Betting on the Wrong Brother (What Happens in Vegas) Read Free Page B

way.
    He stopped dead in his tracks and pulled his hand back. “Male what?”
    If he was determined to keep his identity a secret, let him wiggle his way out of this one. “Male models, for the romance writers’ convention. You can stop pretending. I figured it out.”
    He stared at her and she could almost hear the tumblers falling into place as he put it together. He frowned, went quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Right. Male model.”
    And there you have it. Anything to protect his real identity.
    She led him to the dressing room at the back of the stage. Men bustled about, some getting dressed, others grooming themselves in the full-length mirror. Many had tattoos, thick muscles, and piercings. While she hadn’t seen Nolan naked yet—wait, there wasn’t going to be a yet—she had felt his muscles when they were rolling around on the floor. She’d bet her next royalty check that none of these models had anything on him. He was going to win this one hands down. She looked for the director, and when he caught her eye, she pointed a finger at Nolan, or rather Ryan, if that’s what he wanted to go by.
    “What are you doing?” Ryan asked.
    “Calling over the director. You need to get changed and get on that stage.” She pointed to a blue curtain masquerading as a door.
    “Andi, listen—”
    Her phone pinged. Dammit. She wanted to stay for pictures, but needed to get to her meeting. “I guess I’ll see you around.” She left him standing there scratching his head as she rushed out the door. If she hurried to the meeting with her editor, she could still be back in time to catch him parading around in some skimpy outfit. Her grin widened, and she gave herself a mental fist pump. Tonight would go down in history, because this week, what happened in Vegas definitely wasn’t going to stay in Vegas.

Chapter Two
    What the hell was that?
    One minute he ’d been laying on the floor with a sexy woman bouncing on top of him, the next he was shoved into some room with a dozen or so half naked men getting ready for a male modeling contest. A beauty pageant, for Christ’s sakes. Him. Self-proclaimed bachelor for life, and horror writer Parker Perry, otherwise knows as Jack Ryan Grayson Wheeler, here to do research on the hotel’s haunting. Did she really expect him to parade his stuff on a stage?
    Oh, hell no.
    He watched Andi give a little triumphant shake of her ass as she sauntered out of the room and make a beeline for the stairs. Why did he get the feeling she knew he wasn’t a model and was fucking with him? Payback for pressing her down on him when he’d gotten an erection, perhaps? Honestly, what the hell did she expect? She was one of the sexiest women he’d ever set eyes on, even in those big underwear that could double as a bra, and maybe even more because of it.
    The women he went out with, when he actually dragged himself away from his computer, all wore skimpy floss that had to ride up and chafe like a son of a bitch. More times than not they were the aggressors, turning on the sex kitten act to get what they wanted from him. Hell, his brother, a pilot for one of the major airlines, and also a self-proclaimed bachelor to the end, had his own harem of sexy, barely clad knockouts throwing themselves at him.
    And then there was Andi Palmer. With a sweet, pouty mouth that was quick with a comeback, she seemed different than most. She had just enough curves to let him know she wasn’t the type to live off lettuce alone. Christ, he hated that. Healthy and fit was one thing, but cutting out food to stay wafer thin was another. He sensed she’d found a happy balance, and there was something refreshing about a woman dressing for herself and for comfort that piqued his interest and stimulated his brain—as well as another body part. One a little farther south.
    He drove his hand into his pocket and shifted his still hard dick. She’d started that launch sequence the second she gazed at him with those whisky