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  “I surprise you? How?”

  He leaned forward to offer her a flute, and she accepted it, her fingers brushing his and sending a shiver of pure awareness down her spine. “You don’t tell me what I want to hear,” he said. “When I asked if you almost backed out tonight, you didn’t pretend otherwise. That kind of frank honesty isn’t common in business.” He reached for the other flute and touched it to hers. “Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

  She swallowed hard. “I have a confession.”

  One dark brow arched. “A confession.” He leaned back slightly, studying her. “Already?”

  “It’s important,” she said. “For both our protection.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking and I haven’t eaten all day. So if I drink this then one of two things is going to happen. The best-case scenario is that I remember nothing about tonight and most likely make a fool of myself. Worst-case, you’ll have to pick me up off the floorboard because I pass out.”

  His lips twitched. “That’s your confession?”

  She nodded. “Afraid so.”

  His smile was instant and it was a sexy smile. Everything about the man was sexy. “While I wouldn’t hesitate to pick you up if you fell,” he said, “we’ll postpone our toast until after dinner.” He set both flutes aside. “Because I most definitely want you to remember tonight.”

  Chapter Three

  The ride to the Bell’s Hotel and Casino, which was one of the most elegant understated properties in the city, was a short ten minutes by highway. Exactly the reason that Sonya wasn’t surprised to find Parr’s restaurant to be dimly lit, with a large seating area visible from the entryway and fine art decorating the walls. The floor was an expensive bamboo wood covered with even more expensive oriental rugs. It was just another fancy Vegas hotspot, aside from one unique feature. Thee were six equally spaced, winding black steel staircases on either side of the sitting area.

  The hostess, a pretty brunette in a long black dress that might have been conservative if not for the way it hugged every curve she owned, which were many, greeted Dante by name.

  “Mr. Ricci,” she said with a smile. “So nice to have you back with us tonight.” She glanced at her book sitting on top of the hostess stand and then back at Dante. “You’re in ‘gold’ tonight I see, and since I know you know your way around, I’ll let Nicholas know you’ve arrived.”

  “Excellent,” he said and slid his hand to Sonya’s back, splaying his fingers over her spine, branding her with intimacy that felt far more personal than it did professional. He motioned her forward. “Shall we?”

  “What did she mean by ‘gold’?” she asked.

  “Each VIP staircase is color-coded. Silver, gold and platinum—one for each side of the room.”

  “I see,” she responded, and started walking the path he’d indicated, just around and behind the seating area, until they were at the farthest staircase.

  Dante motioned her upward. “Ladies first.”

  Sonya opened her mouth to tell him she’d follow, only to have her growling stomach drown her out.

  Dante smiled. “Perhaps you should hurry. Your situation is starting to sound rather critical.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I think you’re probably right,” she said, stepping forward and thinking she hadn’t been this nervous since the bar exam.

  The path was narrow and Dante followed her, his hand settling on her waist this time, steadying her, and somehow she had the feeling he was testing her reaction to his silent touch. Now was the time she should set boundaries, as she would with any other client. Somehow, too, she knew Dante would respect them, if only she would establish them. If only she could make herself move away from his touch. Instead she was fighting the urge to lean into it. And what if he meant nothing by the touch? Maybe Italians were just more flirty and touchy-feely than Americans. That was probably it, and she should be relieved instead of disappointed.

  She rushed up the last two steps, eager to get Dante’s hand off of her before she melted into a puddle of wanting woman right there on the steps. She paused at a door and Dante leaned into her, his hand sliding around her waist to her stomach, as if to steady her, before he pulled it back. Every nerve ending in her body tingled with awareness, with the need to lean farther into him, to feel him closer. Which was exactly why she quickly darted away from him and into the room before her. Her gaze swept around the private room, and she noticed the horseshoe-shaped booth in the corner with some sort of sheer curtains tied back on either side. Candles flickered from wall fixtures, scenting the room with vanilla and cinnamon. It was a room that screamed intimacy and romance.

  She turned to find the door shut and Dante closer than she thought, towering over her. “I’ve never been to a restaurant that had private rooms quite like this one.”

  “Good,” he said softly. “This is just one of the many ‘firsts’ I hope to show you tonight.” He motioned to the table. “Let’s sit and get you some food.”

  “Yes, please.” She followed him to the booth and rather than entering from the opposite side than her, he waited for her to slide into position.

  “What are you five favorite foods?” he asked as he scooted in beside her.

  “I’m not sure you want to hear the answer to that question,” she said, laughing, glad for something to talk about. “They aren’t exactly fine dining, I can promise you.”

  “Most of mine aren’t, either.”

  “Then you go first.”

  “All right,” he said. “A good hamburger and great French fries any day of the week. Pizza is a distant second. Chocolate cake. And of course, the perfect meatball. I have to have something Italian on the list or my mother will have a heart attack. She already thinks I’m too Americanized.”

  She smiled, intrigued by the simplicity of his list. “And here I thought you’d be a caviar kind of guy.”

