The Seduction of Kinley Foster (What Happens in Vegas) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morning, after several more kissing sessions once Kinley pointed out he’d failed to kiss her the night before, and fucking sessions, which cracked and corroded the wall of protection Ian normally wore around his heart, he was lying on the bed. Happy. A little too happy.

Sex with her was extraordinary. Wanton. Mind-killing.

Thus his happy-ass state of mind.

He wasn’t against feeling happy, but Kinley wasn’t the right girl to feel this way about. She was his best friend’s little sister. And she deserved a man who could give her more than a few nights of himself.

And even if he was a man who could give her a long-term relationship, he still wasn’t the right man for her.

As much as he and her brother had mended their fences, Jack still wouldn’t want a constant reminder around the family of the wedding that never happened.

Besides, Ian wasn
’t ready to settle down into a long-term relationship. He liked his life the way it was. No complications. Then again…

He rubbed his temples. He didn’t want to think very hard along those
then again
lines.

He needed to get his head out of his ass and refocus on what he’d promised Kinley—a no-strings-attached introduction to non-vanilla sex. Any feelings his heart was nursing needed to be killed.

He picked up some conference notes and straightened them with more force than finesse, only to become distracted by Kinley when she walked out of the bathroom wearing a white fuzzy robe.

Still holding the notes, he turned to get a better look at her, and a card slipped to the floor.

She bent down to pick it up. “What’s this?” She read the information on the card and then gave him a beaming smile. “
A REAL sex club?
” she squealed. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you have an invitation to one. They were all the rave when I started reading erotica.”

Shit. He’d meant to toss that in the nearest trash can after the lady in the elevator dropped it. How did the card get mixed up with his pitch notes? “It’s nothing. Just something I found.” He didn’t correct her and tell her the invitation was for a private sex party, not a sex club. That there was a difference in the type of individuals you’d come across in each. That bit of information was beside the point.

As if clueing in to his lack of excitement, she gave him a beguiling look of female begging. “
Can we go?
”

His throat tightened. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? Isn’t your job this week to teach me about things I want to write about?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s also my job to keep you safe. I can’t take you to a party where I don’t know the host.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a worrywart. If I can walk on the wild side this week, surely you can as well. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He fingered a curl of her hair, still wet from her shower. “I left it in New York. One of us has to be sensible.” Actually, back in NY, when he’d been doing his BDSM research, he’d ventured into a couple of “dungeons” and, no, they weren’t the dark, dangerous places that one might think. Most had rather ordinary-looking people entertaining extraordinary fetishes. Few had people actually having sex—that was more common on the international scene. Here in the US of A, actual “sex” was illegal in most states.

She collapsed back on the bed, causing her robe to gap open, showing him enough skin to rattle his brain. “We’re in Vegas, baby. The city that frowns at sensible people.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“How much do you know about story structure?” Ian asked Kinley. She was wearing a white turtleneck and black slacks. Her hair was up in a bun, and her glasses were perched on her nose. A very prim and proper look for a vixen he’d seen naked only hours earlier.

They were having lunch in the same café they’d dined in on the first day at the conference.

She took a bite of her omelet. Swallowed. “I think I know more than the average writer.”

“Good. Pretend we are a love story. What would the inciting incident be?” He hadn’t meant to ask her to use them as an example in the teaching of story structure. So why did he?

Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of girly pink. “Actually, I started writing a novella yesterday, and I’m loosely using our setup as the backbone of the story.”

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Interesting. So, what’s the inciting incident?”

She took a sip of her orange juice. “My heroine’s inciting incident is when she boarded a plane full of ladies who sell sex toys.”

He nodded “
That explains your vibrators.
”

“That’s where my heroine’s sex toys came from. And the lady sitting beside her in the plane becomes her mentor in the seduction of the story’s hero.” She dipped her hash browns in the glob of ketchup she’d poured on her plate and took a bite.

He grimaced. He didn’t like ketchup. It reminded him of the blood that had gushed from her head during their unfortunate sledding accident that had left her scarred for life. “You’ve had some help in your game plan to seduce me?”

She patted the corners of her lips with her napkin. “In my novella, my heroine has had some outside help.”

He took a bite of his bacon. “And in your novella, did the mentor tell the heroine to masturbate in front of the hero?” he asked, feeling wicked talking to Kinley about masturbation in the middle of the day in the middle of a busy restaurant.

