“Do they all lead to food?” Cade asked, his fingers toying with the gift bag’s handle. He’d sparked her curiosity earlier when he’d plucked it off the desk in the hotel room.
“Yes,” the crazy-haired woman said. “But each room offers a different experience designed to tease and tantalize. Which one will you choose?”
The door that leads to a private place where my date can slide his cock between my breasts?
She bit her lower lip before the words slipped out. On any other night, Vegas’s hot new restaurant’s creative spin on the whole dining experience might be fun. But tonight, Cade’s long, thick length was the only thing she wanted teasing her. The way he’d watched her, the sound of his voice—her Navy SEAL transformed anticipation into an art.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. “If I’d known dinner came with surprises, I would have chosen someplace else. But we’re here now. And if we want to eat, we have to choose. It’s your call.”
She pushed the erotic images to the back of her mind and focused on the doors. If the man who’d spent the past twenty-four hours making her wildest dreams come true—the man who listened when she told him she didn’t like the unexpected—wanted to take her out to dinner, she would do her part and pick a door.
“Number three,” she said.
“Excellent choice,” the hostess declared as she marched up to the double doors and pulled them open.
With Cade’s arm tight around her, she followed the wild-haired woman into the dimly lit room. Hardwood tables surrounded by plush benches and chairs filled the railroad-style space. Works of art lined the walls, a mix of portraits and abstracts. The paintings were well lit, and candles offered the only lighting on the dining tables.
“Welcome to the gallery,” the hostess said.
“It’s perfect,” Lucia murmured.
“This is one of my favorites,” the woman confided. “But it’s not as popular as the others.”
“Most of your patrons dislike number three?” Cade asked mildly.
“Visitors tend to read the reviews online and decide which door to pick. The owners initially wanted to rotate the spaces, but the financial backers balked at the expense. We were already over budget on the decor and the talent.” The hostess shook her head as they wove through the tables to a counter booth. “It’s a shame, really. It would have added to the experience.”
“I should have offered to paint for the people who created this place,” Lucia murmured, scanning the series of portraits and abstract paintings lining the walls. “They sound just crazy enough to pay a fortune.”
The hostess stopped in front of a velvet love seat tucked into a corner. A table lined with candles stood in front of it. Couples were seated on two-tops with settees in the other corners.
“Your waiter will be over with your menus,” the hostess said before disappearing into the dark room.
“You were right,” Lucia said, sliding into a booth. “It was worth leaving the room for this experience.”
A spotlight cut through the space illuminating a ring lowering from the pressed-tin ceiling. Cade sat down beside her and pressed his thigh up against her leg as a woman in a nude leotard began moving. With her hands holding tight to the bottom of the ring, the acrobat flipped her legs over her head and arched her back until her toes touched her forehead.
“Impressive,” Cade said.
A young man who looked as if he’d dressed for the Mad Hatter’s tea party in his oversize suit and top hat stopped in front of their table and held out menus. “The top one lists our signature cocktails and the bottom is our food menu. May I offer you still or sparkling water?”
He glanced at Lucia. “You first.”
“Still. And a champagne cocktail.” She quickly scanned the list. “This first one here. The Dancer’s Dream.”
“I’ll have an old-fashioned,” he said without glancing at the menu.
The waiter nodded and disappeared into the darkness. She stole one more glance at the woman transforming herself into a pretzel fifteen feet in the air, then turned to Cade. “You are old-fashioned, aren’t you?” she teased. “Insisting on a dinner date.”
“If we’d stayed in the room, I would have my hands on your breasts right now.” He leaned close and brushed the hair off her shoulder. His index finger ran down her neck, igniting her nerves. Beneath her dress, her nipples tightened, adding a touch-me-now plea to the conversation.
“While that sounds satisfying…” he continued, his finger tracing her collarbone, “I promised to show you the sights and sounds of Vegas beyond your hotel room. And if that means I need to endure a few hours staring at your gorgeous body barely hidden by that dress, knowing I’m going to own it later, I’m in.”
“You take your promises seriously,” she murmured.
He withdrew his hand and caressed her cheek. “I do my best.”
“Me too.” She placed one hand on his thigh and touched her lips to his ear. “What if I promised to take the edge off your suspense?”