  “There’s a lot about me that I imagine isn’t what you would expect,” he said. “Your turn. Name your top five.”

  “My list would be all my favorite junk foods that I don’t allow myself to eat on a daily basis. Chocolate cake and pretty much chocolate anything make my list as well. Macaroni and cheese. Love it. French fries but you can keep the burger. And then Starbucks white mochas—and yes, they count as a food group. They got me through law school.”

  “Even if I count the coffee, that was only four.”

  “Pizza. Cheese. From a little place down the street from my house.”

  “Well then, let’s order.” He punched a button on the table and ordered everything from both of the lists, before explaining, “In the private dining rooms you can use the menu or simply order whatever you want.”

  “Really? They’ll custom-make whatever the guests want? And it’s good when it arrives?”

  “The food is always exceptional. Anything you want, however you want it, and cooked to perfection. All you have to do at Parr’s is ask for what you want and it’s yours.”

  You, she thought. I want you, naked and on top of me, and without the recourse of a morning after that destroys my career. “If only life were that simple.”

  “If it were,” he said, “then the idea of an escape to Sin City wouldn’t be nearly as appealing and I wouldn’t be banking on this investment. Vegas is an adult playground and I intend to take that concept further than anyone else.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “There was an old show called Fantasy Island. Did you ever see it?”

  “I remember the reruns. The little guy in the white suit screamed, ‘The plane! The plane!’ at the opening of every show and I swear everyone went around imitating that.”

  “That’s the one,” he said. “And the premise of the show—a fantasy granted to each guest—is the premise I in
tend for one of the Ricci properties. This hotel, if we can make an acquisition happen. It’s underperforming and I think we can get it for a steal and make it a success.”

  “I’m not completely understanding the Fantasy Island premise. How are you going to grant people’s wishes, which was really what the show was about, right?”

  “We’re going to give guests more than absolute luxury. We’re going to give them the freedom to explore pleasure in ways they never dare at home. That freedom will come from our written confidentiality agreement, which I’ll want you to draft, and the old adage of ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.’”

  She swallowed hard. “Are we talking erotic fantasies?”

  “Erotic fantasies,” he agreed. “A place where couples can spice up their love life, or singles can explore who they are before they ever become a part of a couple. For those who have never dared erotic play, they will have a gentle introduction to a new world. For those who are experienced and seek a new level of play, they, too, will find we can meet their needs.”

  A buzzer sounded and Sonya’s gaze jerked to her right, to where one of the two doors she hadn’t even noticed before now opened, and a man in a tuxedo wheeled a cart out toward them. “You’re about to have fantasy-worthy junk food.”

  Fantasy-worthy. He was the fantasy and she wasn’t a fool. She could see where this was headed. To Fantasy Island, where she’d have him naked and enjoy every second of it…if she dared.

  Chapter Four

  The waiter set a cheese tray on the table and then began filling champagne glasses, all the while talking to Dante in a familiar way.

  Job complete, the waiter gave a short bow. “The rest of the food will be ready shortly.”

  Dante immediately scooted closer to her, so close she could smell the spicy woodsy scent of his cologne. So close she could almost feel his body heat and she wanted to. She wanted to so badly that she ached with need. He lifted his glass. “Let’s try that toast again.”

  “I still haven’t eaten.”

  “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

  “What about the forgetting everything and making a fool of myself?”

  “You can’t make a fool of yourself with me tonight,” he said. “And anything you forget we’ll do again.”

  She was suddenly pretty sure she was having a hot flash at a far too young age. “Dante—”

  “I thought you said the contract would allow you to enjoy tonight?”

  “I guess I’m not good at relaxing.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  He considered her a moment and then reached for a silver box the waiter had apparently left on the table. He set it in between them and then reached for two note cards and pens. He placed one card and pen in front of himself and one in front of her.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “The inspiration for my premise,” he said. “This is how Parr’s VIP rooms work. You write down your fantasy before dinner and I write down mine. We both place them in the box and give them to the waiter. The fantasy is then arranged for dessert. Neither of us knows what the other person writes down.”

  Sonya stared at him, digesting what he had just told her, and then reached for his glass and downed the contents.

  He arched a brow as she set it down. “You forgot the toast,” he reminded her.

  She ignored the comment. “I can’t do this. I’m your attorney.”

  “I dated the contracts for tomorrow. And what happens in Parr’s, stays in Parr’s, bella.”

  Bella. Beautiful. The casual endearment didn’t mean anything, but yet, it did. And so did the offer he’d just given her, the fantasy, the escape, that she not only wanted, but also needed. The pressure to succeed, to support her mother while she was recovering, and pay her bills, was weighing heavily on her, and it had been for months now.

  The buzzer sounded and she knew the waiter was about to join them. She reached for her drink since she’d drank his already.

  “Oh, no,” Dante said, covering her hand with his. “You drank that entire glass of champagne in thirty seconds. You need to eat.”

  “You wanted me to drink it.”

  “A sip,” he said softly as the waiter wheeled the cart in their direction. “Instead, you tried to find liquid courage.”

