Exquisite Betrayal Page 3

  In the morning, it’s a mad rush for the shower because we all want to sleep in as late as we can. The conference begins at seven-thirty with breakfast and an opening session with none other than our favorite author, R.T. Sinclair. We are all about to fall over ourselves in anticipation over tonight’s Meet and Greet party with her. I’m not sure any of us believe we’re actually going to get face time with her, but that’s what the invitation said, so we’re going with it.

  It’s now seven-fifteen and we’re beating a path to the conference as the August heat of Las Vegas has us all looking like we just climbed out of a swimming pool.

  “Why the fuck did I take a shower? Somebody tell me why I bothered to take a fucking shower. Look at my shirt. There ain’t a dry spot on it,” Amanda spouts out.

  Poor Andrea is red-faced and looks like she’s about to have heat stroke. She’s from London where it never gets this hot. At least the rest of us come from the south where the summers are steamy. Granted, this takes it to an unprecedented level, but still, my sympathy is with Andrea.

  “Andrea, are you okay?”

  “I will be once we get in the air conditioning again.” Her voice is so breathy and weak that I worry.

  “Almost there,” Mandy promises.

  I look at my thin cotton t-shirt in dismay. It’s completely see through. “Oh no!” I exclaim. “I look like I’m entering a wet t-shirt contest.”

  “Oh crap!” Mandy yells. “Me, too.”

  I look at her and sure enough, she’s in the same boat as I am.

  “We all do, dammit. Fuck Vegas,” Amanda curses the town as she walks more determinedly.

  “I don’t give a bloody damn right now. I just need some ice,” Andrea cries.

  Who knew that five minutes of walking at seven-fifteen in the morning could turn five perky women into five dripping, angry, whining bitches?

  We walk inside the convention center and the AC smacks us like a freezer. In minutes, we’re all shivering because our clothing and hair are soaked. We look at each other and shake our heads.

  Kat looks down at her chest. “Don’t say it. Just don’t.” She’s referring to our chests. We all have our brights on.

  “Aw fuck,” Amanda and I say simultaneously. As a team, we all enter the large room with our arms crossed over our chests.

  “How are we going to carry our coffee and croissants?” Mandy asks as she shakes from the cold.

  “I’m not eating,” Andrea replies.

  “Neither am I,” I agree. “Let’s just grab a seat. Maybe when we dry off, things will flatten back out.”

  We find seats as close to the front as possible, which is about a third of the way back, and plop our wet and now frosty butts down. I want to huddle close to both my neighbors as I shiver, but of course, I don’t.

  “Bloody hell, I’m freezing,” Andrea mutters.

  “I know, right?” Kat answers as she scans the room, taking in the faces of the other guests.

  Hopping to my feet, I announce, “Headlights be damned. I’m going for some coffee. Can I get y’all some?” Four sets of greedy eyes look at me, begging for some java. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

  I hurry to the coffee stand and quickly make five cups. Making sure to put the lids on tightly, I stack them up and slowly head back to the room. Not paying attention to where I’m going because I’m juggling five towers of java, I do the unthinkable and bash into someone.

  As I stumble, the cups tip against me and coffee starts to dribble out of the openings and then they go all topsy-turvy on me. I watch in horror as the catastrophe unfolds before my eyes.

  The lids fly off and then I’m screeching as the scorching fluid hits my skin. My hands let the rest of the cups loose and fly to my chest as I attempt to stop the burning.

  “Shit,” I hear and then someone is dragging me to the bathroom and putting cold towels on me. I’m not paying attention to anything except the stinging of my skin. The cold water begins to ease the pain. I wave my hands in front of me and then get a good look at the damage. My white t-shirt is now caramel colored and the V of my chest is bright pink.

  “Does it still burn?”

  Oh no! That accent. I’d recognize it anywhere. I lift my head and lock onto Green Eyes himself.

  Shit, shit, double shit.

