The Seduction of Kinley Foster (What Happens in Vegas)

by Lisa Wells

  A glass of red wine sat on the table beside her with an empty wine bottle next to it. Her laptop stood open on the coffee table. He liked her hair down. All crazy curls and volume. She shifted, and he caught sight of an expanse of bare skin between the gap of her bottoms and her top. His breath hitched.

  Damn it. He was going to lose the bet.

  He let go of the door and stepped inside the room for a closer look. The door made a clicking noise when it latched, causing her to jump and wake.

  “Hi.” Her voice sounded drugged, as if she’d been sleeping deeply, and her brain wasn’t as awake as her eyes led one to believe. Or maybe she was drunk. She pushed her hair behind her ears, where it fell down the length of her back in a cascade of disheveled silk. Like the sheets he’d slept on last evening.

  He grimaced. Not because he’d woken her, but because he’d robbed himself of the opportunity to view her without her pretty little mouth biting at him with its teeth sharpened on pride and anger. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” The meeting had actually ended over an hour ago, but he’d hit the casino to unwind.

  Kinley moistened her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. A move she’d done earlier.

  Was it his imagination or was she taking a very long time to wet her extremely kissable lips? Seeing her familiar eyes and soft expression, he was hit in the center of the chest with the realization of just how much he’d missed her. Yeah, Jack Foster had been his best friend growing up, and, even in the wake of Stacy-gate, they’d gotten back to an even keel. But he’d lost Kinley entirely. And what’s worse, he hadn’t realized back then just how much he’d taken her for granted in his life until she was gone. Seeing her again, in person, after all these years…yeah. It just hit him hard.

  She sat up and took a sip of her wine. “I thought maybe you’d decided not to give me tips on writing after all.”

  Hell. Why was he going all sentimental? She was a frigging knockout. One that had him thinking about sex. Wondering things like what she would taste like if he ran his tongue along her pouty bottom lip. Would she tremor and moan if he lightly bit the flesh?

  “How much have you had to drink?” He himself had enough to know his defenses were down. Why else would the sight of her infuse in him a desire to ravage? Boobs or not, she was still bratty Kinley Foster. His friend’s little sister. Which in guy speak, meant she was off-limits.

  Her cute nose wrinkled. “That’s not a polite thing to ask a lady,” she said in a prim voice, reminding him of the fact that she was a librarian. A sexy librarian. “Come and have a seat. I have my computer running and a fresh page pulled up to take notes. I’m ready for you to mentor me about sex.”

  Ian strode to the bar and grabbed a bottle of water. “About that—”

  “After all, I did bet you I could handle anything you want to teach me. And I’ve never been one to go back on my word.”

  He twisted off the lid and drank the contents of the small container, tossed it, and grabbed another. “I’ve been thinking. What you need to learn, I can’t mentor you for.” He hadn’t really been thinking that—until now. When he realized they were going to be spending two nights in the same hotel room. And she was of legal age. Now it felt imperative not to engage her in a quest to write sexy.

  She glanced up from her computer screen and pulled her glasses down until they were perched on the tip of her nose. “Can’t or won’t?” Her brows drew together as if warning him there was a right answer and a very wrong answer.

  He widened his stance. “Won’t.”

  Their gazes locked.

  He sighed but didn’t look away. “In order to write sexy, you need to have experienced sexy situations. Your writing needs authenticity. I can’t help you get sexual experience.”

  She still didn’t blink.

  He glanced at her lips, which were drawn into a tight line, and then back up into her eyes, noticing a smudge of mascara on her cheek as he did. “Are you going to say anything?”

  She took her glasses off and held them in one hand, shaking them at him. “Ridiculous male response.” Her pissed-off voice punctuated each word a little heavier than necessary.

  He stood mute.

  She shook her head as if to rid herself of the ridiculousness of what he’d said and then slid her glasses back on her face. “That’s like saying I need to kill someone if I want to be a decent murder mystery author.”

