Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Mac could have kicked himself for arriving at the lounge early, because he’d no sooner sat down to wait for Sheridan when he was joined by two of the convention attendees and then five minutes after that three more. All women, of course. His readers. And they hadn’t stopped laughing and giggling. Which normally he wouldn’t have minded, in fact he enjoyed it, except tonight he’d psyched himself up for something different.

He glanced down at his watch. It was already fifteen after eight. Had she changed her mind about meeting him? He hoped not. For the first time in ages, he’d found someone who he really wanted to get to know. From their brief encounters, he could already tell that beneath her brash and snarky exterior there was someone with hidden depths.

“Sorry, I’m late.” The warmth of Sheridan’s breath against his ear shot arrows of desire racing through him.

So she hadn’t bailed on him after all. And how sexy did she look in that short, black and red striped dress that hugged her curves. He noticed that she’d let her hair down, and he longed to run his fingers through the dark curls framing her striking face.

“No problem.” He was about to stand when he felt a hand on his arm.

“You can’t go yet,” said Deidre, the woman sitting on the stool next to him. “Melanie has ordered drinks.”

He looked up at Sheridan to see what she thought. She smiled and grabbed an empty stool from a table close by and squeezed in beside him.

“This is Sheridan,” he said to the women who were all staring at her, some of them with stony expressions on their faces. He hoped Sheridan didn’t take it personally. They were very protective of him. “She’s a journalist.”

They collectively relaxed, and he stifled a grin, since he didn’t think they’d appreciate him laughing out loud. It was like they believed Sheridan was no longer a threat, so she was okay to include in the conversation. Not that he’d ever encouraged any of the women at the conventions. They just seemed to view him as their property. Some of them had been attending as long as he had, so he’d gotten to know many of them by name.

“So you’re interviewing our Mac, are you?” Deidre asked, patting Mac on the knee.

“Yes. And I’d also like to ask you all some questions, if that’s okay?”

He watched Sheridan as she glanced around the group, stopping for a couple of seconds at each one of them. He was impressed by the way she tried to include them all. Then again, that was her job. And he’d bet she was damn good at it.

“Ask away,” Deidre said, placing her hands in her lap and sitting upright.

Sheridan reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and pen. The women were happy to give information about themselves, and it gave Mac time to watch Sheridan in work mode. She had a knack of not sounding like a probing journalist and ended up eliciting from the women far more information than they might have given otherwise.

I better be on my guard.

The thought took him by surprise. Then he dismissed it. He wasn’t a pushover. And she certainly wasn’t out to get him. It was a convention for goodness sake, not some big celebrity bash where everything was reported in graphic terms for the most shock value.

…

Sheridan stared at Mac heading toward the bathroom, admiring his cute firm ass as he went. She dragged her eyes away, hoping she wasn’t drooling too obviously.

She drew in a calming breath and turned to Deidre and the other women.

“Tell me all about Mac,” she asked, giving a conspiratorial wink.

All for the purpose of my article
, she reassured herself. Because work had to come first. As it always did. No matter how thoughts of him sent sparks of electricity racing around her body.

“We love him,” one of the women said and then giggled. “Not like that,” she added.

“You speak for yourself,” another one said, joining in with the giggling.

“And me,” piped up another.

A smile stretched across Sheridan’s face, and she held up her hands in mock shock. They were cracking her up. Who knew romance readers could be so funny? She really liked them.

“That’s enough, girls,” Deidre said. “We don’t want Sheridan to think we’re all a bunch of middle-aged tarts.” She touched Sheridan on the knee. “Mac is great. And even though we all might harbour a few sexy thoughts about him, that’s as far as it goes. I mean, the way he writes love scenes— It’s like he’s hot wired into a woman’s brain. Don’t you agree?”

Sheridan bowed her head slightly. “I haven’t actually read anything of his. Yet.”

She’d already put the book he’d signed for her beside her bed to read later. The jury was out over whether she was looking forward to reading her first straight romance.

“Start with
The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
. I dreamed about Owen for weeks after finishing it.” Deidre flushed a deep red and everyone laughed. “I didn’t mean like that,” she said.

“It’s okay. I know what you mean,” Sheridan said. “So, why do you think he’s so good at portraying women? Does he have a wife who reads everything he writes?”

Just for research, of course. I’m not interested.

“No wife. He’s divorced.”

