Vegas Heat. Lisa Renee Jones

have a problem with that?”

      “Not at all.” She offered him her pen and watched as he signed every spot indicated and then removed a checkbook and wrote out a check before asking, “I thought you needed to talk to me about some particulars before you did this?”

      He offered her the pen back. “I do, so let’s talk. Several conditions apply to this agreement being final. Number one, I don’t deal with Michael. I don’t trust the man and you better watch your back with him. I’ve already told him this, but I need you to know this as well.”

      “You told Michael you don’t trust him?”

      “Yes. And I told him that you will be responsible for coordinating everything for these acquisitions, no matter how big or small, period. The end.”

      She bit her lip, trying not to smile. She liked Dante more every second. Michael was such an arrogant, mean person, with more of a God complex than her mother’s surgeon, whom she’d mistakenly dated for all of one week. “I can only imagine how he must have reacted.”

      “By silently cursing me and actually believing I couldn’t see it all over his face.” He held out the file with the check on top. “Back to you and me. If we’re in agreement with my terms then it’s official. You’re my counsel.”

      “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Not only had he given her the opportunity of a lifetime, but he also hadn’t made her walk on eggshells all evening. “I meant what I said earlier today. I won’t let you down.” She reached for the file.

      He covered her hand with his, his brown eyes darkening to nearly black. “I hope this means you can enjoy tonight without worry.”

      Her heart skipped a beat at the words, at the idea of spending hours with this man, being tempted by him. She could have sworn fire slid up her arm and across her breasts. “Yes. Absolutely. Not many clients would do that, either. They’d leave me hanging and on edge.”

      “I hope I surprised you in a good way then,” he said, and leaned back in his seat before knocking on the glass behind him. The car began to move immediately. He punched a button that opened a folding compartment in the floor between them that had an ice bucket and open bottle of champagne on top. “You, by the way, surprise me, and that’s not something that happens all that often.” He filled one of the two flutes sitting on the tray.

      “I surprise you? How?”

      He leaned forward to offer her a flute, and she accepted it, her fingers brushing his and sending a shiver of pure awareness down her spine. “You don’t tell me what I want to hear,” he said. “When I asked if you almost backed out tonight, you didn’t pretend otherwise. That kind of frank honesty isn’t common in business.” He reached for the other flute and touched it to hers. “Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

      She swallowed hard. “I have a confession.”

      One dark brow arched. “A confession.” He leaned back slightly, studying her. “Already?”

      “It’s important,” she said. “For both our protection.”

      “I’m listening.”

      “I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking and I haven’t eaten all day. So if I drink this then one of two things is going to happen. The best-case scenario is that I remember nothing about tonight and most likely make a fool of myself. Worst-case, you’ll have to pick me up off the floorboard because I pass out.”

      His lips twitched. “That’s your confession?”

      She nodded. “Afraid so.”

      His smile was instant and it was a sexy smile. Everything about the man was sexy. “While I wouldn’t hesitate to pick you up if you fell,” he said, “we’ll postpone our toast until after dinner.” He set both flutes aside. “Because I most definitely want you to remember tonight.”

      Chapter Three

      The ride to the Bell’s Hotel and Casino, which was one of the most elegant understated properties in the city, was a short ten minutes by highway. Exactly the reason that Sonya wasn’t surprised to find Parr’s restaurant to be dimly lit, with a large seating area visible from the entryway and fine art decorating the walls. The floor was an expensive bamboo wood covered with even more expensive oriental rugs. It was just another fancy Vegas hotspot, aside from one unique feature. Thee were six equally spaced, winding black steel staircases on either side of the sitting area.

      The hostess, a pretty brunette in a long black dress that might have been conservative if not for the way it hugged every curve she owned, which were many, greeted Dante by name.