Page 57 of Cougar Chronicles

“Stacy it is, then. Or I may just call you beautiful, if that’s okay.”

Another crock, but what the heck? Why not live out a fantasy for a few minutes this evening? She could talk to her favorite cover model, share a drink or two. “Do you want to go sit in the bar with our drinks?” she asked.

“I had something a little more intimate in mind.” Michael’s tone was teasing as his voice caressed her.

“Intimate?” She willed her voice not to crack. “Like what?”

“Like my room, maybe?”

Stacy shook her head. Had she heard him correctly? No way was she was going to Michael Moretti’s room tonight. Granted, he was the hottest thing walking, but he had what must amount to an abundance of sexual experience. He’d expect her, an erotic romance author, to know her way around a man.

She shook her head again. Michael Moretti wasn’t coming on to her. What would he want with a middle-aged divorcée? He could have his pick of any sweet young thing here, including the female cover models. Surely he couldn’t be suggesting… Of course not.

“I don’t think your room is the best idea,” she said.

“Well, the bar’s kind of noisy.”

“It’s less noisy than the party.”

He chuckled. “True enough. All right, the bar it is.” He held out his arm. “At your service, Mistress”—he grinned—“er…Stacy.”

Her nerves jittering, she shyly placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. God, solid muscle… The man couldn’t have a gram of fat on his entire body. Of course not, he stripped for a living. When not modeling for covers, he headlined for the Chicago Playboys, an all male revue that rivaled Chippendales in popularity. She briefly wondered if he took steroids to maintain his physique. She hoped not.

Luckily, the bar was only a few hundred yards away. Stacy made it without tripping over her high heels, for which she was eternally grateful. The dimly lit bar was not crowded, most likely because the hotel was filled with conference attendees who were all at the vampire party. Michael found a cozy table for two. He ordered another cosmo for Stacy, who still gripped the one he’d given her in the hallway, and a scotch on the rocks for himself.

“So,” he said, once the waitress had left, “tell me about Stacy Summers.”

Nothing like laying it right out on the table. Stacy hated talking about herself. Why would anyone find her interesting? “I’m a writer, but I guess you know that,” she said shakily.

“I had assumed.” His cocky smile lit up his face. “But that can’t be all there is to know about such a lovely woman as yourself.”

Oh, he was good. He played his part well. No doubt he earned his payment for the weekend because he certainly knew how to charm the ladies. What could she possibly say to him that he would find remotely interesting? “I’m divorced, a little over a year now.”

“Yeah, you told me, remember?”

“I did?”

He smiled. “While we were dancing.”

Of course. The familiar pink heat crept over her flesh. God, she was an idiot.

“How long were you married?” he asked

“A while.” No way was she going to admit to twenty years in a passionless marriage. That would give away her age.

“Any kids?”

“No. David didn’t want kids.”

“And you?”

Her? She had longed to be a mother, but in her introverted way, she had agreed to David’s desires. Now, at forty-five, she was too old for motherhood. “I was fine with his decision.” A lie, but why would Michael care to hear how she’d cried over the loss?

“A shame,” Michael said.

She widened her eyes. Why would he say such a thing? “What do you mean?”

He brushed on finger over her forearm. “I mean it’s a shame you never had kids. A shame you didn’t pass those amazing genes on to the next generation.”

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