Captivate, book I of the Love & Lust (11 page)

Fifteen

Slade blinks, momentarily dazed by the brilliant camera flashes hitting him from all angles. It’s a good thing he’s not epileptic or he’d have been thrown into one heck of a fit hours ago.

The Las Vegas writer’s convention is far larger than Ashlyn let on. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people have taken over the Bellagio Grand Ballroom for the biggest geek fest he has ever seen.

How did he not know about this hidden world of book fanatics and character whores? People of all ages pass right by him, wearing shirts reading, “I’m in Love with a Fictional Character,” or “Book Nerds Do It Right.”

“Are these people okay?” he asks, leaning closer to Tamsin.

She offers him a tight-lipped smile that reminds him that he has just cast a shadow over her again. He leans back and sighs. She’s been really pissy today, almost as if she has something to prove.

She certainly had something to prove last night when he dropped her off. He barely had time to open her door before she pounced. Truth be told, he’s really sore today, and not in a good way.

“What do you mean?” she hisses, keeping her ruby smile firmly in place. She waves at a couple of teenage girls that pass by, who of course fall apart in a fit of giggles when Slade tosses a smile their way.

“They’re selling T-shirts and posters at a bloody book convention.” He turns to point across the vast room at a screen that has been set up on the far wall. “Who would actually waste time to make a movie trailer for books? These people have gone mental.

“And look over there.” He points to a girl walking by with an iPad cover that says: “I want to be a Cullen.” “Doesn’t this all seem a bit odd to you?”

Tamsin shrugs and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. If there’s one thing Slade has learned about her, it’s that she likes to present her best side forward, and in her case, that usually means spilling out of a corset.

“It’s a book convention. What did you expect? A bunch of cheerleaders jumping around with pom-poms?”

Slade grins. “Now
that
is a nice image. I’ve always fancied American cheerleaders. There’s just something about those little skirts.”

Tamsin scowls. “Just pay attention and do your job.”

“Wow.” His eyebrows rise with mock surprise. “What’s riding you?”

She turns and drills him with a steely glare. “You.”

Slade guesses he should have seen that one coming, but he didn’t, so when that slap hits, it really stings. He fights to keep his anger from showing through as Tamsin turns to sign one of her books that a middle-aged woman has just purchased.

He watches Tamsin’s loopy signature, noting how overdone it is. Like everything else with Tamsin, it’s all about the flair.

A cold dread begins to sink into the pit of his stomach as the day progresses and he is forced to endure countless high-pitched giggles. From time to time, Tamsin calls him forward so she can fondle his abs for a picture. When one fan asks for a steamy photo, he has to restrain himself when she grabs his neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

Was it really only a few nights ago that he thought himself the luckiest guy in the world to be in Tamsin Archer’s bed? And what about last night? Will her kinky desires in bed with him someday make it into a bestselling book?

Slade forces a smile for one last picture and breathes an audible sigh as Tamsin waves to the last of her fans before placing a card on her table, letting people know she will be away. “What’s next?” he asks, almost dreading the answer.

“I have a panel to speak on. Then we’ll be back here for the final hour to wrap things up. I think you might just win me the hottest cover model award.”

“Great,” he mutters under his breath as she collects her purse and scurries away. The hollowness in his chest expands as he begins to comprehend that his only role at this convention is to make Tamsin look good.

She doesn’t care about him or his dreams.

He grabs his plaid shirt and buttons it up as fast as he can. When he looks up, he sees Ashlyn watching him from across the room. From this distance, he struggles to read her closed-off expression, but it’s painfully obvious something is bothering her.

He turns away, uncomfortable with her stare. Does she really think that he’s enjoying this?

Slade pauses on the bottom button, realizing he hasn’t given her any reason to think otherwise. Hasn’t he gone out partying each night with Tamsin? Hasn’t he laughed and playfully pinched each girl’s side as they posed with him for pictures?

He groans and sinks into his chair. In such a short period of time, he has become exactly what he always wanted, but now it feels so empty and meaningless.

You don’t have to be like them, Slade. Don’t change who you are just to get people to accept you. One of these days, you’ll wake up and realize it’s not worth it

As Ashlyn’s words tumble through his thoughts, he knows she’s right. All he wanted to see was the glamor, the girls, and the huge paycheck, but the reality is it’s all a front. The hype may be real, but the people fueling it aren’t.

Maybe that’s what makes Tamsin so brilliant. She spends her entire life writing about people who never existed, putting herself in their minds. Perhaps that has carried over into her own life now too.

Fame is like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Always within reach, but never really attainable.

He allowed himself to be sucked in and now, glancing at the fervor all around him, he doesn’t know if he can get back out.

Slade glances up as an announcement is made over the loudspeakers that the next panel session will begin in five minutes. He rises and heads for the door, anxious to be away from this room, from all of the people.

Pushing through a crowd of women just outside the door, he notices that each rises up on her tiptoes to see over the shoulder of the woman in front of her. He can hear their frantic words but ignores them as he skirts around the outside of the group and heads straight for the loo. The last thing he needs is to be pulled into a group like that right now.

Leaning over the marble sink, Slade splashes cold water on his cheeks and the back of his neck. He is hot despite the cool air-conditioning pumping through the vent overhead.

