Perfect Catch(82)
“Okay. You got me, this is neat. But this is one thing. I’d hardly call it an amazing spectacle or anything.”
“You say that now, Ms. Grinch, but the night is young and we have the whole Strip waiting for us. I guarantee you by the time we’re through you’re going to be madly in love with this city. And hopefully you won’t still think your vacation was wasted in coming here.”
“Want to make a bet?”
“A bet?”
“Yeah, in the spirit of the whole thing, this being Vegas and all.”
“What are the terms?”
“If we get back to the hotel and I can honestly say I didn’t have fun, you have to use all your big porn earnings to upgrade me to a nicer room.”
Ethan snorted and rolled his eyes. “I think you overestimate how much money we make, but I’m pretty sure I can swing an upgrade.”
“All right.” Sam smiled in spite of herself. She’d wanted to keep her poker face in check so he wouldn’t realize she was already enjoying herself, but the grin still managed to slip out. Stupid traitorous face.
“Don’t you want to know what I want if I win?” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels, smirking like a brazen schoolboy.
“The look you’re giving me right now makes me think I know what you’re going to say.” Her tummy churned, nerves causing a stormy sea to bubble and swirl inside her.
“Don’t think the worst. You made me promise no sex, remember? Not until you say the word.”
“All right. What do you want if you win, then?”
“A kiss.” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face, highlighting his dimples and making him seem both innocent and roguish all at the same time.
Oh boy, was she in trouble.
“Fine. One kiss. But I’m going to make you work for it.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Ethan extended his hand to her, and she took it without hesitating.
He led her across the street towards the mammoth structure of the Mirage Hotel. Sam had watched plenty of representations of Vegas in movies and on countless episodes of CSI, but nothing she’d seen had prepared her for the scale of the place. Everything was huge, and just walking through the crowds and staring up at the hotels made her feel insignificant. She hadn’t felt that way since her first memories of walking through the redwoods back in Oregon. Somehow Vegas managed to capture the same sensation, even more than being in a real large city could. Maybe it had something to do with being able to see the Eiffel Tower, the New York City skyline and a scaled-down Sphinx all in one stretch of road.
It was too much stuff for her poor brain to process.
Ethan guided her past the Mirage and Caesars Palace—a structure so gargantuan Sam was sure the whole population of her home town could fit in it and still have room for ten thousand extra guests—and he didn’t stop walking until they reached an alcove in front of the Bellagio, with a view of the half-scale Eiffel Tower across from them.
“Do you think taking me to Paris is all it will take to dazzle me?” she teased.
“Paris is over there.” Ethan pointed to a blue neon hot air balloon with the French city’s name scrawled over it in shimmering yellow lights. “What I’m showing you is there.” He indicated a wide span of black water, which seemed utterly unimpressive compared to the edifices surrounding it.
“You figure that’s kissworthy? You must be used to some easily astonished girls.”
“As true as that might be, hold your horses for a second.” He checked his watch then angled her towards the water with two firm hands on her waist. He didn’t pull away immediately, his fingers trailing up her spine and stopping on her shoulders, both thumbs kneading the tense point at the base of her neck. “Trust me.”
“Said the porn star.”
Ethan leaned in, his lips so close to her ear she could feel the heat from his mouth when he whispered, “I’m going to make you eat those words. And you’re going to like it.”
Sam shuddered involuntarily, and liquid heat speared her in the most intimate place, making a wave of goose bumps prickle up her arm hairs.
The hard-rock song blaring over the Bellagio speakers grew quiet, and the faint strains of a classical symphony replaced them. Considering how everything she’d heard up to that point had been the most obnoxious, overpowering music available, the classical tune was a jarring—but welcome—change of pace.
The music swelled up, and with it a row of small fountains emerged from the water, lit bright white so it appeared as if the water itself was glowing. Sam stood rapt as the spouts began to bend and arc in time with the music, the water starting low then suddenly shooting up into the air sixty feet, blotting out the view of Paris behind them. A circle in the center of the display rose higher than everything around it, and the mist left behind was illuminated by the lights of the Strip, glowing like fairy dust as it fell to the lake’s surface.