The Seduction of Kinley Foster (What Happens in Vegas) (5 page)

Chapter Five

Kinley sat in the café with Ian Thompson—aka I. Hartley.

“Excuse me?” she said in a remarkably calm voice.

He sighed.
“
I don
’t mean to be blunt, but I can only help an author if they can handle the truth.”

She breathed in the fragrant aroma of freshly baked croissants and told her heartbeat to slow the hell down. “What do you mean I suck at sexual chemistry?” She prayed the salmon she’d just consumed didn’t come back up.

“There’s no sexual chemistry between your characters. When they do finally hookup, the sex is bland. My dick didn’t twitch once when I was reading your sex scenes.”

She clenched her hands into fists. Inhaled and exhaled a turbulent breath. “I didn’t write it so your dick would twitch.”

“Maybe not. But no man is going to get laid as a result of his woman reading your book. And if you’re going to write sexy contemporary, then that is your ultimate end desire.”

Were his eyes laughing at her? They were.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to read it. It’s not even ready yet.” She wished her drink wasn’t empty. She’d throw it at him. How could her brother place her in this humiliating situation? If he were here, she’d throw a drink at him as well.

Damn it, what was wrong with her? She was an adult. An accomplished professional. She didn’t whine or throw tantrums—or throw drinks at people. Or even entertain such immature thoughts. It was like Ian was her personal time warp, sucking her mind and body back to adolescence and rendering her a veritable teenager all over again.

“This is a brutal business. If you’re going to be an author, you have to learn how to handle constructive criticism.”

Her stomach rolled. How dare he lecture her? “Constructive? Constructive? You’re not being constructive. You’re being a jackass.”

Ian checked his watch.

Was he anxious to get away from her? Was he meeting the check-in attendant somewhere?

He looked at her. “And you’re responding like a teenager. All defensive. Just like the time I told you you couldn’t flirt your way off a paper plate.”

She ignored the part of her brain telling her he was right. “You were an ass then, and you’re still an ass. And for your information, if I was behaving like a teenager, I’d do this.” She kicked at him under the table as hard as she could. The toe of her boot made contact.

He grimaced.

It was like all of the emotions she’d felt that fateful afternoon ten years ago were in control of her. “I’ll have you know, I’m behaving like a woman who was scorned by you once. And I’m not going to sit here and let you scorn me again.” She grabbed her purse and pushed her chair back.

“Still running away from things that make you nervous,” he drawled in a tone that irritated the hell out of her. Full of supreme superiority. Of a maturity sadly missing from her current arsenal of defense.

“I’m walking away because I think I’ve had all the ‘blunt truth’ I can handle from you for one day.” Actually, this last humiliation should last her the rest of the century.

“Let’s recall that first offense where I—” he made air quotes— “scorned you. The situation called for it. You were a minor, Kinley, asking an adult to make a woman out of you.”

Heat flamed through her body, and his words halted her exit. “Lucky for me you said no, and I found someone better to give my virginity to.” She told herself to stand up and walk away. But she couldn’t. She wanted to see his response. Wanted to know if she hit a nerve. Wanted to know if he cared even a little that he hadn’t been
the one
.

God knew she’d cared at the time. And maybe, just maybe, still did.

He scowled. A vein bulged by his right eye. “If the quality of your sex scenes are anything to go by, he didn’t teach you much.”

She slammed her palms on the table, causing their glasses to shake. “Damn you, Ian Thompson. How dare you reject me twice!”

She pushed into a standing position, prepared to make an exit worthy of a Regency heroine.

“Sit down.” He spoke in an authoritative tone. A tone a teacher uses with an unruly student.

“Go to hell.”

His lips tightened. “Are you really going to walk away from this conversation?”

She turned her foot toward the exit. She wasn’t done. But she didn’t trust herself to stay. She’d long since moved past the mistakes of her youth, but that didn’t mean that ripping the scab off this particular wound wouldn’t hurt. A lot. “I’m done talking, Ian.”