  He opened the new bottle of water and took a seat on the arm of the chair across from where she sat. “Killing someone would be the best way to prepare for the life of a murder mystery writer.” He held up a finger when she opened her mouth to protest. “But that’s not practical. So authors of genres riddled with murders are forced to research in other ways.”

  She nodded emphatically. “Exactly. And romance authors can do the same.” She smiled as if they were in total agreement.

  She licked her lips, and he all but groaned aloud at the sight. Did she keep doing that to distract him?

  “Absolutely, they can.” His voice not quite his own. “And there are two types of romance authors. Those who’ve experienced love and sex firsthand and write it brilliantly because they understand it, and those who only imagine it and then write it great but less than brilliantly.”

  She stared at him over the top of her laptop. “Asinine. But…I’m not going to argue with you about it. You are, after all, an agent and should know what it takes to get a book published.” She started typing. “Things…I need…to…learn…to write…brilliant…romance… Number…one. Get…sexual…experience.”

  He watched her fingers fly over the keys and frowned. “Did you just type what you said? Delete that.” What in the fuck was she doing? “Are you typing a to-do list?”

  “Number two.” Her fingers paused, and she glanced up. “I’m going to be your willing mentee. Talk to me. Tell me what else I need.”

  Jesus, she’d said she’d be a better student than he’d be a teacher—not that he was willing to concede to that. Yet. He yanked off his cufflinks and threw them on the coffee table. Told himself she was just being a brat and trying to get under his skin. She wouldn’t really go out and try to get sexual experience just to write a book. He called her bluff. “You also need to broaden your knowledge of writing dialogue. And story structure.”

  “Learn more about dialogue and story structure.” She glanced up. “Next?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Okay. I need sex experience and craft knowledge.” She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Not counting tonight, I’ve four more nights in Vegas. Surely I can fit four one-night stands in while I’m here.” She gave him a smile so bright he blinked. “I bet there’re some hunks here for that tool convention.”

  He bolted upright. “You’re not going to have one-night stands while you’re at this conference.”

  Her smile dimmed. “Why? I want to write sexy. It’s what I like to read. And, as it happens, one of my New Year’s resolutions involves me dating more this year.”

  He threw the bottle in his hand at the trash can. Missed. Marched to the room’s sliding glass doors and yanked open the curtains. “You’re looking for a man you can date?” he asked, while staring out at the lights of Vegas. Her tone left him in no doubt what she meant by dating.

  “So?”

  He could hear her typing. He exhaled harshly then turned around and leaned against the wall. “So…I’m not going to let you sleep with every Tom, Dick and Harry the Tool Salesman at this conference just because I told you, you can’t write sex.”

  She laughed—a guttural sound. Sexy as hell. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. You have zero control over me, and I plan on doing whatever it takes to be a successful writer. Having sex with a hunk in a tool belt would not be a hardship.”

  She left him with no choice. He took out his phone. How had he lost control of this situation? Her brother was never going to forgive him if he blew this with Kinley. But he’d also never forgive him if he allowed his little
sister to become the conference’s Girls Gone Wild poster child. “Then you leave me no choice.”

  “What are you doing?” She walked over to him and reached for his phone.

  He held it out of her reach. “I’m calling your brother.” When she stretched like that, her pajamas gapped at the buttons. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t enjoy the view.

  “Now who’s being the tattle-tale?” she said, dropping her arms to her side.

  The softly spoken barb pierced a nerve. He stopped scrolling for the contact number. He wasn’t a liar, and he wasn’t a tattle-tale. “Someone’s got to make you see sense.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed her face. She gave him a thorough look, lingering in places her gaze shouldn’t be lingering. “How about a compromise?”

  “I’m…listening.” He wasn’t sure he should be.

  She walked back to the couch. Picked up her computer. “You can teach me about sexual tension…and sex,” she said in a firm voice. She gave him a smile that she probably thought was casual. It wasn’t.

