Sweet Sinful Nights(19)

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He whistled low in admiration. "Impressive. But then, you don't always resist. You told me the other day."

She arched an eyebrow, then trailed her fingertips down the front of her shirt. Oh, hell. She was already playing dirty. Everything she did turned him on, and she knew, she fucking knew he was done for when she touched herself. When she'd strip for him, or tease him with a dance and run her hands along her legs, or through her hair, he was an oven turned past broiling. What he wouldn't give to toss her on his shoulder, carry her out of there, and take her someplace right that second. Screw her against the wall. Bent over a bed. In a cab. He didn't care.

"Do you have a reservation?"

The sweet, cheery voice of the hostess broke the trance Shannon was working on him. He was like a man hypnotized who'd just snapped out of it. He turned to the ponytailed, fresh-faced young lady in a black dress and said, "Nichols."

His name came out all gravelly. His voice was hoarse with wanting Shannon.

The hostess scanned the computerized list, and then tapped the screen. "There you are. I see Mario has requested one of the best tables for you," she said, dropping the name of the restaurant manager he'd called in the favor from. "You'll love this table."

Shannon turned to look at him, her lips forming a puckered O. You're fancy, she mouthed.

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate him doing that," Brent said to the hostess.

"Right this way then, Mr. Nichols."

The restaurant had a soft glow, its lighting showcasing an open kitchen and a wide, expansive floor plan. Too bad there wasn't much privacy. There were no quiet corner tables, or little nooks. There weren't even any tablecloths. Damn. Tablecloths were a man's best friend when dining out with a woman he wanted to touch. The hostess guided them to a table on the terrace, with a view of the fountains at the Bellagio.

"Your table," the hostess said, then walked away.

Brent pulled out a chair for Shannon, and she smiled at him once more. "This is lovely. Even though there are no tablecloths."

A rumble worked its way up his chest, and he looped a hand around her waist, tugging her close. She didn't resist. She moved with him, aligning her body with his. "I was thinking the same thing," he said, low in her ear, then kissed her there, nibbling on her earlobe.

"Or we could just get a room," she said sexily, letting her voice trail off.

He wrenched back, looked her in the eyes, and grabbed her hand. "Let's go. Now."

"I was only teasing. I'm terribly hungry," she said as she shook her head and dropped his hand, then settled into her seat. "Besides, I've been waiting for a long time to come here."

"Oh, you'll be coming at some point tonight, Shannon. You'll definitely be coming."

* * *

Over appetizers and a bottle of wine, he learned about the productions she'd choreographed, her career path, and how she'd started Shay Productions. He asked her questions, eager to hear what she'd been up to since college. It was as if he had a black hole in his knowledge of Shannon for the last decade, and it was starting to get colored in. Like a paint-by-numbers drawing, he was beginning to see all that he had missed. She'd worked on West Side Story, Anything Goes, and Chicago, had logged a gig as a behind-the-scenes choreographer on a reality dance show in Los Angeles, then spent some time with a Cirque du Soleil production, before returning to Vegas and working on a dance revue at Planet Hollywood. That show was the launch pad for her company and the production she staged for the Wynn.

"The show at the Wynn really put me on the map," she said, as she took another drink of the wine.

"That's a great venue and a great opportunity."

"It's funny because I've never really thought of myself as a lucky person," she said, looking philosophical as she stared off in the distance for a moment. "But I've had a few lucky breaks in my career-meeting the right people, getting the right introductions-and it's made all the difference. Like the reality show I worked on. I might do some more work for them. I've got a meeting in L.A. with the producers in a few weeks, about staging a one-night reunion    show with some of the former winners, so there's another bit of luck," she said, rapping her knuckles on the table. "Knock on wood."

"Hey. You deserve some luck," he said.

She shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. "I don't really subscribe to the notion that someone deserves good things in life. Things just happen. Some people are lucky and some aren't."                       
       
           


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"And some people are immensely talented and recognized for their talent. And that's you," he said, keeping his gaze firmly on her. He wanted her to know how much he admired her work, especially since he'd done a poor job showing respect for her career before.

"Thank you. I love what I do, and I wasn't sure I would. I didn't think I'd be able to survive without being the one dancing, as you know. You were there when I was injured. It was devastating, and at the time it felt like one of the worse things in the world. But then I moved on, and I've really come to love choreography."

"Tell me what you love about it," he said, resting his elbows on the table as he listened to her share her passion.

She tilted her head to the side, as if she were briefly considering his question. But she didn't need to think about it for long. "I love being able to have a vision. To imagine what something beautiful will look like," she said, talking animatedly with her hands. "And then to make that vision become a reality on stage. I love what my dancers are capable of doing, and being able to take the kernel of an idea and translate it into this moving, fluid entity in front of an audience." She stopped, took a beat, then added, "And soon that audience will be your club-goers."

He shot her a small grin. "Can't wait to see that."

"The show we have planned for Edge is amazing," she said, enthusiasm latching onto her words. "It's going to be so sensual and lush. We're rolling it out in San Francisco first, I believe?"

"Yes, at our club there. I have no doubt it will be great. Thanks to you," he said, then he reached across the table for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He tensed for a nanosecond, hoping she wouldn't pull her hand away. But instead, she squeezed back. "You've accomplished so much," he said, and it occurred to him that she might never have found her way down this career path if she'd followed him to L.A. "I'm really proud of you."

"And you have, too."

"Shan," he said softly. "I'm not saying this makes up for how things ended, or what I said then, and if I could go back in time I would completely do the whole thing over and find a way to be with you. But I'm glad for you that you didn't put aside your career. I was desperate to have you with me, but I'm glad that you've been able to accomplish all that you have."

She didn't speak at first, and he wasn't sure if he'd said the wrong thing yet again. Tension flickered through his bloodstream as he waited for her to pull her hand away or shoot him a harsh stare. Instead, she cast her eyes down at the table, folding and unfolding her cloth napkin. When she raised her face, she swallowed. "You're probably right." Then she continued, "My grandma told me you went to her house. To return the ring in person."

He went with her segue, nodding and acknowledging that moment from years ago. "I did."

She pressed her teeth against her bottom lip briefly, then breathed out hard. "I really appreciate that. You making the effort to get it back to her. To be certain it was with her."

"It was the least I could do. Shan, I really did try to find you at first. As best I could. You weren't easy to track down."

She shot him a rueful smile. "I was too hurt. I missed you too much."

"I missed you, too," he said, running the pad of his thumb along the outside of her hand, not wanting to let go of her, not wanting to stop touching her.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Of course."

She took a deep breath. "What did you do with the diamond?" Then she snapped her hand away, and held both in the air, shaking her head. "Wait. Don't answer that. It's nosy. You probably used it for living expenses and that's what I would expect."

He leaned back in his chair, and ran his hand roughly through his hair, wishing he didn't feel so... cheesy admitting this. But he had to tell her the truth, now that she'd asked. "I didn't use it for expenses," he said in a low voice, as if he had to protect himself from anyone else who might hear.

"You don't have to tell me. Really. You don't," she said, insistently.

"I'm going to tell you. Just don't take away my man card."

"Did you turn it into a necklace that you're secretly wearing or something?"

"No. I sold it," he blurted out.

"That's what I expected, but why would that forfeit your man card?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.