allowed to call guests by their first names.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, his brow scrunched up like he was going to argue. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Holmes.” She had to admit to herself that it sounded dumb using his full name when he was only five or six years older, but those were the rules for the job she needed to get back to sooner rather than later. She resisted the urge to check her watch and patted the top of her remaining delivery. “Well, I need to get these to the guests down the hall. I’m here until eight tonight, and after that the on-duty concierge will help you or you can leave a message for me to retrieve tomorrow. Sound good?”

Kelsey turned and lifted the box from the table, and she felt and heard it as the bottom ripped open. Like one of those scenes in a movie, everything slowed down to a crawl as the dildos, butt plugs, and things she didn’t know what they did—or where they went—fell all over the floor. Some of them switched on, buzzing like bumblebees as they rolled and bounced and spread out like sexual floodwaters across the marble floor.

“Oh my God,” she yelled, dropping the box and hitting her knees on the floor as she desperately tried to scoop them all back into the container at once.

“What the hell?” Micah landed on the floor beside her, joining in the mission to capture the escaping sex toys. His long arms had better reach than she did but there were so many. Red, yellow, pink, black, and even purple glitter in every shape, length, and size imaginable.

They both reached out and grabbed the same dildo at the same time. At least nine inches long and so big around that her fingers didn’t meet, it was black with embedded gold glitter and it vibrated so hard her teeth rattled. She looked up at him and opened her mouth to apologize but had no idea what to say.

“Holy hell, Kelsey, it’s like a horny Crayola box exploded all over the floor,” he said with a flush in his cheeks that matched her own. He tugged on the sex toy and she released it, watching in horror as he read the tag. “Big Daddy Dildo. Use lots of lube.” He grinned at her. “That’s good advice, especially depending on where you plan to put it.”

It was too much.

He snickered. She giggled. They both burst out in laughter, big belly laughs that brought tears to her eyes that she tried to blink back to spare her eye makeup. Micah fell back on his ass, the dildo still buzzing away in his hand as he snorted with gut-busting laughter.

It was not professional. Not the cool exterior she worked so hard to maintain on the job.

“Oh damn,” he said, reaching up to wipe away his own tears and almost poked himself in the eye with the silicone cockhead. That made her laugh harder, and it continued for several long minutes until they could finally get themselves together.

“Please tell me that these aren’t all yours,” he said with a last snort.

She shook her head, finally catching her breath. “No. Oh God, no. The vendors from the sex toy company Love You Big Time practically collapsed in panic at my feet in the concierge office when they realized their demo items had been lost somewhere in Utah, and their usual sources were either out of stock or couldn’t get them here in time. My best friend, Sarina, owns a local adult toy store, and she sent over what they needed.”