  “We really have to stop meeting like this,” he says, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation. The door bursts open then and in walks a man. He looks at me then at Green Eyes then at the urinal, not quite sure what to do.

  Making it easy on the man, I make that decision for him. “We were just leaving.” Green Eyes grabs another wad of towels and dampens them before we leave.

  “Well, just another day in paradise for Fallon,” I sigh.

  “Fallon?”

  “Me. I’m Fallon. Remember? Last night?”

  “Right. Well then, Fallon, are you okay?”

  I glance at my chest. It’s angry red, like I’ve spent the day in the sun. “I think it’ll be fine. Just a minor thing, like a sunburn. You’re Ryland, right?”

  “Yes, Ryland. That’s me. You remember?”

  Like I could forget?

  “Uh-huh. So, what are you doing here?” I try to divert my attention away from the burning pain of my chest. It really is stinging now.

  “I’m a freelance writer and I do some reporting for Romance Times. I’m going to do an article on the convention.”

  “Cool! Tell me; do you get to meet all the authors?”

  He eyes me strangely. “No, not as many as you’d think.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  “So, how’s your… er?” he asks as he makes a circular motion with his hand around his chest. I notice his eyes have drifted south.

  “I should probably get some ice.” I fan my hand to move the air across it.

  “Maybe you should have a doctor look at it,” he suggests.

  The thought of that sends my brain into freak mode. I can see the bills mounting up. I can’t afford any more debt and a trip to the hospital would add hundreds to my pile of “unpaids.” This trip has maxed out my credit cards as it is and the last thing I need is an additional bill to add to it.

  “No-no. I’m fine, really. My friends are waiting for their coffee, though, and then I need to go back to my hotel and change. Damn, I was really looking forward to this session, too. I love R.T. Sinclair.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Oh God, yes! I’ve read everything she’s written at least ten times. She’s the best thing to hit the shelves. I wish she’d write faster.”

  The corners of his mouth turn up, making me wonder if he thinks I’m merely one of those goofy women that hides in the fantasy world of romance novels. I don’t really care if he does because what does he know, right?

  “She probably does, too.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, I was thinking that she’d want to make her fans happy… you know, fans like yourself.”

  “Oh.” I brighten. He has a great point, one I have never thought of before. “Well, I better go and fetch that coffee before they think I ran off somewhere. Thanks for saving me.”

  He nods and then I head off to the coffee station.

  When I get back to the girls, they look at me in alarm. I can tell my chest must look like a tomato by their expressions. Kat immediately digs in her bag for some unnamed ointment and tells me to smear it all over the burn. It has become quite painful, so I don’t bother to argue. Then she hands me some ibuprofen.

  “Thanks, Mama Hen. I’m gonna head back to change.”

  They all say, “But you’ll miss R.T.’s opening speech. She’s supposed to give clues about the award finalists.”

  “I know.” I hang my head. “But look at me.”

  “Go after. I’ll go with you,” Amanda volunteers. I agree and settle in to wait on R.T.

  When R.T. concludes her talk, I’m so happy I stayed to hear it. She gives us a little insight about the award
s night and also about what’s coming next for her. What’s even better than that, though, is she’s one of the most engaging speakers I’ve ever heard. It’s just an additional confirmation of why I’m such a huge fan of hers.

  That night, we’re eager to meet our favorite author,so we head over to the Bellagio—the fanciest hotel in Vegas. She’s set up a room there for her Meet and Greet.

  We marvel at the beauty of the place when we walk in the lobby. The fountains outside were a show themselves, but the flowers and artwork in this place are a far cry from the Space Nugget.

  We’re all gazing at everything with our mouths hanging open when Amanda says, “What do you reckon a night in this joint costs?”

  I shrug. “I don’t have a clue, but I bet it would make six monthly payments on my student loans. Or maybe even a year.”

  “I know, right?”

  Kat nods to her left. “That painting over there would probably pay off my mortgage.”

  “At least you have a mortgage. And a job.”

