“Well, you could take me on the dance floor,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
He laughed. “Mmm, tempting offer, but I wouldn’t want an orgy. Only you, babe.”
“That can be arranged.” I smiled.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just wait till after hors d'oeuvres . . .” Taking a step closer till I was up against his chest, I took his hand and slipped it beneath the fabric of my halter-top. He cupped my breast and squeezed before running his thumb over my hard nipple, eliciting a groan from both of us.
“Fuck, woman, that’s why I love you so much. You always surprise me.” His voice was low and husky and his bad mood instantly vaporized.
“Just remember that, big boy,” I grinned, “and be nice at the dinner table to earn your reward.”
Not caring if anyone saw us, Ryder gripped the back of my head and leaned in for a kiss, twisting my nipple as his tongue darted into my mouth. “Oh, baby, I'm so wet,” I moaned, squeezing my thighs together. The scrap of fabric I was wearing was hardly enough to soak up my juices—I should have brought spares.
A cough behind Ryder reminded me that we weren’t alone.
“Wow, you two, get a room.” Rebecca laughed. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes glistening. Where had she and Maxwell disappeared too? A minute later, Max appeared by her side, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“The first course is ready. I'm sure Ryder is hungry?”
I adjusted my dress before turning around and following them to our table.
Chapter Seventeen — Ryder
If it weren’t for my rumbling stomach and the wafts of delicious aromas circulating the air, I would’ve ignored them and taken Jade somewhere private. I’d noticed the large unisex bathrooms designed for couples and wondered if they’d been used for fucking yet. I was happy to be the first—but judging by Max’s grin and the deep crimson glow of Rebecca’s skin, I reckoned we were beaten on that score.
“So Ryder, what do you think of the place, huh?” Max asked. He didn’t need my approval, so I knew he had another reason for wanting to know.
“Yeah, it's good . . . but way too flash for my tastes.” He asked . . .
“I was expecting that response. But why I really brought you here . . . I’ve been thinking what a great idea it would be if you opened a restaurant in L.A. A real legitimate business.”
“Fuck no. I'm not running a joint like this.” I indicated round me.
Max laughed. “No, idiot. That’s not what I meant . . . I’m talking about a steakhouse . . . with biker-style steaks and beer.”
Jade shrieked with delight, her eyes wide and shiny. “Oh my God, that’s genius, Maxwell. Ox makes the best steaks—I freaking love the idea.”
“It's a really good idea to use your talents to make money for the club. Running a business isn’t easy, but it's a good way to earn income,” Rebecca said, ever the career woman.
I shook my head. They were talking pipe dreams. “Nah. Cobra will never go for it. Plus you need cash to start these things. Club is strapped at the moment with all the shit that’s gone down.”
“That’s why I’ve asked you to come to the office tomorrow. I have a proposal—I think you’d call it ‘an offer you can’t refuse’?” Max grinned at me. Fucker had something up his sleeve and now I was curious as hell.
“Let me sleep on it. We can bash it out tomorrow,” I said, staying guarded. I didn’t want to get my hopes up that something could actually come from this idea. But Max wouldn’t fuck with me, would he?
Jade held on to my arm, a grin splitting her gorgeous face. “Oh, I think it's exciting. I could help you with real estate and legal stuff. I’d be your wingman. Think about it—for us, Ryder.”
“Yeah, babe. I will. Now where the fuck is the food?” I held up my knife and fork like I meant business.
Two minutes later, right on cue, four waiters carried in fancy fucking silver domes over plates. They placed them in front of us and then with a whoosh, removed the lids at the same time.
I was interested to see what the fuck they had served up. With a raised brow I glared at the food on my plate: artistically stacked crisps arranged around dollops of meat with three drops of sauce on the side and green leaves.
Jade and Rebecca clapped their hands in glee. I just groaned. All this fancy shit when I was hungry didn’t appeal to me.
“Steak tartare with pommes gaufrettes.” Rebecca gleamed. “My favorite.” The way Rebecca said it in her French accent made it sound a hell of a lot better than it looked.
“I don’t see any fucking steak . . . just raw mince and a raw fucking egg. What happened, the oven broke?” They expect me to eat this shit?