“This is so zoe, Ian Romanov,” Kylie squealed as the elevator doors shut.
He groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. Stupid, stupid, massively stupid. Zoe was French for awesome? Christ.
Looking around the room, he zeroed in on the book sitting on a table by the elevator doors. He ambled over and picked it up, rubbing his thumb along the outline of the author’s name and paused.
Was that a Z?
He rubbed it again and frowned. Tilting it toward the lamp, he nearly dropped the book when the name caught the light. He barked out a laugh and walked back to his bedroom, tossing it on the dresser. Zoe Ambrose was the author. No damn wonder he’d pissed her off.
Grabbing his phone, he texted Wade, then sank down into the mattress. A yawn cracked open his jaw.
Tomorrow. He would find her tomorrow and apologize.
***
Christian forged a wet path with his tongue down to her br**sts, sucking on each nipple in turn as he plunged inside of her. God, it felt so good to be in her, to be gripped so tightly that he couldn’t see straight.
She writhed beneath him, her lush curves an erotic contrast to his. Delicate hands ran up and down his back as he pleasured her. She slipped them beneath the waistband of his trousers to cup his ass, her nails digging in and making him growl.
He bit the side of her neck and then laved at the spot. She trembled against him.
“I’m going to come,” her words were a breathless rush.
Gazing at her, satisfaction filled him when he found the mask she usually wore replaced by the face of Zoe Ambrose.
He bolted straight up in bed, his body covered in sweat and aching for relief. Cursing, he flopped back down. There was no way he’d be able to sleep. Gripping his cock, he stroked it, bringing back his dream. He focused on her face, her eyes and lips. The way she smelled as he pressed his nose against her neck. She moaned his name and he came, endlessly.
After cleaning himself up, he fell back to sleep. In what seemed like seconds later, a shrill ringtone had him blindly smacking around for his phone. He found it under the pillow beside him. “Yes?”
“Where the hell are you?” his agent shouted.
He winced. “I’m in Vegas at The Oasis in my room and alone in bed, honey.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me. I haven’t heard from you since yesterday,” she said, her voice a bit softer. “Where are you headed tonight?”
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get the fog to clear his mind. Was it already morning? “Shift with Wade and Brennen.” First, however, he would find Zoe.
“Change of plans. You’re going to RARE for dinner with some suits from Peak Pictures and my favorite romance author.”
“We’ve been over this a dozen times: I don’t want to meet with some dried up old biddy who writes for younger dried up biddies in training,” he grumbled.
“I read those books, Ian. So watch your mouth,” Martha warned. What a surprise. Next, he'd find out that she liked to make money and yell over the phone at him. “The author is one of my clients, you know, and—”
“Why should I know that? Is it in the fine print of my contract?”
“Does it matter? Be at the damn restaurant at 8:30 pm and look sharp. No red eyes or glassy stares. Understand, Romanov?” Her voice cracked like a whip as she continued, “Don’t. Be. Late.”
“No red eyes, no glassy stares and don’t be late,” he repeated. Martha would make his life more of a living hell if he didn’t show up. And those pictures lurked in her inbox, ready at a double-click’s notice to be spread to all major news outlets and gossip columnists.
“One more thing. The author, old biddy that she is, expressed a preference for you to play the villain, after viewing the readings. Seemed she thought something of your work. Chloe informed her of the dinner yesterday, although Zoe declined.”
It couldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t be that lucky. “Zoe Ambrose?”
“Yes. Did you finally read one of the books I sent you?”
“No.” He glanced over at the floor to ceiling windows. They were covered with a heavy fabric that blocked the morning sun, in order to provide the best sleep experience possible. However, The Oasis hadn’t counted on Martha Alfred’s phone calls.
“Why she chose you over Wade, who has read her books, clearly boggles the mind.”
Looked like he had some reading to do. “Clearly.” Pressing the remote beside the bed, the heavy drapes parted. “I happened to have run into Ms. Ambrose at the airport yesterday.”
Martha continued as if she hadn’t heard him and said, “Only in public. Where people can see you and take pictures. No backroom shenanigans.”
Backroom shenanigans? He blinked. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“You really don’t want me to answer that, do you?” Martha asked.
“Has that ever stopped you before?”
“I think she would be wonderful for your image.”
If it had been anyone other than Zoe, he would have argued with Martha. He would have reminded her of their conversation that had taken places only two days ago. That he was to choose the woman to help him. “Your command is ever my wish.”
“Spare me your theatrics.”
“Yes, your highness. Whatever you say, your highness.”
“God above give me strength.” Christian thought he heard a smile in her voice before she launched into another lecture. “One more thing.” Just how many one more things did the woman have? He popped his neck on each side. “Don’t scare her to death with your scandalous behavior while you’re showing her around Vegas,” Martha said before hanging up.
Christian smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m back.” Lady Luck was with him in Vegas.
***
Zoe rolled over in bed and stretched, feeling refreshed from a good night’s sleep and an afternoon nap. She had checked into a well-appointed suite at The Oasis, her view of the strip framed by thick drapes.
It looked like a sinner’s playground, beckoning for visitors to come. To lose themselves in the nightlife. “Ooh, that was a good one.” She reached for a small notebook and pen, scribbling her thought into it so she wouldn’t forget it later.
Her cell rang and she struggled to answer it, falling off the bed in the process as she hit one of the buttons.
“Oh, crap! Hello? Hello?”
“No need to yell,” Martha Alfred gently chastised.
Zoe blew hair out of her eyes as she righted herself. “Sorry, I dropped my phone.”