No wife. A frisson of excitement shot through her at the thought, which she quickly dismissed. But it did mean that he was in touch with his feminine side. Which was a good thing, right? If you believed in all that stuff. Did she? She didn’t know. She’d never given it much thought. He could be gay if she wanted to go down the stereotypical route. Though she doubted he was. She could tell by the way he’d looked at her, especially when she’d been talking to the women and he thought she couldn’t see. Her peripheral vision was red hot.

“You know him well?” she asked Deidre.

“Mostly from what’s on his website.” Deidre shrugged, but Sheridan could tell that her feelings for Mac went far deeper than reading about him online. A definite crush. And who could blame her? Well, as long as her feelings weren’t reciprocated, then that was fine by Sheridan. Fan adoration came with the territory of being a celebrity, even if his celebrity only stretched as far as readers of romance.

“I’ll have to check it out. Change the subject. He’s coming back. We’ll finish this conversation later,” she said as she noticed Mac heading toward them. “How does this convention compare with previous ones, Deidre?” she asked as Mac reached them.

“So far, so good. Ask me again Sunday morning,” Deidre replied, grinning.

“Will do. Hey,” she said, turning to Mac and acknowledging his presence.

“Are you ready?” Mac asked.

Is it that obvious?

“For what?”

“Dinner. I’ve made reservations.”

Only dinner?

She inwardly shook. He was hardly going to whisk her back to his room for some mind-numbing sex. She dragged in a long breath and released it slowly, hoping that he hadn’t been able to read her mind.

“Sure.” She picked up her purse from the table and flashed a smile in his direction. “Looking forward to it.”

Chapter Five

Mac glanced to the side as they strode out of the lounge, taking in the fixed, unreadable expression on Sheridan’s face. She’d agreed to dinner but didn’t seem too excited by the prospect. The easiest way to get her to himself was to pretend he’d made reservations. It didn’t hurt anyone, although judging by some of the comments Deidre had made earlier, she’d expected him to be spending the whole evening with them. The previous few years, a group of them had always hung out together on the Friday night. That didn’t mean it was written in stone, though.

“Where are we going?” Sheridan cut into his thoughts.

He turned and smiled. “There’s an Italian restaurant not far from here, Juliana’s at the Saxon. We could try there if you like. Hopefully, they’ll have a table.”

“You said you’d already booked?” She stopped in her tracks and wagged her finger, her eyes twinkling.

“Not exactly. I just said that to get away from the others. No harm done.” He grinned.

“Were they annoying you?” she asked.

“No, nothing like that. They’re good company. But I wanted it to be just the two of us.”

“For the interview?”

“The what?”

“The interview you promised. Remember?” she asked with a bemused smile.

“Oh yes. Well, that wasn’t my only reason. I wanted to spend some time with you.”

“Why?”

She had to be kidding. A woman like her would hardly be short of men asking for a date. He took a second look at her and saw the teasing expression in her eyes. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.”

He hitched in a breath. “Because I want to get to know you better. To find out what goes on behind that cross-me-if-you-dare exterior.”

“As you paint such a delightful picture of me, how could I possibly resist?” She shook her head.

He scanned her face. Had he offended her?

“I was joking,” he said.

“I know.” She giggled

It was the sexiest giggle he’d ever heard and sent his heartbeat racing.

“So what do you say? Italian?” He changed the subject before he lost total control.

“Mmm. It’s my favorite.” She ran her tongue over her top lip. He didn’t know whether it was deliberate or purely unconscious, but it sent arrows of desire shooting through him.

“Mine, too.”

They walked through the foyer of the hotel and out into the street. He waited for her to link her arm through his, like she’d done earlier, except she didn’t. They walked in silence down the Strip, Sheridan’s head shooting from side to side staring at everything they passed.

Suddenly, she pointed across the street. “Look at those people taking photos. Do you think they’ll go home and tell people they’ve seen the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yep. Vegas is like no other place on the planet. You can see the most famous monuments from all over the world on the same street.”

“That’s assuming that people actually want to see them away from their natural setting.”

Mac didn’t disagree with her, but he also didn’t want the evening to turn into a hate-Vegas-fest, which it easily could.

“There is that.” Mac nodded. “But you have to admit it’s quite a feat to have access to the Egyptian pyramids, at the same time as the canals of Venice, the Statue of Liberty, and the aforementioned Eiffel Tower. And all without needing a passport.”

