Page 55 of Spock’s Snare

I park near the front door, leaving enough room for the valets and their steady stream of expensive cars. Porsches, Bentleys, and a silver Lamborghini gleam beneath the exterior lights. My Harley earns a few curious looks, but nobody tells me to move it. They know better. Then I climb off and offer a hand to Chloe.

She places one hand in mine and the other on my shoulder as she swings one leg over the seat. I catch her around the waist and lift her the rest of the way down, making sure the skirt of her stunning blue dress doesn’t brush against the bike or pavement.

“Careful,” I murmur as her heels touch the ground.

“I can get off a motorcycle by myself.”

“I know.”

Her eyes narrow. “Then why did you practically carry me?”

“Because I don’t want you getting that dress dirty before I have a chance to appreciate it properly.”

Her lips part, and for a second, I think I’ve finally managed to leave Chloe speechless.

The dress hugs every curve before falling softly to just above her knees. It’s classy, elegant, and sexy enough to make me consider skipping dinner altogether. Her hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves, and the subtle makeup she’s wearing makes her eyes appear even larger.

She smooths her hands over the skirt. “You’ve been appreciating it since I walked out of my bedroom.”

“And I’m nowhere near finished.”

Color warms her cheeks.

I offer her my arm, and she slips her hand through it. The simple contact sends a surge of satisfaction through me as I lead her toward the entrance.

The massive doors open before we reach them. Inside, Cerberus is sophisticated without being stuffy, alluring without being ostentatious. Black marble floors reflect the glow from sculpted amber chandeliers. Rich burgundy booths curve around dark walnut tables, offering privacy to the restaurant’s elite clientele. Red-gold accents shimmer against charcoal walls, while smoky mirrors make the dining room seem larger without sacrificing intimacy.

A pianist plays near the bar, the soft melody blending with muted conversations and the delicate clink of crystal. The air carries the mouthwatering scents of seared steak, truffle butter, and fresh herbs.

Chloe slows as she takes everything in. “You brought me to Cerberus?”

“I did.”

She turns to stare at me. “This place is impossible to get into. They’re booked months in advance.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I tried to make reservations here for my father’s birthday last year. They offered me a table three months after the date.” Her gaze turns suspicious. “How did you manage to get us in tonight?”

I smirk. “It’s easy when you know the owner.”

“Of course.” She shakes her head as if that answer should’ve occurred to her. “Who owns it? Let me guess. A friend of Puma’s?”

“Kind of.”

“A celebrity chef?”

“Yes and no.”

Her eyes narrow again. “Who, Spock?”

“The Demon Dawgs.”

She stops walking. “The club owns Cerberus?”

“We own a large percentage of it. It was part of the terms when the chef and her business partner approached us with the idea. They had the idea and the business knowledge. Puma had the space and the money to make it happen.”

Chloe glances around the lavish dining room before looking back at me. Her gaze briefly lands on the small Cerberus emblem embossed into the leather menu at the hostess stand.