Hot on His Heels (What Happens in Vegas)

by Margo Bond Collins

  “I just need to finish your hair first,” Ruby said. “Sit here so I can take out the curlers.”

  It was another fifteen minutes before Emerald tugged the red dress into place, then stepped back and examined her handiwork while Ruby clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Beautiful.”

  “Here.” Emerald set a pair of low heels in front of her. Sadie stepped into them and took a few wobbly steps before she found her balance.

  From across the room, Amelia let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

  Surprised by the knot in her stomach, Sadie moved toward the full-length mirror.

  My worry has nothing to do with spending the evening trying to talk to a male romance-novel cover model. Though if I have to talk to a beautiful man, I would kind of rather spend the time with Jake—even if he does drive me insane.

  She was just anxious because she didn’t want to look ridiculous.

  But if that were true, surely the tight feeling would have dissipated when she saw her reflection.

  She looked amazing—like she had never looked before. The red dress accentuated curves that Sadie would have sworn weren’t there, her stick figure suddenly slender instead of skinny. The heels gave her calves definition, and the makeup that had felt so heavy on her face served only to highlight the deep brown of her eyes and fine porcelain texture of her skin.

  Instead of sticking out in wild corkscrews, her hair curled softly to her shoulders in loops.

  She really did look beautiful. “I kind of feel like Cinderella.”

  A knock at the door shocked her out of her examination.

  Frantic, she glanced at the clock. Is it really time for the model to be here? Wide-eyed, she glanced from Emerald and Ruby to Amelia.

  “Go ahead, hon,” said Ruby. “Answer the door.” Emerald backed her partner up by waving both her hands in a shooing motion.

  It’s just a few hours. I can do this.

  Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, Sadie pulled the door open.

  Out in the hall, hand raised to knock again, stood Jake Blaine in a black tuxedo, looking every bit the male model himself.

  Sadie froze, unable to speak. Only two words came to mind.

  Devastatingly handsome.

  But not the date she had been expecting.

  Dropping his hand, he turned to face her, his mouth open as if to say something. Instead, though, he stopped, his gaze traveling from her head to her toes, and back up again. When he finally looked into her eyes, the flare of heat in his stare sent a shiver down Sadie’s spine.

  Oh, dear. I really am in trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  Jake stood paralyzed, stunned into immobility by the woman in front of him.

  He had been attracted to Sadie Quinn before, to the banked passion he saw in her eyes and heard in her voice when she spoke about her project, to the delicate beauty that she seemed determined to hide. And he had known what he was doing when he arranged for Emerald and Ruby to take charge of Sadie’s makeover—they were the best hair, makeup, and costume team he had worked with, either as a model or on the rare occasions when Kamille had asked him to cover for her during photo shoots after he had moved into his editorial position.

  Still, his senses reeled as he took in the beauty in front of him. Her wide-eyed stare reminded him that he should probably offer some comment.

  “Amazing,” he finally managed to whisper.

  She blinked several times, as if clearing her vision.

  “Where’s the model?” she finally asked.

  Model? Right. Niall. He shook his head to clear his own mind. “He’s not feeling well. Kamille asked me to take over.”

  “I…see.” She sounded more doubtful than he would have liked, but at least she stepped out into the hall to join him.

  …

  The light from the water show at the Bellagio played across the delighted expression on Sadie’s face. Hell, her whole body seemed to light up with joy as she watched the fountains dance to the music. Jake had rarely seen anything like it.

  She doesn’t even know that she’s beautiful.

  The thought surprised him. It wasn’t that the thought of a woman without a clear sense of her own attractiveness surprised him—after all, he made his living editing books full of female characters who weren’t sure of their own charm, but he’d thought that was just a trope, just a literary device to get a story rolling. Until tonight, he’d been quite sure that kind of woman didn’t exist in real life.

  He’d expected Professor Sadie Quinn to be different. To be more sure of herself. But the more time he spent with her, the more he realized that although she came across as confident, even brash, in her writing, in person she was much more reserved.

  Shy, even.

  When she turned around to glance at him, hands clasped under her chin, smiling so hard it put creases in her cheeks, all of that reserve had disappeared. The fountains flared up in their grand finale, then splashed down until they were still. Sadie clapped as hard as any of the children around them.

  Laughing around the words, she said, “‘Ye soft pipes, play on.’” At the confused wrinkling of his brow, the light behind her grin faded a little, and her back stiffened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a quote from ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn.’”

  He nodded. “I thought I recognized it. Keats, right?”

  Some of the joy returned to her gaze. “You read poetry?”

  Taking her hand in his, Jake drew her down the sidewalk toward the escalators leading up to one of the several pedestrian overpasses that allowed them to cross the street. “Not so much anymore. I don’t really have time these days. But I majored in literature in college, so I know the basics.”

  He held out one hand to usher her onto the escalator, placing one hand protectively against the small of her back. It was a tiny gesture, one that he had used countless times with Kamille and his sister, Ivy, not to mention any number of women he had dated. This time, though, at the slight touch, heat seemed to zing through the fabric, almost shocking his fingertips. It was all he could do to keep from jerking his fingers away.

