Grant realized that Roxie probably thought of the triad as a strange relationship. Most people and shifters outside of the Earth Pack didn’t have a true understanding of the spiritual, mental, and physical strength imbued by the power of three. He’d seen the triad in action many times growing up and he had faith in the sacred power that came with its leadership and unconditional love.
Roxie offered him a smile, and he felt heat burst low in his belly. She was curvy. Lush. Gorgeous. He wanted her naked and sweaty and growling. Hopefully, tonight. If she kept looking at him like that, it might be now. On the floor. With human witnesses.
Whoa. He needed to take it down a notch.
A blonde hostess led them into a foyer with teak walls, marble floor, and low lighting. Several other couples waited there as well. After a few more people arrived, the hostess opened another set of double doors and they all filed inside.
The room was square and plain. Its only decoration was the soft glow of blue lighting. Long, cushioned benches lined the left and right walls. Every five feet was a large, square table.
They were escorted to their designated table and sat hip-to-hip on the bench. Inset in the middle of the table was a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne. There were fluted glasses and two folded cloth napkins, but no silverware or plates.
“No menus?” asked Roxie.
“According to the website, the chef chooses everything—from the appetizer to the dessert. It’s always different.”
“Well, this should be an adventure. I hope there’s meat. I’m starving.”
“Me, too.” Grant let his expression tell her that he was hungry all right. For her.
She grinned.
At least forty-feet yawned between them and the other side of the room. In the center of the bare floor was a long, low stage, where he assumed the show would be performed. Gaze offered a sexy dinner show that was renowned in Las Vegas and it was difficult as fuck to get a reservation. Luckily, he knew people who knew people. It helped, too, that he had deep pockets.
Grant tugged the champagne out of its bucket, noting that its cork was already gone. The staff probably opened all the champagne bottles right before seating everyone.
He poured the golden liquid into the glasses. Then he returned the bottle and picked up his glass. “To beauty and the beasts.”
“Which of us are the beasts?”
“You and I,” Grant said. “Jack’s definitely the beauty.”
Roxie laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”
Grant tapped his glass with hers. They both sipped. Huh. Not bad for something that wasn’t beer. The dry taste had a hint of sweet and the bubbles tickled his tongue.
Doors opened on the far right side of the room. Women scantily clad in what could only be classified as lingerie entered. They carried plates.
One of the beautiful women leaned over their table. “My name is Monique,” she said in a low voice dripping with a French accent. Between them, she deposited a small bowl of creamy dip was surrounded by baby carrots, slivers of zucchini, grape tomatoes, and crackers.
“For your pleasure, we have a creamy artichoke dip with organic vegetables and wheat crackers. Enjoy your appetizer, mes amis.”
“Thank you,” said Roxie. She eyed the vegetables the same way any carnivore would: with suspicion.
Monique smiled, and Granted couldn’t help compare her to Roxie. The waitress’s beauty was facilitated by good bone structure and clever make-up. She appeared untouchable—the way a supermodel looked as she strutted on the catwalk. Dressed in a pink corset that was attached to black silk stockings; she wore a matching set of pink panties. Her stilettos were black and shiny. She smelled like jasmine and her smile appeared genuine, if a shade too perfect.
Roxie was so much more beautiful in comparison. She was real. Raw. Fierce. She wouldn’t break. She could take it all—and give it right back.
His dick hardened at the very thought of getting the werewolf into bed.
“I want a steak the size of Rhode Island,” said Roxie. She pushed a carrot into the dip. “This is rabbit food.” She popped the carrot into her mouth. “Dip’s pretty good, though.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the perfect girl for me,” said Grant as he put enough dip on a celery stick to hide its vegetable-ness. “And Jack. You fit him well, too. We’re a great match.”
“Mmm. I should probably say that I’m weirded out by the idea of having two husbands.”
“But?”
Roxie shrugged. “But I’m not.”
Monique returned to clear their plates and deliver their salads. She stacked their appetizer dishes and pushed them to the side. Then she placed two silver forks and chilled bowls filled with crisp Romaine lettuce.
“Tonight, we serve you Caesar salad with shaved parmesan-reggiano cheese, black olives, red onion slices, and quartered Romano tomatoes.” Her baby blues gazed at him. “Do you find it to your liking, monsieur?”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
“And you, mademoiselle?”
“The salads look gorgeous,” said Roxie. “And so do you.”