Home > Her Secret Lover (What Happens In Vegas, #11)

Her Secret Lover (What Happens In Vegas, #11)
Author: Robin Covington



Chapter One


Who knew a box of dildos would weigh so much?

Kelsey Kyle watched her reflection juggle her parcels in the high-gloss metal of the elevator doors as she headed to the VIP level of the Masquerade Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Yeah, she could have taken the cart offered to her by “Pervy” Dave who worked as a bellhop, but he got her hackles up, and she didn’t want to accept any of his assistance. Now, she was regretting her decision.

Of course the elevator stopped at almost every floor and dumped out passengers as she made her way to the Executive Level concierge floor, where they were housing the VIP guests of the eighteenth annual Romance Lovers’ Convention. The actual event didn’t start for two days, but already attendees were pouring into Sin City to either enjoy the nightlife or to set up displays and have meetings.

It was because of the early arrival of the folks from Love You Big Time that she was rising above the ground forty floors carrying enough sex toys to keep an orgy going for at least a couple of days. Once again, she’d saved the day for a guest and even Perry, the second shift Head Concierge, had to offer up one of his smiles that never quite showed in his eyes.

“Fuck you too, Perry,” she muttered under her breath, remembering at the last moment that she wasn’t alone in the elevator.

She glanced over and smiled at the older couple wearing sandals with socks and carrying bags with labels from some of the pricier tourist traps, and wished they’d come to the concierge to ask about where to shop. As a lifelong Las Vegan, she knew where to go to get the best and cheapest anything. It was why she was always the most highly rated Junior Concierge at the Masquerade and why she was a shoo-in for the spot in the management trainee program. She’d worked her ass off for years, during college and after, to get to this point.

The spot in the program and the subsequent job at the Masquerade would give her extra cash to pay for her mother’s special medical care. With her dad still working, her share was more than enough, but he wanted to retire and she wanted him to take it easy for a change. She took a moment to send a prayer to Lady Luck, the patron saint of Las Vegas.

“Have a great day,” she said to the couple as they got off on their floor and waved. The doors slid shut and she adjusted the heavy box again as her Bluetooth device beeped in her ear. Kelsey threw up a silent prayer of thanks that the device was voice-activated, because there was no way in hell she could let go of the box to tap a button. “This is Kyle.”

Perry’s voice, even insincere over the wireless, assaulted her ear. “Kyle, you need to come back down here when you’re done delivering the parcels. We have a special request from a high-roller VIP, and since you’re so used to playing Supergirl, it’s yours.”

She stuck her tongue out at him even though he couldn’t see it. He never failed to give her a hard time. She would have been ass hurt about it, but he treated everyone the same way. It was like he was always waiting for someone to make that one mistake so he could throw it up in their face for eternity. But she didn’t make mistakes, and she would always do whatever it took to get the job done. If the request was impossible, she got the guest the next best thing or something better. She was that good.

“I’ll grab my cape and fly on down as soon as I’ve completed my deliveries,” she said.

“Uh huh,” he grunted into the phone and disconnected.

She refrained from verbalizing the thoughts running through her head, since she wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he couldn’t tap into the security feed in the elevator, but she thought them…oh yes, she did. The cab stopped at her floor, and she heaved out a sigh of exertion as she readjusted the box and prepared to step out onto the Executive Level. Once she was in possible sight of guests, she needed to be professional and poised. A perfect example of the superb hospitality offered by the Masquerade.

A quick ding and swoosh of the metal doors and Kelsey put one high-heeled pump on the plush carpet and walked as briskly down the hall as she could, stopping in front of the suite currently occupied by Micah Holmes, the New York Times bestselling novelist and hermit. He’d checked in the previous Friday night, and the only evidence that he was still alive was the requests for extra towels, and orders placed to room service and Barakoa, the coffee shop. According to her review of his file, Mr. Holmes loved his bath linen plentiful and his caffeine “black, strong, and not filled with any of that hipster sweet crap.”

Good to know. And it was her job to know since he would be her responsibility from today until the conclusion of the romance convention. The fact that he was her very favorite author had nothing to do with the flutter in the pit of her stomach.

“Professional, Kelsey. Not a fangirl,” she muttered to herself.

Kelsey pressed the buzzer next to the door and waited, listening to the sound of footsteps on the marble floor in the foyer of the suite. The lock tumbled and it swung open to reveal a tall man wearing a black T-shirt that read “I’m still kind of mad they never actually told us how to get to Sesame Street.” The snort of laughter pushed past her lips before she could stop it but immediately dried up in her throat when her eyes traveled back up and got a long, full look at his face.

Micah Holmes was fucking hot.

Gorgeous. Dark eyes framed by heavy-rimmed glasses, cleft chin peeking out from the several days’ growth of beard, and dark, coffee-colored hair sticking up in a way that should have been funny but only succeeded in looking sexy and rumpled. She let her gaze travel back down his torso, and she realized the shirt was pulled taut against his muscled chest and strained against the flex of his bicep.

Kelsey was a romance novel junkie and had read his books many times over and stared at his photo on the back just as often, but he looked…different. Better. Hotter. Maybe if he actually resembled the awful, stuffy author headshot on the back of his books, then she wouldn’t be staring at him like she’d missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner right now.

And he was staring back at her. His eyes made one long journey from her hair to her shoes and then made the return trip, stopping to look her right in the eyes.

“Wow,” he said, and she actually saw the blush creep across his cheeks.

“Hi,” she said, biting back the eye roll when she realized she sounded like an idiot, but it didn’t stop her from continuing to stare.

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