  “You’ll get both, Fallon. Hang in there,” she says. “This is supposed to be your celebration, so don’t get whiney on us.”

  “You’re right.” I don’t want to get whiney, though damn, sometimes I can’t help feeling sorry for myself, especially when I’m surrounded by all this luxury. “Hey, maybe I need to hang out here with the rich folk.”

  Amanda doesn’t hold back. “Now you’re talking.”

  We figure out where we’re supposed to be and head that way. I’m a bit nervous about meeting the famous R.T. Sinclair, but I squelch the feeling and think about the excitement of getting her autograph.

  We get off the elevator and find ourselves in front of some fancy double doors. We all look at each other.

  Mandy acknowledges what we all are thinking, “I think I underdressed.”

  “It’s too late to worry about that now,” I say before banging on the door. It’s opened by an attractive woman, maybe in her forties, who asks us to identify ourselves. We tell her who we are and then she gives us a huge smile and welcome.

  And then our jaws hit the floor. This room is loaded… and I mean loaded with champagne, food and all sorts of alcoholic beverages. We just hit pay dirt. I grin.

  A man walks up to us, wanting to know what we want. I’m pretty sure tequila shooters aren’t appropriate, so I order a cosmopolitan. The others follow suit. Then we walk around and look at all the opulence surrounding us.

  R.T.’s books are everywhere. I am in a frenzy, grabbing and opening and looking and touching. I hear a gurgle of laughter, and turn around, having one of those embarrassing fangirl moments. I squeal. Outrageously loud. I promised… I even pinky swore I wouldn’t do it, but damn, I couldn’t stop it from rushing out of my mouth. As soon as it does, my hand clamps over my lips and I mumble how sorry I am.

  R.T. laughs again, and in her amazing British accent says, “Don’t ever be sorry for that. I love my fans.” And then, oh my gosh, she hugs me! Then, I do something even worse than the squeal. As she’s hugging me, I start jumping up and down.

  I finally catch myself and look at my girls. They are all giving me the I’m-going-to-shoot-you-dead eye. Oh damn. I can’t help it. They’re going to kill me later.

  “I’m so sorry, but you’re my most favorite author ever, and I’m just, well, you rock, R.T.! And that was an amazing speech you gave this morning.”

  After that embarrassing fiasco we all introduce ourselves.

  “Well, thank you, Fallon. And I’m so glad you could come to the party, girls. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long now and I owe you so much. So before everyone else gets here, I want to give you some things.”

  She heads over to the other room, motioning for us to follow. On a table are these huge gift bags lined up with our names on them. We look at each other and smile as she passes them out to each of us. The bags are chock full of awesome things; signed hardbacks and photos, custom necklaces and bracelets that her characters wore, t-shirts, gift cards, mugs, dinner vouchers, and finally, an iPad Mini for each of us. We are speechless.

  I finally say, “This is too much. Way too much.”

  “It’s not nearly enough. You girls have done so much for me that I don’t think I can ever repay you. Therefore no more talk of this. Let’s simply have some fun.”

  So that’s what we do. We eat and drink, entirely more than we should, and then after all the other guests leave, she asks if we want to go dancing.

  “Hell, yeah,” we all say.

  A short time later, we all head over to Rock the Night Away in a limo. Once there, more drinks are ordered and we start in on the shooters. I lose track and spend most of the time on the dance floor. I’m already in love with Vegas. And what’s not to love? Yeah, it’s a desert here, but the damn place is raining with men. Men offer to buy me drinks and hit me up for dances constantly.

  As the night progresses, I should be surprised to see Ryland there, but I’m not, when I look to see him next to me on the dance floor.

  “Are you stalking me?”

  He laughs. “I was going to ask the same of you.”

  We dance some more until a slow song comes on and I start to leave the floor.

  “Where are you going?”

  I turn and stare as he pulls me roughly against him. My body heats as flames fan across my skin.

