Page 64 of Born To Be Bad

“All your best seafood and vegetarian dishes, please,” he says, then winks at me. “No goat.”

“No goat,” she confirms, smiling.

“And coconut water, please,” I say, quickly scanning the cocktail menu. “And the Cuchi Cuchi. Times two.”

Alistair narrows his eyes at me suspiciously, then smiles at the waitress. “Khob khun ka.”

“If we’re trying all the food,” I say, “may as well try all the cocktails, too.”

“You’ve changed,” he replies.

“Into an alcoholic?” I suggest. “Perhaps, but I blame you for feeding me a steady diet of champagne. I used to be a cheap date.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned. Now you’re trying to get me drunk so that you can take advantage of me.”

I scoff. As if someone like me could ever take advantage of a billionaire.

The cocktail is delicious: coconut rum and citrus vodka muddled in a martini glass with lemongrass and basil. The food is absolutely beautiful to look at and to eat. Fresh oysters served with tangy dipping sauces, green papaya salad with a spicy lime dressing. Shrimp soup with chili, lemongrass, and galangal. A huge platter of grilled seafood and pineapple fried rice. And for dessert, “Rubies on Ice”: dyed water chestnuts sweetened with fragrant coconut milk and served on crushed ice.

“Sounds like a James Bond satire,” I say.

“Not nearly as punchy as Pussy Galore,” replies Alistair.

“I can’t believe they got away with naming a mainstream film Pussy Galore.”

“Me neither,” he says, raising his glass. “Let’s drink to that.”

We’re onto cocktail four or five now. “So much for getting me into bed early.”

Alistair looks at his watch. “Hmm. I lose track of time when I’m with you.”

“Because I’m such a fantastic raconteur?” I joke.

He strokes my thigh, his carnal desire clear. “Yes. That, too.”

Alistair’s tip is so generous that the waitress brings the manager to explain that there has been a misunderstanding. They are under the impression that he has mistakenly paid double the bill. We clear it up and head out.

“I love how you tip,” I say. “It’s super sexy.”

“Well, I heard somewhere that men tip in proportion to their penis size.”

I can’t believe he remembers that. I laugh and hug him.

“Where next?” he asks.

“I thought you were taking me home to bed.”

“That was before I had a dozen high-octane cocktails.”

A thrill runs through me. It would be exciting to go out. “Night club?”

“Something like that,” he says, circling my waist and kissing me. “It’s been difficult keeping my hands off you tonight. Time to unleash our inner barbarians. Want to go somewhere less … respectful?”

I grin and push into him. “Yes, please.”

CHAPTER 37

Crescent Moon

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