“Feat, it might be. But if you ask me, it’s ridiculous and disconcerting.” She waved her arm in the direction of the Eiffel Tower.

“Just give it a chance. Suspend your intellect and let the atmosphere take you with it.” He gestured with his arm to the outlandish opulence surrounding them.

“You mean think of it more as a hybrid-cultural experience?” Sheridan chewed on her bottom lip, mesmerizing him.

“If that helps, then by all means do so,” Mac said, forcing his thoughts back to their conversation and away from how kissable Sheridan’s plump lips were. “But if I were you, I’d just stop overthinking it.”

“Yes, that can be a problem for me.” A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “My first grade teacher got annoyed with me for wondering why we always said
A
for Apple. Why not
A
for Antelope. Or Animal. Or…whatever.”

“I guess that’s why you became a journalist. I’m the same with books. But sometimes you have to suspend your belief and feel the magic.”

“You’re right. It’s just this place is so…so—”

“Surely you must have known what to expect of Vegas, even if you hadn’t been here before,” he interrupted.

“I did. But when you see something in the flesh, it’s very different.”

They continued walking in silence for a few hundred yards until reaching the Saxon hotel.

He held open the glass door for Sheridan to walk through, and they headed to the elevator, which was reserved exclusively for the restaurant.

“Whoa,” Sheridan said as she glanced out of the window from where they’d been seated.

“Impressive, huh?” Mac replied. “That’s why I like eating here. It’s my favorite view of the Strip and especially the Bellagio fountains.”

“The view is pretty amazing.” She nodded slowly.

Mac sensed the turmoil going on inside her. She didn’t really want to enjoy Vegas, yet it was slowly pulling her in. Like it did to everyone. You just had to go along with it.

“Enjoy.”

They both picked up their menus and studied them in silence.

“I’m going to have lemon spaghetti with some rosemary focaccia and lemon flat bread,” Sheridan said after only a few moments. “I’m starving. I’ve hardly eaten anything all day.”

Music to his ears. She was clearly a girl after his own heart in the food department.

“I’ll join you. And a bottle of Pinot?” he asked.

“Perfect,” Sheridan replied, rewarding him with a smile that lit up her entire face. And he was hooked.

“Tell me, is there a Mr. Sheridan?” Mac asked.

The smile on her face vanished. “Why?” Her tone was uncertain.

“Just curious.” He shrugged. “Is there a problem?”

It was a natural question to ask. He didn’t get why it had upset her.

“Not at all.” She waved her hand dismissively. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Good.”

The server arrived with the wine and poured some for Mac to taste. He took a sip. “This is fine, thank you.” They didn’t speak while their glasses were being filled.

“Why good?” Sheridan asked once they were alone.

Mac’s brow furrowed, puzzled. Until he remembered what he’d said. “Because I’d like to get to know you better, if you’ll let me.” He winced at how clichéd and boring he must sound.

“Oh.” Her facial expression was unreadable.

“Or we could just do the interview.” He picked up his glass and took a large drink.

“No. I mean yes. I’d like for us to get to know each other better.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes, and a faint tinge of pink colored her cheeks. Gorgeous.

“Cool. What would you like to know?” He leaned back in his chair and focused all his attention on her.

“Well, my spies have already told me you’re not married.”

“Your spies?” He paused for a moment. “Ah. Deidre and the others. So you know I was married, but it didn’t work out.” It had taken a lot of therapy for him to be able to say those few words without sounding bitter.

“Sorry.”

Sheridan’s response surprised him. “It’s okay. I realized very early on that we weren’t a match made in heaven. It happens.” He stopped himself from talking about the failings of his marriage. He was having too much fun to go down that road.

“Your
girls
didn’t say whether you’re seeing anyone. Are you?” Her mouth turned up into a sexy smile.

“No. I’m single at the moment.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t date; but it had been a long time since anyone had piqued his interest as much as Sheridan had.

“You mentioned earlier that I shouldn’t have asked what the deal was being a man writing romance. So what should I focus on?”

He shook his head. She’d gone from the personal back to the professional. He’d go along with it.

“The more appropriate question is:
why
do people think a man writing romance is such a big deal? A romance book has two points of view. Male and female. It’s acceptable for women to write from a male perspective. So why not the other way around?” He shook his head.

“And this whole debate gets you pissed?” she asked.