  She grimaced. “I did not.”

  His lips curved upward. “Yes. You did. And you aren’t going to blame alcohol for tonight in the morning. You either stay or you go, but you decide, not the champagne.”

  “Dinner is served,” the waiter said, arriving at the table and beginning to unload his tray.

  Dante arched a brow. She grimaced. “Don’t do that brow thing. It’s arrogant and I don’t like arrogant men.”

  He laughed. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said and grabbed the card and pen. “I assume the ink is so I can’t change my mind?”

  “That would be the idea.”

  She drew a breath and started to write on the card. I want to have wild, wicked sex with Dante and not have it impact my career. And chains and a whip to make him pay for surprising me like this would be okay, too, if you happen to have some. She laughed and looked at him before dropping the card in the box. “Your turn.” She’d committed to this now. She wasn’t going to be a wimp. She would hold her own with Dante, somehow, someway, and with the risk this represented for her career, she was darn sure going to enjoy every second, too.

  His lips twitched, his eyes twinkling with mischief, before he began writing…for quite a long time. He used the front and the back of the card, then dropped it in the box.

  “That was a lot of writing,” she said.

  “I’ve been thinking about what I want since I met you at your offices today.”

  She reached for the box. He shackled her hand and laughed.

  “After dinner.”

  How was she possibly going to eat while wondering what was on that card?

  Chapter Five

  Dante slid the silver box to the edge of the table and the waiter reached for it. Sonya quickly averted her gaze by snatching one of the four varieties of French fries on the table. Her taste buds and stomach quickly shouted in joy and any thought of not eating flew out the proverbial window. “Oh, God. This is so good and I’m so very hungry.”

  “I’ll need to test that myself,” Dante said, grabbing a fry for himself and then nodding in agreement. “Excellent, but we need salt and ketchup.” He quickly took care of both issues.

  Sonya sighed as she stared at not one, not two, but three varieties of macaroni and cheese, relieved that the waiter had disappeared out of the room. She took a bite of macaroni and then another before coming to a conclusion. “I see a flaw in your dinner-and-erotic-desert premise.”

  “What flaw is that?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with both surprise and interest, at her direct reference to the fantasies, she assumed. But the champagne had made her brave, or maybe she was on the verge of a panic attack for actually writing down what she had on that card.

  “A number of flaws actually. For instance, I, for one, am going to be so full that I’ll need a nap when I’m done.” She took another bite of macaroni and cheese to make a point, and then pointed with her fork to her plate. “This is the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever had. I could eat every bite and ask for more, which brings me to flaw number two. Women really don’t want to pig out and then be naked. You should really do the silver box at check-in or something like that.”

  He started laughing. “Just don’t pig out.”

  “I never splurge on calories and food but you put my favorite foods in front of me, and if I was a customer it would be my vacation, and you’d you expect me not to eat them? Where is
the escape and fantasy of that?” She set her fork down. “That’s just cruel.”

  Dante reached for her, pulling her into his arms, the heat of his touch searing her instantly, the warmth of his body setting her on fire. One of her hands flattened on his impressively hard chest, which would soon be impressively hard and shirtless. She inhaled the spicy male scent of him, and discarded any thought of him being her client. What would be, would be. It was too late to turn back.

  His mouth lowered, dangerously, wonderfully, close to hers. He was going to kiss her. “Your dinner-before-dessert concern sounds like a lame excuse to leave to me.”

  “I’ve said what was on my mind up until this point, per your own declaration,” she said. “If I wanted to leave, I’d say so. As long as I’m granted the fantasies exactly as I wrote on my card, you can bet money I’m not going anywhere.”

  He gave her a probing stare. “And what would these fantasies be?”

  “You’ll find out what I wrote down when I find out what you wrote down. Which would be what, by the way?”

  “If I told you, then you would run. And then I’d have to chase you.” His mouth came down on hers, hot and demanding, and delicious in a way nothing on the table began to touch.

  She moaned and sunk into the kiss, her tongue meeting his, her hunger for him, not the food. He unbuttoned her jacket, sliding his hand to her waist. “Do you know why dinner before play works?” he asked when he tore his mouth from hers.

  She tried not to pant but that kiss had her burning for another. “Because no one finishes the food?”

  His lips curved wickedly. “Because living out a fantasy requires energy, and I can promise you, you’re going to need yours.” His fingers traveled to her side, barely brushing the bottom of her breast. “So eat before I don’t let you and we’ll both end up sorry you don’t have more energy later.” His lips brushed hers an instant before he slid away from her, but not too far.

  A flutter of panic overcame her. She was on unfamiliar territory. She didn’t know how to do anything beyond talking. She was good at that, at playing a certain tone or mood, because that’s what she did when negotiating, when working a case. She glanced at Dante, who was staring at her, his eyes as wicked as his body, and she was pretty darn sure that he was thinking about the after party, not about making conversation. She was way out of her league, and it both excited her, and terrified her. “What are you thinking?” he asked.