Seducing Seven (What Happens in Vegas) (3 page)

She smiled again, her cheeks getting fatigued with all the effort. This seduction business was a lot more work than she’d bargained for.

With a placating nod, he opened his mouth. His white teeth bit through, halfway down the length, and Seven’s stomach did a low, slow roll.

He chewed, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Damn, that is good.” Opening his mouth for the last bite, his lips then closed over the tips of her thumb and index finger. A hot streak of awareness shot up her arm, followed by goose bumps.

She fought the urge to jerk her hand back. Whoa. Time to up her game. She raised her hand to his cheek. “One second.”

She leaned toward him, and he stilled. She was either all in or completely out. Her lungs seized in embarrassment, but it was either be bold and brazen or lose the bet—and she refused to lose to this man. Trailing her fingertips down his roughened cheek, she gave the slightest pressure to turn his face toward her.

His pupils dilated as she moved closer. Now she was getting somewhere.

And with a quick swipe of her finger, she removed sauce from the corner of his mouth.

He blinked.

Pulling her plate back in front of her, she continued to eat. She crossed her legs, and the high front slit of her skirt parted to make room for her upper thigh.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blake glance down. He fisted his linen napkin tightly in one hand as he shoved another bite of sushi into his mouth.

A deep warmth spread through Seven’s chest. Victory would be hers, and damn if she wasn’t going to have fun playing the game.

Hot editor who? She had Blake Turner to focus on.

“Do you like coming to these conventions?”

She considered him and his question for a second. Asking her about the convention surprised her. So far she’d had him pegged for quite the narcissist, but his face showed absolute sincerity.

She nodded. “I do. It gives me a chance to connect with my readers. Hear what they like and dislike, their dreams and fantasies. It all helps me figure out what I want to write next. I also gain really supportive friendships every time I come.”

“But what about the intrusion, like with your new friend, Ted?”

She winced. “Yes, well. There are always exceptions. Every now and then you run across someone who blurs the lines of fiction and reality. I felt bad lying to him, but—”

“Ahhhh, so you admit none of it’s real. Finally.”

Straightening in her seat, she shook her head and leaned forward. “I’ve done nothing of the sort. The story is fiction, of course. They are stories born from my heart. But the essence, what gives each story life, is love. And I believe in that one hundred percent.”

“Then why aren’t you married?”

She blinked. Twice. Wasn’t that the age-old question? The short answer was because she hadn’t found a man she really loved yet. The long answer had something to do with the fact that none of her relationships ever lasted more than a few weeks, which opened up a slew of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.

So instead, she answered the question with a question of her own. “Why aren’t you?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Because unlike you, I don’t believe in love or happy ever afters. All I’ve ever seen is happy until you find something better.”

“Ouch.”

He raised his glass in salute, then emptied it.

After the meal, they weaved through the crowded lobby back toward the elevator.

Seven swore the desert heat was going to kill her. The sooner she could get out of her clothes the better. Ever since she’d met Blake she’d been burning up. How long had it been since she’d had a big O—with another person in the room? Too long to admit. Well, things were about to change. This bet seemed like an increasingly brilliant idea.

Blake got off the elevator on her floor. She stopped walking and gave him a sidelong glance.

He pulled on his tie to loosen it from his collar. “I switched rooms to make it easier on you. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“How—”

“Don’t underestimate me, Ms. Michaels. I pay attention, and I have my resources. It will do you well not to forget it.”

Her initial feeling of concern switched to a rush of determination. She was going to make this man wish he’d never bet against her, in the sexiest way possible.

She nodded. “I have an event to go to, and a bit of work to do.”

“How much work do you really have? I know you’re a writer and not just a reader, but—”

Seven laughed as she pulled her key from her bag. “There’s no such thing as just a reader. They’re the reason I am what I am.”

He shrugged. “You mean why you do what you do.”

