Seducing Seven (What Happens in Vegas) (4 page)

Glancing around the Karaoke Lounge, she recognized quite a few of her writer friends. She needed to talk, but this conversation required tough love and blatant truth. Her friends were amazing, but too many would only tell her what she wanted to hear.

The last performer of the night took the stage and the chords for “I Want Your Sex” blared out of the speakers. Seven looked him over; he was surprisingly good. Too bad the way he sang didn’t make her want his sex, but someone else’s. Turning away from the stage, she dug her nails into her palms. She had a bet to win. Good thing for her libido the goal was having sex with Blake, not trying to resist him. Now to get him on board. The night had shown her that was another matter altogether.

Making her way through the lobby, she stepped through the glass doors and into the warm night air. Lights blazed from every angle, making 11:00 p.m. feel like 11:00 a.m. She dropped her arms from across her chest, looking for a good place to make a phone call. One area hosted a half a dozen people, each reveling in the cloud of smoke above their heads. Another area promised a good time with ladies and gentlemen alike in different states of undress. Down the length of the sidewalk, out from under the hotel’s massive overhang, was a set of quiet benches. Bingo.

Settling in, she pulled out her phone and dialed her sister’s number.

“Hey, Six.”

Her sister squealed from the other end of the line, and Seven yanked the phone away from her ear with a wince. Carefully, she placed the phone back to her head. “Oh my God, you’re going to make me go deaf.” Laughing, she crossed her legs and scanned her surroundings.

“O. M. G. You’re in Vegas, right? Damn it, I wished I could have made it this year. Stupid priorities.”

Seven laughed. “Yeah, stupid priorities. You’re only single-handedly starting a new company.”

Her sister was less than eighteen months her junior. By the time Seven could talk, she’d named her Six, and it had stuck. Six was a spunky go-getter who believed in green living and greener success, so she took on starting a sustainable, organic baby goods company, inspired by their friends’ need for healthy products at a reasonable price. Unfortunately, the Romance Lover’s Convention fell on the same weekend a potential backer was flying in to meet with Six. Otherwise, the sisters would have taken on Vegas attached at the hip. Seven smiled as her sister chattered on.

“Are the models as hot as last year? When’s the signing? Oh, oh! Is there a ball? Damn it, I had an idea for the perfect dress, too.”

“Slow down. And don’t worry; you can come with me next year. Though I do wish you were here now.”

Six quieted. “I know that tone. What happened?”

Seven looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I made a bet. With a man.”

“A bet?”

“Yes. I basically bet a man, a cocky romance-insulting man, that I could make him have feelings for me, proved by having sex by the end of the weekend.”

A shriek blasted through the phone. Seven jerked it away from her head so fast it flew out of her hand, landing in the shrubbery behind the bench. Smothering a curse, she skirted around the bench and gingerly stepped into the landscaping to retrieve her phone. Six’s shrieks guided her right to it.

Holding the phone about an inch from her head, she yelled, “Six, stop screaming.”

Her sister finally quieted, and Seven pressed the phone to her head once again. “Oh my God, if you scream like that again I’m going to kill you.”

“Sex does not prove feelings.”

“But it does in this instance. We agreed to it.”

“Tell me everything.”

Seven pulled in a breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips.

She went through the whole story, from her creepy stalker, to finding Blake on the elevator, the bet, dinner, and the dildo, followed by drinks at Karaoke. “And then he called an early night.”

The end of her story met with silence.

“Six?”

“You showed him your dildo?” Her disbelief was palpable.

“Six.”

“I’m— Holy shit. Are you crazy?”

Seven grinned, her stomach tightening. “I know. But I figured hell, I’m in Vegas, baby. And you should see this guy. He is so freakin’ hot. Too hot, which makes him perfect for this bet. There’s no way this guy would ever be good for anything more than a steamy, sweaty fling.”

“Oh, that kind. That is perfect. What’s his name?”

“Blake Turner. He does high-end luxury sales for some company. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women everywhere. He wants me to set all womankind straight about the folly of romance if I lose. Which I’m not going to. And God, he smells so good, and he has the most—”

“Oh my God, you like him.”

Seven straightened in her seat. “Shut your face. I do not.” Her heart slammed in her chest. How the hell could her sister, of all people, get it so wrong?

“The hell you don’t. I know that tone. How are you supposed to win this bet if you fall for the guy?”

Clenching her teeth, she rolled her eyes. “I do
not
like this guy. I just told you how arrogant he was. I—”

“Whatever. I can hear it in your voice.”

