Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas) (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Sheridan sat back in the chair, allowing memories of the last day and night to wash over her. She glanced up at the air conditioning and scowled, still half convinced there was some underlying subterfuge on the part of the hotel and convention organizers to drug them. Then again, did she care? Because she’d met the most amazing guy, who did things to her she hadn’t believed possible. And she didn’t just mean the sex. Although that was incredible, she had to admit. There was more to it. He made her feel safe and cared for. She’d never experienced such intimacy before. Hadn’t known it was possible.

She loved what was happening to her, but it scared her, too. She was in total unchartered territory. What she had believed to be utter crap—true love—she now wondered if it actually existed. And not only that, she was talking love at first sight. Because that was near enough what was happening to her.

Her phone vibrated on the table, and she picked it up to see her editor’s number on the caller ID. She tensed. “Jane. Is there a problem?”

“No. Just calling to see how the convention’s going?”

She should only know.

Except no way would Sheridan tell her how close she and Mac had become. Gossip was Jane’s middle name, and no one in their right mind confided in her about anything.

“As you’d expect. Crazy. And plenty of middle-aged women hanging on to the every word of the many tanned, half-naked, muscle-bound cover models, hoping to sleep with one of them.”

“Lucky you. Maybe I should fly over and cop a feel for myself.” Jane laughed.

Sheridan sucked in a breath. She’d seen Jane in predator mode, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. “No time. The convention’s over tonight. Maybe next year.”

As long as I’m well away from there.

“I might just do that. Remember, we need your copy by ten Sunday morning. What interviews have you done so far? Have you spoken to the organizers?”

She stifled a sigh. Jane could be so annoying with her micromanaging. She should learn to let people get on with doing things their way. “They’re on my list for today. I have also spoken to an author, B.A. Mackenzie. He’s given me a good insight into the convention.”

In more ways than one.

Warmth flooded through her as, once again, the memory of their night together invaded her consciousness.

“He? You’ve met a male romance author, huh?”

Sheridan could almost hear the cogs in Jane’s brain whirring. Why hadn’t she kept meeting Mac to herself?

“Yes.” A breath caught in the back of her throat.

“I love it. Make him the main focus of your article. A male romance writer will certainly capture the interest. Is he gay?”

“No,” Sheridan replied with more force than she’d intended.

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

Sheridan knew Jane was sitting there on full alert, making all sorts of assumptions. She couldn’t allow her to even suspect there was anything between her and Mac because it would damage her reputation, on so many levels. And get back to her father quicker than you could say hookup.

“It wasn’t hard to work out, given the way he only had eyes for women and not men when we were talking.” Okay, a slight exaggeration and probably a naive assumption. But it wasn’t hurting anyone.

“Sounds like a sleaze,” Jane replied.

“You know what these arrogant pseudo-celebrities are like.”

Forgive me, Mac. You know I don’t mean it.

Jane laughed. “So pander to his ego and get a good story. Hopefully, he’ll drop his guard, and you’ll get some good quotes. For a start, we want to know what sort of guy writes romance.”

Sheridan shook her head. The dreaded question. The one she herself had asked. And really wished she hadn’t.

“Well, I’m…”

“Actually, why don’t you do an argumentative piece. Male versus female writers. We could call it ‘Can Guys Write Romance?’” Jane interrupted. “Get input from the organizers and convention attendees. Bring out the worst in them all. It will make fabulous reading.” She laughed.

Sheridan shuddered. That wasn’t what she had in mind, especially not now.

“Leave it with me. Copy will be in on time. I’ve never let you down before. I’m not going to start now.”

Sheridan was well aware that Jane wanted her to hang Mac out to dry just to give the convention story a boost. It wasn’t necessary. She was sure she could make the convention sound insane without even mentioning Mac.

“True. So what about Vegas? Are you having fun?”

Not in the way you mean. Actually, exactly in the way you mean.

“It’s how I imagined it to be. Wild and crazy.”

Although she had to admit that in the short time she’d been here, she hadn’t come across a miserable person. Everyone seemed to throw themselves headlong into the craziness. And some might even say that Sheridan herself had embraced it after what she’d done last night.