Shaking her head, she palmed the key and faced him. “No, why I am what I am. Writing isn’t just something I do, it’s who I am. Every experience I have is wrapped up in it somehow. My mind immediately analyzes the why, the what-next. Movies, people, the news, you name it.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulders and nodded toward him. “As I imagine you do with your approach to sales. I bet you find opportunities without trying.”

He held her gaze. “How long have you been writing?”

God, he was damned sexy. All muscle, dark hair, and those see-through whiskey eyes. “About eight years.” She could talk about her writing forever. His interest warmed her, making her want to push him into her room and tell him other things.

“How many books have you written?” He absently loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, exposing the tanned skin and sparse hairs beneath.

It became harder to breathe. Shit. What had he asked? Oh, yeah. How many books. “Oh, from when I first started, five books, three currently published, two more in the editing process, and I’m currently working on a new one.”

“That seems like a long time to keep doing something for three books.”

“Three best-selling books.” She flicked her hand in the air. “I’m persistent.”

He stuck his key into the slot on his door, nailing her with a pointed look. “So am I.”

She couldn’t pull her gaze from his hand. “If only,” she said, her voice low.

He glanced at her. Pulling herself together, she let a grin spread wide on her face. “Good, I like a challenge.”

“Something we have in common. I have a few action items from my afternoon meeting, but it shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll see you in about two hours, right after my meet-and-greet.” Seven gave him one last look, then stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

God, she had to get out of her clothes. Seeing the damn man unbutton his shirt shouldn’t make her feel as if she’d buttoned hers too tight. She yanked her shirt from her skirt, then unbuttoned it while making her way back to the bathroom. Stubbing her toe on the bed, she yelped and grabbed it in a firm grip against the pain, and hopped on the other foot. She lost her balance, falling back against her bed and sliding off the edge with a loud resounding
thunk
against the bedside table and onto the floor. The lamp tilted on its base. She lunged for it but overcorrected, sending it flying into the wall with a loud
clunk
. She slid onto her ass and dropped onto her back with a moan.

She lay there pulling in air, trying to recover from the pain in her toe and her ass and her pride. What in the hell was wrong with her? Pushing to her feet, she stood and dropped her skirt to the floor, leaving her bare except for her nude bra and panties. Not having sex turned her into a damn klutz.

Throwing her top on the bed, she limped to the bathroom. A knock at the door froze her in her tracks.

“Seven, are you okay in there?”

Heat rushed to her hairline, and she closed her eyes. There was no way she could tell him what all the commotion was about. Her clumsiness wasn’t the least bit sexy.

An idea took shape. Could she actually do it? She stifled a giggle, her stomach fluttering with nerves. She’d need to ditch her little housefly balls in order to pull this off.

Making a quick detour to her suitcase, she sifted through the belts and accessories until her hand closed around what she’d been looking for. A girl’s best friend, she never left home without it.

She stood back behind the door and opened it just a few inches. Blowing her falling hair out of her face, she threw him a questioning grin. Showtime.

Blake stood outside her door, wearing his pants and opened button-down shirt. With his feet bare and his jacket and tie missing, Seven suspected he had everything already hung up and in straight lines back in his room.

She liked seeing him mussed up a bit, and took in his meaty chest and rock-hard abs in one eye-fulfilling look, doing everything in her power not to drool. He placed a hand on the frame of her door. “Are you okay? I heard something fall and swore I heard you shout.”

Everything in Seven’s single-woman brain screamed for her to open the door and yank the sexy-ass man into her room, but she had a game to play, and she aimed to win.

She waved away his words. “Oh, I’m fine.” She panted and turned just enough for him to see her shoulder and part of her waist. She could just imagine how she looked to him, with perspiration on her upper lip, half naked, and her hair disheveled from her fall—and she loved it.

His eyes flared. “What happened?”

It was now or never. There was nothing better than leaving a man wondering, imagining, and wishing he were on the other side of that door. Rule number seven: always leave him wanting more. Holding her breath, she lifted her dildo up and turned it on.

Blake’s jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide.

