The Seduction of Kinley Foster (What Happens in Vegas) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kinley woke—unfortunately. Her head felt like a garage rock band was practicing in between her ears, and the poison thorns from a thousand cursed rose bushes were poking her in the eyes.

“Rise and shine, superstar,” Ian said, drawing the curtains open.

She placed her hands over her eyes. What did he call her? “Don’t.” Her voice sounded like hell. A bottle-of-tequila hell. How many margaritas and shots did she consume? She forced one eye to open and peeked out between fingers.

Ian strolled toward her, an evil smile on his face, and yanked off the covers.

The sensation of cold air over bare skin told her she was naked except for her panties. What happened last night? Did he spank her? Did they have sex?

She couldn’t remember beyond him carrying her to the bed—maybe because her head was full of remembering what they’d talked about before that point. It’s like they’d had “the talk” and then everything else was a blur. “Did I pass out?” She moved her hands and cringed her way through the opening of her eyes.

“I’m afraid so. How is your bottom this morning?” He was fully dressed. Professional casual. Black slacks, long-sleeve, v-neck, gray sweater that fit his torso snugly, showing off his body.

She squirmed—once, twice—against the sheets. Her ass felt fine. But if she said that, he might be tempted… “Sore. Very sore.” Were there do-overs if the spanking didn’
t hurt?

A smile lifted his sexy lips. “Did I spank you too hard?”

Her gut told her not to reply. To roll over and go back to sleep. “Of course you did. You’re a beast.” She had to whisper. Anything above that decibel made her want to cry.

“You’re lying,” he said quietly.

“How do you know how my bottom feels? Was yours spanked last night?”

“No, and neither was yours. Although you richly deserved one.”

She stilled—not that she’d been very active to begin with. Even breathing hurt. “
You can
’t blame me if my memories are foggy this morning.” She gently sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Please tell me the things I do remember about last night aren’t real.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you remember?”

“Did I sing in front of people?” Her cheeks burned at the sketchy memory.
He gave her a wide grin. “I’m afraid so.”

Her breath quickened, and that hurt so much she lowered herself back into the soft mattress. “I can’t go to sessions today. Everyone will be talking about me.” How would she ever live through this humiliation?

“If they are talking about you, and I doubt that they are, it will be about the handsome guy who carried you off the stage. It’s much more gossip worthy than your terrible singing.”

She shivered. Not that she would tell him, but his carrying her off the stage had been the hottest thing that had ever happened to her. Worth getting up there and making a fool of herself.

She threw the pillow at him. “Why did you turn on the vibrator?” she whispered. She wanted to yell, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“Why did you tell some guy I was gay? And give him my number?”

She giggled. The guy had actually called him. “I didn’t tell him you were. Just that there was a rumor you were. So that’s why you turned on the vibrator? As revenge?”

“Yes. And I couldn’t get the damn thing to turn off.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “
You are
…an idiot.”

He nodded. “If it makes you feel better, before I came into the Karaoke Lounge, I witnessed the piano player in the piano bar making out with a publishing editor last night.”

“That doesn’
t make me feel better.
” A faint memory surfaced. “Aren’t we supposed to meet with an editor this morning?” How had she lost track of that? Why didn’t she quit drinking the minute she found out? There was no way she could function as an author this morning. Just lying still made her feel woozy. When she felt better, she was really going to hate herself for last night.

“I cancelled.” He got up and walked out of the room.

She closed her eyes, relieved and disappointed and queasy.

He came back and set a tray with a coffee pot and a bottle of aspirin on the bed and then climbed onto the bed beside her. He leaned against the headboard, put the tray on his lap and poured them both a cup of coffee. “Coffee with too much sugar?”

“You remember?” She wanted to be mad at him. But anger took energy, and energy required her brain to work, and her brain was wearing a do-not disturb sign.

“I could lie and say yes. But, I watched you make yourself a cup the other morning. Although, I remember a lot of things about you.” He poured the sugar into her cup and stirred, handing the china cup and saucer to her along with two aspirins.