What the hell? “Six, he saw me practically naked, holding a dildo, yet he’s up in his room working, and I’m sitting by myself in Vegas talking to my sister.”

“But—”

Seven gritted out, “I’m. Not. Falling for him.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever you say. Hmmmm, what exactly did he tell you?”

Seven thought back. They’d been having a really good time. Her techniques were having an effect, catching him off guard, at least she hoped.

She pulled her shoulders back. No one was going to tell her romance was dead or romance novels were worthless. “He had work to go do, then I kissed him.”

“Like it was the first time?”

“Every time.” Rule number one, one of her favorites. “But this one was sweet, chaste even.”

Her sister’s laugh carried over the line. “Okay, then what happened?”

“He was definitely into it. He was touching my waist, and then he almost grabbed me.” At least, she’d hoped so at the time. She shifted on the bench.

“And?”

“And then I stepped back, and he went to his room. We’d agreed earlier to drinks then work, but still…”

“I think it could be one of two things. Either you’re losing him and need to up your game, really utilize your rules, or—”

Six paused, and Seven leaned forward. “Or what?”

“Or you’re really getting to him, and he’s retreating, regrouping, figuring out a new strategy.”

She could be right. Seven smiled. “Well, no doubt I prefer the second one, but damn it, I don’t know.”

“Well, dear big sister, then you better go all out tomorrow until you know where he stands.”

Go all out. Yes. An idea formed in her head. If she wanted to win this bet, it was time to take some risks.

Think big.

Think like a salesman.

Chapter Four

P
ulling in a steadying breath, Seven stared at her reflection in the mirror and lifted her chin. A good night’s sleep helped clear her mind.

Go all out, Six had said. And that’s exactly what she would have her heroines do.

Taking her hair down from her ponytail, she shook it out, then added a little liner and black mascara to make her long lashes even longer. With the barest of gloss to moisten her lips, she was ready.

Who was she kidding? She was scared shitless.

But she’d do it anyway. She needed to thank Blake for the genius idea she’d had this morning. It could lead to either something or nothing. She simply needed the time to pull him in, show him more of her, of them together. And for herself, she needed to be brave enough to go after what she wanted.

Tossing her robe onto her bed, she slipped into a dusky pink push-up bra and matching pair of Brazilian-cut panties, then checked her efforts in the mirror. Her assets were on full display, and the push-up bra helped balance out her curves. Her stomach tightened, and she chewed on her lower lip. What if he preferred larger boobs and a smaller ass?

She narrowed her eyes and pulled back her shoulders. Well, then, he’d just be stupid, which would make this bet that much easier.

She tiptoed over to the door and listened for any signs of morning life. Nothing. Good.

Heart hammering in her chest, she pulled in a breath. Rule number six: maintain an air of mystery. Keep him guessing; be unpredictable. Well, if this wasn’t unpredictable, she didn’t know what was.

She pulled on her robe, slipped a couple dollar bills into her bra, then peeked her head out of her doorway. Not a soul to be found, which wasn’t surprising at 6:00 a.m. Most people had just returned to their rooms and passed out within the last hour. She tiptoed to Blake’s room, then paused, trying to pull in some air. The door behind her opened, and she spun around.

At least seventy-five years of experience studied her with a twinkle through a pair of cat-eye glasses. The old lady raised her tumbler half full of an amber liquid. “Go get ’em, darlin’.” Her slurred whisper, octaves higher than if she hadn’t whispered, echoed down the hallway.

Seven brought her finger to her lips, praying the lady would get the picture.

She nodded, sloshing her drink in the glass with every jerk of her blue-haired head. “Oh, sure. Sorry. Have fun.” She raised her glass again, knocking herself off balance, and stumbled back into her room. Seven lunged across the hall and grabbed the door before it slammed closed. Peeking just inside the old lady’s door, she found her nosy neighbor humming about as if she hadn’t almost reenacted the old “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” commercials.

Seven closed the door and then closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow in her chest. At this point, she was tempted to throw in the towel. But winners didn’t quit, and she was going to win this, damn it.

With perfect timing, room service appeared with coffee.

She whispered a thank-you and pulled the bills from her bra, trying not to die of embarrassment. Anywhere but Vegas, she’d be receiving sidelong glances for this stunt, but the waiter smiled with a salute and took his leave.

Wiggling her shoulders, she stepped back to Blake’s door and slipped inside with as little sound as possible, pulling the cart carefully behind her.

Finally, she stopped to let her eyes adjust to the darkness and catch her breath. She listened to Blake’s soft, rhythmic breathing over the drumming of her heartbeat. His bathroom fan hummed in the silence of early morning. Seven liked a soft white noise, too, when she slept.