“Yes. But are you enjoying yourself?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair messy and falling over her shoulders. The look of a girl who’d spent a night of decadent pleasure.

She hadn’t realized how incomplete and one-sided her life had been until being with Mac had shown her what she was missing. She shuddered to think how she’d cope if that was the one and only time she’d experienced it.

“I’m not here to enjoy myself,” she forced herself to say. She wasn’t going to admit anything to Jane.

“This assignment is wasted on you.” Jane gave a long sigh.

“I didn’t ask for it.” Sheridan grinned. It was a good thing they weren’t video-conferencing or Jane would get a shock— Sheridan hadn’t even bothered to get dressed yet. If she didn’t get into the shower soon, half the morning would have been lost.

“Touché,” Jane replied. “Try to enjoy the rest of your time there. I’ll see you next week.”

Sheridan said good-bye and then walked over to the window and stared at the vast expanse of imposing mountains. They were stunning, especially the way the sun’s rays painted the giant rugged peaks. It made her feel very small. She realized that Vegas had got to her. But not in the way it did to most people. And not in the way she’d expected. It had brought Mac to her, and that was something she would be eternally grateful for. She had no idea if they would see each other after the convention ended. She hoped so. The thought of never seeing him again made her stomach churn.

How they’d manage to get together with their busy schedules she didn’t know. Although she guessed he could write anywhere.

Stop.

What the hell was she doing? They’d known each other for twenty-four hours and already she was planning to move in with him. She needed a shower, to get dressed, and to concentrate on doing her job. How could she even think of letting a man come between her and her career?

Chapter Nine

Mac glanced down at his note pad and swallowed hard. What the fuck? Without realizing, he’d been sketching Sheridan’s face on the sheet of paper in front of him. He hurriedly covered it with his hand and took a quick look to either side of him at his fellow panel members to see if anyone had noticed what he’d been doing.

“Is everything okay?” whispered the woman sitting next to him.

Had she seen? He didn’t think so, judging by the way her eyes were on him and not looking down at his paper. He drew in a long, deep breath, wanting to appear calm.

“Yes. Yes. All good. Could do with a coffee,” he whispered back.

“Me, too.” She smiled at him.

Shit.
He hoped she wasn’t suggesting they went together. He knew her vaguely from attending the convention. And they shared an agent. But they didn’t normally hang out together.

He turned his head away from her, feigning interest in the editor at the end of the table whose turn it was to talk. The panel had been fun. They’d had a heated, though enjoyable, discussion about heroes in romance. In particular the role of those who were extremely alpha, like Sheikhs. The audience was mixed in their response, some preferring the alpha and some leaning more toward the beta, less controlling men. Like the guys he’d always written about. Like he was himself. When he found himself introspecting, he guessed it was probably the result of having no adult male role models in his life after the age of ten.

His aunt had raised him on her own after his parents died in a tragic boating accident. She was a God-fearing Baptist, extremely strict, and didn’t believe in open shows of affection. He couldn’t remember her ever giving him a hug, however upset he’d been. Or whenever he’d had any successes. She’d always instilled in him the need to have a respectable profession and wanted him to go into banking like her father. But Mac hated anything to do with math, so it was never going to happen. He much preferred the arts. The only books she would have in the house, though, were the classics. He suspected she’d turn in her grave if she knew about him writing such lightweight stuff. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

A gentle nudge in his ribs made him start. “We’re done. Fancy that coffee?” the woman next to him asked.

He’d been miles away and hadn’t realized the panel had wrapped up. The attendees were standing and heading toward the back of the room, apart from the usual few who were hanging around to speak to the panel members. He hoped he could get past them without being stopped.

“Sorry, I can’t.” He paused a moment. “I’m meeting a journalist who I’ve promised an interview,” he added, not wanting to appear rude.

“Another time, then,” she replied, gently touching his arm and flashing him a big smile.

“Sure.”

He picked up his bag from under the chair and hurried off the podium. Luckily, no one stopped him, and he quickly made it to the elevator. Except there were hoards of people waiting, so he detoured to the escalator and rode down uninterrupted. He reached the Barakoa coffee bar and scanned the room but couldn’t see Sheridan.

