“I swear, he’s been throwing looks at you all night,” she says.
I scoff. “No he hasn’t. Has he?” I honestly wouldn’t know. My eyes have a primary directive: look wherever Nate Wexler isn’t.
My heart beats a little faster at the thought . . . . No. Don’t be an idiot, Julia.
“Go talk to him,” Shanna says, nudging me. She glances across the room, where Nate is doing his best Grumpy Cat impression next to the buffet. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“Yes, I’ll often wonder whatever became of the surly man of my dreams.” But I squeeze her hand and walk away, over to Nate. He watches me with that glacier-smooth expression.
You could wreck the Titanic on that gaze.
“Hello to you, too,” I mutter, standing beside him.
“Hello,” he says.
Great. We’ve got the firing shots finished. Okay, who talks first? I guess it’s me. Before I can get a word out, though, he says, “Do you want to take a walk?” He looks at me.
Damn, I wish that face weren’t so unreadable. Or so damnably handsome.
I don’t really wish that last part, actually.
“A walk to where? Out into the desert? I think I’ve done enough of that.” But my heart’s pounding, shaking, and kicking up its heels with glee. None of this is medically safe, by the way.
“Want to go to Paris?” he says.
I think he’s being wildly spontaneous, and immediately my imagination explodes with vivid speculation. It’d be just like one of my books, where the hero has a private jet waiting and the heroine follows him to a romantic European destination, and they kiss and make love under the stars by the Seine, and then—oh. Hold on. He means the casino. Right.
“Sure,” I say, going for super casual. “I have nowhere else to be.” Nate doesn’t respond to this. No, that’d be hoping for too much.
“We’d better hurry. They’re about to start lifting them on chairs.”
Actually, Mike and Stacy are firmly ensconced in chairs and being carried around the room by excitable family members by the time we leave. We walk out of the ballroom, heading out of the hotel and walking down the Strip.
“So what are you in the mood for?” I ask. “Pretty sure we can get champagne on the cheap. Though maybe we shouldn’t have more booze.”
“We don’t tend to make the best decisions under the influence, no,” he agrees.
And there you have it. Our whole tryst, if that’s the word, was one big fat not best decision.
Honestly, why am I even going with this guy?
“Look, you just want to do this here on the sidewalk? My blister hasn’t completely healed,” I tell him.
Nate turns, looks at me a moment. The fountain comes on beside us, starting its elegant evening show. Nate steps around a group of photo-taking Japanese tourists and comes up to me.
“I just want to show you something. And then you don’t have to worry about me anymore, all right?” he says evenly. I put my hands on my hips.
“I don’t like being dragged around by a sullen dude.”
“Fine.” He puts a smile on his face; it looks like he’s being forced under torture. “Does this look better?”
“Stick with surly. Stay with what you know,” I grumble. Nate sighs and gestures to the lights of Paris ahead of us in the dark. I really would like to go inside, if only to take it all in.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
“What about the no alcohol policy?”
“One doesn’t kill anyone.”
“No, but one more might.” I sigh, shrugging. “Fine. Let’s go to Paris.”
We walk silently the rest of the way. I have to admire the casino as we walk inside. They’ve painted the walls to resemble a blue sky over a lovely Parisian neighborhood. Inside the hotel, Nate leads the way to the Eiffel Tower. The bottom of it has been sculpted into the casino, and an elevator waits to take you up to the top, high above us in the Vegas sky.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we get inside the elevator.
“You’ll see,” he answers. I look at him, my eyebrows lifting. If he didn’t have a heart attack level of seriousness on his face, I’d think that there was something wacky going on here.
The doors open, and we exit into the Eiffel Tower restaurant. The soft mood lighting and the tinkling piano music lend the diners a kind of romantic air. The windows look out onto the sparkling Las Vegas surroundings.
Nate speaks with the hostess, making sure to turn his back so that I can’t hear. The lady nods and beckons me. “We have your table, sir.”
Table?