“I’m not.” There was a plea in his tone.

They stared at each other for long seconds. Seconds that felt like eons.

She huffed and took a seat. “What else do you want to say?” She had no idea why she allowed him to boss her around.

“I’m not rejecting you. I’m rejecting your manuscript.”

“Well…praise the Lord. I feel so much better now.” Why did she let him sucker her into thinking he was going to say something nice?

“Great. Glad to hear it. And while you’re taking my advice so well, I suggest you hit all of the workshops this week and seriously consider switching over to writing Amish romances or something that allows you to close the door on sex scenes.”

She jerked back, his comment catching her on the chin. The back of her eyes burned. “Why do you have to be so hateful?” She’d worked really hard on the manuscript he’d read.

“Hateful?” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up.

But not nearly as messed up as his words left her self-confidence. “You heard me.”

He exhaled harshly. “Believe it or not, I see a great writer in your manuscript. You just can’t write sex. It comes across as a nun trying to write spanking romance.”

“And that’s your idea of not being mean?” She glanced away. No way in hell would she cry in front of him.

“You’re right. That was uncalled for.” He reached out and touched her hand. “Sorry.”

She yanked her hand away. “I can’t unhear your comment just because you say you’re sorry.”

“You’re right. I’ll tell you what, if you learn how to write sex, you can query me with the manuscript again.”

She rolled her eyes—a bad habit she’d picked up from working with fifth grade girls who desperately want to appear in control of all situations. “No, thanks.”

“You have a raw talent that needs cultivating. My offer is sincere.”

No matter how sincere the offer was, the condescending raw-talent comment struck a nerve. “You have a raw talent for being an asshole. No cultivating needed.” She grabbed her purse, once again ready to bolt. Yet…she didn’t move. It was like her brain and body weren’t on the same page. Or even in the same state. “And my insult is sincere.”

“I have an idea.” He said the words so softly she almost didn’t hear them.

“What?” Why did he have to be an agent? Why did her brother have to send him her manuscript?

“Since you’re spending the next two nights in my suite, if you like, we can talk about the craft of writing. I can give you some concrete ways you can turn your manuscript into something an agent can sell.”

What was it about him that made her want to say yes? “Forget it.”

“Don’t let your pride get in the way of this opportunity. Didn’t you say you came to this conference to find an agent? Well, I’m offering you two one-on-one evenings with me.”

He was right. And she hated that. She wanted to say no, but her New Year’s resolution demanded she didn’t. “Fine. I’ll spend a couple of evenings with you letting you teach me about writing.” She waited for his gloating response.

He motioned to the waitress. “We’ll have another round.”

“I’ll take a water,” Kinley said to the waitress.

“
Tell me, Kinley Foster,
” Ian said once the waitress walked away. “Are you the type who only has meaningful sex? Or do you do one-night stands?”

“T—that’s none of your business,” she sputtered.

“I’m simply trying to decide if your lack of steam on the page is because you’ve never experienced gut-wrenching sexual tension, or if it’s because you’re too uptight as a writer to put what you know onto the page.”

“And why does that matter to you?”

“Because your answer will make a difference in how I try to teach you what you need to know.”

Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? Or was he just fishing, trying to see if she still had a thing for him? “I prefer short-term relationships.” “Get in, get out with your sanity intact” was her new motto when it came to relationships. Part of her New Year’s resolution. Something she’d planned on putting into practice starting at this conference.

“Me too.” She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. Did her response make him happy or angry?

She licked her lips. What would she do if he ever tried to kiss her? He was, after all, her first knight in shining armor. The one she’d never stopped thinking about no matter how much she told herself and her brother otherwise. “I’ll sleep better at night knowing that the Great Ian and I have something in common.”

He shook his head. “For a moment, I thought the mature Kinley might be able to leave the past in the past for the sake of her future. But you’re no more mature now than you were ten years ago.”

The fact that he had a point stung. Why did being around him reduce her to such out-of-character behavior? “Would you like to place a friendly wager on that?” The challenge was out before she could suck it back in. Shit.

