Free Vegas Two-Step by Liz Talley Page A

can get you? Dessert, perhaps? A cordial?” The snooty waiter cleared the remains of their dinner. Jack noted his pencil-thin mustache, regal manner and affected French accent.
    “I don’t think so. We prefer pancakes with lots of syrup.” Jack waggled his eyebrows at Elle, delighting in the pink kissing her cheeks.
    The waiter frowned, obviously not pleased they would choose such an inferior food over his cherries jubilee. “Very well then, sir.” He placed the bill on the table with a flourish and spun away.
    Jack shook his head. “If he’d had syrup like I had last night, he’d no doubt know why pancakes trump any dessert ever known to man.”
    Elle giggled, involuntarily touching the mark still faintly visible on her collarbone.
    And Jack found himself inordinately pleased with the sound. Honestly, he’d never had a woman giggle with him. Laugh, sure. Snicker, certainly. But giggle? Nope. The sophisticated, world-weary Jack would not have tolerated it. That Jack demanded urbane, experienced women. Women who would have sipped the Cristal champagne just because it cost more than a hard day’s wage. Women who would have blanched at the thought of eating pancakes.
    Elle Hughes was beautiful and sexy, but she’d never be in the same category as the women Jack had dated in the past. And, surprisingly, that’s what drew him to her.
    “Did you happen to rub any hollandaise sauce behind your ear?”
    Elle’s eyes sparkled. “No, but I could dab some wine.”
    “Don’t bother. I don’t need an excuse this time.” He jammed the appropriate amount of cash into the bill jacket and rose, graciously pulling out Elle’s chair, all the while using it as an excuse to brush against the curve of her shoulder, to stroke her inner elbow. He felt her tremble and it pleased him to know she desired him too.
    They left the restaurant, not bothering to hide their longing to escape the confines of polite society. Jack pushed the elevator button and draped one arm around Elle. She tucked her head against his shoulder.
    “Have you ever made out in an elevator?” he whispered into the shell of her ear.
    She shook her head.
    “Wanna give it a whirl?”
    This time she nodded.
    His mouth found hers, demanding and insistent. He wanted to consume her right in the foyer of the most exclusive eatery in Vegas. And he didn’t give a damn who saw him acting like a sophomore about to get some action for the first time.
    The elevator doors swooshed open and someone jostled them as several people exited the car. He never stopped kissing Elle. Couldn’t stop. Not even when the gentleman muttered, “Excuse me,” and a woman out and out laughed.
    Finally Jack lifted his head. Elle’s lips were wet and tempting.
    “I think we better go downstairs to the casino,” he said, trying to pull away from her so she couldn’t feel how much he wanted her. It took all his energy to step back.
    Elle walked into the empty elevator car. “Okay, we’ll go to the casino. You can teach me all the games. But first you said we’d make out in the elevator.”
    He laughed. “So I did.”
    “Well, we didn’t make it to the elevator.”
    “I can’t be responsible for what I might do to you in that elevator.”
    Elle smiled and crooked one finger.
    He went as willing as a lamb to slaughter.



CHAPTER SEVEN
    The only good thing about baseball is the way the men look in their pants. I may be old, but I ain’t dead yet.
    —Grandmother Tucker to Nellie during the Texas Rangers game they won tickets to.
    N ELLIE SLID onto the newly painted bleacher and tried to look like she wasn’t having heart palpitations at the sight of Jack standing on the pitching mound hugging a cute blonde in a seriously short pair of athletic shorts.
    “Who’s the whore?” Kate drawled, plopping her Prada purse onto the bleacher in front of them and pushing her almost too obnoxious sunglasses into place on her nose.
    “Don’t say things like that,” Nellie reprimanded,