Page 89 of Dangerous Men
“What’s wrong with the way you look?” Alec asks, bemused.
“I’m not dressed to go to a fancy restaurant,” I insist.
Chuckling, he adds a little pressure to the hand on my back, urging me forward.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’re not dining in the restaurant tonight. Though…” He leans down as we walk, murmuring in my ear. “I, personally, love what you’re wearing, Sydney.”
The way he says it, in such a dark velvety voice, makes it sound wonderfully dirty. I tremble against him as he straightens.
“We’re dining privately,” he informs me, leading me toward a series of elevators.
There’s even an attendant here, I notice, and she leaps forward to call the elevator for us.
“Let me guess,” I smirk when the doors open and he ushers us inside, slipping the attendant a tip. “The penthouse?”
Alec smiles.
“Of course,” he says. “Where else?”
The penthouse isspectacular and even bigger than my apartment. It seems to take up the entire top floor of the casino, with massive windows revealing a stunning view of the city below us.
It’s also occupied.
“Welcome! Welcome,” a voice greets us once the elevator doors open and Alec uses a key code to let us inside.
A plump, graying gentleman in a crisp, white smock ushers us inside, gesturing us forward and toward an intimate candle-set table.
My mouth gapes open as I recognize him.
It’s Vincent Laurent.
“Vincent,” Alec greets him warmly, taking his hand with both of his and shaking it. “Thank you for doing this.”
“It’s my pleasure!” the exuberant man insists, waving Alec’s words away. “Ah! And this must be her! Ah, elle est très belle!”
I blink in surprise as he steps forward to take my hand. He lifts it to his lips and kisses the air directly above my knuckles.
“Oh! Thank you,” I murmur.
“Please, please, sit! Sit! I am so happy to be cooking for you this evening!”
He pulls a chair out, motioning for me to sit down.
I do, blushing. Alec sits as well, looking pleased.
“What, uh… what are you making for us?” I ask.
“That’s up to you, darling,” Alec says softly.
I shake my head, smiling. “I don’t understand.”
“Whatever the lady desires,” Vincent says, bowing at the waist. “I will cook. This I will do.”
Whatever I desire?
The words conjure a thousand dishes, each more intricate than the last. I could ask for lobster. Filet mignon. Hell, I could probably ask for ortolan, and he would make it happen.
Alec would make it happen.
