I had my wet hair wrapped in a towel as I perused my closet.  Dinner and a movie was the strangest kind of date to dress for, but this was Vegas.  Just a few days ago, I’d seen someone in a full out ball gown at the grocery store.  Anything went here.  It was one of my favorite things about this town.

I loved clothes.  Shopping was an enduring obsession of mine, but I was dressing for a man who I knew would not appreciate anything about the latest trends.

So I went for sexy and flirty with my favorite little black dress.  I hadn’t worn the thing in ages, but nothing flattered my figure more.  It showed off my legs and just enough cleavage to turn some heads.  The stretchy jersey material hugged my chest and waist, dipping in to accentuate my curves, then flowed out in a short, A-line skirt.

I left my hair wavy, which saved time, but went all out with the makeup, going for a smoky eye and red lips, so I was still pushing it to the very last minute.

I slipped into my favorite black Lady Peep Louboutins.  They were sky high, but Heath was tall enough that I could get away with it.

I grabbed a light jacket since I always got cold at the show.

I was ready almost to the second, which was a good thing, because Heath was at my door exactly on time.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

His reaction to my efforts was gratifying.  His eyes were indecent as they took me in head to toe.

He was wearing a dark polo and dark wash jeans, and he looked good enough to eat in tiny, savoring bites.

“You sure you want to go anywhere tonight?” he asked.

In answer, I shut and locked my door.

He cursed under his breath.

He led me to his car, a Jaguar F-type that I knew had to cost upwards of a hundred grand.

“Is this your car?” I asked him as I slid into the passenger’s seat.  I was back to wondering again if he was a criminal.

“I’m borrowing it,” he said after he got behind the wheel.  And of course he didn’t elaborate.

I picked a gourmet burger place for dinner.  I didn’t imagine Heath would appreciate gourmet French cuisine the way I did, so I settled on my second favorite—a perfect burger.

“So if they leave out the e, it makes it gourmet?” Heath asked as we approached the restaurant Burgr.

I sent him a sideways smile.  He did have a sense of humor, I was finding out.  It was just very dry.  “Do you like burgers?”

“Yeah.  I have to say, I was worried you’d pick someplace with frog legs or something.”

“I found a compromise.”

The restaurant was crowded, and I wasn’t imagining it, people were definitely staring at me, then him, then back at me as we were shown to our table.

“People are staring at us,” I said quietly.

Heath glanced around and stared at some people until they looked away.  “So?”

“They’re staring at us because I’m sixteen years older than you.”

He leaned in close, his eyes all over me.  “You’re right that people are staring.  But not at us.  At you.  But this I guarantee, no one is staring at you because of that.”

I felt instantly better.  He really did have a sweet side.

I ordered a martini, and he ordered a water.

“You don’t drink alcohol?” I asked him when the waiter had left.

“I do, occasionally, but most of the time I like to keep my senses sharp.”

I gave him my best imploring smile.  “This is a date.  You don’t need to stay sharp.  This is when you relax.”

After staring me down for a brief moment, he called the waiter back and ordered a beer.

“Anything look good to you?” I asked him after he’d perused the menu for a bit.

He just shrugged.

“I can tell you what’s good.”

He shrugged again.  “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Do you mind having an egg on your burger?”

“Sounds fine.”

I ordered the truffle fries and two farm burgers.  It was simple, but the best burger: duck breast bacon, English sharp cheddar, and a fried egg.  Perfection.

“So good, right?” I asked him after the first bite.  I was one and a half martinis deep, and he’d downed nearly his entire pint of beer.  I was feeling great and it might have been my imagination, but I thought he was starting to relax.

“It’s good,” he agreed, then proceeded to finish the burger off in under two minutes.

I was about a third of the way through mine.  “Should we order you another one?” I teased him.

His answer was to finish off the fries.  Then my fries.  Then his beer.  He ordered another and I almost cheered.  I wanted him to have a good time tonight, wanted him to unwind and open up, and alcohol seemed like a great way to make that happen.

“Do you like to gamble?” he asked me.

The restaurant was located inside of a casino, as most of the good ones were in this town.

“Very rarely.  How about you?”

“Never, if I can help it.”

“I don’t mind losing the random twenty dollars on a few rounds of blackjack,” I shared, just to keep the conversation going.

His brows went up like I’d said something fascinating.  “My . . . friend is obsessed with blackjack.  She counts cards.  Makes a fortune whenever she needs it.”

“Really?  Isn’t that illegal?”