His room had one king bed, a laptop case on the desk, papers stacked, and his cell phone and tablet of some sort in a neat line on his nightstand. No clothes hanging off his chair or out of his luggage. Shoes lined straight. She smiled.

Crossing to the far side of the bed, she positioned the coffee cart in front of the bedside table. A loud buzzing filled her head. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but Mr. Turner needed a wake-up call. Even if it was just coffee, entering a man’s room—especially one she’d only just met—could possibly give her a heart attack.

She took a moment to study him. His skin glowed against stark white sheets, all thick muscle and sharp angles. In sleep, his face released the arrogant cock of his brow and the crooked smirk of conceit he hid behind while awake. Seven’s hand itched to run her fingers along the smooth lines.

She bit her lip. Well over six feet of bronzed skin, wrapped tight over ridges and mounds of muscle, stretched before her. He certainly wasn’t a lazy man. And damn if she didn’t really want to win this bet; seeing him like this wasn’t easy. It was like unwrapping a Reese’s cup, but not eating it.

He turned his dark head from one side to the other on his pillow and sighed.

Walking to the window, she pulled back the heavy curtains, allowing the sun’s morning rays to flood the room.

Blake’s face twisted and his hand flew to cover his eyes. Blinking at her through sleep-fogged eyes, he cleared his throat. “Seven? What’re you doing?”

“Good morning.” She gestured toward the table set with coffee, cream, sugar cubes, honey, and two cups. God, she really needed that coffee. “You gave me a good idea. Meals are mine, or did you forget?”

Pushing himself up against the headboard, he rubbed his hands briskly over his face. “What’re you wearing?”

Her robe had fallen open, revealing the matching set beneath. Forcing herself to leave it, she shrugged. “I haven’t changed for the day yet.”

“You sleep in that?” His question held a note of incredulity. What the hell did he think she slept in, a sack?

“What do you sleep in?”

He froze.

Now wasn’t that perfect? Poor Mr. Blake Turner was at a disadvantage. She grinned as he tucked the sheets more firmly around his waist.

She served them and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.

He tensed.

“I would never have pegged you for the shy type.”

With a scowl, he sipped his coffee. “I’m not shy, I just don’t trust you.”

She shrugged, and her robe slipped from one shoulder. “What’s not to trust?”

Looking her up and down, he swore. “You know, we could be having a lot more fun right now if you hadn’t attached meaning to sex.”

Picking up her glass, she winked. “But at this point it wouldn’t be meaningless. We’ve already begun to build something.”

“The hell we have.”

“Are you always so grumpy in the morning, or are you just happy to see me?”

He followed her gaze to the tenting of his sheet at his waist and studied it. With a half smile, he crossed his arms at his chest and left it. “Like I’ve been saying all along. Biology.”

That’s it? He was just going to leave it there, pushing toward the ceiling tall and proud like the damn Washington Monument? She sipped her coffee, trying to swallow past the tightness in her voice. She’d never resented a sheet so much in her life.

“So what’s on your agenda today?”

He emptied his cup, then slid it back onto the breakfast cart. Damn it, the sheet never budged. “We have a leadership meeting on industry growth solutions, and I have a meeting for level-one interviews for the new VP of sales.”

She glanced up at him. “That’s a big deal.”

He nodded. “It’s what I’ve been working for. I’m not going home without this promotion.”

Seven held his intense gaze. She appreciated the passion to fulfill his dreams she saw there, because it mirrored her own. Void of his usual cockiness, she saw something a little different. A desire, a need, to be something. She didn’t know his story, didn’t know what drove him, but she got it. And getting him opened a little something in her chest. She clamped down against it with ruthless determination, but smiled at him with genuine encouragement. “Then the position is going to be yours. I truly believe if you set your sights on something, work for it, and don’t give up, then it belongs to you. Just the short time I’ve known you tells me you don’t take no for an answer, and you lead with competence and confidence.”

And oddly enough, no part of what she said had been to seduce him.

B
lake stared at the pink confection in front of him, and for the first time in his life craved a piece of cake. Rich, buttery, and heavy on the frosting. And he didn’t even like cake.

Her belief in his desire to succeed left a weird feeling in his chest, and he shook it off. He was surprised she didn’t take the opportunity to try to undermine his confidence, to make him insecure, just to see if it would translate to their bet.