  Sadie’s tiny jump suggested that she had felt it, too. But like Jake, she ignored it, focusing instead on the conversation she had started. “So what do you like to read now?”

  I don’t have time for anything but erotica.

  No. He couldn’t say that.

  But he had to come up with something, preferably by the time they reached the top of the escalator.

  “I read a lot of genre fiction,” he finally managed to temporize.

  “Oh, like mysteries?” As she stepped off the moving stairs, her red dress swirled around the tops of her thighs, revealing their creamy whiteness, and Jake’s mind went completely blank for just a moment as he stared, mesmerized.

  Then the toes of his shoes hit the end of the escalator, forcing him to step forward or fall, and Sadie’s skirt fell back into place, so he was able to pull his attention back to the conversation.

  “Yeah. Mysteries. Something like that.”

  The beautiful college professor seemed unaware of his momentary trance, as she continued to chat about books. “Have you ever read Dorothy Sayers’s mysteries featuring Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane?”

  “Can’t say I have.” I can’t say I’ve read anything but romance novels and newspapers for years now. He would be willing to read anything she put in front of him. In fact, it would surprise him if a number of her students weren’t half in love with her. If they weren’t, they were idiots. As she talked about books, all of her reserve fell away again, and her hands waved in front of her like a conductor directing a symphony.

  Just like a symphony, he realized, listening and making encouraging noises at the right moments. She was threading together words, weaving them together in a composition that, when rendered by her warm, alto voice, was every bit as intricate and detailed as an opera.

  He would have to go back and read her email messages to Jocelyn. Did they hav
e the same quality? Did she always pull her words together into music, or was it something about the night?

  Or maybe my company?

  He shook the thought away. She was a literature professor. Of course she would be at her best when she was talking about books.

  When she came to a halt at the bottom of the down escalator on the other side of the street, he almost ran into her, so caught up was he in listening to her talk about mysteries he’d never heard of.

  I don’t even like mysteries that much.

  “Where now?” Sadie asked, looking up and down the street.

  Right. Dinner.

  Kamille had made reservations at Andre’s at the Monte Carlo, determined to make this as romantic an evening as possible.

  That’s where the cameras would be, waiting to get the pictures of the prizewinner’s Cinderella evening. Although he had managed to wrest a promise out of Kamille that the pictures wouldn’t show his face, Jake didn’t need to worry about it. He suspected that Sadie would shut down in front of the photographers. She wouldn’t want the students and academics in her everyday life to stumble across a photo of her actually having fun.

  And this was it—his one chance to get to know this tiny woman who had been emailing him for months, and whose presence he suddenly craved.

  “We’re supposed to meet the photographers now.” He watched her carefully for her response.

  There it was—a tiny shudder, quickly suppressed.

  “But I have a better idea.” With a grin, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the escalator. “Let’s ditch the chaperones and go make our own fun.”

  “Not go to dinner?” Sadie sounded uncertain.

  “Oh, we’ll have dinner. Just not the dinner Kamille had planned for us.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sadie trailed behind Jake, once again feeling slightly stunned by his smile—not to mention the fact that apparently he wanted to spend the evening alone with her, without photographers hovering around.

  Either that, or he wanted to get it over with as fast as he could.

  That wouldn’t surprise her, really—after all, she had just been lecturing him as if he were one of her students. All he had to say was that he read mysteries sometimes, and she was off and running.

  Oh, I’m such an idiot.

  Of course he didn’t want to be photographed with her—who would? She was a mousy, plain English professor who had been thrust upon him for the evening, probably against his wishes. The dress, shoes, and makeup had done a lot to bring out her inner siren, but it wasn’t a permanent change, just one night.

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t hope for more, even if it was for just a little while. “‘A regard, which despite all my struggles, has overcome every rational objection,’” she muttered.

  Jake cocked his head in her direction. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Sadie mumbled, staring at the ground.

  “No. I recognize it. It’s…Jane Austen, right?”

  The quick uptick in her heartbeat warned Sadie that she was about to turn bright red from chest to hairline. She needed to remember that this guy wasn’t just a pretty face. He might say he didn’t have much time to read any longer, but he had gotten a solid education somewhere along the way.

  She nodded, wishing she could shake her hair out to cover her flaming cheeks. “Pride and Prejudice.”

  “Right. When Darcy proposes the first time.” Jake’s self-satisfied nod made Sadie laugh, even through her embarrassment.

  When they reached the Bellagio and Jake ushered her through the door, the cool air-conditioning caught her skirt, swirling it around her thighs. She pushed it down, feeling just a little bit like Marilyn Monroe.

  Albeit less glamorous.

  Though surely it would be okay if she pretended for one night to be someone else. Someone more beautiful, more confident. Someone who might actually catch the eye of a man like Jake Blaine.

  Could she do it? She had compared herself to Cinderella earlier in the evening. What would it take for her to be that make-believe princess? Could she convince herself to believe in the role enough to make it real?