“See you in two hours.” And she closed the door.

Chapter Three

B
lake walked Seven into the larger-than-life Mardi Gras bead, otherwise known as the Karaoke Lounge. Glass walls and glass tables reflected light as if you stood inside a diamond, and allowed for a great view of the stage from almost anywhere on the casino floor.

Blake hadn’t been able to believe his eyes when she’d opened her door. His dick had been much faster at processing what he’d been seeing than his brain, and it strained against the top elastic of his boxer briefs once again at the memory. She hadn’t played fair at all.

This was crazy. What the hell was she thinking, showing him her vibrating dildo with that damned smile? Now all he could see was her thoroughly enjoying herself with that smile on her face. Without him.

He glanced at her as they walked through the throngs of people in the lobby, the clicks and bells of the slot machines mixed with the surrounding music and the white noise of hundreds of voices, creating a fuzzy hum full of life. She acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Damn it. Had she actually used the fucking thing or had she just been trying to get under his skin?

Once inside the bead, a little bit of magic happened and the outside noise lowered to a muffled buzz, leaving the music from stage to wash over the room.

He helped her onto a wrought iron barstool, jealous as she slid her ass onto it. His body tightened, thinking of her in just her panties. The little witch.

But he had to wonder about the timing. She hadn’t been in her room three minutes before he’d heard that noise. Had she been turned on by him at dinner or something? His lips pulled up at the corners, and he darted a glance her way. That made complete sense.

Shifting in his seat, his body told him loud and clear how badly he’d wanted to be on the other side of the door with her.

Motherfucker. He hadn’t thought she could do this to him.

But no matter, wanting to have sex with her had nothing to do with falling in love, or even having feelings for her. This was nothing but base biology. She was the one who’d attached meaning to the act. Shit, he was in Vegas, the city where he was supposed to get as much ass as he could—and she had the perfect one for it, but he’d keep that fact to himself.

She’d shown up at his door right at the two-hour mark—he was a man who valued punctuality—in a pair of jeans that seemed to be painted on and one of those flowing, wide-neck shirts that hung halfway down one arm, leaving her shoulder bare and his lips twitching. Her heels brought her almost to his chin, reminding him how little she was—and how easy to toss about in bed. He clenched his teeth.

He jerked his chin down in a nod. As she looked back to the stage, he studied her. The light played off the angles of her face and glistened along her upper lip. She wasn’t as cool and calm as she played. Good.

The singer on stage spun around, shaking his butt at the audience, and she laughed. A good, full, from-the-belly laugh, none of that dainty-ass giggling shit. He continued his study of her, wanting to figure out his opponent. He knew she was a writer, she got feisty when challenged, but she chose the table against the wall. She loved to watch without being watched. Interesting.

He narrowed his eyes; he didn’t need to find her interesting. He needed to nail his promotion with his company. Then come Sunday, they’d go their separate ways, and his bank account and ego would get a boost from a successful weekend. But unfortunately, that would not include sex with Seven. His brows drew together. “Why are you so desperate to prove romance is real that you’ll make a bet like this with a stranger?”

She sipped from the bottle and looked at him. “Because I’m sick and tired of the ignorant masses making jokes and mocking a topic they so clearly fear.”

He snorted. “Fear? That is a stretch, even for you.”

“Please. It’s the truth whether or not you want to admit it, or can even recognize it.”

“The last thing I’m afraid of is love. There’s nothing to be afraid of when we’re talking about the likes of Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. They’re full of fun and sweet idealism, but they aren’t real. Why wouldn’t you write a real book?”

“Why are men such asses when it comes to love?”

He grinned. He’d hit a nerve. “You have a bad mouth.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Oh yeah? Well, I’d like to shove something in yours just to shut you up.”

He raised a brow.

She took a quick drink and looked back up to the stage. “Shut up.” Turning toward him, her knee against his, she poked at his chest. “You say the stupidest things.”

He had a lot to say about what fell out of her mouth.