She took a sip. A sigh of appreciation slipped past her lips. “Like what?” Other than she used to be: bucktooth and chubby.

“Like how pretty you are without any makeup. How your eyelashes are incredibly black and long. Like how smart you are. Like how uncoordinated you are on the dance floor.”

“I am not uncoordinated on the dance floor. That was you.”

“Are you kidding me? When you get your moves on it’s like watching someone trying to pat their head and rub circles on their stomach at the same time.”

She glared at him—and it wasn’t easy to glare when your head wanted to die. But she did it anyway because how dare he make fun of her dancing. He was the one who wouldn’t win if he was in a dance off between himself and a stuffed turtle. “Well, watching you dance is like watching a nerd with his hand in the air and the teacher won’t call on him.” They’d been paired up to take dance lessons before her brother’s wedding, because they were to be a part of the wedding party dance. The lessons had been agony.

He gave her a somber expression. “If I forget to tell you before you leave to go home, I think you’re beautiful. And funny. And the man who finally makes you forget to distrust—the man who finally wins your heart—is going to be one lucky bastard.”

She took another drink of coffee to buy herself a moment to process what he’d said. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“
I don
’t have a reason to be mean to you.”

“Well stop being nice. We’re enemies with benefits for the next few days. That’s all.”

He set his cup back on the tray, then took her cup and did the same. He set it all aside then took both of her hands in his. “Kinley…I like you. I’m not going to lie about that. But, if it makes you feel better, I do owe you a couple of spankings.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Two hours later, it was time for Ian to stop mollycoddling Kinley and get down to the business of being a dominant.
Hell
. Did he just use the word mollycoddle in his thoughts? He needed to cutback how many Regencies he was representing.

He took the bottle of water from her and placed it on the coffee table. She’d taken such a long shower he’d been tempted to call in Search and Rescue. Once she’d finished, he’d ordered room service and fed her toast and a scrambled egg.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with my water,” she complained, showing all the signs of someone who was going to be grouchy for the rest of the day.

“You said you wanted to be in a relationship where you were spanked when you misbehaved. Correct?” They were sitting on the couch, at opposite ends. She’d put on a pair of jeans and an antitrust T-shirt.
Never waste your feelings on people you can’t trust
.

“Because you said I suck at writing sex.”

She looked like hell. Like a woman with a hangover. And yet he was completely turned on by her. “And you agreed to the rules of the game we’re playing. Correct? I’m the dominant. You’re the submissive.”

She curled her feet underneath her. “They were your rules, but I didn’t argue with them.”

“Which means I get to spank you when you break the rules.”

She sat up straight and moved her feet to the floor. “Which I haven’
t done.
”

He maintained eye contact. “Lying about breaking the rules could count as breaking a rule.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Okay. Maybe I broke one or two of your stupid rules.”

Damn she was cute when she was grouchy. “Have you changed your mind about being in a D/s relationship with me?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, turning her body so that they weren’t looking at one another. “No.”

He hid a smile, not wanting to provoke her into changing her mind. “Remember the scene in your book where your heroine is about to get spanked for the first time?”

She looked back at him with a haughty expression. “Of course I do. I wrote it.”

He nodded and remained quiet for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “It’s a great scene, but you left out the emotions of your POV character. The reader has no idea what she’s feeling. If she’s excited. If she’s frightened. If she’s both.”

He listened to the laughter of hotel guests walking down the hallway and waited for her response. Would she take the criticism as constructive or would she get mad?

She slowly turned back toward him and gave him a quizzical look. “She resists. Doesn’t that say what she’
s feeling?
”

“Not all of it. Why is she resisting? Is she trying to figure out what it is about being spanked by a dominant that turns her on? Or is there another reason for resisting? Like she’s changed her mind? She doesn’t like the act as much as she thought she would?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought adding too many thoughts would be boring.”

“Too many would be. But you need some.”

