Bachelor Swap - Lacey Black Page 0,39

as we step up to the front entrance.

“Hello,” Kyla replies.

We follow behind the manager, who vowed to personally oversee tonight’s date. into the large vestibule filled with butterfly memorabilia. “Right this way,” he guides, leading us down the corridor. “The building closed at six o’clock, so you have free rein to view the butterflies and exhibits. Dinner will be served at seven.” And with that, he opens the door to their private butterfly garden.

“Dinner?” she asks, stepping inside the large climate-controlled room.

“Dinner,” I confirm. The door closes behind us, leaving us alone with hundreds of butterflies.

“Oh,” she gasps, gazing at the insects flying and fluttering about. “This is breathtaking.”

I know she’s referring to the butterfly habitat we’re standing in, but that’s not where my eyes are trained. I’m staring at her, at the sight before me, and yes, it’s breathtaking. “You’re stunning,” I find myself whispering.

She rewards me with another one of those grins that lights up her face. “I was talking about the butterflies.”

“And I was talking about you.”

We walk around the garden, reading interesting facts about the different butterfly species. I’m not sure if it’s the actual butterflies that are so fascinating or the person I’m with, but I realize quickly I’m truly enjoying my time here. With her.

I catch movement across the room and see a waiter who waves his readiness. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she replies, slipping her hand into the crook of my arm and allowing me to lead her to the opposite side of the room.

A small table for two is positioned where we can see the butterflies, but we’re not right in the middle of the activity. I hold out Kyla’s chair and take the one opposite her once she’s seated at the table. “I have your wine, sir, ma’am,” the waiter says, pouring a glass of red wine for Kyla. I don’t know jack about wines, so I left it up to the caterer to pair a bottle of something nice with tonight’s menu. “I’ll return with your entrees shortly. Please enjoy the appetizers.” He removes the lid off the platter in the center and leaves us to eat in peace.

“Wow, that looks amazing,” she half whispers, half groans in delight. The pan is split in half with two options for us to enjoy.

“I hope you like scallops,” I say, scooping two from one side of the dish and placing them on her small plate.

“Love them. Is that bacon?” she asks, grabbing her fork.

“Everything’s better with bacon.” I place a scoop from the other pan, the artichoke and spinach dip, and add a few of the spiced pita chips.

She cuts her scallop into a small bite and slides it through the cheesy butter sauce, grabbing a chunk of bacon as she goes. When she takes a bite, she moans in pleasure, a sound that makes my cock stand up and take notice. “Oh, heaven. These are delicious. I wish you could try one, Cowboy,” she says, piercing a piece of food with her fork.

“Me too,” I tell her.

“Why did you order them if you have an allergy?”

I shrug and add a big scoop of the dip to my plate. “I’ve been told they’re delicious, so I wanted you to try them.”

She seems surprised I’d still order something I couldn’t eat but doesn’t make a big deal. Instead, she scoops the hot dip onto a chip and holds it out for me. I take the whole thing in my mouth, my lips brushing against her fingers. Fire dances in her eyes, which goes straight to my cock.

We enjoy appetizers and chat until our entrees arrive. I chose a fire-grilled filet mignon with sautéed mushroom sauce and Worcestershire mashed potatoes. There are steamed mixed vegetables and warm, crispy rolls with a sweet cinnamon butter too.

“I don’t know what to try first,” she says, taking in her plate. “It’s like food art.”

“Here, try this,” I reply, grabbing a small bite of the tangy potatoes on my fork and holding it out for her.

“Mmm,” she moans, her lips still wrapped around my fork. “So good. I never would have thought of putting Worcestershire sauce in potatoes.”

“Me either,” I reply, taking my own bite. “The chef recommended everything.”

She cuts into her steak, the meat so tender she could probably use a butter knife. “Delicious.”

When our meal is finished, we walk amongst the butterflies once more. After spending another thirty minutes observing the varieties of insects, we head for the exit. Before we reach the door, the manager is