Earlier today I had a chat with Romy Sommer about her writing and this afternoon I will be bringing you excerpts from her two books, first up is Waking up in Vegas.
What happens in Vegas…
Waking up to the bright lights of Vegas in an unfamiliar penthouse suite, cocktail waitress Phoenix Montgomery finds she’s covered from head to foot in gold glitter and not alone – aside from the empty bottle of champagne, there’s a mystery man in the shower and a huge sparkly ring on her finger!
Stays in Vegas?
There’s no denying Max Waldburg’s demi-god sex appeal but commitment-phobic Phoenix doesn’t do relationships. Only it seems her new husband (agh!) has other ideas…he’s trying to keep that ring on her finger and his wife firmly back in his bed. The only question on her lips is – why? Or maybe, why not?
I wish I were dead. Phoenix moaned and pulled the pillow over her head to block out the blinding light and the clamour of rain. If only her head would just explode and get it over with.
At least the pillow seemed softer this morning. And it smelled nicer than normal too. A fresh citrus scent that quickened her blood.
Hang on a minute. Rain? In Vegas?
She peeked out from under the pillow. Oh my…
Not her room.
This room was at least twice the size of her entire motel apartment, and way better furnished. Correction: this wasn’t just a room; it was a palatial hotel suite. Through the double doors she spied a living room.
She sank back on the pillows, which seemed to be dusted in gold glitter. Perhaps she'd already died and this was heaven. Though she highly doubted heaven would want Phoenix
Montgomery. Not that she’d been a particularly bad girl, but she’d never made much effort to
be particularly good either.
And she’d certainly seen and done a few things a more conventional person might quail at. This being one of them.
She covered her eyes. Blocking the sunlight streaming in through tall windows at least helped the ache in her head.
Sunlight? Then that wasn’t rain…
Instantly awake, she turned her head and identified the source of the sound of running water: not rain, but a shower running.
She wasn’t alone.
Terror clutching her heart, she lifted the crisply starched sheet. Oh hell…
Beneath the sheet, she was stark naked, aside from yet more gold glitter. And not alone, in a room she didn’t recognize.
What the hell had happened last night?
Through the aching blur, she fumbled for memories. She and Khara had got off work not long before dawn, and they’d gone out for a drink as they often did at the end of a shift.
They’d chosen a pool hall away from The Strip, the kind of place that wasn’t in any tourist
brochure. With the sedatives the doctor had prescribed to help her sleep, Phoenix hadn’t had that much to drink. Besides, she could handle alcohol. Unless...
There was only one thing that could get her drunk.
She closed her eyes, grasping for the memories. They’d danced to music from an old-
fashioned juke box and played a couple of games of pool. She’d even won a little money off a guy with tattooed arms who couldn’t believe he’d been bested by a girl.
And then there’d been a man who bought her a drink…
The bathroom door opened. Phoenix sucked in a breath and opened her eyes.
Yeah, that man.
God, but he was drool worthy. Especially wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel wrapped around his hips. He definitely worked out. Until now she’d believed six packs like that were the results of air brushing in magazine spreads. This set of abs was one hundred percent real.
She forced her gaze higher, over the tanned chest, broad shoulders, up to meet a pair of
startling blue eyes in a face framed by overlong fair hair.
“You’re awake. Good. I’ve ordered breakfast.”
She was so not hanging around for breakfast. She cleared her throat. “Where are my clothes?”
He pointed toward the living room. Clothes lay strewn across the floor and, yep, there it was, the only thing that could get her truly and embarrassingly drunk... a bottle of champagne,
empty and lying on its side on the floor.
“How are you feeling?” The demi-god’s voice matched his face; deep, masculine, with a hint of amusement and a faint Germanic trace.
He perched on the edge of the bed. He smelled as good as he looked, clean and slightly lemony. Just like the pillow. Her blood all rushed south again.
She could only imagine how much fun he’d been up close and personal. Pity she had
absolutely no memory of it.
“Did we really…?” She waved a hand at the bed, and her naked body beneath the sheet that she now held clutched to her breasts. And her heart stopped.
Was that a ring on her finger? On her left hand?