She dropped her fork on her plate and it clanged loudly causing some to glance their way. “She told her to leave the bar without the hero,” she whispered.

He leaned closer to her and whispered back. “Nice. What’s the hero’s inciting incident?”

She pushed her plate away and folded her hands prissily on the table. “His is a little more complicated. An unlikely friend calls and asks him for a favor.”

He reached out and stroked the top of her hand. “You really don’t remember anything we talked about the night you sang on stage?” He found himself wishing she did. Wishing they didn’t have that black cloud hanging over their experience this week.

She dropped her gaze and laced her fingers with his. “I thought we were talking about story structure, not the most humiliating night of my life.”

He released her hand and sat back, shifting in his seat. “What is the first turning point of…your hero and heroine’s love story?” The restaurant was filling up.

“For my heroine, it’s when the hero bets her she can’t seduce him. She takes him up on the bet. And for the hero, it’s when he realizes she did seduce him, and he so arrogantly assumed she never could.”

He glanced back at Kinley. Her comment surprised him. “Arrogant?” Is that how she saw him?

“Absolutely. It’s my story. I have an arrogant hero who needs to be taken down a notch or two before he makes a great hero.”

He never meant to come across as arrogant. Mostly, he said and did what he said to protect against poor choices. “What do you have planned as the climax in your story?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “That’s where everything goes to hell between the hero and heroine—right?”

His groin tightened. He felt a pull of temptation to reach across the table and kiss her bottom lip. “Sometimes. But sometimes it goes great.”

“The hero falls madly in love with the heroine and tells her so in a very public setting.” Her voice held a wistful quality.

Was she secretly hoping he’d fall in love with her? “And how does the heroine respond?” Was he secretly hoping she’d fall in love with him?
How public is his declaration of love?

“I haven’t gotten that far in my planning. But I’m thinking, she’s going to shoot him down. Wipe the arrogance out of him in a big way.”

He tugged on his ear. “You’ve got a mean streak.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I prefer to call it an ornery streak.”

His gut tightened. “You’re writing a romance, so there has to be a happily ever after resolution.”

She shrugged. “I’m thinking about giving it the Nicholas-Spark’s-Ending Treatment. The hero’s heart gets broken, and the heroine regains her independence and dignity. And revenge for her brother.”

“Your brother doesn’t hate me. He trusts me.”

“This story isn’t about my brother. It’s about my heroine’s brother.”

He frowned. “
I don
’t think I can sell that.” Nor would he want to.

“You’re not going to be my agent, so that’s not a problem.”

His palm itched to make contact with her ass. “If your heroine is so fabulous, why doesn’t she have a boyfriend? Why is she single?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer. Would she tell him?

She gave him her sassy look. “She’s between boyfriends.”

He exhaled. “What happened to her last boyfriend?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced away. “He reminded her too much of her first love…but she didn’t realize this until he declared his love.”

“And?”

She took her glasses off and wiped them with her napkin. “Have you thought anymore about taking me to the fantasy bash?”

Ian frowned. She wasn’t going to kiss and tell. “What if I said yes? Are you saying you’d be okay watching me have sex with another woman?”

She propped her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with her hands. “Could you watch me with another man?” she asked, a wicked grin on her face.

Was she purposefully pushing his buttons to see how much he cared? “Honestly?”

Her smile didn
’t waver, but the gleam in her eyes turned a darker shade. “Of course.”

He’d promised her a lot of things this week. One of them being honesty. “
I don
’t think there’s a chance in hell I’d ever be able to share you with another man. The thought causes me to want to punch something.”

“We’re not a real couple. Just a short-week couple.”

“I know.”

She leaned back and picked a piece of lint off her sleeve. “
And we
’re not in love.”

He waited for her to look up at him. “I know.”

“Then take me to the sex party.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “
I don
’t understand why it’s so important to you to go to one. You don’t have any sex-party scenes in your manuscript. Everything you have is between one man and one woman.”

“This may be my only chance to experience all of these different sexual avenues with someone…like you.”

“
Like me?
” He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this.

“You know. Safe. Non-judgmental. Someone who lost a bet and who has to keep his end of the lost-bet bargain.”

Ian’s stomach dropped. The friggin’ bet. Neither of them had mentioned the bet. Who was a better teacher or mentor? That was the question, wasn’t it? And then, she’d gone and seduced him, and he had to concede she had in fact won that round. But, damn it, they’d come farther than that. Hadn’t they?

