"Fuck," I mutter, my balls tightening almost painfully at that mental image.
"What?" Cleo mutters, removing the helmet and setting it aside. Her hair is slightly mussed, and the urge to fist a hand in it is so potent I have to ball my fists hard to keep from touching her.
"Nothing," I say with a forced smile.
"The Black Spade," she notes, glancing up at the sign above the hotel. It's decked out in lights, a flashing neon sign to gamblers everywhere. "I'm kind of relieved. I was afraid you were taking me to a five-star restaurant."
I eye her, wondering if there's disappointment in her tone. But no, she seems sincere.
"Would that have been so bad?"
A tinge of pink dusts her cheeks. "I just don't want you spending too much money, Ryker. It's not worth that."
I feel like dragging her inside, finding a quiet place and confessing just how much she means to me. But it would make things fucking awkward between us for the remainder of her stay. She doesn't feel the same, and I have to accept that.
"I'll decide what I want to spend, Cleo. C'mon."
I seize her hand and pull her forward toward the casino. When we reach the entryway, the doorman takes our coats, noting with a somber nod just who we are. His bosses, and not people to be crossed.
The interior of the place is warm and decked out in shades of red and gold. I lead her past the slot machines, the many card tables and to the dining area where a hostess waits.
"Fenton, party of two," I say.
The hostess is a short, stubby little woman with gray threading through her hair. Her name is Beatrice, I think. Leo would probably know. My fellow club member is nowhere to be found, though, probably dealing at the blackjack table.
"Follow me, please."
She winds her way through the tables and stops at one near the wide windows. There isn't much to see outside of them except for the rain, and sitting outside them makes me a little apprehensive. It would be easy for Trent or one of his lackeys to shoot through the glass at Cleo. I take the seat closest to the window and rearrange her chair so she's sitting next to me, rather than across from me. This way she has her back to the wall, out of sight. She gives me an odd look but doesn't argue.
Cleo orders a virgin Piña Colada, and I order a bourbon. Normally I'm more of a beer sort of man, but I have a feeling I will need the hard stuff tonight. I give her a look when she tries to order a salad.
"Don't do that. You're not on call to impress anyone, Cleo." She's already impressive as it is. She'd been almost painfully thin before her pregnancy. The aftermath had left her full and soft in all the right places, and they begged for my touch. I wanted to trace the curve of her ass, the swell of her breasts so badly it hurt.
"It's healthier," she argued.
"I'm ordering a steak so raw it will still make noise," I say with a laugh. "Does it look like I give a damn about my health?"
The edges of her full mouth twitch upward and the light, tinkling laugh that escapes her is so damn beautiful. I want to capture it and play it over and over, just to know that for one second I'd made her happy.
"Okay, fine. I'll take the margarita grilled chicken."
The time after that seemed too short, the minutes slipping by in a blur. The conversation is light but most of my attention is diverted by her glossed lips, and the dainty way she eats. I can't help but wonder if they'd feel as soft and pliant on my cock.
When our plates are cleared away, she smiles at me. "You're quiet, Ryker. Penny for your thoughts?"
Oh, there's no way in hell I'm confessing that. She'll bolt right out the door if she finds out I'm thinking of hiking that slip of fabric around her hips and toying with her perfect pussy beneath the table.
"Just wondering if you'd like to dance. There's a spot just over there."
I jerk my thumb at the small dance floor. It's a shallow impression in the otherwise carpeted floor. Most of the patrons who frequent this place aren't after dancing, but there are enough that the MC had finally relented and installed a small place for couples to sway to the music. The song on now is a slow beat, and the image of having her in my arms is so intoxicating I can't breathe.
Cleo's cheeks are a dusky pink when she nods. "I'd like that. I can't remember the last time I danced with anyone."
We abandon the table and make our way to the dance floor, dodging other patrons as we go. By the time we reach the dance floor, I'm so hard that I'm sure she won't be able to miss it when we're dancing. Still, I take her hand and spin her once. She ducks beneath my arm in a sensual sway of hips and a Cheshire grin stretches her lips. Between the perfect white teeth, those glossed lips, and her soft skin, I'm fighting not to pull her in for a kiss.
"This was fun," she says, the smile slipping just a little. "You didn't have to do it, you know. I know I'm not exactly living up to my former glory here."
I raise an eyebrow. Is she fucking kidding me right now? She was always beautiful, but she's especially stunning. The words slip out before I can stop them.