Chapter Six

Ian opened the door to his suite around seven p.m. and found Kinley, the woman who sarcastically bet she could handle him mentoring her on sex way better than he could handle teaching her about sex—yes, that’s right, she’d bet about them and
sex
—dozing on the couch in a pair of flannel pajamas featuring pink elephants in tutus.

He could talk her through the intricacies of passion, give her an understanding of what real chemistry was. This bet was in the bag.

His scrutiny lingered on the sight of her hair splayed across the pillow. One she must have snatched from the suite’s king-sized bed. She had one arm thrown across her face as if to shield her eyes from the light of the lamp she hadn’t turned off.

A glass of red wine sat on the table beside her with an empty wine bottle next to it. Her laptop stood open on the coffee table. He liked her hair down. All crazy curls and volume. She shifted, and he caught sight of an expanse of bare skin between the gap of her bottoms and her top. His breath hitched.

Damn it. He was going to lose the bet.

He let go of the door and stepped inside the room for a closer look. The door made a clicking noise when it latched, causing her to jump and wake.

“Hi.” Her voice sounded drugged, as if she’d been sleeping deeply, and her brain wasn’t as awake as her eyes led one to believe. Or maybe she was drunk. She pushed her hair behind her ears, where it fell down the length of her back in a cascade of disheveled silk. Like the sheets he’d slept on last evening.

He grimaced. Not because he’d woken her, but because he’d robbed himself of the opportunity to view her without her pretty little mouth biting at him with its teeth sharpened on pride and anger. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” The meeting had actually ended over an hour ago, b
ut he
’d hit the casino to unwind.

Kinley moistened her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. A move she’d done earlier.

Was it his imagination or was she taking a very long time to wet her extremely kissable lips? Seeing her familiar eyes and soft expression, he was hit in the center of the chest with the realization of just how much he’d missed her. Yeah, Jack Foster had been his best friend growing up, and, even in the wake of Stacy-gate, they’d gotten back to an even keel. But he’d lost Kinley entirely. And what’s worse, he hadn’t realized back then just how much he’d taken her for granted in his life until she was gone. Seeing her again, in person, after all these years…yeah. It just hit him hard.

She sat up and took a sip of her wine. “I thought maybe you’d decided not to give me tips on writing after all.”

Hell. Why was he going all sentimental? She was a frigging knockout. One that had him thinking about sex. Wondering things like what she would taste like if he ran his tongue along her pouty bottom lip. Would she tremor and moan if he lightly bit the flesh?

“How much have you had to drink?” He himself had enough to know his defenses were down. Why else would the sight of her infuse in him a desire to ravage? Boobs or not, she was still bratty Kinley Foster. His friend’s little sister. Which in guy speak, meant she was off-limits.

Her cute nose wrinkled. “That’s not a polite thing to ask a lady,” she said in a prim voice, reminding him of the fact that she was a librarian. A sexy librarian. “Come and have a seat. I have my computer running and a fresh page pulled up to take notes. I’m ready for you to mentor me about sex.”

Ian strode to the bar and grabbed a bottle of water. “About that—”

“After all, I did bet you I could handle anything you want to teach me. And I’ve never been one to go back on my word.”

He twisted off the lid and drank the contents of the small container, tossed it, and grabbed another. “I’ve been thinking. What you need to learn, I can’t mentor you for.” He hadn’t really been thinking that—until now. When he realized they were going to be spending two nights in the same hotel room. And she was of legal age. Now it felt imperative not to engage her in a quest to write sexy.

She glanced up from her computer screen and pulled her glasses down until they were perched on the tip of her nose. “Can’t or won’t?” Her brows drew together as if warning him there was a right answer and a very wrong answer.

He widened his stance. “Won’t.”

Their gazes locked.

He sighed but didn’t look away. “In order to write sexy, you need to have experienced sexy situations. Your writing needs authenticity. I can’t help you get sexual experience.”

She still didn’
t blink.

