Get Lucky by Lila Monroe Read Free Book Online Page A

tequila and lick my lips in what I hope is a sexy way. Seems to be, because Derek’s hand travels a little further south and traces across my ass.
    Sexy. Be Lola. Experiment, dammit. “Oh, Mister . . . Derek. You are so bold,” I drawl.
    “And you’re, like, super fucking hot,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. His breath is stenchy with liquor. Before he can claim his kiss, I laugh and kind of push away from him. That brought reality crashing back in a kind of hard-hitting way. Derek doesn’t seem deterred. Well, if he gets too out of line, I know a good karate chop. Self defense forever, kids.
    “What do you say?” he asks, trailing his fingers around my ass, my hip, heading for . . .  hello there . I cross my legs. He pulls out his wallet, and takes out a plastic key card. “I’m in Paris.”
    I almost tell him that he has his cities mixed up, when I realize he means the hotel. “Oh,” I say, super eloquently.
    “What do you say, gorgeous?” He leans in for a kiss again, his mouth open, his lips . . . kind of dewy looking, actually.
    In the haze of booze, part of my body is screaming yes , cavorting around and waving pom poms. Because it’s been a long time. Like a long, long time. Too damn long. But at the same time, much as I’d like to be Lola, Derek’s not exactly Archer. My wonderful image of me as a spy mistress falling for a debonair billionaire’s charms goes pop. I get an image of myself as I probably am right now, a sad, drunken thirty-something looking for validation from a guy who’s so bombed he’s about to pass out.
    That’s not what I want my first time back in the saddle to be.
    “Thanks,” I say, switching my voice from seductive Lola to chipper me. I even grab his hand and shake; it’s pretty limp. I’ll take that as a sign that any bedroom shenanigans would be pretty lacking. “I, uh, gotta go. That espionage won’t, eh, espionage itself. Bye.”
    I slide out of the booth and walk back to the dance floor before Derek can answer. I also wobble a little, because man, that tequila was good and strong. Where the hell is Shanna? I turn around and around, but it’s a whirling madhouse of limbo, maracas, and what appears to be a matador egging on an actor dressed in a bull costume.
    I’m just going to say it; this ambiance is very inaccurate at representing the great and rich culture of Brazil.
    I burp, very sexy.
    “Julia!” Shanna calls, waving to me from the bar. She and the other ladies are laughing it up with what appears to be a bachelorette party. I’d know those plastic tiaras and neon glowing necklace penises anywhere. I go over to them and hop onto a stool. I also slide off once and have to pull myself back up. Okay, maybe I’m a little drunk. But who cares? I’m awesome.
    “Oh my God, you’re Julia Stevens?” the woman sitting next to me says, clutching my arm. She’s got to be the bride; her tiara has a nice little lace veil on top. She’s an attractive woman, probably in her early thirties, with sleek dark hair and a healthy tan. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . you’re kind of my favorite author. I had no idea the Romantic Style convention was happening this weekend. I couldn’t have planned a better bachelorette party!” Her eyes are actually shiny with tears.
    A slow, warm happiness spreads through my body. My favorite part of conventions is meeting with fans, hands down. And if those fans are about to walk down the aisle to a happy future of their own? Even better.
    “All this is going to my head,” I say, grinning. I clutch onto the bar as well, to stop the room from lurching back and forth. “Or maybe that’s just the booze.”
    “I’m Stacy Kaufman.” She shakes my hand, then gives me a hug. “Oh my God, nothing but romance authors. This is my favorite part of the night!”
    “Then you are having one shitty bachelorette party,” Meredith says, knocking back a shot of something and putting the empty glass down. She’s