Alec said nothing, and his face gave her no hint as to what he thought about her speech.
A waiter arrived to take their order, cutting off any further talk. “Kefta tangine with lamb and couscous to share,” Alec ordered in a smooth baritone. They had already agreed on their dinner choice.
“Yes, Mr. Gerald.” The waiter set dates and olives on the table and left as soundlessly as he’d arrived.
Alec turned his wine stem in his fingers, seeming to watch the ruby red sparkle in the candlelight. Silence stretched between them. Lucy shifted on her cushion, kicked off her strappy shoes, and crossed her legs at the ankles. The only sounds in the room were candles crackling and sinuous Middle Eastern music. Lucy plopped a dense and sugary date in her mouth and chewed.
Still Alec did not speak.
This was getting ridiculous. What kind of man pouted over a no-strings-attached clause to getting laid? Lucy pressed her lips shut against the one hundred placating words piling up on her tongue. It must be that no one had ever told him no. She wasn’t saying no, just no games. He should appreciate her practicality.
Geesh.
“Tell me about your mother,” Alec said.
“What?” Lucy’s head whipped toward him. “My mother? I didn’t mention her.”
“Exactly,” Alec said. “How did she handle your father going to prison?”
Lucy took a slow sip of her wine. Just the mention of the penitentiary was enough to put most people off talking about her family. “She worked as a maid downtown when she could get out of bed.”
Alec nodded. “How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“And your brother?”
“We’re twins.”
“Ah.” Alec nodded, and Lucy wondered what he was inferring.
Embarrassment crawled up her back like marching spiders. Alec seemed to peer into her past, seeing the poverty and desolation. This was why she didn’t like talking about her family. She always felt ashamed, like she needed to explain that she had a made a different life. She wasn’t like that anymore.
She. Was. Different.
But was she? Alec-pilfered thumbprint was in play somewhere.
“You’re a strong and admirable woman.” Alec’s words were soft, as if he sensed her discomfiture.
Lucy drained the remaining wine from her glass. She rolled the tart sweetness over her tongue and looked away from his searching gaze.
“Yes, I am.” And she believed it—most of the time.
A group of waiters arrived and laid out their meal. Cinnamon and cloves mingled with the scent of succulent meat. Her stomach growled appreciatively. She glanced at Alec with renewed enthusiasm. “Yum.”
Alec laughed, the tense moment gone. “You’ve never had Moroccan food?”
“No.”
Lucy ate as much as she dared. On cue with her last bite, a bevy of belly-dancing beauties entered the room, their hips shaking in time with live drums. The women were dark and gorgeous, fleshier than most tummy-baring Vegas gals. Their colorful veils hid their mouths, but not their dark, seductive eyes. On their fingers, cymbals chimed in time with the sway of their bodies.
Lucy watched them shimmy, impressed with their abandon. Their purple-veiled leader approached her and beckoned for Lucy to join them, but Lucy shook her head.
Then the woman moved to Alec. She took her time, shaking her hips with a demanding rhythm. Look at me, her hips screamed. Alec leaned back against the wall. The woman took this as an encouragement, stepped over his lap, and dropped to her knees. All Lucy could see was her mostly bare back and undulating arms and hips.
Lucy’s stomach churned around her meal, and she cast her eyes for a place to stare. What did she expect? Alec was like catnip to women—they threw themselves at him, and he didn’t seem to mind.
The drums stopped and Lucy looked at the pair. Alec said something to the woman and she ran her hand slowly down his chest, snaking her fingertips between the buttons of his shirt to his skin. She whispered something back before standing and shimmying out of the room with the rest of the harem.
Alec met her gaze, unflinching and direct. “We should try the hookah before we go.”
“You mean the hooker?” Her question had a bite she hadn’t intended to show.
Alec poured more wine into their glasses. “That talented woman did not want to be paid for her charms.”
“I bet.”
He picked up her clenched hand and kissed it, letting the tip of his tongue caress the grooves between her knuckles. Lucy saw sparks, literally, and tried to pull away. He held her hand tight until she looked at him.
“I told you could trust me.” His voice held aggravated certainty.
Lucy watched his face, searching for the microscopic tells that always gave a person away. There were none. Alec’s face was impassive, and his dark blue eyes were only keenly interested in her response. This was a man who kept his cards close. She shouldn’t bet against him. She could lose more than casino chips.
She could lose her heart.
Their waiter entered the room, carrying a violin-shaped pot with a gold hose coiled on the neck. He set it on the table and cleared their dishes. “Your hookah, sir.”
“Thank you,” Alec said. “A piece of baklava and honey to share, please.” The waiter nodded and left.
Lucy eyed the steaming contraption.
“It’s a water pipe.” Alec uncoiled the hose and inhaled from the end before blowing a small smoke ring above the table. The ring widened, and he blew another inside it. Ring after ring floated to the ceiling in an apricot-smelling haze.
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“Just tobacco.” Alec handed her the pipe. “Nothing illegal.”
Lucy’s hand hovered in the air. She wanted to try it but sensed a bit of dare in his expression. He was testing her. This was her Rubicon—that unspoken, but always noted, point of no return.
Lucy reached for the end of the hose, pulled smoke into her lungs, and exhaled. Sweetness spread across her tongue, and warmth spread through her limbs. There were two things she was certain of—she wanted this man, and it would end soon. Lucy leaned back and tried to mimic Alec’s smoke rings, but her exhale only looked like a street corner puff into a strong wind. The waiter returned and set a piece of triangular pastry and an old-fashioned honey pot on the table.
“Thank you,” Alec said. The man left and shut the door firmly behind him.
Alec picked up the pastry and bit off the end. He held a corner to her mouth. “Try it.”
Lucy set aside the water pipe and bit off her end. Honey and walnuts and buttered pastry mixed on her tongue with the apricot smoke. “It’s good.”
Alec opened the honey pot and dribbled honey over the remaining pastry. He offered it to her and she took another bite, and then watched him finish the last piece.
“You have honey on your lip.” He leaned forward and licked the corner of her mouth. His tongue was hot and abrading. Lucy put both hands to his face and kissed him deeply, letting her tongue roll over his. Heat burned in the pit of her stomach.
Alec pulled her onto his lap. “Do you feel the connection between us?”
Lucy nuzzled up his face. His whiskers scraped against her skin, and the evidence of his arousal pushed between her legs. “Oh, yes. It’s big, too.”
Alec frowned, and then gave her a patient, small-steps look. “Well, there is that.”
…
From the restaurant, they went to see le Dragon, the Crown Jewel’s multi-million dollar production. Vegas locals said a show only had to put the French le in front of something to get $200 a ticket. But sitting next to Alec on his private balcony, Lucy thought the show was “le” magnifique.