Time flies with Adam. Everything feels like a dream.

After five days with him, I feel like I’ve discovered paradise.

While he’s out, I stay in the hotel and work in the penthouse or in one of the bars. When he gets back, we go for dinner, catch a show, or take a stroll, before heading into the bedroom for hours of incredible sex.

On the days he has no pitches to make, we spend the entire day together, exploring Las Vegas, seeing sights and eating out. For something we agreed was a fling, it feels an awful lot like dating. My feelings for Adam quickly grow strong.

We’re having dinner tonight in a classy, exclusive restaurant on the strip. Adam’s suave and handsome appearance is drawing stares from multiple women, but his eyes don’t wander for a second. They’re glued to me. He listens to every word I say like he’s riveted.

I’ve never felt so desired.

I adore Adam.

Not only is he the sexiest man alive, but he’s also comical and fun. He’s always telling jokes or drawing me into a witty back-and-forth that has us both laughing. By our third day together, my cheeks felt like they were going to fall off from how often and how widely I’ve been smiling.

The restaurant we’re in tonight is beautiful. It has a modern, artistic interior with a feature ceiling — an ornate geometric mirror and black glass construction hanging down only six feet over the heads of diners. It reflects the light of candles sitting on each table.

I’m sitting in a comfortable black leather chair. Our table is a glass square with a black mirrored center. The vibe is sophisticated and amorous. A live jazz band plays from a stage at the far side of the long, narrow restaurant.

Tonight’s attire is a floor-length silver evening gown Adam brought back for me as a surprise. I didn’t know what to say when he handed me a gift. Are gifts normal in temporary romances? Either way, I feel like a million dollars.

Adam looks incredible. He’s wearing a finely tailored, crisp black suit that pinches in all the right places to show off his well-muscled physique. He’s freshly shaven, hair combed back into a refined style.

Looking across the table into his sharp, dark eyes, I break into a grin. Every time I look at him, my lips curve upward. Each time he smiles, I feel a surge of affection. I feel proud. As if he’s mine.

“This is a wonderful restaurant,” I say.

Adam smiles, flicking his own gaze around the venue. “You know, I’ve passed it dozens of times, but it always looked like too intimate a place for me to eat alone.”

“It’s perfect.” I look down at my menu. “But I have no idea what to order.”

Lifting his chair, Adam moves to sit close beside me, looking over my shoulder at the menu. He doesn’t need to be this close.

But I’m glad he is.

I close my eyes for a moment to breathe in the scent of his oaky, sweet cologne. When his arm brushes against mine, my blood rushes downward. Everything about Adam turns me on.

“I think you should try something you’ve never tried before.”

His words send shivers down my spine. The way he speaks is sensual. Adam has a way of making me leave all my inhibitions behind.

“Of course. What do you think I’m doing in Vegas?”

He brushes back my hair with his palm so he can kiss my neck, not caring about who might be watching. I feel exposed, but I relish that I’m the one Adam is here with. He makes me feel like royalty.

“Sea-urchin pasta,” he reads aloud. “Roast marrowbone. Glazed squab pigeon.” He looks up to see my reaction. “Any of these making your mouth water?”

I laugh and lean in over his shoulder to read more of the adventurous and exclusive gourmet choices. “Champagne poached chicken, stinging nettle ravioli.” I look over to Adam. “What is this place?”

“Two Michelin stars,” he tells me. “I’ve always been curious as to whether the food is really that much better than two Yelp stars. I guess we’ll find out.”

My eyes widen. “Dinner will cost a fortune!”

“Let me worry about it.”

“Adam.”

“I promised to give you the time of your life.” He leans over and kisses me softly on the lips. “I won’t spend money I don’t have. Let me spoil you. Please.”

I glance affectionately at him as he moves back to his side of the table. I still feel butterflies in my stomach even after he’s moved away.

Adam isn’t flashy with his money, and it’s easy to forget he’s a multi-millionaire. If my math is right, that is. I forget about his fortune until he does something like treat me to a three-hundred-dollar meal or opens the door to his penthouse suite like it’s nothing.

We order our food. I decide to opt for the stinging nettle ravioli out of sheer curiosity. It comes out as a small pile of five large pieces drizzled with flavored oil and a sprinkling of parmesan with a side of truffle dressing.

Adam goes for the roast marrowbone. I’ve never seen a dish like it — an animal bone sawed in half with the marrow presented alongside like food in a trough. It comes with a delicate and colorful side salad. We share a side of freshly baked French bread.

We also split a bottle of red wine — Château Cheval Blanc. I’ve developed a new palate for alcohol since coming to Vegas. With the girls, I tried a whole rainbow of cocktails. With Adam, I’ve sampled Wild Blossom Gin, Hennessy Cognac, vintage champagnes and fine wines.

