by Lisa Wells
Still in the dip, Kinley tore her eyes from the dangling parts and glanced in the direction of the voice.
Kim’s eyes were on Kinley.
A blush warmed Kinley’s cheeks. “Who, me? No.” She couldn’t believe the owner of Hot Damn Designs was asking her that. She was ordinary, not novel cover beautiful.
“You should. You have the girl next door thing going for you. The blush is a nice touch.”
The model stood her up. “She’s right. You’ve got the perfect figure to do some of her steamier covers.” He twirled her around. “With me of course.”
Kinley glanced down at her tight-fitting, faded out Lucky brand jeans and deep purple Chucks with no strings. Not so much sexy as comfortable. They were obviously drunk if they thought she was cover model material. “Thanks.”
Kim pulled her phone out of the deep V of her dress and snapped a picture of Kinley. “I’m serious.” She glanced at the picture and nodded. “Are you interested in doing a few practice shots to see how the camera likes you? We’re having a shoot tomorrow.”
Hell yes. “I—” Before she could finish her reply, a hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed.
“She’s busy tomorrow,” Ian said in a tone she couldn’t decipher.
She twisted to see him. Did he skip his last appointments to be with her?
A smile was on his lips. Too bad his eyes weren’t mirroring the happy emotion.
Her brows pulled together. “I…am?” She could miss a session to attend a photo shoot. No big deal.
He gave her a look that reminded her of a bear denied his honey. Not Winnie the Pooh—a humongous, pissed-off grizzly bear. Why was he angry at her? She’d been relatively well behaved today. Hadn’t once called him a liar. Did he expect her to be waiting in their room for him?
Those at the table stopped chattering.
He ran a hand down the side of her cheek. “Kinley, did you forget our breakfast engagement with the editor of Random House?” He leaned in and buzzed her other cheek with his lips.
Oh God. Her stomach dipped and twirled and somersaulted. Did he pitch her book to an editor? Was the editor interested? “Are you sure you mentioned the appointment?” Her voice sang with excitement.
He went rigid.
Damn. Did questioning him, constitute calling him a liar?
He studied her eyes. “Perhaps not.” He glanced at a table across the room where several men and women were sitting. “She’s anxious to meet the new up-and-coming author I’ve been telling her about.”
A woman at the table waved at them.
Wow. Up and coming—Kinley liked those words connected with her name. Young up-and-coming author hits New York Times with her debut book. “Is that her?” Kinley asked, waving back. Goose bumps formed on her arms. God. She might actually forgive him all his past sins if he sold her book to Random House.
He glanced at the woman and then at her. “No.”
“Oh.”
A smile twisted his lips. “She was waving at me. We’re meeting for drinks to talk about her manuscript.” This time the humor in his smile made it to his eyes. They were practically twinkling. Like lies and darkness could never live in them. Only laughter and truth. And sunshine and rainbows.
Jealousy shot through Kinley, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “Isn’t she the lucky one? I hear you’re not easy to get.” The jealousy could be heard in her voice, and she hated herself for indulging in the unjustified emotion.
He was at the conference on business. He was in the business of representing authors. If he’d met one who had a book he wanted to represent, of course he was buying her drinks. Schmoozing. No big deal.
“Kinley, is this your agent?” the blond kilt-wearer asked.
“Oooorr your boy toy?” Jen asked, looking him up and down and giving Kinley a thumbs-up.
Kinley didn’t know how to answer the question. She needed a third option. Like, he’s my lover for the week. Or, if I learn enough about sex and kink, he might—
“Kinley and I go way back,” Ian said for her. “Her brother asked me to make sure she stayed out of trouble this week.”
“You’re failing in your duties,” Mr. Ponytail said. “If she’s at this table, she’s either in trouble or is about to get in trouble. It’s a prerequisite.”
Ian rubbed a hand down her cheek. It wasn’t a soft touch. “So I’ve been told.”
