One Wild Night
A Forever Wild Novella
Magan Vernon
Text copyright© 2013 by Magan Vernon
All rights reserved
www.maganvernon.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
For information visit www.maganvernon.com
Summary: One Wild Night can change everything. Valerie Wilder doesn't do serious relationships. She also doesn't usually wake up in Vegas next to a male stripper....A male stripper who happens to be her new husband. A quickie divorce seems like the answer, but the Nevada legal system doesn't think so. When her new husband suggests flying back to Chicago with Valerie she accepts, wondering if one night in Vegas could turn into something much more.
First Edition, December 2013
Cover Design by Ashley Poston
Cover photo by K Keeton Designs http://www.kkeetondesigns.com/
Cover models: Walter Veale and Suzanne Patterson-Smith
Edited by Red Road Editing
Other Books by Magan Vernon
How to Date an Alien (My Alien Romance Series #1)
How to Break up with an Alien (My Alien Romance Series #2)
How to Marry an Alien (My Alien Romance #3)
My Paper Heart
Life, Love, & Lemons
The Only Exception
The Only One
The First Night
A Few Hours Earlier
Another Hour Later
Back To The Present
An Hour Later
Thirty Minutes Later
A Few Hours Later
Half An Hour Later
The Next Day
The Next Morning
A Few Hours Later
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More Valerie & Wes
About Magan Vernon
The First Night
If my pounding headache wasn’t enough to wake me, then the shifting on the other side of my bed was.
Shit.
How much did I have to drink?
I hadn’t hooked up with a random since college and now I could feel whoever it was moving. I guess that’s what happens when your work sends you to a conference in Vegas and your co-workers convince you to go to a strip club.
I wondered if that’s where I picked him up. If it was, I hoped he was at least hot because I didn’t remember a damn thing from the night before.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and turned toward the other side of my bed.
Damn. For being a Vegas hook-up he was about a hundred shades of sexy.
The random was on his back with his arms propped up behind his head. They weren’t veined and overly muscular like the guys in magazines, but lean and cut like a guy who knew his way around a gym and probably a woman’s body. God I hoped those arms were all over me.
My eyes trailed down from his arms to the hoops in his nipples. I always thought pierced nipples were meant for drunk college girls, but this guy with his toned pecs had me rethinking it.
He moaned, turning to his side before he opened his eyes—a gorgeous set of green ones that could have lit up the whole freaking Vegas strip. Blond spiky hair and green eyes, it was a freaking wet dream.
“Mornin’, Valerie,” he said, taking in a deep breath and stretching out his arms. An accent. The guy had a southern accent. I was about to turn into a panting teenage girl right there.
“Uh, morning.” I blinked. Shit. I had a tanned God of a man lying next to me and I had to be a hot mess with my makeup on from the night before and my breath, which had to reek like ass, since it sure tasted like it did. And I also had absolutely no idea what his name was.
“Last night was something else,” he said, sitting up and dropping the blanket. It stopped where his amazing abs ended and there was definitely not any sort of underwear line. He was naked. In my bed.
“Definitely.” I sat up, trying to appear confident, but there was no way my body looked half as good as his, so I kept the blanket over my giant boobs.
“Want to get breakfast?” He was grinning from ear to ear with his green eyes locked on me. Wasn’t this the moment in which he tried to get out of my bed as quickly as possible? That’s what most random hook ups did. At least, that’s what mine did. Guys didn’t mind screwing me, but to be seen with the curvy chick? Nuh-uh.
“No, that’s cool. You can go ...um ... home?” I arched an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure if he was another person there on business or something. He could have worked at the casino for all I knew.
He crept over to my side of the bed and I gasped as he lifted the blanket up before he slowly straddled my hips with his toned thighs. I was surprised at how hard his body was yet smooth at the same time.
His cock was pressed practically against my belly button and ready to go. “Now, darlin’, why would I leave when I have my beautiful bride in bed with me?”
A Few Hours Earlier...
Vegas. Whose idea was it to get a bunch of PR people together in Sin City?
“SHOTS!” Abigail Lewis, my supposed mentor, came to the table with another round of Kamikaze shots. She said we deserved it after being cooped up in a conference room all day, strategizing with a bunch of suits. I think she just wanted to spend all our daily meal allowance money on alcohol.
“Abbi, you’re going to give us all a wicked-ass hangover for tomorrow’s meetings.” Pam Rodgers grabbed a shot off the tray as Abbi took the seat next to me at the tiny table.
“Whatever, you’re only four years out of college. You should still be able to hold your own.” Abbi handed me the other shot glass on the tray. “And you’re not even a year out, Wilder, so drink, bitch and stop acting like a twenty-two year old pussy.”
“You know it’s serious when you start calling me by my last name like this is some sort of sporting event.” I laughed and stared down at the swirling liquid in the glass.