“Hey.”

His heart raced at the sound of Sheridan’s husky voice in his ear. “Hi. Grab a booth, and I’ll order coffee. Latte?”

“Mmm. Please.”

He forced his arms to remain by his side and not pull her close. There were too many people around to risk it. All bets would be off when he got her alone in his room later.

She headed toward the back, and he joined the end of the line. The wait to get served seemed interminable, though probably only five minutes. Finally, he made it to the booth, placed their coffees onto the table, and slid in opposite Sheridan, not stopping until their knees were touching. She leaned across the table and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“Good panel?” she asked.

What would she think if she knew he’d spent most of it thinking of her and not participating as much as he would normally?

“Yeah, it was good. When I could keep my mind on it.”

Okay, so he’d admitted it.

“What preoccupied you?” She took a sip of coffee and ran her tongue along her top lip to remove the faint line of foam. So irresistible. He had to jam his hand under his thighs to stop from ravaging her.

“Like you need to ask.” They locked eyes. The flirty twinkle in hers almost sending him over the edge.

“It was hard for me, too.” She sighed.

“You were thinking of me?” He’d hoped that she reciprocated his feelings, and it seemed that she probably did.

“Not just you.” She bit down on her bottom lip.

He sensed something was wrong. His stomach dipped.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing. Well, my editor called.”

Crap.
Just his luck for something to get in the way.

“Don’t tell me. They’ve ordered you back there, and you can’t stay for the rest of the convention.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I wish.”

Mac leaned back in his seat and stared at her. She wanted to leave. He hadn’t expected that.

“You want to go?”

“No. Of course I don’t. It’s just…just…”

“Tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

If it meant she’d be staying, he didn’t care. He was sure it was something they could sort out together.

“I mentioned meeting you, and now she wants me to do the whole article on male versus female writers. And make a big deal about you being a man in a woman’s world.”

His heart sank. That, he hadn’t expected. Being a male writer at the convention was one thing. Advertising it to a much wider audience was something different.

“And are you?”

Sheridan looked away from him, a guilty expression on her face. “She’s my editor. I’m meant to do what she demands.”

“Without a say in it?” He let out an exasperated sigh.

“Do you want me to refuse?” She glanced up, staring at him from under her eyelashes.

This was a whole new side of Sheridan. He might have only known her a short while, but he would wager that under any other circumstances she’d have told him to suck it up. But here she was, offering him a way out. Except how could he take it?

“No. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” He shook his head.

“Will it damage your career?”

Good question.

“Pitting me against female writers won’t do me any favors. Inflammatory articles never do.”

“And that will affect future sales, I suppose?”

“Possibly. I don’t really know. When I compromised and went with B.A. Mackenzie, it was because of my publisher’s demographic. Women are the main buyers, and they believed some women would react against a male author. But who knows. I guess now will be the time to test out the theory.” He shrugged, trying to make light of it.

“Surely you have enough readers now for it not to matter.”

“You could be right. It’s a risk, that’s all.”

“I won’t do it.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to be responsible for ruining your career.” He stared at her, his respect growing by the second. He couldn’t even articulate what he was feeling at that precise moment.

“I appreciate what you want to do, but let’s put it into perspective. It won’t ruin my career. It just won’t enhance it. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is damaging yours.”

“And I don’t want to be responsible for your career not being enhanced.” She grinned. “It looks like we’ve reached an impasse. Which is no good. I’m going to tell her no. They’ll still get their article. And I’ll even suck up to the organizers and not poke fun at the convention.”

“Oh. You were going to do that, were you?”

Sheridan flushed. “It crossed my mind as an option. Before I met you, Deirdre, and the others. Now I sort of get it.”

Mac placed his hand onto her forehead. “I knew it. You’ve been struck down by the romance virus. There’s no hope now.”

“It’s the hotel, isn’t it? They turn everyone into romance zombies.”

She rested her hand on her chest and let out a low throaty laugh.

He drank in the way her beautiful eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were slightly pink. He’d fallen hard and fast, and he couldn’t let her get away.