The whole ambiance was intimate, suggesting that those lucky enough to be there were part of a very exclusive club.
The maître d’ clucked over their lack of a reservation until Slade slipped him a twenty-dollar bill. Amazingly enough a table right beside the dance floor suddenly became available. Val followed the man in his stiff black suit, while Slade brought up the rear and admired the view. He figured if his heart gave out before the night was over, he’d die a happy man.
“Madame,” the maître d’ said, holding Val’s chair. He kept his gaze discreetly averted as she sat down, Slade noticed. Good thing, he thought. He would have hated to have to punch the guy out for ogling her legs.
“Nice place,” he said, after they were alone.
Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Do you really like it?”
“What’s not to like? The music’s promising. The menu weighs a ton and the wine list has enough French on it to guarantee there’s a decent champagne on there.”
“Champagne?”
“It’s not just for celebrations, darlin’. And even if it were, I’d say this occasion calls for it.”
“Oh, really? Why is that?”
“It’s our first date.” He glanced over the wine list, beckoned the wine steward and ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Val’s eyes widened with surprise. “Isn’t that a little expensive? A nice, domestic white wine would do.”
“Not tonight,” he said tersely, determined to prove he knew how to treat a lady. There’d been a time when he’d swilled down fancy champagne after every rodeo victory. Despite his preference for an occasional beer and a burger, he knew his way around in a place like this. For reasons he couldn’t entirely explain, he set out to prove it. “Mind if I order for both of us?”
Val gave him a puzzled look, but nodded.
He ordered escargots, chateaubriand for two, and salads after the meal. “We’ll decide on dessert later,” he told the waiter.
One glance across the table told him he’d startled her with his choices, with his easy familiarity with the menu.
“Snails?” she whispered in a choked voice.
“Sure. The place is French, isn’t it? They’re a delicacy.”
“If you say so.”
He grinned at her reaction, then leaned across the table to confide, “Personally, I stick to dipping the bread in all that garlic butter, but you can do what you want.”
Laughter bubbled up and erupted. “Oh, thank God. I was terrified you were actually going to expect me to eat them.”
“Nope. We’ll just admire them for a while, then send them on their way.”
“Won’t the waiter wonder about that?”
“Not in a place like this,” Slade decreed. “They’re paid to keep their thoughts to themselves.”
After the champagne had been poured, he held out his hand. “Care to dance?”
Val stood up at once and moved gracefully into his arms. The band had started with something slow and old-fashioned, a Glenn Miller tune, if Slade wasn’t mistaken. The tempo made it easy for him to keep time. Holding Val inspired him.
He could hardly tell where soft skin gave way to silky fabric beneath his touch. Her scent rose to fill his head with thoughts of being outdoors in a garden, with her in his arms under the stars. The brush of her thighs against his made his pulse pound and sent blood rushing to a part of his anatomy that had been on the verge of arousal ever since he’d caught his first glimpse of her earlier. Val knew it, too, but instead of pulling away, she tucked herself even closer, snuggling against him in a way that was downright dangerous.
“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he warned softly.
Wide eyes gazed up at him. “Is that so?”
“Another couple of minutes and we’ll miss dinner altogether.”
A smile came and went. “It’s just snails and steak. We can have that anytime.”
Slade gave her a startled look. She’d sounded half-serious. “What are you suggesting? Since you were the one who wanted to go dancing and this is our very first turn around the floor, I think you’d better spell it out for me.”
She gave him a brazen look that went with the red dress. “I’m suggesting we grab that bottle of champagne and make a run for it. I hear the rooms have really, really big beds.”
Slade’s pulse ricocheted wildly. “And if they’re all taken?”
“Use your imagination, cowboy. It’s been working overtime all night, anyway.”
But nothing he’d imagined had involved making love in the front seat of a truck. “You stay put and fend off those snails. I’ll get a room,” he declared with grim