“You don’t need another drink,” he said. “You need something to eat. I’m taking you to dinner.” He slid off his chair, apparently assuming I’d follow right behind.
“I do need another drink.” I tried to raise my hand again, but he hadn’t let it go. “And I can’t go to dinner with you. I’m eating dinner in an hour.”
“Date?” he asked, eyes narrowed. This time, I really couldn’t help my snort of disgusted laughter.
“Are you kidding? It’s going to be a long time before I’m dating again. No. My sister is getting married here this weekend and I have to meet her, my other sister and my mother for dinner.” I scowled at the thought of the other reason I was having a miserable week.
“Fine. Then I’ll take you for appetizers.”
Before I knew it, he’d tucked my arm in his and was leading me out of the bar. What was going on? Was I just going to let him drag me out of the bar? When I didn’t jerk my arm away or tell him off, I realized I was. Why not? I’d missed lunch and I could use a snack before dinner. God forbid I actually ate anything in front of my sisters. I’d never hear the end of it. Even so, I put up a token resistance.
“I can’t go to eat with you.”
“Why not?” he asked, easily.
“I don’t even know your name,” I protested. He stopped walking and turned to face me.
“Dylan Kane.” He held out his hand to shake, watching me carefully, as if waiting for something. When I didn’t respond, except to take his hand, he smiled. I almost missed the smile, jolting a little at the touch of his skin to mine. His hand was warm and strong, the touch sending tingles all over, settling in my breasts and between my legs.
That was a lot of impact for a simple handshake. A few more of those, and my panties would be soaked. This guy was dangerous. I wondered what it would feel like if he touched me. No. I was not going there. Thinking with my hormones was how I got into trouble with Steven. I was not going to make any more lust driven decisions.
Instead of drifting off into fantasies of those warm, strong hands all over my body, I squeezed his hand back and said, “Leigha Carmichael.”
“Leigha,” He repeated. “A beautiful name.” Pulling me close to his side again, he led us further into the casino. We headed for the bank of elevators, away from the restaurants. I tried to reclaim my arm. I’d said I’d go eat with him, but it didn’t seem like a great idea to disappear into the upper floors with a man I just met. Cautious, that was me. Except I’d been cautious with Steven, and here I was, broke and alone. Before I could protest, he asked,
“Is there anything you don’t eat?”
I shook my head and said, “No.” He lifted his mobile to his ear and hit a button before he spoke.
“Cheryl, order in a selection of appetizers. I’ll be there in a minute with company.”
Now I did try to pull my arm away. “I’m not going to your room with you.” He grinned at me, relaxed and amused.
“No, you’re not. At least not right now. We’re going to my office. It’s private, comfortable, but you won’t be completely alone with me.”
“Your office? You work here?” I asked, glancing around the floor of the casino.
The Delecta was one of the newest casinos on the strip. Sumptuous and elegant, it was not a family casino. It was on the small side, with more suites than the average hotel, all of them luxurious and expensive. So expensive, I’d told my sister I’d rather stay at home and drive in for the wedding events. But, as usual, she pitched a fit, the rest of the family took her side, and I found myself convinced to spend money I didn’t have on a pricey hotel room in my own city. I’d managed to get one of the single rooms and stuck it on my emergency credit card.
The Delecta was a casino for adults. The spa was extensive, the decor designed to seduce, and everywhere I looked I saw couples, exquisitely dressed and beautifully groomed, gambling away their money and laughing with delight as they did it. This place was the ultimate scam. Didn’t they know the house always won? And here I was, wandering off with a man I didn’t know, just because he was beautiful and charming. So who was I to judge?
I looked up to see that he was smiling at me, an almost fond expression on his face.
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked. Should I? I could tell now that I should. I didn’t get out a ton. Was I making a fool of myself? Probably.
“No, I don’t,” I admitted. “Sorry.” I shrugged apologetically.
“I own the Delecta,” he said. “Well, I’m part owner of the conglomerate that owns the Delecta. But, for the last few years, this project has been my baby. I do most of my work from here.”