He glanced at her lips, which were drawn into a tight line, and then back up into her eyes, noticing a smudge of mascara on her cheek as he did. “Are you going to say anything?”

She took her glasses off and held them in one hand, shaking them at him. “
Ridiculous male response.
” Her pissed-off voice punctuated each word a little heavier than necessary.

He stood mute.

She shook her head as if to rid herself of the ridiculousness of what he’d said and then slid her glasses back on her face. “That’s like saying I need to kill someone if I want to be a decent murder mystery author.”

He opened the new bottle of water and took a seat on the arm of the chair across from where she sat. “Killing someone
would
be the best way to prepare for the life of a murder mystery writer.” He held up a finger when she opened her mouth to protest. “But that’s not practical. So authors of genres riddled with murders are forced to research in other ways.”

She nodded emphatically. “Exactly. And romance authors can do the same.” She smiled as if they were in total agreement.

She licked her lips, and he all but groaned aloud at the sight. Did she keep doing that to distract him?

“Absolutely, they can.” His voice not quite his own. “And there are two types of romance authors. Those who’ve experienced love and sex firsthand and write it brilliantly because they understand it, and those who only imagine it and then write it great but less than brilliantly.”

She stared at him over the top of her laptop. “Asinine. But…I’m not going to argue with you about it. You are, after all, an agent and should know what it takes to get a book published.” She started typing. “Things…
I need
…to…learn…to write…brilliant…romance… Number…one. Get…sexual…experience.”

He watched her fingers fly over the keys and frowned. “Did you just type what you said? Delete that.” What in the fuck was she doing? “Are you typing a to-do list?”

“Number two.” Her fingers paused, and she glanced up. “I’m going to be your willing mentee. Talk to me. Tell me what else I need.”

Jesus, she’d said she’d be a better student than he’d be a teacher—not that he was willing to concede to that. Yet. He yanked off his cufflinks and threw them on the coffee table. Told himself she was just being a brat and trying to get under his skin. She wouldn’t really go out and try to get sexual experience just to write a book. He called her bluff. “You also need to broaden your knowledge of writing dialogue. And story structure.”

“Learn more about dialogue and story structure.” She glanced up. “Next?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay. I need sex experience and craft knowledge.” She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Not counting tonight, I’ve four more nights in Vegas. Surely I can fit four one-night stands in while I’m here.” She gave him a smile so bright he blinked. “I bet there’re some hunks here for that tool convention.”

He bolted upright. “You’re not going to have one-night stands while you’re at this conference.”

Her smile dimmed.
“Why? I want to write sexy. It’s what I like to read. And, as it happens, one of my New Year’s resolutions involves me
dating
more this year.”

He threw the bottle in his hand at the trash can. Missed. Marched to the room’s sliding glass doors and yanked open the curtains. “You’re looking for a man you can
date
?” he asked, while staring out at the lights of Vegas. Her tone left him in no doubt what she meant by dating.

“So?”

He could hear her typing. He exhaled harshly then turned around and leaned against the wall. “So…I’m not going to let you sleep with every Tom, Dick and Harry the Tool Salesman at this conference just because I told you, you can’t write sex.”

She laughed—a guttural sound. Sexy as hell. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. You have zero control over me, and I plan on doing whatever it takes to be a successful writer. Having sex with a hunk in a tool belt would not be a hardship.”

She left him with no choice. He took out his phone. How had he lost control of this situation? Her brother was never going to forgive him if he blew this with Kinley. But he’d also never forgive him if he allowed his little sister to become the conference’s
Girls Gone Wild
poster child. “Then you leave me no choice.”

“What are you doing?” She walked over to him and reached for his phone.

He held it out of her reach. “I’m calling your brother.” When she stretched like that, her pajamas gapped at the buttons. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t enjoy the view.

“Now who’s being the tattle-tale?” she said, dropping her arms to her side.

The softly spoken barb pierced a nerve. He stopped scrolling for the contact number. He wasn’t a liar, and he wasn’t a tattle-tale. “Someone’s got to make you see sense.”