Abbi put her glass up for a toast. “This is some serious shit, ladies. I got us tickets to the Rock Hard Abs of Vegas contest and we need to down these and get our asses to the strip club.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Serious as hell, lady. Now drink!”
We all clinked our glasses together and then drank. It burned all the way down, and Abbi’s words gave me another surge of adrenaline. Rock Hard Abs of Vegas? How could I say no to that?
***
The room was packed, shoulder to shoulder with women. Mostly cougars who were wearing spandex and yelling at the top of their lungs.
We all stood on a platform and below was a small stage with bright lights shining down on the words “Third Annual Rock Hard Abs of Vegas.” I didn’t exactly mind going out and ogling hot men. I wasn’t hoping to hook up in Vegas, anyway. I didn’t get out that much and had even fewer random flings. It’s not like I could afford the bar prices back home in Chicago, either. Entry-level PR jobs didn’t exactly pay well. But at least my company sent me to Vegas for the convention and hooked me up with a sweet hotel room. I wouldn’t have the money for a real vacation for a while and if they were going to have me working sixty-hour weeks, then I deserved to at least have some fun.
“I got us more drinks!” Pam yelled, squeezing in between me and Abbi and handing us each a plastic cup filled with too much ice and some orange liquid.
“What is this?” I asked. I had to practically scream in her ear. The music wa
s blaring and the cougars were so loud I thought I might have burst an eardrum.
“He called it an Orange Tease.” Pam took a tiny sip of her drink. “Honestly, the dude was wearing nothing but leather chaps and a cowboy hat so I would have taken anything he gave me.”
I took a big gulp of mine. There was barely a burn to it and it tasted more like a Capri Sun than something alcoholic. I had to be careful or I could easily end up trying to go home with one of the guys on stage.
“How did you land these tickets anyway?” I yelled to Abbi. The music was so loud I had a feeling I’d be hoarse by the end of the night.
“The company that puts this on is one of my clients,” she said and leaned over, obviously talking to me though her eyes were on the stage below.
“So jealous,” I replied and took another big gulp of my drink
I’d been working at the PR firm exactly nine months and in that time my clients had been limited to either helping out Abbi when she was overwhelmed with her spastic gym owners who wanted their photos even more airbrushed, or fielding random calls from taxi cab drivers wanted to improve their image. Nothing like Vegas contests. Maybe once I had a few more years under my belt.
“You’ll get these bigger clients someday, but for now just enjoy the ride,” Pam yelled.
“Yeah, and you get to be single in the city. I’d kill to be able to ogle all of these men without comparing them to my husband’s saggy ass,” Abbi added.
“Tell me about it. Chris and the kids Facetimed me this morning and they were all still in their ratty pajamas at ten. Nothing like these fine specimens,” Pam yelled.
I looked down to where their eyes trailed and saw a guy walk into the middle of the room wearing nothing but a bow tie and a black Speedo with “Ringmaster” scrolled on his ass. And he had the body to pull off the outfit. Tattoos snaked down his toned arms and the words “Live and Let Die” were scrawled across his toned chest. I wasn’t much for a lot of tattoos on a guy, but with his body he could have done anything he wanted.
The lights lowered, along with the music and a spotlight shone on the guy’s toned abs that definitely were not Photoshopped. “Hello, women of Vegas!” he called into the microphone, a hint of a British accent in his voice, which made Abbi and Pam swoon like two girls at a boy band concert.
“Tonight we have gathered some of the most abilicious men in Vegas for your viewing pleasure. They will be scored based on their looks, performance, and biggest crowd pleaser.” The guy walked in a small circle and then stopped, with a big smile on his face aimed right in our direction. “But to judge this, we need a few women who will help us tally up the scores. Do I have any volunteers?”
Every woman in the crowd raised their hand, hooting and hollering. The guy walked around, still smiling with his fingers tapping his chin, making a big show of it. He did it for about thirty seconds until he stopped in front of us again. “How about you three up in front? Want to pick the hardest abs in Vegas?”
“Hell yeah!” Pam cupped her hands together like a megaphone and yelled down to him.
“Then get your fine asses down here!”
Pam took my hand and I took Abbi’s, following her down a small staircase to the center stage.
“Your client?” I whispered to Abbi.
“The very one,” she said with a big grin.
Once we were standing next to the announcer I was finally able to get a good look at the guy and I was not disappointed by how tiny his Speedo really was and how little it left to the imagination.
“And what’s your name, love?” He pushed the microphone in my face.
“I’m Valerie.”
“Valerie, like the song?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah.”
“And are you here on business or pleasure?”
“Business.”
He smiled, taking a tube of lipstick that a woman in a bikini handed him. “Okay, Valerie, then we will make this all business.” He handed me the bright red lipstick. “You and your friends will help judge each man by writing their score, from one to ten, on their abs. You can base it off crowd response or whatever tickles your fancy the most. Sound good?”