  It was freaking sexy. Beckoning.

  The phone fell from his grip. “You want me to have sex with you?” Shock made his voice brusquer than it needed to be. Had he heard wrong?

  She lifted a shoulder. “Want is a bit strong. It’s more like—I’m willing to have sex with you for the sake of research. I don’t suppose you have a tool belt, do you?”

  “I thought you hated me?”

  “What does hate have to do with sex? One is an emotion, the other an act. Do you have handcuffs?”

  An image of her handcuffed to his bed zipped by his eyes. “You shouldn’t have sex with someone you hate.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe…I’m tired of hating. Maybe…I want to screw you until all of the hate is gone. Maybe…you shouldn’t try to tell me who I should or shouldn’t have sex with.”

  Did she just say she was tired of hating him? He picked up his phone and laid it on the bar. She had to be bluffing. Only she didn’t look like she was bluffing. But then, bluffing is all about not looking like you’re bluffing. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He took his jacket off and tossed it on a chair.

  “I am…unless…you know…you’ve got a tiny little—”

  “You’re asking me to have sex with you? Like you did on your sixteenth birthday?”

  She clamped her lips shut and stared at him with a look so sharp he felt sliced. “It would appear I am,” she said calmly.

  God, he was a bastard. He walked across the room, headed to the bedroom. Away from her. He needed to think beyond the reaction his dick was having to her suggestion. He needed to put a stop to the insanity. “I’m not attracted to you in a sexual way.” This had to be a trap. She was testing him to see if he really was a pig.

  She coughed. “I call bullshit.”

  “Your brother is my friend. I can’t have sex with his little sister.”

  A harsh laugh erupted from deep inside of her.

  He jerked in surprise.

  She got up and cut him off at the door, separating the living space from the bedroom. She leaned against the frame. “You can have sex with his fiancée but not me.”

  “I’m not debating—”

  “Before you tell me no, you should know, I’ve been told I give a hell of a blowjob.” She blew her hair out of her eyes as if giving weight to the word “blow.”

  His mouth fell open. How did she know he’d been thinking of her and blowjobs? Images of her lips wrapped around his dick tortured him. He searched for his resolve. “The fact remains, I’m not attracted to you.” He forced the words out, hoping he was doing a better job of convincing her than he was himself.

  She arched her back against the frame of the door. “I can see you’re trying to do the right thing. Be a good friend. I’ll make you another wager, Ian Thompson.”

  “I’m not being a…what kind of wager?” God, how did she pull off sexy wearing those pajamas?

  “If I can seduce you, you have to spend the nights of the conference teaching me about sex and sexual tension.”

  He rubbed a hand down his face. “Cut the crap, Kinley. Why me? Is this a test of my character? Are you pushing me to see if I’m worthy of your brother’s friendship? If I’m worthy of your forgiveness?”

  She stared him straight in the eyes. “Not everything in life is about you or my brother. And the truth is I’m a little out of practice and could use a practice run with a test dummy.”

  He’d give anything to be able to read her mind right now. “A practice run? With a test dummy? Meaning me?”

  “Sure. Who better to strike that kind of deal with than the devil? Isn’t there a saying about the devil you know being better than the devil you don’t?”

  He reached out and plucked at the string on her pajama bottoms. Not enough to untie the cute little bow. Just enough to cause her to react.

  She flattened her back against the door. Out of his reach.

  He sighed. “Damn it, Kinley. You don’t have the personality to write steamy sex. You need to try your hand at something tamer.”

  She unbuttoned the top button of her top. “I don’t want to try something tamer.” She unbuttoned the second button. “I want to do some role playing.” He thought he heard her murmur something about a New Year’s resolution.

  “Forget it.” He turned away. “I’ve been accused of doing the unthinkable to your brother once. I’m not putting myself in a position to have that happen again. Having sex with you isn’t going to happen.” Hell. Did she want to play out some of the roles in her manuscript?