“Not pissed, exactly. Frustrated. Nicholas Sparks writes great romances, and I doubt he has to defend himself all the time like those of us men who aren’t so successful.” He drew in a long breath and released it slowly, allowing his body to relax. Despite trying not to let it rile him, it did.

“And do you think you’d sell more books if you were a woman?”

Ah ha. The sixty-four thousand dollar question. Something he’d deliberated on for many hours as his career took off.

“Yes, I do. Although I refuse to write under a woman’s name, like some do.”

It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, and at times, he’d wondered whether he’d made the right one. But it was pointless pondering on it because he couldn’t change it without starting again under a brand new name.

“B.A. Mackenzie doesn’t exactly imply you’re a man.”

“My publisher’s idea. Initially, they wanted me to be Bernice Mackenzie instead of Bernard. I refused and we compromised at B.A.”

“Bernard?” She slapped her hand in front of her mouth, but it didn’t cover the wide grin plastered across her face.

“It’s a family name,” he said, shaking his head. “I know it’s not cool. And why I’ve always gone by Mac.” He laughed. He was long over the embarrassment of his name. And it was a great conversation starter.

“I don’t get it. You use the B.A., so people don’t know that you’re a guy, yet you attend the convention, and then they can see that you are one.” She frowned.

“I don’t hide it,” he said. “I just don’t publicize it. When you’re talking hundreds and thousands of sales, a few people at a convention knowing you’re a guy isn’t a big deal.”

“And is writing romance what you always wanted to do?”

“I’ve written ever since I can remember. I hadn’t particularly intended to write romance. I just sort of fell into it.”

“And do you see yourself branching out into any other genre?”

“Funny you should ask. As much as I enjoy writing romance, my goal is to publish something more literary, but it’s finding the time to finish my novel and, of course, find the audience.”

He couldn’t believe he’d actually mentioned his novel. No one knew about it. Absolutely no one. Especially not his agent. Because he knew what he’d say. What he always said when Mac talked about branching out… Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, blah, blah.

“Money is a big driver for you?”

Her question took him by surprise. Though he guessed it was a logical leap to make. “I have a large mortgage. And I have to live. So, in that respect, yes.”

“I get it. Would you write literary fiction as B.A. or use your real name?”

“Not something I’d thought about. I guess maybe my real name, but not hide that I also write as B.A.”

“What’s your novel about?”

“It’s set in the nineteenth century about a Russian revolutionary who escaped one of the labor camps in Siberia and traveled across Europe.” He scrutinized her face for a reaction. Most people he knew would be shocked as it was hardly his usual type of story. Then again, Sheridan wasn’t like most people he knew.

“Whoa.” Sheridan’s eyes widened. “Very different from the formulaic romances you’re known for.”

“Spoken like someone who has no understanding of the romance genre.”

Sheridan flushed. Mac laughed. He couldn’t be mad at her ignorance. And she wasn’t alone in thinking that.

“Well, it’s not my reading matter of choice. No offense,” she said.

“None taken. But that doesn’t condone your stereotypical view of the genre.” He tried to sound firm but couldn’t.

“Sorry. I’m a cynic when it comes to romance.” She sighed.

“Why?”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “When your father is on his fourth trophy wife, and your mom dates guys young enough to have gone to school with you, then it gives you a certain perspective on life.” Hurt flashed across her face, and Mac had the urge to pull her body close to him so he could hug away all the bad times that she’d obviously experienced.

“In that case, I’m guessing you’ve never been in love before.”

“Not if it means being all breathless, with wobbly knees and a heart that pumps out of my chest. I mean, really, a heart that pumps out of your chest?” She laughed, and he sensed she felt relief that the conversation had lifted to a lighter level.

“You’re not meant to take it literally.” He shook his head.

“Look. I’m twenty-five years old and have clearly had a romance bypass, for which I’m eternally grateful. I’ve seen the most ridiculous things done in the name of romance, and for what purpose? Usually sex or control.”

“No. It doesn’t have to be for that.” He wanted to swing at all the people in her life who had impacted her distorted view.

“Speaks a true romantic. How many times have you been in love, then?” Sheridan asked.

He was about to make a flippant retort when he realized he was no different from her. That his experiences were at total odds with what he was preaching and writing about.

He drew in a breath. “I do believe in true love. I might not have found it yet. But it exists. And for all I know it’s right around the corner.”