A thoughtful expression crossed her face. She gave him a thorough look, lingering in places her gaze shouldn’t be lingering. “How about a compromise?”

“I’m…
listening.
” He wasn’t sure he should be.

She walked back to the couch. Picked up her computer. “You can teach me about sexual tension…and sex,” she said in a firm voice. She gave him a smile that she probably thought was casual. It wasn’t.

It was freaking sexy. Beckoning.

The phone fell from his grip. “You want me to have sex with you?” Shock made his voice brusquer than it needed to be. Had he heard wrong?

She lifted a shoulder. “Want is a bit strong. It’s more like—I’m
willing
to have sex with you for the sake of research. I don’t suppose you have a tool belt, do you?”

“I thought you hated me?”

“What does hate have to do with sex? One is an emotion, the other an act. Do you have handcuffs?”

An image of her handcuffed to his bed zipped by his eyes. “You shouldn’t have sex with someone you hate.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe…I’m tired of hating. Maybe…I want to screw you until all of the hate is gone. Maybe…you shouldn’t try to tell me who I should or shouldn’t have sex with.”

Did she just say she was tired of hating him? He picked up his phone and laid it on the bar. She had to be bluffing. Only she didn’t look like she was bluffing. But then, bluffing is all about not looking like you’re bluffing. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He took his jacket off and tossed it on a chair.

“I am…unless…you know…you’ve got a tiny little—”

“You’re asking me to have sex with you? Like you did on your sixteenth birthday?”

She clamped her lips shut and stared at him with a look so sharp he felt sliced. “It would appear I am,” she said calmly.

God, he was a bastard. He walked across the room, headed to the bedroom. Away from her. He needed to think beyond the reaction his dick was having to her suggestion. He needed to put a stop to the insanity. “I’m not attracted to you in a sexual way.” This had to be a trap. She was testing him to see if he really was a pig.

She coughed. “I call bullshit.”

“Your brother is my friend. I can’t have sex with his little sister.”

A harsh laugh erupted from deep inside of her.

He jerked in surprise.

She got up and cut him off at the door, separating the living space from the bedroom. She leaned against the frame. “You can have sex with his fiancée but not me.”

“I’m not debating—”

“Before you tell me no, you should know, I’ve been told I give a hell of a blowjob.” She blew her hair out of her eyes as if giving weight to the word “blow.”

His mouth fell open. How did she know he’d been thinking of her and blowjobs? Images of her lips wrapped around his dick tortured him. He searched for his resolve. “The fact remains, I’m not attracted to you.” He forced the words out, hoping he was doing a better job of convincing her than he was himself.

She arched her back against the frame of the door. “I can see you’re trying to do the right thing. Be a good friend. I’ll make you another wager, Ian Thompson.”

“I’m not being a…what kind of wager?” God, how did she pull off sexy wearing those pajamas?

“If I can seduce you, you have to spend the nights of the conference teaching me about sex and sexual tension.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Cut the crap, Kinley. Why me? Is this a test of my character? Are you pushing me to see if I’m worthy of your brother’s friendship? If I’m worthy of your forgiveness?”

She stared him straight in the eyes. “Not everything in life is about you or my brother. And the truth is I’m a little out of practice and could use a practice run with a test dummy.”

He’d give anything to be able to read her mind right now. “A practice run? With a test dummy? Meaning me?”

“Sure. Who better to strike that kind of deal with than the devil? Isn’t there a saying about the devil you know being better than the devil you don’t?”

He reached out and plucked at the string on her pajama bottoms. Not enough to untie the cute little bow. Just enough to cause her to react.

She flattened her back against the door. Out of his reach.

He sighed.
“
Damn it, Kinley. You don
’t have the personality to write steamy sex. You need to try your hand at something tamer.”

She unbuttoned the top button of her top. “
I don
’t want to try something tamer.” She unbuttoned the second button. “I want to do some role playing.” He thought he heard her murmur something about a New Year’s resolution.