  “How’s your burn?” His voice is next to my ear and I can feel his breath on my neck. Goosebumps prick my skin everywhere, a contradiction to the heat that continues to burn me. His arm has me hooked around the waist and I’m held snugly against him. His jeans rub against my thighs, making me heat up in places I’m not used to being heated in.

  “M-my burn?” I’m confused at first; my mind is focused on another part of my body right now.

  “The coffee today. You burned yourself.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s fine. Still stings a bit. Thanks for asking.”

  He nods while his fingers are laced with mine and his thumb is rubbing a circle on my first knuckle.

  “You look lovely tonight, Fallon.”

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  He brings my hand to his mouth and leaves a kiss on it, right as the song ends. He doesn’t release me as a quick-paced song with a driving beat comes on and we become surrounded by dozens of dancers.

  Those eyes of his are so green that, even in the dark of the club, I can see gold streaks in them. They’re compelling eyes. And they’re staring right into mine. I don’t dare blink. I don’t want to miss a second of them. We’re swaying to the hard beat with his arm defining our rhythm while his mouth is moving incrementally closer to mine. I can feel his breath on my lips. I want to feel his lips on my tongue. I want to know his taste. Our noses are touching, and finally, when our lips are about to meet, he releases me and steps back.

  He raises my hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to it and says, “Thank you, Fallon, for the lovely dance.” Then he backs off the floor, leaving me gaping at the empty space like a fool, feeling the distinct loss of his warm body against mine.

  I’m in the crush of the crowd, so no one seems to notice except for my scorched body. I inhale, trying to puzzle this whole thing out and lower my heart rate at the same time. I decide I must have bad breath and make a mental note of changing my toothpaste and picking up some mouthwash as well as gum the next day. Why else would he leave so abruptly? Unless he realized, that up close, he wasn’t attracted to me after all. Numbly, I push my way off the dance floor in search of another drink.

  When I reach the bar, I spy my girls laughing and hanging out with R.T. They finally notice my crestfallen face.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Just tired.” Now all I can think of is going home. “Would you all mind if I took off?”

  “As in go home?” Mandy eyes me suspiciously.

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?” Amanda asks.

  “Uh-huh.”

  R.T. is staring at me. She appears to be assessing me. In he
r cute British accent, she says, “Come on, Fallon. I’ll get you home now.”

  “No, I don’t want to spoil your evening.”

  “Well, darling, I won’t have you leaving by yourself.” She turns to the girls and hands them a wad of bills. “This should cover your cab ride home.” Then her arm comes around me and out we go. The limo pulls up and she ushers me inside.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut your night short.”

  “No worries. You looked like you’d seen a ghost back there. What happened?”

  “Oh, it was nothing. Just a dance.”

  “With a certain someone?”

  I look at my sparkly toenails and nod.

  “Well, it seems it was more than just a dance.”

  I groan. “I thought it was going to be, but then all of a sudden, he leaves me standing there. I think I have halitosis or something. That was the second time he did that to me. He’s giving me a severe case of whiplash.”

  “Really? The same bloke?”

  “Yeah. I’m hitting the store tomorrow for some mouthwash.”

  “Fallon, do you really think it was your breath?”

  “It was either that or up close he thought I was ugly.”

  R.T. howls with laughter. “Now that’s a good one. You? Ugly? You’re about as ugly as a puppy.”

  I take a good look at R.T. and smile. She’s gorgeous. I mean truly perfect. Blue eyes that could swallow you whole and blond hair that’s soft and shiny. I wonder if she’s ever had to worry about a stupid thing like losing her virginity.

  “Well, coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

  She laughs. “Why? Don’t you think you’re pretty?”

  “I’m decent enough, I suppose. And I don’t go around worrying about my looks, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I also know I’m certainly not on your level.”

  “Why is it that we women find it so hard to see what’s right about ourselves?”

  “Oh no! Not you? You’re perfect.”

  “Ha! That’s what you think. Under this mask of artfully applied makeup, there are many imperfections, my friend. I guess we all have our scars to bear.”