Every time I try to stick to what I know — a cheap cocktail, or basic vodka-mixer — Adam encourages me to try something new. For some reason, when Adam suggests it, I’ll do it. I’m discovering new flavors, new experiences, and new sides to myself that I didn’t know were there or that had been long hidden. I’m coming alive.

“Where did you learn so much about fine alcohol?” I ask him.

Adam chuckles. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. “It’s simple, really. I assume the most expensive will be the best.”

“And is it?”

He leans back. “Not always. The best drink I ever had was a craft beer from a renaissance fair in Texas. Some guy made it in his garage. One batch. He sold it for three dollars a glass.”

“It happens like that sometimes.” I nod. “You know, I love Italian food. Whenever I get to pick a restaurant, it’s Italian. I’ve tried dozens of pastas, spaghettis, risottos, and raviolis. But do you know what?”

“What?”

“Sometimes I get the hugest craving for my mom’s Mac & Cheese.”

“She had a good recipe?”

I tilt my head back and laugh. “Kind of, if you call opening a box a recipe. The smell of fake cheese still makes me think of home.” I chuckle to myself. “My mom can’t cook to save her life. What about yours?”

Adam closes his eyes. “She was a good cook. I remember she liked to bake. Whenever it was my birthday, she’d always make the cake herself, from scratch. I remember the dragon one she made me. I must have been about six. Whenever I see a red dragon in a cartoon or on some kid’s backpack, I think of her.”

“How old were you when she passed away?”

“Not much older than that.” He frowns and leans forward on the table. “I know that was the last birthday cake she made me.”

I reach out to touch his arm. “It must have been really tough to be young without your parents. I don’t know what I would have done without mine. It was my dad who gave me five thousand dollars to buy my first supplies.”

“Human beings are remarkably adaptable.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

He shakes his head. “My parents knew perfection when they saw it. What about you?”

“I’m an only child. Although Hannah’s practically a sister to me. All the girls are. Do you have friends back home?”

“No, it’s just me and—” He stops himself. “It’s just me.”

I wonder what he was going to say.

“I guess it’s hard when you’re on the road.”

“One day I’ll settle down. For now, the money’s good, and I meet a lot of interesting people.” He looks at me. “This time, I met a very beautiful woman.”

I take a sip of the sweet red wine. It goes down smooth like velvet. The alcohol makes me feel sentimental.

“I can’t believe almost a week has gone by already. We’re halfway through our time together.”

“If time flies, it means you’re having fun.”

“I’m having the time of my life.” I flick my eyes across at Adam with amusement. “How’s the bone marrow?”

“Delicious.”

“I don’t believe there’s any way you can be enjoying that.”

“Seriously, it’s good.”

“It can’t be.”

“Says the woman eating stinging nettles.”

“Stinging nettles with two Michelin stars, I’ll have you know.”

“Well, I have Michelin marrow. Try some.”

Adam scoops some of the brown, gritty mush and holds it in my direction. I feel queasy looking at it. It’s the inside of a bone, just like a treat you give to dogs. But I’m here to be adventurous. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and close my lips around the spoon.

To my surprise, it is delicious. It tastes like buttered beef whipped up into a new, wonderful texture.

“That really is good!”

Adam bristles victoriously. “I told you so. Enjoy your stinging nettles.”

He pokes his tongue out at me, and I laugh. First kissing me in public, and now sticking his tongue out. I wonder if my eyes are sparkling as much as his. I have a feeling we’re sharing the same mischievous gleam.

We devour our main courses before indulging in dessert. Adam has a strawberry and prosecco tart with thick champagne cream. I have a green tea and white chocolate mousse with miniature biscotti biscuits.

When we’re completely full of gourmet delights and expensive wine, we make our way back out into Vegas. We’re in a different part of the city tonight, away from the strip. It’s somewhere further uptown.

We took a cab here — we’re miles from the hotel. Adam suggests we walk back.

“It’s a gorgeous night, and I’m with a stunning woman. I’m in the mood to linger.”

I’m so ecstatic about the idea of spending more time with Adam that I don’t mention my blistering heels in my stilettos or the impracticality of a five-mile stroll while I’m wearing a gown. I simply take his arm and enjoy the slow walk back to the hotel.

It gives me a chance to admire more of Vegas. The hotels, casinos, and fountains. The neon lights and music. It’s like Adam and I are two balls inside a living pinball machine, bouncing around from highlight to highlight. I’m giddy with excitement. I keep waiting to come down from the high, but it never happens.

Is this feeling Vegas, or Adam?

As we’re walking back, a neon-covered chapel catches my eye, and I chuckle.

“Can you believe people get married in those places?”

Adam follows my gaze and laughs. “Why not?”

“It’s unromantic!”

“I don’t know about that. I think being so caught up in each other that you can’t wait a moment longer and foregoing a huge wedding and all the gifts is romantic. Eloping or acting on impulse because you’re so captivated by the other person that you throw all tradition to the wind. Because you just want to make a statement that you’re in love—to me, it’s about as romantic as it gets.”