Page 7 of Angels & Whiskey
“Hey, princess.” He smiled back and pulled another two dozen roses from behind his back.
“More?”
“I wanted to buy you the whole flower shop, but I thought that’d be overkill.”
I took them, smelling the sweet fragrance. “Just a little, but my apartment would smell especially good.”
“Not as good as you.” He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me. His tongue parted my lips, the faint taste of mint lingered in his mouth. I moaned as his hands slid down my back, resting on the curves of my butt. After a few seconds, he pulled back. “Let’s go or we’ll miss our dinner reservation.”
I grabbed my purse and overnight bag and he led me to his sleek black Mercedes. After he’d opened the passenger door for me, I slid in and he took my bag, placing it in the trunk before getting into the driver’s seat.
“I missed you today,” he confessed, starting the engine.
“I missed you, too. And you made Brandi jealous.”
He grinned. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Her husband didn’t send her flowers.”
“That’s a shame. I need to show my woman how much I love her.”
“You do. Every day. You don’t need to show me with flowers though.”
“You didn’t like them?” He took his eyes off the road as he looked over at me.
I smiled, reaching over and placing my hand on his muscular leg. “Of course I did. I’m just saying that every day I know you love me and not just because you gave me roses.”
“I do.” He lifted my hand and kissed it before linking our fingers together.
I looked out the windshield, the sun setting behind the surrounding mountains and the sky painted with a gradient mixture of red, pink, orange, and blue. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“Paris.”
“Paris?” I asked, quickly snapping my head toward him.
He laughed. “Well, not Paris, France.”
“Oh … right.” I chuckled.
We arrived at the Paris Hotel and Casino and gave our key and car to the valet before walking through the smoky casino floor to the elevators that led up to the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower. “I’ve never eaten here,” I commented, watching the numbers count down, indicating the elevator was descending. I’d always wanted to eat at the lavish restaurant, especially at night as the fountains at the Bellagio shot water into the air, and danced to the music, but I could never afford it.
“The chef’s a personal friend. You’ll love it.”
Rich placed his hand on the small of my back as he led me into the glass elevator with the other diners who were also going to spend their romantic evening eleven stories above the strip.
We were escorted through the kitchen, then led to the dining room where the panoramic view of the strip spread across the large windows around the entire room. The sun had fully set by the time we sat at our table and the glittery lights lit the view in the most breathtaking way.
“I haven’t seen the fountain show in years. I rarely come down here,” I mentioned, not taking my eyes away from the view of the Bellagio fountains.
“Really? I’m down here all the time for work.”
Since moving back to Vegas, Rich had opened a loan office, trying his hand at being an entrepreneur. He had several clients who he’d loan money to for business startups or gambling debts.
His family was well off and when they died, he was left with their money, plus the money from his service in the army. I wasn’t used to having money. My parents were middle class. They owned their own photography studio and while it paid the bills, we didn’t have thousands of dollars saved up. We made it through even if it was paycheck to paycheck.
I’ve worked since leaving home eight years ago at the age of eighteen. I didn’t attend college because I was ready to start making my own money and live my life. I also wanted to help my parents out by not needing to take care of me anymore, so I got a job at a bank as a teller and moved my way up to the new accounts department. If it weren’t for that job, I wouldn’t have met Rich and having my first Valentine’s date. Everything happens for a reason they say.
“Yeah, there’s too many people,” I scoffed, still staring out the window as I answered Rich’s question.
