Text Appeal (8 page)

Lacey pushed herself to her knees and propped her elbows on the back of the couch.
“My brother?
Maybe you
are
being a little scandalous in private, and you’re just not telling me about it.”

Riley bit her lip as she remembered why she’d agreed to dinner with Charlie. She couldn’t tell Lacey he wanted to talk about her birthday—Charlie might be planning a surprise. Instead she just shrugged. “He promised to keep it platonic.”

Lacey snorted. “Have you
met
my brother?”

Chapter Five

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Riley said when their
cab
pulled up outside the Eiffel Tower replica. She turned to Charlie. “You know I can’t do this, right?”

He opened the door and stepped out. Reaching back in for her hand, he said, “I know no such thing.”

He ducked under the doorframe and smiled. His grin, charming and wide and just for her, made her stomach flip-flop.

“You need a ride somewhere, Miss?” the cabby asked.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t make a fool of Charlie over some ridiculous fear. With a deep breath, she put her hand in his and slid out of the cab.

As the taxi pulled away, Charlie squeezed her hand and she raised her eyes to the top of the tower.

That was a mistake.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered, swallowing the ball of panic in her throat. It wasn’t the height that did it.
Not exactly.
It
was knowing
how she’d have to get there.

“Hey, look at me.” Charlie tilted her chin up with his thumb.

She blinked. They locked eyes. He kept her hand enclosed in his.

“Now, close your eyes.”

She did as he said because the alternative was looking over his shoulder and thinking about being trapped in the elevator that would take them to the dining area. “I can’t do it, Charlie,” she said softly.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said. “Think about something else.”

She swallowed. Her hand felt small in his big one. His skin was hot on hers. “Like what?”

His next word came as a hot whisper against her ear, “Sex.”

Her eyes flew open. “Charlie, you promised.”

“Do you trust me?”

The reasonable answer to that question was
no
, but she found herself nodding. Against all her better judgment, she’d always trusted Charlie ‘the Devil’ Singleton. She thought that was why they’d given him that moniker in poker—he was so smooth, so damn charming, you trusted him even when you knew trusting him would cost you.

When Charlie was around she could count on three things: making a fool of herself and him laughing it off like it didn’t matter, going gooey inside every time he smiled, and trusting him against her better judgment.

Looking into his eyes now, she felt the latter two in full effect and wondered when she could expect the first to arrive.
Probably soon if she had to get in an elevator.
“I don’t want to go up there. Let’s go somewhere else.” She had to gulp in air as she imagined it. She couldn’t get in that elevator. She liked being able to see more than two feet in any direction, preferred having the earth beneath her feet. “Do we have to?” she asked.

Charlie tilted her chin up. “You’re tough, and I know you can do this. I picked it because it’s a glass elevator, so if it’s claustrophobia that gets to you…” He trailed off, studying her face. “We can leave right now if you want to.”

Her insides warmed and relaxed a bit. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be afraid.”

He smiled and squeezed her fingers in his. “You’re tougher than you think, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. Now close those gorgeous green eyes again.”

She obeyed, followed him two steps and stalled.

She knew he’d closed the space between them because she could feel the heat of his body, could feel his breath against her cheek. “You’re thinking again, Riley. You need to turn that off once in awhile. Tell me, what’s your favorite thing about living in Vegas?”

She frowned. He was leading her again, staying closer this time as she took small, blind steps to follow. “Who says I have a favorite thing? Maybe I hate living here.”

She wanted to open her eyes at the hearty sound of his chuckle but didn’t dare. If she was going to do this—if she wanted to make it to the top without a panic attack—she needed to keep her eyes closed.

“You can’t fool me, Riley,” he said. “There’s something keeping you here or you would have left already. So, tell me, what is it you love so much about Vegas?”

“I work in the hospitality industry. Why would I move? It’s like a smorgasbord of jobs for someone like me here.”

She heard his
tsk
-
tsk
followed by a very clear
ding
. She jumped, her eyes flying open.

They were in the elevator. And it was moving. They were in a small, moving elevator. They were in a very small, moving elevator and she didn’t know how long they’d been here and how much longer it would take. Had they stalled?

Charlie cleared his throat and loosened her grip on his jacket. “Not that I’m complaining about having you this close to me,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “In fact, I could get used to it.”

She was glued to him, she realized vaguely, but she couldn’t contemplate moving. Not until those doors opened.