  “Four one-night stands it’ll be then,” she said airily. She pushed away from the door, walked to the couch, and plopped down.

  He glanced back at her. “You’re impossible.”

  She picked up her laptop. “Compromise. My brother doesn’t have to know how you helped me, just that you helped me. And I’m willing to concede that you’re right. I do lack the necessary experience. But like anything else, I can learn.”

  He shoved his hands into his pant pockets. No way was he going to make a promise to not tell her brother. “I lied. Your manuscript is full of sexual tension, and your sex scenes gave me a hard-on. I just don’t want to be your agent.”

  She didn’t look up at him. “Again with the lying.”

  The accusation hit him in the gut. He’d been accused of lying once. He’d promised himself he’d never be placed in a position to be called a liar again. Yet, he’d just willingly lied to her. “Okay, you’re right. I lied. Your sex scenes sucked. But I can’t let you have nameless sex while I’ve been put in charge of watching out for you.”

  She gave him a look of surprise. Stared intently at him. “Then we’re back to you teaching me.”

  God, she made his head spin. But that was Kinley. One hundred percent all in, rarely looking before she leaped. It’d been a trait he’d assumed she’d grow out of…obviously not.

  He tried again. “This is crazy.”

  She shrugged. “No doubt.”

  He groped for a way out of the deal she was bargaining for. There was none. Unless…he fought fire with fire. He’d counter her bet with his own bet. “I’ll help you if you can seduce me into the act. But if you can’t, you have to do things my way.”

  She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. “What is your definition of my successfully seducing you?”

  “You have to make me forget who you are. Make me forget you’re off-limits. Get me to sleep with you one time without regretting the decision when it’s over. If you can accomplish that, I’ll teach you how to feel and then write sexual tension.”

  “What do you mean without regretting it?”

  “Make it so good that I don’t care about the consequences. Make it so good, I want to do it again and again and again. Four nights of again.” He ignored the voice in his head saying he wanted her to succeed. Maybe a few nights with her would get her out of his brain once and for all. Allow him to have a meaningful r
elationship without the memory of her standing in his doorway offering up the most beautiful gift any woman had ever offered him interfering with every first time he had with a woman.

  “The consequences being my brother’s wrath?”

  “More like my peace of mind.”

  “And if I can do that, you’ll teach me what uncontrollable sexual tension feels like? Help me with some of the scenes in my book?”

  Wow. Were they really having this conversation? Was he really considering saying yes? “I’ll mentor you, for the duration of the conference, if you can seduce me. Then you have six months to rewrite your manuscript. Send it to me, if it’s any good, I’ll send it to another agent with a recommendation they represent you.”

  “Why not you?”

  “Because I don’t have sex with my clients. It’s not ethical.”

  A look of admiration flickered in her gaze. “Look at you caring about ethics.”

  His chest tightened. He’d missed that look. She used to look at him like that all of the time. “If you can’t seduce me, though, you have to promise to try your hand at writing sweet romances. I truly think you might be better suited to those.”

  She jumped up, walked to him, and held out her hand. “Deal.”

  He shook it.

  She turned and went back to the couch. Her ass was freaking cute in her pajamas. “You do have a repertoire beyond vanilla sex—don’t you?” she asked, settling onto the couch arm.

  “You suffering from Fifty Shades curiosity?” His voice was gruff, even for him. She didn’t need to know he’d done a ton of his own research into the BDSM lifestyle when he decided to take on his first erotic romance author. Or that while he’d been doing the research, he kept imagining Kinley in different situations with him as the master. He blamed that on stalking her Facebook page and seeing her in one swimsuit too many. He’d never quite been able to get her out of his brain.

  She blushed. “It’s for research. Not personal taste.”

  He shook his head. She wasn’t going to win. He wouldn’t let her win. “Kinley Foster, you’re going to fail. And when you do, you’re not allowed to accuse me of scorning you for a third time.”