Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas) Read Free

smiled at the middle-aged woman looking up at him with a coy expression on her flushed cheeks, and quickly signed the book.
    But before he could move away, a line had formed. And fifteen minutes later, he was still signing.
    “Who shall I sign it for?” he said as another of his books was thrust under his nose. He forced his voice to sound friendly, though he didn’t bother to look up. Surely he’d get to the end of the line soon.
    “Sheridan.”
    His gaze shot up, and his breath hitched in his throat as he locked eyes with her.
    “I thought you’d gone.” His heart pumped, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a huge smile. He guessed he wasn’t coming across as cool.
    “I popped to the bathroom, and when I returned, you were being mobbed. So, I bought a book from the bookseller by the door, and here I am.” She laughed. A deep throaty laugh that kicked him in the stomach.
    “I’m glad. Come on, let’s get out of here.” He rested his hand in the small of her back, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle, which drifted from her, and led her out of the door and to the elevator. As he pressed the button, he noticed Sheridan staring across the concourse, her eyes wide.
    “What’s that all about? And who is he?” She nodded toward one of the escalators where there stood a group of thirty-something women surrounding and stroking one of the young cover models, whose fitted T-shirt was too tight to not be damn ridiculous.
    “Those abs are a work of art,” Sheridan commented, and Mac felt a pinprick of jealousy.
    “You’re such a noob,” he said, grinning.
    Sheridan frowned, her bottom lip twitching slightly. “What did you call me?”
    Mac sensed he’d touched a nerve, though he had no idea why. He certainly didn’t wanted to upset her. “I meant nothing by it. Just that it’s obvious you haven’t attended the convention before. This is the place where everything gets crazy. Normally sane women go totally insane whenever they come across one of the cover models, throwing themselves at them in the process.”
    “And do they do the same to you?” Sheridan arched an eyebrow.
    “I’m not a cover model, as you can see.” He glanced down at his body and briefly wished that he worked out more. Or at all, even. He grinned and a slow, sexy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His fingers ached to trace the contours of her flawless porcelain face.
    The moment was interrupted by the sound of the elevator arriving. Several people got out, and then he and Sheridan stepped inside and rode down to the casino floor. As the elevator doors opened, a cacophony of sound almost knocked him backward.
    “Let’s go to Barakoa, the coffee bar, and try to escape some of this racket,” Mac suggested, turning left as they walked out of the elevator.
    “Sure.”
    She put her arm through his, and they weaved in and out of the milling crowd until they reached the café. Which, by an amazing stroke of luck, wasn’t too busy.
    “Grab a booth,” Mac said, nodding toward the back. “And I’ll order. What would you like?”
    “Cappuccino, please.”
    She removed her hand, her fingers lingering for a few seconds on his arm. A tremor of anticipation shot down his spine, and he just about managed to suppress a groan.
    …
    Sheridan rested her arms on the table and stared at Mac standing in line at the counter. Shivers raced across the back of her neck. So much for her theory that all romance writers were frustrated housewives. Clearly, Mac was one very masculine, very sexy exception to the rule.
    After listening to him in the Q and A , she’d got to wondering whether he was too good to be true. She’d imagined a successful author like him, well, successful in the romance world, would be more arrogant and self-centered. But he was far from it. He seemed genuinely interested in the questions he was being asked and stood patiently while the women lined up for autographs.
    Then again, he would hardly want to antagonize the