Other people would have. His father’s voice echoed in his head. “You can’t get to the top with timid steps, son, you have to stomp. Never show fear, even if you have to fake it.” The fear bit was actually pretty good advice, even if it was coming from a less-than-ideal individual. His father treated people like disposable goods. Great when they were shiny and new, but as soon as a little wear and tear showed, he’d be on to bigger and better. He was on about the same schedule with divorces as he was with replacing his dress shoes.

Most women Blake dated stared with a glazed look in their eye when the topic of work came up, but not Seven. She listened, remained engaged, passionate about her thoughts and values. Or was it just rule number three: always be interested?

He sighed. Well, what was the difference? They weren’t dating. He sure as shit wasn’t losing this bet, and after tomorrow, he’d never see her again.

He rubbed his chest. It was for the better. He wouldn’t know how to commit if his life depended on it, and he was too logical to get caught up in the life of a woman fueled by romance.

Seven tipped her head back, finishing her coffee. His eyes followed the line of her throat. He pulled his leg up, bunching the sheet over his waist.

“So, what does success look like in your line of work?”

She paused, as if surprised by the question. Narrowing her eyes, she stared out the large window to the Vegas strip of sky-rise hotels and neon signs. “It’s different for everyone. For me, I want my books to sell well, to contract regularly for more books, keep consistent momentum, but even more, I want to stay connected with my fans. I want to matter to them, because they matter to me.”

“That’s a tall order.”

She nodded. “It’s what I want.”

“I get that.”

She stared at him a moment, then, pushing the cart back, she replaced the lid. “Time to get up. Let’s go grab breakfast real quick, then I’ll see you this evening.”

He watched her rise from his bed, his dick trying to follow her. She smiled. With a sigh, she stretched, turning her head to the right and then the left. He resisted the temptation to glance at her stomach and thighs. Her gaze settled on the nightstand. Touching her finger to his tablet, she tapped once. “What does a guy like you read?”

He shot up in the bed, but forced a casual tone to his voice. “Nothing you’d be interested in.
Smithsonian
mostly.”

She narrowed her eyes and gritted out, “And why wouldn’t I be interested?”

Blake resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Thank God her pride could be counted on to keep her distracted. He dropped his legs over the edge and stood up, wrapping the sheet securely around his waist as he went. She stepped back, but before she could go far, he stepped in front of her. Time to work his own kind of magic. If he had anything at all, it was self-discipline, so he could afford to indulge a little here without risking a loss. For her. He could give her something, at least.

Pulling her body to him, he stepped in close so there was no space left to tell where she started and he ended. Holding her gaze, he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers in the sweetest of caresses. Once, twice. Lifting his head, he whispered, “Thank you. I wouldn’t want you to think I wasn’t a gentleman.”

“I thought you said you weren’t.”

He released her with a wink and the devil’s smile.

Seven hesitated, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Go, get dressed. I’ll meet you in fifteen.” She belted her robe and stepped to the door.

“Is this going to be a regular thing?”

She looked over her shoulder, her lips spreading in a slow grin. Then her smile shifted into the kind that fully engaged him, left him feeling warm and relevant. Goddammit.

She held his gaze for a moment longer. “Wouldn’t that be lovely? But today’s Saturday. It all ends tomorrow, one way or another. We don’t have time for ‘regular’ anything.”

He clenched his jaw, turning away as she stepped through the door. It shouldn’t bother him, logic told him that, so why then did he feel the disappointment so sharply?

Turning on the shower, he stepped under the spray, thinking of her smile, the soft tone of her voice, her smell and feel and taste. He admired how hard she worked to be bold, and loved the hint of vulnerability he saw with every action, every word. With a jerk, he turned until the spray hit him in the face. If she could weave this little spell over him so effortlessly, what did that mean about him?

Sales were always about self. Maybe this romance thing was, too. Filling a desire, selling a way to find happiness and self-worth. All expensive paths to temporary fulfillment. And he especially knew how temporary it was. A sports car a buyer paid through the teeth for one year was upgraded the next. The dream yacht would get traded up for a more extravagant model as soon as it showed wear. Bigger and better, always moving forward. Well, he wasn’t buying, because he was happy how he was. He didn’t have that desperate hole inside to fill with expensive, temporary solutions.

By the time he’d showered, dressed, and grabbed his papers for the meeting, Seven was knocking on his door. He braced himself for what he’d find on the other side. Ever since she showed up for sushi the first night, the sight of her jarred him. Pulling back his shoulders, he opened the door.

She stood before him in a pair of distressed dark denim shorts, with a blousy button-up tucked in the front and out in the back, the edge of her bra teasing him with memories of his wake-up call.