She took a step back, causing his hand to fall away. “I’m a big girl.”
“Funny, I don’t think of you as a girl anymore,” Ian murmured into her ear. “You’re all woman in my head.”
She trembled. She liked the way his voice sounded when he lowered it to a tone for her ears only—a hefty dollop of sexy admiration with a cupful of bossy possession.
“Are you sure you’re not secretly in love with our little Kinley?” the other kilt-wearer asked. “I’m getting this old jealous lover vibe from you. And my lover vibe is never wrong.”
Ian chuckled. “Perhaps it’s skewed from all of the alcohol you’ve consumed.” He took Kinley’s hand and tugged.
Kinley didn’t budge. “I’m in good hands. You can drop the big brother act. Go do what you came in here to do. Have a good night.” There was a difference between jealousy and not wanting to share your toys. She glanced toward the woman who’d waved at him. If Ian could have other toys, so could she.
His hand slid down her back. “You are still wearing the vibrator, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear.
Kinley shivered. “Go to your table. I’m having fun.” Now it was a matter of pride.
He moved his hand, touched the scar on her forehead…frowned. His blue eyes darkened. “I never could tell you no. Even when it was in your best interest.”
“Funny how our memories differ. I remember you once, quite eloquently, telling me no.”
Frustration flashed across his face, before he schooled his expression into one of sardonic amusement. “Does it help you to know I wanted to say yes?” He turned and walked toward his table.
The redhead beauty sighed. “Wow. That’s one hot hunk of he-man.”
Kinley shrugged. “He’s too bossy for my taste.” Bossy. Boss. Hell. A full body shudder zipped through her. Ian was the boss. She’d agreed to those terms. She’d just told the boss no. Even if he never discovered she’d removed the vibrator against his wishes, there would still be consequences for not following his demands. Was it too late to get her own hotel room? Had she just earned her first spanking in this game they were playing?
“Oh, I don’t know. I think he could boss me any time—any place,” Jen said, glancing at her fingernails.
“Anyone want to karaoke with me?” Kim asked, obviously bored with the conversation, tucking her phone back into her boob holster.
“Not me.” Kinley slid her phone into her back pocket and wiped her palms on her jeans. There wasn’t a lot about death she looked forward to, but singing was one of them. If all went according to plan, and she got the green light to heaven, there she’d be given a new voice, one that could sing. Or that was her hope.
Surely God handed out singing voices to those who entered his blinged-out gates. That and a lifetime supply of red wine and dark chocolate and high heels that didn’t squeeze your toes.
“We’ll see,” the occupants of the table said in unison, replying in faux understanding tones.
“What?” She had an uncomfortable feeling that they were up to something. Did Ian really have an appointment set up for her tomorrow with an editor of Random House? Which editor? She should go back to her room and do some research.
“Shots of tequila for the table,” Kim told the waitress in a voice that sounded a little too perky.
“I wish I could sing. I can’t,” Kinley said, nervously. Wanting to make sure they understood she wasn’t joking about her inability to sing. She glanced around for another table to sit at if they tried to pressure her into going up on stage.
“Nonsense. Everyone can sing. You just open y
our mouth and make a noise,” Jen said. “It’s like sex. It just happens.”
“Not with me. In fact, the guy who just left once told me my voice scares cats and ghosts away.”
“That’s the beauty of karaoke. The prize is in getting up there. Not if your voice is made for singing,” Kim said, her voice still not its normal tone. What was she up too?
Kinley glanced at Ian’s table. He was in deep conversation with a female, his arm along the seat behind her back. She was practically sitting on his lap. Why? Their table wasn’t that crowded that she needed to sit that close. Kinley stared harder. Was that the speaker from today’s spankophile discussion?
Or was it the lady from behind the check in desk on the first day? They had the same blonde bombshell appearance. Bastard.
The shots came. Jennifer raised hers in the air for a toast. “Here’s to never saying never.”