Speaking of her mouth… His eyes roamed over her face. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, kind of like earlier in the day when they’d met, but with her eyes lined in black and her lips slick with a clear, wet gloss, she didn’t resemble the woman from the elevator. The heat of her leg against his grabbed his attention, and he glanced down at their legs, then back to her face just in time to see her victory smile. What in the hell was going on?

He cleared his throat. “I just think there are more important things to write about than romance or love.”

She raised a brow. “Oh really, like what?”

“I don’t know, politics—”

“Politicians lie. Next?”

He tilted his head. “How about the human experience, stories that tell what it is to be alive, to struggle through life.”

Seven leaned on her elbow. “What’s more human than love? What do we struggle with, yearn for, and aspire to more than love?”

“Easy. Money and power.”

She straightened and absently rubbed a water drop on the table with her finger. “Ever heard of Cleopatra or Helen of Troy? All that money and power, all those wars, were for one thing: love. I agree both are big motivators, but in the end it’s never money or power people wished they’d had more of or more time for. People tend to be way more screwed up over love, all different kinds of love, than they are over how much money they have, or power for that matter. Love gets straight to the heart of what’s worthwhile in life. Money and power are the wrong way to get there.”

She leaned past him to get a napkin, her body pressed to his side. He could feel every curve, and a cloud of cinnamon and honey floated about his head. His mouth watered, and he was surprised to find himself wanting dessert.

Settling back in her chair, she turned toward him. “I love to write about things that make people feel.”

He laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you make people feel, all right.”

Seven smiled with a quick nod of her head. “Good. I want to give them a visceral and intellectual and emotional experience. I want to give them fireworks.”

Blake took in the sincerity and determination in her gaze. “That’s a tall order.” She was completely serious. And he could respect her work ethic and passion, because it mirrored his own. She was a nice surprise when most professionals he came across were pros at maxing the min. The least amount of work they could do and still get paid somehow made them happy. He never understood that mentality.

She nodded. “That’s how I like it.”

The waiter had long since delivered their drinks, but Blake had been so caught up in the discussion his beer remained full. Seven circled her finger around the top of hers as she watched the singer on stage, then sipped from it with long, slow swallows. Every now and then she’d touch the tip with her tongue to catch drips that threatened to run down the neck.

Clearing his throat, he pulled from his own beer. She did everything with such intensity, which would be quite something if it lasted, if she maintained that same focus and didn’t lose any of it when new became known, like most people did.

Which was one reason he’d never get married. Promises like that didn’t last, and good intentions only mattered until something better came along. If his father had taught him anything, it was exactly that. Hell, his dad was on his third business, fourth wife, and God knows how many children. The man couldn’t focus if his life depended on it, or even if his wife’s had.

Cancer. She’d gotten treatment, but they could have done more. Dates had gotten pushed and readjusted for his schedule, and less aggressive, less disruptive treatments had been chosen. His father’s life had always taken precedence. Meetings and negotiations and trips to wine and dine clients. He needed her there. Clients always found a married man much more trustworthy.

Blake’s mother had told him no one could have known just how aggressive the cancer was. No one was to blame. But his dad hadn’t batted an eye. Simply moved on. Blake found blaming him pretty fucking easy.

He finished off his beer.

Seven slid her hand down to his palm. “What’s going on?”

He locked eyes with her, challenging her to look away. She refused, and the heat of her thigh resting against his pushed at his senses with insistent force. A smart man would go back to his room, get a little space and clarity, especially with his change of mood, but something about her made him want to stay. Which was a good reason to go.

He blinked first. Fuck.

She blinked. “Something’s going on here.”

Shaking his head, he pushed in his stool. “Nothing more than me saying good-night. I have to get up early. I’ll meet you before dinner tomorrow.”

Seven bit her lip. “Dinner? You’re forgetting a few meals. Are you really heading up?”

He jerked his head in a nod. “I’m here on business, too. I can’t let that slide.”