“What did I get myself into?” he mutters, staring bleakly at his image in the mirror. The puffiness under his eyes is even more pronounced this morning. His body aches in more places than he cares to count. The bed was comfy enough, but he didn’t get much time to enjoy it alone.

“Trouble with women, sonny?”

He turns to see an older man with graying hair and unruly eyebrows exiting a stall. His face is lined with age and his gait is stunted by a shuddering limp. The scent of peppermint seems to cling to his vest as he approaches.

“I guess you could say that.” Slade nods, deciding that is an easier explanation.

When the old man scratches his cheek, it sounds like sandpaper going against the grain. “Sounds to me like you need a vacation.”

Slade laughs and dabs the damp cloth against his throat. “That’s what I thought this was.”

“Nope.” The man offers him a crooked smile. “This is Vegas. Land of working girls, vagrants, and people with more money than sense. Used to be people came here looking to escape their troubles. Seems to me they find more problems here than they left behind.”

“You know, I think you’re probably right.” Dabbing the moisture from his face with a dry towel, Slade smiles and wishes the man a good day before slipping from the room.

It’s cooler in the hall. The air feels less stagnant than the expo hall beyond. Slade breathes a sigh of relief to see that the herd of women has moved on now.

He stoops low to get a drink from a water fountain but pauses when he hears a single cry, barely above a whimper. He turns, searching for the sound. When his gaze falls on Ashlyn just behind one of the boxy armchairs in a sitting area a few feet away, he rushes across the hall and drops down beside her.

Her skin is ashen, her arms clamped tightly about her knees as she rocks. She stares straight ahead, unseeing.

“What happened to you? Are you hurt?” He tries to brush back her hair from her face, but she flinches back from his touch.

Slade sinks onto his heels and watches the tremor that ripples through her body. Her skin feels cool to the touch and that worries him.

“Ash? It’s me, Slade. Can you talk to me?” He looks around for someone to help them, but this section of the hall is oddly deserted. He can hear the din of conversation on the other side of the wall and considers leaving to get help, but when he tries to stand, she latches onto his hand.

“Don’t,” she demands, digging her nails into his flesh.

Unable to leave, he crosses his legs and settles down beside her. His gaze roams over her face, searching for any signs of injury. He can’t see any cuts or bumps on her head.

“Talk to me,” she whispers, closing her eyes as she rocks back and forth.

“Uh, okay.” He racks his brain for any subject to talk about, but his mind comes up blank. He glances around and sees a golfing magazine on the side table. Latching onto that topic, he begins detailing about the last time he went out with his mates to hunt for golf balls at a course just outside his village. It was really more of a sheep pasture that someone decided to turn into a driving range. Every summer he and his friends would hop the fence and dive down into the pond to collect balls to sell back to the course for half the price.

It was really a win-win situation. Slade managed to get enough money to take his girl on a date and the course owner didn’t have to fight with the geese to retrieve the balls.

The only problem was the pond was on Mr. Andrews farm and he didn’t take too kindly to kids mucking about in his yard. By the time Slade reaches the part where the old farmer comes waddling out of his house with his drawers around his ankles and a shotgun in hand, he sees Ashlyn’s breathing beginning to normalize.

Her rocking begins to slow and eventually she releases her death grip on her legs. Color returns to her cheeks by the time she turns to focus on him. He waits for her to speak. When she does, he has to strain to hear her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you so hard.”

She retracts her fingernails from his palm, wincing at the crescent moon indentions she left. He fights the urge to shake the pain from his hand. Instead, he ducks low to meet her hesitant gaze.

“What happened to you?”

Ashlyn drops her head and he notices the tips of her ears have gone red with embarrassment. “I was attacked by a group of women. They all just came at me so fast. I didn’t know what to do.”

The tremor in her voice makes his throat clench up. “I guess they knew I was Tamsin’s assistant and they got tired of waiting at the back of the line, so they came at me to see if I could get them in to see her.”

Slade winces, remembering the wild group of shouting women he had skirted past only a few moments before. “Then what happened?”

“They just kept coming. I tried to explain that I had no control over the lines, but they didn’t seem to hear me anymore, and I was trapped in the middle of their mob.”

Her skin is so pale that he can see straight through to her veins as she clasps her hands tightly together to control their shaking. Slade reaches out to gently pry her fingers apart and pulls her hands into his, holding them firm. She looks up at him for a brief second and he catches a glimpse of relief. It eases the tightness in his chest. He releases a breath, feeling some of the tension melt out of her.

If only he’d taken the time to see what all the fuss was about instead of skirting past to hide out in the bathroom. He could have helped her, saved her from this panic attack.

Guilt needles at him as she stares back at him with underserved gratitude. If she knew how his selfishness had aided in her situation, he doubts she would think so highly of him.

“I wished I had known.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now.” Her small smile tugs at his heart, and for the first time since meeting Ashlyn Doyle, he realizes just how beautifully innocent her smile is.

“That I am.” He squeezes her hands and then releases them. He winds his arm around her back, pausing when she flinches at the feel of his hand wrapped around her waist. She is softer than Tamsin but no less appealing. He actually finds the feel of her narrow waist in his hand to be attractively feminine compared to Tamsin’s toned side. “Is this okay?”