Kiss Me, Baby - Vegas, Baby

We emerged from the kitchen, and I debated for half a second whether to take her up to the penthouse where I could have her naked in minutes or take her home. As soon as the question entered my mind, the answer was right on its heels. My suite wasn’t a fuckpad. In fact, I’d never taken a woman there. However, I didn’t want Amelia to feel for even one moment that she was a hookup or a one-night stand. She was special and bringing her home would show her how serious I was about us. Besides, it would be her home soon as long as she liked it, so it would be as good a time as any to see if I needed to put my house on the market.

With slight pressure on her back, I urged her to turn left and walk to a set of double doors that led to an underground garage where my car was parked. Amelia kept sneaking glances at me, looking up through her lashes. It was cute as fuck, especially when her cheeks turned crimson each time she realized I’d caught her looking.

We reached my Maserati, and I reluctantly removed my hand to touch the door handle so it would unlock. I opened it and helped her slide into the seat before swinging it shut and jogging around to the driver’s side. After getting in and settled, I started up the car and drove toward the exit. I reached over and laced my fingers with hers, then brought our hands to my mouth and kissed hers before resting them on her thigh. This was going to be the longest fifteen minutes of my life.

“Where are we going?” Amelia asked softly. She sounded curious rather than afraid since she’d just driven off with a man who was almost a stranger. Although, once I’d had my mouth on her delicious pussy, I was pretty sure I wasn’t classified as a stranger anymore.

“Home,” I told her simply, flashing her a warm smile.

She raised an eyebrow, but her lips curved up to match mine. “You don’t live at The Artemis?”

I shook my head, then looked at her when I stopped at a red light. “I didn’t want to raise my daughter in a hotel.” I shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile before turning back to watch the road as I began to drive again. “Besides, I prefer the comfort and privacy of a home to room service and valet parking.”

Amelia laughed, and while the sexual tension between us didn’t dissipate, the atmosphere became more relaxed. “I can understand that. My family traveled a lot when I was growing up, and I loved it, but I was always happiest when we returned home.”

“Would you like to travel more?”

“I wouldn’t mind it. It’s always fun to have unique foods to write about. But it’s also nice to be able to do my job locally, especially if I have kids one day.”

“You’re a food critic?” She was becoming more and more interesting with everything I learned about her. I doubted she’d noticed the slight tone of longing in her voice when she mentioned kids. I almost corrected her “if” to “when,” but I decided against it because I feared she’d clam up and stop being so open.

“Sort of. I’m a food blogger. There’s some critique in my work, but I rarely post negative reviews. I focus on the things that make me happy and that I believe my readers will enjoy. Recipes, tips, and tricks I’ve found while cooking, attempting to make new things. That’s always the most fun, even when I completely screw it up.” She giggled, and it spread warmth through my chest. “I think people like to know they aren’t the only ones who mess up in the kitchen.”

I wanted to keep asking her questions, but I’d turned onto the road leading to our home and stopped to punch a code into the tall, wrought-iron gate. “0615,” I told her. “Delia’s birthday.”

Amelia gave me a strange look, but before she could explain, the gate swung open, and she gasped, staring out the windshield with her mouth hanging open. “This is your house?”

“Do you like it?” I navigated around the circular drive before turning onto a connecting driveway that took us to the five-car garage on the side of the house.

“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed.

I’d lucked out when I found the eleven-thousand-square-foot house that was a mixture of Mediterranean and Tuscan design. The owners had raised a family there, but once the kids were grown and they’d retired, they wanted to downsize. It wasn’t a showpiece, and while there were rooms obviously meant for adults, none of the spaces felt like a museum. With a game room, theater room, kids’ playroom, a cozy den, and an outdoor area with a firepit perfect for making s’mores, it had clearly been built for a family. The entire pool area was surrounded by a tall safety fence, but when Delia had been a small child, I was particularly fond of the small wet area where little kids could play in shallow water. Its proximity to my hotel was just another perk, and it had made it much easier to be home when Delia left for school and came home in the afternoon.