“It’s just, Riley, baby, if you’re going to have your body this close to mine, I want you to be looking desperately at
me
, not a pair of elevator doors. Do you have any idea what that does to a guy’s ego?”

She frowned. “I’m not worried about your ego,” she muttered.

“Hey.” He was stroking her back, soft circles between her shoulder blades. “You’re shaking.”

“I prefer the stairs,” she whispered.

“Close your eyes.”

She shook her head, staring at the doors. Like Charlie had promised, the elevator was glass, and that relieved a little of her claustrophobia. If they got stuck, people would be able to see they were inside. They’d be okay. Someone would come help them.

The elevator’s second
ding
signaled their arrival, and the doors slid open to the famous bustling kitchen of the French restaurant she’d always been curious about but never visited.

The concierge smiled.
“Reservations?”

“Singleton,” Charlie said. And just like that they were being led out of that death trap of an elevator and to their table.

When the concierge pulled out a chair for her, Riley gasped at the view. Their seats were right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the eleven-story-high view of the fountains at the Bellagio.

“Will the heights bother you?” Charlie asked in a whisper.

She shook her head and slid into her chair, angling it strategically so she wouldn’t miss a second of the vision outside the window. “It’s beautiful.”

The concierge placed a leather-bound menu before her. She opened it and gaped. Quick mental calculations told her a basic meal here could more than pay for her next shopping spree at Frederick’s. When she looked up, Charlie was studying her.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm.

“Doing what?” Charlie asked, eyeing her over his menu.

Flames of heat licked higher in her cheeks. She wished she was one of those women with a cute flush, but hers
pinkened
her whole face. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re looking at me like I’m the sprinkles on a brownie sundae.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, then the little of her body not hidden behind the table. Though she was covered by a black, high-necked number she’d chosen for modesty, the heat in his eyes made her feel exposed. His focus shifted back to her mouth before he said, “Sweetheart, you’re the whole damn sundae, and I am more than ready for dessert.”

She looked around them. Had anybody heard? Did she hope they had or hadn’t? “You promised you’d behave,” she whispered.

He raised a brow, the picture of innocence. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

Their server approached their table. “The wine you requested, sir,” he said, placing a bottle on the table. “May I get you started with the roasted
fo
i
e
gras
, tonight?”

“Please,” Charlie said.

Riley chewed on her lip, calculating her budget. Everyone assumed that because her father was this big hotelier, she had a bottomless checking account, but the opposite was true. She took pride in being frugal, in stretching every dollar.
In paying her own way.

“Riley,” Charlie said softly.

She lifted her gaze from the menu to meet his. Damn but he was handsome. She’d always loved those blue eyes.

“Dinner’s on me. Relax.”

She frowned. “I can’t let you do that.”

His chest shook with his deep, rich chuckle. “Sure you can. I begged you to dine with me—something, I’ll have you know, I don’t normally do. The least I can do is pay.”

“This is all pretty extravagant for a dinner to discuss Lacey’s birthday.”

He lifted his palms and treated her to a flash of dimple. “What can I say? My sister is
very
important to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

The server returned with the wine and he and Charlie went through the ritual of sampling it before the server offered her a glass.

“Oh, no thank you. I’ll have water.”

The server nodded politely. “O
ur
special is
le filet
boeuf
served with a red wine sauce.”

“Sounds perfect,” Charlie said, closing his menu. He looked at Riley.
“You too?”

Riley swallowed, lest she drool over the steak. “No, I don’t eat red meat,” she said. “I’ll have the salmon, please.”

The server took the rest of their order and excused himself.

Charlie leaned forward on his forearms. “No red meat?”

Stop smiling at me!
But she couldn’t very well demand that without letting him know what an effect his smile had on her and her now-gooey insides. “It’s not healthy,” she explained.

“Do you treat yourself to anything that isn’t healthy or let yourself enjoy anything that isn’t practical?”

Her cheeks burned. He knew all about her completely unpractical addiction...though he had no way of knowing what a serious addiction it was.

He chuckled.
“Other than
that
.
You have a practical job, wear practical clothes—with the exception of certain undergarments that are probably the healthiest thing your psyche has going for it—you eat only sensible things.” He swirled his wine and took a drink. “You sure you don’t want a glass of wine?”

“Thanks, but I don’t drink on weeknights.”

He chuckled. “See what I mean?”

She straightened. “I’m responsible.”