They all clicked glasses and downed their shots, including Kinley. Never wasn’t one of her favorite words. But, sometimes never is exactly what you needed to say.
Someone ordered another round of shots. Mr. Ponytail held his glass in the air. “Here’s to going commando and bringing sexy back.”
Kinley downed her shot. She should slip back to their suite, slip off her panties and put some heels on. Why hadn’t she dressed up before stepping into the Karaoke Lounge? Her sexy was stuck in the bottom of her suitcase. Luckily the vibrator was still in her purse. She’d get that back in place before she went up to her room.
A third round appeared. Kinley raised her glass in the air. “Here’s to being too old to be spanked.” Who was she kidding? She was aroused. She liked the game she and Ian were playing.
With their drinks halfway to their lips, those at the table froze. Their heads jerked, and they glanced at her with heavy amounts of curiosity. Knowing eyebrows raised and nods of approval were given.
She shrugged. They could speculate all they wanted. She wasn’t going to verify. Hopefully, they couldn’t see the blush warming her cheeks.
Jen gave a loud war whoop, causing Kinley to jump and nearly fall out of her chair. Her heart scrambled for cover.
“Hey you,” Jen yelled toward Ian’s table. When he glanced their way, she raised her glass in his direction, “to you,” she shouted, and then they all downed their shots.
Kinley wanted to be invisible. When would she learn not to babble so much? She couldn’t even keep her own secrets. Crap.
“Anyone ready to sing?” asked the female model. She was so freaking beautiful you couldn’t even hate her. All you could do was stare and wonder how so much everything ended up being given to one human. With all that red hair, you’d think she’d have freckles. She didn’t. Her skin was flawless.
“Not me,” Kinley said. “Not now. Not ever.” Perhaps it was time to go back to her room. Not because Ian wanted her there, but because…
“I am,” Kim said. “What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t lead by example?” She stood and tugged the hem of her skirt, shimmying her ass as she did so. Her boobs looked like they might escape.
Kinley decided she could stay a little longer. She turned her chair so she could see the stage: a tiny platform with a spotlight and a microphone.
The owner of Hot Damn Designs walked up on the stage with a Marilyn Monroe-esque wiggle-step, took the microphone from the D.J., and gave her the name of her song.
The music started and Kim started singing an oldie by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. “I saw him—”
Her voice was fabulous, and the audience erupted into a cheer.
“I knew he must…”
She fumbled the microphone and bent to pick it up. The movement caused her skirt to ride up, and catcalls rang out. She straightened and found her place in the music. “Singing, I…”
The audience was singing so loud, you could hardly hear Kim.
Kinley settled into her chair. This was fun. And relaxing. Her insides felt like warm brownies. Better than warm brownies. They felt like the middle of warm brownies. Like the middle of warm brownies taken out of the oven a few minutes too early.
When the song ended, Kim held up her hand to stop the applause. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a real treat for you. There’s a virgin in the house. At karaoke anyway. So be gentle with her. This is, after all, all about having fun, not about being any good. I’d like to welcome to the stage,” she glanced directly at Kinley, “what’s your name?”
Kinley’s smile froze stiffer than a wet rope left out in the elements in the Antarctic. The ooey gooey happy feeling disappeared. In its place, a lump of solidified Crisco. A lump so large her shots were threatening to come back up.
The spotlight swung to highlight her face.
She turned to look for an exit. The room spun from the quick movement. Or maybe from too much to drink.
“She may need a little encouragement,” Kim said into the mic.
The crowd clapped louder.
“Tell them your name,” Jen urged.
Kinley opened her mouth. A squeak rolled off her tongue like a tumbleweed in an abandoned town. Only her town wasn’t abandoned. It was freaking packed. With people she’d have to attend sessions with tomorrow.
“Kinley,” a male said from somewhere in the room. Somewhere far away in the room. Someone with a sexy voice.
“Kin-ley. Kin-ley. Kin-ley,” chanted the audience. Those at her table stood as they chanted.
