novelist Kelsey Spencer doesn’t believe in love, and she’s tired of faking her
way through happily ever afters. Determined to change things up, she heads to
the Las Vegas Romance Lovers Convention. But somewhere between half-naked cover
models and hot Navy SEALs, Kelsey’s plans derail…
Especially once she meets über-fan Jasmine Grant…and Jasmine’s über-hot
alphahole brother, Aaron.
Buttoned-up Aaron Grant never thought he’d find himself at a romance
convention, but here he is, trying to convince his impulsive sister not to
marry a beefcake cover model. His only hope is to enlist the aid of the cynical
(and sexy) romance writer his sister worships.
After a sweltering jaunt around Vegas, some strange conference hijinks, and one
outrageous proposal, Kelsey and Aaron are left questioning everything they know
about romance and love…and if falling in love might just be worth the gamble.
“You’re right,” she said, and a weight lifted off her shoulders. “You’re right. So…are you going to her wedding?”
He nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Would you like to be my date?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. I might not be here for the festivities.”
He nodded and pulled his arm away, but for a second, she thought she saw disappointment flicker over his features, and she shivered.
When the bartender delivered the fresh beer, Kelsey slid off the stool with her half-finished mojito and lifted her chin toward the casino. “Sir, would you like an escort to the ball?” She offered her elbow, and he took it.
He deepened his voice to a bass. “I’d be much obliged, miss.”
They walked through the casino and took the escalator to the ballroom level. And when she turned to look at him, she warmed to find him staring at her.
“That dress is a pleasant surprise,” he said. They made way for two drunk women, their arms intertwined, to dash past, giggling and failing miserably to hide a bottle of vodka in their skirts.
“How so?” She fingered the expensive fabric—Deena’s consignment shopping was apparently a little more highbrow in New York than what Kelsey had found in San Antonio— and wondered if it looked too expensive for a nobody author like her.
“The color is perfect, but I like how it fits.” He smiled. “You don’t look like an author tonight. You look like royalty.”
She warmed and turned her head, thrilled by his words. But they were a reminder, too. Tonight, she was playing a part, wearing a dress that looked nicer than anything she could afford, and at midnight, she’d have to pick up her pumpkin and mice and find her way back to her desk to whip out more books. And Aaron would return home to rule his father’s kingdom.
Grady firmly believes every solid relationship is built on laughter. And sometimes vodka. She holds an MFA from Seton Hill University and a BS in
computer science, so she’s a kind of half-artsy, half-nerdy ball of nervous
twitching. She has an unnatural love of dark humor, gadgets, chickpeas, BJJ,
terrible acrylic landscape painting, half-assed jewelry design, Perl
programming (get off her lawn, haters), Red Sonja (done Gail
Simone-style), and planners. This week, she lives in Hawaii. Go ahead–cry tears
of pity for her. She’ll wait.