“Oh.” She nodded her head. Like what he’d said made sense.

He shifted so that he was sitting in the middle of the couch. Enough with the verbal mentoring on how to be a better writer. Time for some physical mentoring. He patted his lap. “Take your jeans off and lay across my legs.”

She jumped up. Hurried to the table. Grabbed the top of a chair and stood behind it as if it could protect her. “Now? You want to spank me now? Why?”

He knew exactly why he wanted to spank her. He wanted to see her ass rosy from his hand again. But why he wanted to and why he was going to were two different things. He was going to spank her because of their agreement. “If I’m going to do my job as a mentor to you this week, then it’s necessary for me to keep my word and spank you when you’ve broken the rules.”

“And then what?”

“Then you go downstairs and attend the sessions like you planned.”

She moved from one chair to the next, keeping as much distance between them as possible. “
I don
’t want to go downstairs. People will whisper.”

Ian wanted to pull Kinley in his arms and assure her no one would make fun of her on his watch.

But right now, he was playing the part of a dominant.

A part he’d been thinking a lot about making a permanent part of his lifestyle. He wouldn’t chase her. She would come to him. “What is your safe phrase?”

Kinley blinked.
“Excuse me?”

“The first time I spanked you, it wasn’t planned. This time is different.”

She nibbled her lip. “Why is this time different?”

“Because I’m in control of what I’
m doing.
”

A look of doubt clouded her eyes. “Why a phrase and not a word?”

“Because a phrase takes longer for the submissive to say. Not as likely to be a knee-jerk reaction because your bottom is stinging.”

She chewed on her lip. “What happens when I use the safe phrase?”

“
I quit spanking.
”

“What if I said I love you?” she said in a matter of fact tone.

The panic he would expect to feel at the declaration didn’t occur. Confusion, yes—but not panic. “What?”

“What what?” She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head like a diva.

“What do you mean?”

She laughed. “Don’t look so hopeful, I’m not telling you I love you.”

He frowned. What sort of game was she playing? “You know damn well I didn’t give you a hopeful look. But if you don’t mean it, why did you say it?” Since when had his face become so easy to read?

She gave him a smile so dazzling it could light up the Strip. “That’s my safe phrase.”

He swallowed. Since when had she become so good at messing with his brain? “That’s your safe phrase.” He refused to analyze the emotions surfing inside of him. Refused to think about the taste of disappointment in his mouth.

“Yes,” she said in a saucy voice.

“Why?”

Her mega-watt smile faded like the setting sun—not fast, but slow, like each thought going through her brain pushed it down a little further in the sky until suddenly it was gone. “Because it would take a lot to ever say that to a man, let alone to you.”

He winced. “I get the part about not wanting to say it to me. But why not to any man?” Was that his fault?

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Do you believe in love?”

“I can’t wait to fall in love and have a soulmate.” Why did an image of her and him sitting in rocking chairs on a huge front porch overlooking a picket-fenced yard pop into his brain? And why were there little girls playing in the yard?
Hell.
Who was he kidding? He knew why. He’d been keeping up with her every way he knew how over the years. Waiting for his chance to come back into her life. Waiting to see if grown-up Kinley played havoc with his emotions the way young Kinley did.

God. She was the reason he decided to represent romance writers. He’d been perfectly happy leaving that genre to other agents until her brother mentioned that she had a dream of someday being a romance writer.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked him.

She wasn’t the first female to ask him that question. Normally all of his defenses would fly up, and he’d be itching to escape the woman asking the question.

But not this time.

This time he found himself actually considering the question. Actually responding to it. “I think love at first sight is overrated. I get much more excited at the idea of falling in love with…” He stopped and clamped his mouth shut.
Hell
. He’d been about to say his best friend’s little sister. Where had
that
answer come from?

“With?” she prompted.

He shook the image and thoughts away. “With a rare steak and a double bourbon.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re out of time. There will be a spanking this evening. Right now, we have sessions to attend.”