The bald model grabbed her, flung her over his shoulder and brought her to the stage. He set her down gently, took her purse from her, and then left her standing up there. In the million-watt spotlight.
“What song are you going to sing?” the D.J. asked.
Somewhere in the darkest areas of her brain, Kinley realized Ian was the one who gave her name to the audience. Realized she was about to humiliate herself and there wasn’t a way out. She searched for his face in the crowd, more for support than anything. He of all people knew just how bad this was going to be.
He was leaning back, his hands behind his head, as if settling in for a laugh at her expense.
For some reason, that pissed her off. Maybe because the blonde was still sitting by him. They were both going to enjoy watching her be humiliated. He wanted to see her fail. The realization pinched at her heart.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Kinley said. Why did she care if Ian didn’t have her back? They weren’t a real couple. If the tables were turned, she’d probably sit back and watch him make an idiot of himself.
No probably about it. Of course she would.
The redhead from her table ran up on the stage. Was she coming up to rescue her? Would she sing instead?
Whistles rang out. No doubt every man in the audience had just gotten a hard-on. Kinley tried to hand off the microphone to her savior. She wouldn’t take it.
“Here, drink this,” she said to Kinley, handing her a shot. “And then sing like no one’s listening.”
Kinley downed the shot, handed her the glass, and looked at the sound technician. A fuzzy warmth filled her. What the hell? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as she thought she was. Maybe she was great. Maybe Ian had lied to her all those years ago. “Do you have any Rolling Stones?”
“Honey, we’ve got whatever you want.”
Kinley walked over to the D.J. and whispered in her ear.
She smiled. Nodded.
Kinley unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse, exposing the lacy edges and plunging V of her red bra. She gave Ian a secretive smile. “This is for you.” She reached up and released her hair from its bun. Curls tumbled down and over her shoulders. “Wave hi, Ian.” She pointed him out to the crowd and then combed through her hair with her fingers. Two could play at this game.
His smile faltered. Instead of waving, he held his drink in the air. The cool man’s wave.
The crowd grew quiet.
“Feel free to talk while I sing. This isn’t going to be pretty,” Kinley warned them.
The music started.
Kinley closed her eyes. Pictured Ian watching her with his smug-ass eyes. She opened her eyes, glanced at the teleprompter, and couldn’t read the words. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. Oh God. She wasn’t wearing her glasses. The prompter was too close to focus on. What were the words to this song? All she could remember were the ones her college roommate, Adeline Rigby, made-up to go along with the tune after a poor choice in the romance department. Shit. Shit. Shit. She closed her eyes to block out the view.
“I dun dun no—orgasm-action. I dun dun no—orgasm-action. Oh he tried, and he tried—”
On the second try, Mr. Ponytail hollered out, “Hey, your purse is vibrating.”
Kinley’s eyes flew open, and her gaze swung to Ian. He was standing at the back of the room. Was that the remote to her vibrator in his hand?
Kinley swallowed. “It’s my phone. It’ll go to voicemail.”
She took a breath. Refused to glance at Ian. Damn.
“He can’t get me there, he can’t get me there,” she belted out the words, causing a few sitting at the front tables to jump and wince.
Ian Thompson was a horrible, horrible man. Damn it. What would have happened if she’d still been wearing the vibrator? She would have had an orgasm here in front of everyone. That’s what would have happened. And he knew that.
Was this his idea of kinky sex? Getting her aroused in front of an audience?
Kinley managed to hum the next stanza but was unable to actually put a volume to the words.
“He can’t get me there…” Somehow she managed to force the made-up song lyrics past the knot in her throat.
Ian pushed away from the wall and took a step in her direction.
Kinley shook her head.
He stopped.
Good. Her singing on stage was enough of a spectacle for one night. He needed to stay the hell away. She glanced at her table. The Box-of-Rocks-for-Brains skirt-wearer gave her two thumbs up.