  Okay. Maybe not the whole evening. But through dinner? She could be someone else through dinner.

  Maybe, if she kept the right words in mind, she could believe them.

  “‘…all that’s best of dark and bright / Meets in her aspect and her eyes,’” she muttered under her breath, too low for Jake, still behind her, to hear. Almost instantly, though, she found herself following it with, “‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun.’”

  Crap. That would never do. She couldn’t spend her evening quoting a Shakespearean sonnet about how ugly and unpleasant the narrator’s ladylove was.

  But she couldn’t get it out of her head, even as Jake smiled down at her, his green eyes bright with charm, then took her hand to lead her toward the buffet. The iambic pentameter seemed to match itself to their footsteps, the words of the poem echoing their progress through the elaborately decorated casino building, interspersed with Sadie’s own thoughts.

  Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

  Well. Maybe not tonight, given how much lipstick Ruby had painted on her earlier.

  If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

  She couldn’t help but glance down at her own tiny breasts, lifted high in their push-up bra. Who did she think she was fooling?

  If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

  Especially if the natural frizz of her hair showed up again.

  I have seen roses damasked, red and white, / But no such roses see I in her cheeks…

  Unless, of course, she couldn’t keep from saying any of this aloud. Then her cheeks would be plenty red.

  And in some perfumes is there more delight / Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

  Had she put mints in her purse? Crap.

  I love to hear her speak, yet well I know / That music hath a far more pleasing sound.

  If only she could make it stop. Even her own head was too loud.

  I grant I never saw a goddess go; / My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

  And sometimes tripped on her own feet. Or at least, over the heels she wore.

  At that thought, Sadie stumbled, and Jake turned, barely in time to catch her. As she fell into his arms, the last lines of the sonnet spun through her mind: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare / As any she belied with false compare.

  The flash of heat in Jake’s eyes as he pulled her upright against him made her wonder: Could he, like Shakespeare’s sonnet narrator, find it in him to desire a perfectly average woman?

  The tightening of her nipples as they brushed against his tuxedo jacket convinced her that she, at least, would find a way to pretend that Jake could—indeed, that he had—chosen her of his own free will.

  For tonight, she would be Cinderella.

  And if she left her heart behind in her metaphorical glass shoe?

  She would just have to deal with it.

  Sadie placed her loaded plate in her spot at the table, then glanced across at Jake’s as she took her seat. His plate had a few shrimp and a couple of pieces of sushi roll.

  Uh-oh.

  Should she have tried to limit herself at the buffet? All of the piled-high food that had looked so appetizing as she picked it out now seemed somehow inappropriate. But she was starving.

  With a mental shrug, she put the napkin on her lap and picked up her fork.

  “Looks good,” Jake said, tilting his chin toward her meal. “Tell me what you chose.”

  Discussing the food proved a nice diversion, and Sadie found herself relaxing even more when Jake decided to take another trip through the buffet, returning with even more food than she had chosen. Even better, he stopped someone on the waitstaff and asked her to bring champagne to their table.

  “If I were still modeling, Kamille would say I shouldn’t eat so much.” His tone was rueful as
he slid back into his seat yet again, this time with a plate full of tiny desserts. With a flourish, he presented the delicacies to Sadie.

  “So you really were a cover model?” She hesitated, her hand hovering as she vacillated between two choices. Finally, she picked up a fruit tartlet.

  “Yeah, though I’d rather you didn’t mention it to anyone.” Jake popped a mini cannoli into his mouth whole and winked at her as he chewed.

  “Why not?” Watching him over the tartlet, Sadie nibbled at the glazed kiwi on her dessert.

  Jake blinked slowly, his gaze on her mouth. Shaking his head a little, he focused on Sadie’s question. “It wouldn’t be good for Ian’s career.”

  “So? Don’t get me wrong—I disagree with most of your brother’s politics. But having a sibling whose life contradicts a political stance hasn’t hurt other politicians.” Sadie took the last bite of the tart and sighed in appreciation.

  “It’s hard to explain.” Picking up the tiny chocolate mousse cake Sadie had considered earlier, Jake held it across the table. “Let’s share.”

  Head tilted to one side, Sadie considered the morsel, then looked back up at Jake. “You can’t distract me. I’ll share if you at least try to explain.”

  When he nodded, she leaned forward and allowed him to feed her. Jake watched her for a long moment, then placed the second half into his mouth. Sadie had to fight an urge to lick the remaining chocolate off his fingers.

  After he swallowed, he pushed the plate of leftover desserts away. “I guess it comes down to this,” he said. “Ian has always been ambitious. He always knew he wanted to go into politics. He’s the focused one.”

  As he gathered his next words, he absently picked up a tiny pecan pie and ate it. “I drifted from job to job until I landed a modeling gig with Intertwined. Kamille went to college with me and Ian, so she called to see if I would work with her. Ian tried to talk me out of it.”

  “You modeled for Intertwined? Not some other publisher?” Sadie frowned. “I don’t remember seeing you on any of their covers.”