She nodded. “I understand that.” Digging into her purse, she pulled out a room key and stepped toward him. He could feel the heat of her and stilled.

Laughing, she handed him the card. “Relax, I’m not going to bite. Not hard, anyway.” She ran her tongue over her lush lower lip.

It made him think of cherries. What he wouldn’t do for a bowl of the Rainier cherries he’d grown up with. Blake clenched his jaw. He held up the card. “What’s this?”

Pulling the strap of her purse onto her shoulder, Seven looked around the room, almost as if she was unsure of something. “We have limited time for our little game, Blake. This will just make it easier.” Her brazen words would have sounded much bolder if she’d been able to hide the slight waver in her voice. That gave him something to think about. He was impressed with how passionately she spoke of her work, but all the work ethic in the world wasn’t going to sway him from winning this bet. Time to go.

“Just to show you how confident I am about winning.” He pulled out his wallet, slid the card into one of the pockets, and then handed his extra key to her. She tried to pull it from his fingers, but he resisted. “One rule: don’t touch my work.”

She laughed. “You are so full of yourself.”

Blake looked her over, fighting the urge to stay. Simply for the entertainment. He enjoyed seeing her laugh, even if it was at him. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he nodded. “Good night, then.”

Tilting her head, she stepped close. “One more thing.”

His body tensed, because he knew that look. “What’s that?”

“My good-night kiss. A gentleman doesn’t leave without a proper good-night.”

“I never said I was a gentleman.”

She stepped closer, her breasts grazing his chest, and all his blood rushed south. With a hitch in her breath, she brushed her lips against his, a barely-there kind of thing. Once, twice. Her lips were soft, so soft he wanted to push into them just to feel them more.

His fingers flexed at her waist, taking him by surprise. He hadn’t realized they’d migrated there, but now the heat of her burned his fingertips. Everything in him swore at him to take it upstairs, to take
her
upstairs.

Biology, nothing but biology. Wanting someone had nothing to do with feelings, but unfortunately her damn rules had made sex matter. Goddammit.

With one last press of her lips, she stepped back and smiled. “I’m going to go find some of my writer friends. Then a bit of work before I crash. See you tomorrow.”

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Blake made his way to his room, tight with need.
Get a fucking grip, Turner.
What he needed was to go jerk off. Then maybe his head would be clear enough to strategize, reanalyze, and figure out a way to maintain the upper hand. Pulling out his cell, he made a few swipes on his phone and clicked buy. Satisfied, he dropped it back into his pocket. It might not be fair, but what was the saying? All was fair in love and war.

He didn’t have any time for a woman in his life, had barely enough time for one over the weekend. Winning this bet should be a piece of cake.

By the time he settled on his bed,
Rules of Seduction
was uploaded to his e-reader.

He clicked open the novel. “Goddammit,” he said, scanning the first page.

Rules of Seduction

Sevannah Michaels

Blake rubbed a hand over his face, a small knot of guilt forming between his shoulder blades. Reading the book was good business. Time to research his opponent, learn her
rules
, though a little observation was all that really took. He didn’t think for a second there was anything new to learn about seduction from reading her book, but he’d bet his left nut he’d learn a hell of a lot about Seven.

S
even watched Blake saunter off through the Karaoke Lounge. She pressed her fingers against her lips. A simple, sweet kiss. Not even close to the toe-curling one she’d received earlier in the elevator. Why, then, did the feel of him still linger and her mouth water for more?

To say she was worried was an understatement. She pushed back the insecurity that clawed up her throat. Not only had she kissed him twice now, she’d shown him her dildo, for Pete’s sake. The whole thing stung like the night she’d tried to seduce her editor.

What the hell had she been thinking, making this bet?

Watching until his tight backside disappeared into the elevator, she sighed. He’d practically run back to his room.

She stilled.

She needed to figure out exactly what Blake was thinking. She hoped she was getting to him, but the fact that he could leave her with the night so young didn’t bode well for her victory. Her goal was to be irresistible. She had work to do.