“Definitely,” I said with a big grin on my face. I couldn’t contain my excitement. It wasn’t every day I got asked to judge a contest. Especially not a contest that involved lipstick and abs.
The crowd cheered and the guy laughed before taking the microphone back. “Okay then, ladies, without further ado, let’s get to our first contestant. Born and bred in the south, but dancing his way through the desert nights is Wild, Wild, Wes.”
The guy ushered us to the side of the stage while the lights dimmed and the music picked up. I recognized the familiar ‘dum-de-de-dum, de-de-dum-de-de-dum, de-daa-daaaaaa’ from the beginning of ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.’
I couldn’t help but laugh at the gimmickiness of it all, but my laughter quickly stopped when the song got going and out from the corner of the stage, sauntered a guy wearing a black cowboy hat, a red plaid pearl-snap shirt, and some well-worn jeans. When he looked up, I could see the wide white smile on his face and my knees locked at the sight of him.
He threw his hat into the crowd and then as soon as lyrics to the song started, he ripped open his shirt and if I had to judge the hardest abs in Vegas, this guy would not only have that, but the hardest abs I’d ever seen. He was hot. Not just skanky, male stripper hot, but like the kind of guy I only saw after our graphics department airbrushed him. I was eager to get my hands on those abs as part of my judging duties.
The cougars screamed as he grapevined his way across the stage. But even as he worked the room, it felt like his eyes never left mine. His big, irresistible green eyes. As the chorus picked up he undid his John Deere belt buckle and dropped his jeans, kicking them to a screaming lady in a mini dress. That left him in nothing but a pair of black briefs.
He smiled right in my direction before he circled his hips and flashed his flawless ass which only made the crowd go crazier. Slowly he pulled them back up and threw a wink in my direction before he danced back over to the other side of the stage. My entire face felt like it was on fire and so did the rest of my body.
***
Once the song ended Wild Wes sauntered over to us with a lazy grin on his face. My face felt like it was completely flushed and it was hard to look at the him.
The British guy took to the mic once the crowd’s cheers died down. “Okay, now it’s time for our judges to give Wes, here, his scores.”
Pam took her lipstick and delicately put the tube to his abs as if she was afraid they would fall off if she touched them. She drew a small 8, practically on his side. Abbi was next and drew a 7. Then he took a step closer to me, leaning over and whispering in my ear, “Whatcha got for me, darlin’?”
My eyes trailed from his and then down to his abs. I had to be brave. I wasn’t a shy girl, but I also didn’t get attention from men unless they were expecting me to put out. Which I did a lot of in college. More than I’d like to think about. Of course a guy would screw the big girl, but that’s usually all I got. I didn’t get serious boyfriends. And I highly doubted Mr. Abs was gonna put a ring on my finger either. But I did have to give the crowd what they wanted and he was a good performer.
I dipped my fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulled him closer. I tried to ignore how completely manscaped he was, but my pinky did happen to graze his smooth skin and I clenched thinking how bad I wanted to go lower.
With my free hand I traced the line from his pecs and down the middle of his abs. There was nothing Photoshopped about him. He was all muscle. I involuntarily mouthed the words “Oh my God,” once my fingertips felt his chiseled six pack underneath my fingertips. I didn’t mean to say it, but my brain obviously wasn’t thinking. I was surprised by how soft his skin was beneath my hand and I may have let my fingers trail a little longer than I should have, but the guy was a work of art that deserved to be admired.
“N
ow, baby girl, don’t be teasing me or we won’t make it to the final judging round,” His words flowed like honey from his lips and into my ear.
“Just trying to keep up the show,” I said before I took my tube of lipstick and slowly wrote a big ‘10’ smack dab in the middle of his abs.
The crowd cheered and the British guy said something into the microphone, but my attention was still firmly on Wes and his eyes that stared into me as if there was no one else in the room.
“Thanks for that, darlin’”
“No, thank you for that performance.”
***
Wes Won. Obviously. No one could beat a genuine cowboy, but it was sure fun to watch a bunch of men parade around for women’s entertainment.
“That was one hell of a show, Cal.” Abbi raised her glass to the British host who had since put on a pair of jeans and button-down black shirt.
After the performance was over, he took us into the VIP lounge, where a few of the cougars paid a shit-ton of money to pose with the male strippers in horrible selfies and drink with them like they were college girls. Which was probably how old their daughters were.
“I should probably thank my publicist for all of her hard work.” He smiled, really soaking in the charm. The guy knew what he was doing. No wonder he ran events like this. Women were putty for a guy with an accent.
“I do what I have to do to make my clients look good,” Abbi said before taking a sip of her drink. There were male waiters walking around the VIP room carrying trays of appetizers and fruity cocktails. I was starving, since I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but I always felt like I was being judged when I ate, so I just kept drinking. And they weren’t the watered-down drinks I was used to back home in Chicago.
One Wild Night (Forever Wild) Page 1