She stared at him as if daring him to argue. “I did lose the bet, didn’t I?” Damn this arrangement. Surely she was feeling some of the same doubts he was feeling about their ability to keep their relationship purely a mentor/mentee bargain.

“You did indeed
lose
the bet?” She did air quotes around the word lose. “Which by default means you have to teach me everything you can about sex and sexual tension.”

He stamped down the desire gnawing at his throat to once again say this was a bad idea. “Please remind me to never take you up on a bet ever again.”

“Does that mean you’re going to uphold your end of the one we have in place?”

“I’ll make you a deal, if I can find out more about the people hosting the party, and they are legitimate, then we’ll go. Not because I want to, but because I’ll keep my promise to teach you about sex this week.”

She cheered and clapped her hands. “You’re the best. How will you do that?”

He shook his head. He was a friggin’ idiot. “I’ll do what any endowment brat would do. I’ll hire a private detective.”

She plopped her elbows back up on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Speaking of endowments. I should say, yours did not disappoint.”

He chuckled. “I aim to please.”

The waitress came and cleared their table.

“Oh that you did,” Kinley said, giving him an exaggerated wink. “In fact, let it never be said I’m not anything if not a gracious bet winner. That being said, I owe you big time for agreeing to take me to a sex party.”

He crossed his arms and sat back. Was there a silver lining in this fiasco? “Big enough to answer a question for me?”

She pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose and glanced at him over the top of them. “I was thinking a blowjob would be a great thank you. But sure, if you want the answer to a question, I guess I could grant you that instead.”

“Tell me why you and your last boyfriend broke up.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ian and Kinley slid their masks into place before he raised his hand to knock at the front door of the Robinson House, a pre-Civil War reproduction of Tara from
Gone with the Wind
. Before he could knock, an intimidating black man dressed in a red tuxedo, wearing a black half-mask, opened the door.

Kinley stiffened next to Ian.

Was she afraid? He drew her to his side. Or was she having second thoughts about what they were doing? He kissed her temple. It had been twenty-four hours, but he was still reeling from the knowledge she’d cried out his name during an orgasm given to her by another man. Of course she’d gone on to say that it was a fluke, a mind-meltdown on her behalf because her brother had mentioned Ian’s name earlier that day in a conversation, but Ian had latched onto that tidbit of information like a pit bull to a steak. Because, come on, it’d been
ten years
. If he was still on her mind—and while in the throes of passion, no-less—
then Kinley hadn’t been nearly as indifferent to him as she’d claimed.

He cursed this wretched deal they’d struck yet again. They should be back in their hotel room, in bed, where he’d devote the next twelve hours to making her scream his name, over and over again. So he could etch himself into her mind for another ten years.

But no. A promise was a promise. That promised stemmed from a bullshit bet. And here they were. At a friggin’ fantasy bash.

One of these days, he really needed to learn to tell this woman no.

The man who answered the door didn’t smile. “Names?” He had a no-nonsense voice.

“Brad and Angelina.” Ian gave him their stage names. Names they were assigned after being selected to attend the party. The invitation he’d found in the elevator had only been the beginning of the process.

Once he called and RSVP’d, he’d been required to send photographs of himself and Kinley. From there, he had to wait to hear back from the hostess to see if they’d been chosen by a committee to be allowed to come to the party.

Then he had to give permission for them to do a background check on them.

His detective reported that Fantasy Bashes threw friendly parties all over the country for young couples and single women. They were regularly attended by beautiful partygoers from all over the world.

They were known for their intimate sensual ambiance and welcomed newcomers and first-timers.

“Very good.” He stepped back. “My name is Dan.”

A woman stepped out from behind Dan. She had on a dark green nightgown that squeezed her boobs into a gravity-defying display of cleavage.

Dan placed his hand on her shoulder. “This is my wife, Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian said. “I’m Brad and this is Angelina.”

Kinley stepped forward and held out her hand. “It’s nice…to meet you.” Her voice sounded different to him. Hesitant. He placed his hand in the small of her back. If she was having second thoughts, they would go.

“It’s very nice to meet the two of you,” Dan said, shaking Ian’s hand and kissing Kinley’s. “Have you done this before?”

Was the tension in the air his imagination or real? “This is our first.” Ian glanced past the host. He saw a wide hallway painted a rich red with a lot of doors. No people spilling out. No shindig underway. No sound, barring faint jazz music.

“Then my wife will explain the rules. Rules you must follow.”

Charlie smiled. Her eyelashes fluttering through her white mask. She stepped away from the door. “Please follow me.” Her voice was low, soft, and perfectly southern. Charming.

Dan stood back and allowed them to enter.

Ian took Kinley
’s hand and followed. “Do you live here?” he asked Charlie. His detective said the house belonged to a couple, not Fantasy Bashes.

The house sat in the middle of a secluded lot. A wall of trees surrounded the perimeter—a throw-back of a large plantation home. From what he could tell in the dark, while the car-service drove down the winding driveway, the groomed grounds were top notch. Obviously an expert cared for them. They were a long way away from the Strip.

“No one lives here.” Charlie stopped next to a door and opened it. She motioned for them to enter first.

A large red divan was situated in the middle of the room. A fire burned low in the belly of a fireplace whose chimney extended to the top of eighteen-foot ceilings. On the wall above the mantle hung a huge flat screen television.

“There is a remote on the divan’s arm. Please turn the television on and watch the video. When you are ready, knock on the door, and you will be escorted to the party. Or, if you desire, you may go home.” With those simple instructions, she turned and left them alone in the room.

“Are you okay?” he asked Kinley, who’d been unusually quiet. Since when did she become the silent type? “We can go home at any time.”

She lifted her chin and glanced at him. “Do you know Dan and Charlie?”

The question surprised him. “Not exactly. I think I met her in an elevator at the conference. But with the mask, it’s hard to say for sure.” He took her hand and kissed her palm.

She gave him a smile and then tugged her hand away. “That tickles.”

“You look so beautiful.” It was all he could do to keep his hands off of her. He’d thought of a few other ways he wanted to make love to her. “Perhaps, we should leave and go back to the hotel. Do what we do so well.”

“You’re looking mighty fine yourself in your tuxedo, Mr. Thompson. But I do declare, it sounds like you may be getting cold feet.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He leaned down and captured her lips in a short kiss. “Or maybe a case of possessiveness.”

She touched her fingers to her lips. “You’re very good at confusing me. You’re the one who said I needed real experience in order to be able to write erotic romance well.”

“I did, didn’t I? Shall we watch the tape and see what we’re getting ourselves into?”

She nodded and walked to the divan. For a moment, he just stared. Dressed in a long red dress that hugged all her curves, and displayed her ass like an hourglass, he’d been entranced all evening. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and hung down and around her shoulders in a cascade of curls. A zipper held the dress up. Easy to unzip. Easy to step out of. Easy to have sex in.

He sat down beside her and turned on the television. The first scene on the screen was of a bedroom. A bed—the size of three king beds pushed together—crowded the room. On the bed were a group of men and women engaged in sexual acts.

“Oh, wowza,” Kinley said, her hand coming to her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting that right off the bat.”

Ian chuckled.

To the side were cafe style tables. Men and women sat at the tables. Some were watching those on the bed and openly masturbating, others were drinking and talking as if alone in the world.

As quickly as the show appeared, the screen went dark.

“Shall we go home?” Ian asked, willing her to say yes.

Kinley glanced at him. Glanced at the door. “Did you notice they were all wearing bracelets?”

He frowned. She didn’t sound like a woman ready to go home. “Really?” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.

She smoothed the skirt of her dress. “
Men don
’t wear bracelets. How could you not notice they had them on?”

He crossed his leg, resting his foot atop his knee, and reminded himself of his promise to her. “What kind of bracelets?”

She shrugged. “Some type of charm bracelets.”

The movie came back on. Charlie and Dan were sitting on a couch. They were dressed in sleepwear. Charlie spoke. “Anything legal or within reason is allowable at one of our bashes. Everyone here is an adult and consenting.”

Kinley shivered. She reached out and touched Ian’s hand, lacing her fingers with his.

He kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

“Perfect. Just a little nervous,” she responded.

“In the baskets, sitting on the table under the window, are charms,”
Charlie said.

Ian fetched the basket and placed it on the couch between them.

“Choose the charms that represent the things you are willing to experience. The ping-pong paddle represents your willingness to allow another couple to spank you. If you wear a paddle with a pair of eyeglasses, it represents that you are willing to allow another couple to watch you being spanked,” Dan said.

“If you wear the number two on your bracelet, this symbolizes you are willing to swap partners,”
Charlie said.

Kinley picked up a charm of the number two. She held it up to the light and stared at it before placing it back in the basket.

Ian sighed in relief.

“A three or higher represents your willingness to participate in group sex similar to what you just watched,”
Charlie said.

Kinley explored the charms in the basket but didn’t pick any up.

“The handcuffs tell other couples you are into bondage and are willing to participate in light BDSM. We do not allow anything beyond light BDSM,” Dan said.

Kinley glanced up at Ian. “Let’s not do that.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with doing.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead, glad she’d said no to that experience. He’d never be able to allow another person to harm her in any way.

On the screen, Dan spoke. “If you wear a bracelet with no charms, you are telling other party participants you are new, and you want to watch and learn. We recommend this for all first-timers.”

The television went black.

Kinley and Ian stared at one another.

“I’m good with just watching,” he said.

She licked her lips. Shook her head. “Nope. I’m doing this. We’re here. There’s no going back now.”

He swallowed the bitter tasting lump in his throat.

She squared her shoulders. “I say we wear the number two on our bracelets.”

He hissed out a breath. The words were like a gunshot to the heart—the pain intense. “You’re killing me, Foster.” He said the words in a joking tone, but he wasn’t joking. At all. What was wrong with him? Why had he brought her here? He wanted more than a few nights with her. A lot more. Why was he just now letting that truth into his brain?

The fact was, he didn’t want any of this. He didn’t need a threesome to be happy. He needed Kinley. And if she wanted non-vanilla sex, he could give her that. Without adding additional people to the mix.

But he
’d made a promise. To go back on the promise would be to break his word. He wasn’t a liar.

She smiled like he’d made her extremely happy. Like she was completely unaware of the storm raging inside of him. “Somebody should have done that a long time ago.”

She’d have her week of kink. “And somebody needs a spanking.”

Her brows furrowed.

Ian figured the best way to handle tonight was to approach it like the pulling off of a band-aid—just get it done. He grabbed a bracelet, slipped the number two on the silver band, and placed the bracelet on her wrist.

She created a matching bracelet for him and then insisted on being the one to take the basket of bracelets and parts back to the window desk when he made a move to do it himself.

He walked to the door and knocked as they’d been instructed.

The door opened.

Charlie and Dan came in. “Ian, you will go with Dan. Kinley, you will come with me. You will meet at the party. If you want to come together as a couple you may. If you want to circulate as singles you may.”

“I prefer walking into the party with Kinley on my arm,” Ian said. He needed to claim her as his.

Kinley laughed. “Nonsense. If we’re going to do this, let’s go all the way. Let’s be mysterious and seductive.”

He frowned but allowed himself to be led out of the room.

…

As soon as the door closed, Kinley turned on Charlie. “What in the hell are you up to? Why are we here? Why are you here?”

Charlie laughed loudly.
“Hosting a party.”

“Is this a Passion Party?” Kinley felt like the universe was spinning out of control, and she didn’t have a tight grip on reality. And why in the hell did she insist on wearing numbers on her bracelet?

She thought for sure Ian would put his foot down and demand they only watch tonight. What in the hell was he doing letting her have her way in all of this? Did keeping a promise mean that much to him? She’d been ready to shove that number two charm up his nose—gah, that stubborn man!

“This is our first business. Selling Passion Party products is a natural extension of what we do as sex party hosts,”
Charlie said.

Kinley took her glasses out of her purse and slid them on. “How does one become sex party hosts?”

“The journey is really quite simple. My grandparents owned the business. I inherited their Bash Homes, and thus the tradition, when they died.” Charlie handed Kinley a black mask with beautiful beading attached to the front and a different bracelet. “Put these on.”

Kinley removed hers and did as she was told. “Why have you been acting like we don’t know one another? And why do you want me to wear this mask? Are you the one who gave Ian the invitation?”

“Because this gives you the upper hand in what happens tonight. And yes, I may have interfered a tiny bit and made sure Ian found out about tonight’s event. And then placed the seed of the thought in your head by casually mentioning swinger parties in a comment.”

Charlie had masterfully manipulated them both. Wow, she was good. “Why do I need the upper hand?” She glanced at her bracelet, the three jingled from the gold band.

“You’re scheduled to go home tomorrow
—
correct?
”

“So?” What was it the three represented?

“Honey, I’ve seen a lot of couples in my life. I have a sense when it comes to who will fall in love and who won’t. You and Ian are destined.”