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Chapter Three

Sera

We sit in the bar's corner with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. He raises his glass, smiling down at me, his blue eyes glinting with heat and something else I'm not sure I should trust. Could it be affection or something more?

I try to warn myself to be careful. He's a mystery man who doesn't want me to know who he really is. Even if I wanted to research him, I've been so swamped lately, I haven't had the time. And, unless he's giving a speech at the conference, the chances of me discovering who he is are slim. How many Lukes are in Vegas this long weekend?

Yeah, I should be cautious to avoid any potential love bombs, but I am intoxicated. I feel light and warm, and not solely from the champagne.

"To you, Sparkplug, and your speech," he says.

I clink glasses with him. "Thank you," I reply. "And thanks for your support. With your eyes on me, I felt oddly confident."

I'm oversharing. I blame the champagne. Therefore, addressing this next topic while enjoying more of the fizzy drink might be slightly reckless. He takes another sip, too. Suddenly, as if by magic, our glasses are empty.

He pours us another.

"Do you charge for your waiter's services?" I ask.

He smirks. "Normally, but I'll make an exception for you."

After another sip, I say, "Thanks for not making fun of me."

He looks at me like I'm crazy. "Huh?"

"For that thing you found on the laptop..."

"I'd never make fun of you," he says fiercely, his eyes firm. "And anyway, that wasn't humorous at all. Interesting, sure... but funny? Not even close."

"What was interesting about it?"

He leans forward, looking at me as if I'm the only woman in Vegas, his focus unwavering. Scratch that. I feel as though I'm the only woman in existence. He stares as if I'm the answer to all his secret questions, like he's one of my heroes and I'm a heroine in a book.

His shirt clings to his arms, emphasizing his muscular build, his broad shoulders radiating power.

"Don't ask silly questions, Sparkplug. It'd take a stronger man than me to read a passage like that and not immediately put us in the situation."

Oh, heck. This is getting real. My heart flutters and I grow dizzy. It feels good, but daunting, too. Words are one thing, actions another. Perhaps that's why I take another sip of champagne.

He takes a sip too, like he wants to keep pace, like he doesn't want just one of us getting drunk. But we're not drunk, exactly, more on the tipsy side of sober.

"We should have some water," he says, pouring two glasses.

"So responsible of you..."

"I'm twice your age, Sparkplug. What do you expect?"

I shock myself by reaching across the table and touching his hand. "Don't say that like it's a bad thing. And anyway, I doubt you're twice my age."

"I'm forty-three."

"And I'm twenty-four. See, told ya."

He grins. "Okay, but not far off..."

"Like I said, don't say it like it's a bad thing. It means you're mature. You've got experience... And, well—" I bite my lip.

"Don't leave me hanging, Sera," he says in a gruff voice. When I don't reply, he continues, "Sera is short for Seraphina, isn't it? They used your full name on the website for the speech. It's a beautiful name... almost as beautiful as you look when you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," I say.

"Then finish your thought," he says sternly.

I toss my hair. Fine. If he wants it, I'll give it to him. "That excerpt was from a romance book where the hero was older than the heroine. In fact, most of my books are like that. They have an age gap. It's hot."

His eyes glimmer as he squeezes my hand. "So I'm your fetish," he says with a teasing tone.

"I wouldn't put it like that."

"No? How would you put it?"

"You're my..."

"Dream come true?" he offers.

I playfully flip him the bird, making him laugh.

He keeps his hand on mine, his eyes fixed on me.

"I like it when you look at me like that," I confess.

"Like what?"

"Like nobody else exists. It's intense."

This champagne is making me very talkative, but is that a bad thing? I don't always have to be trapped inside myself, scared to say the things I want to say.

"You are the only woman who exists, Sparkplug," he says huskily. "I felt it the instant I laid eyes on you in the café, and I think it now. You're beautiful. Intelligent. Insightful. You're... you."

I laugh. "Well, duh."

"You're unapologetically yourself," he continues. "There's something intensely attractive about that. When you were giving your speech, I was so impressed. I was proud."

"Thank you," I murmur. "Some people think it's a silly idea. They think the humane approach will cause AI to turn on us."

"What do you think?"

"I think everyone and everything has the capacity for good," I tell him. "I know how that sounds, especially in this cynical world, but I truly believe that."

"That's because you're a kind, loving person."

"You know we're strangers, right?"

He gently smooths his thumb over my knuckles. "Do I feel like a stranger to you?"

"No," I admit.

"What do I feel like, then?"

Tingles dance up my arm, into my chest, and through my body like champagne fizzing and sparking, leaving me warm and fuzzy all over. I don't believe it's the champagne. It's him. The closeness, the warmth. It's the sudden introduction of physical touch into my life. It's the feeling of being respected.

It’s a cocktail of desire, heat, and intellectual bonding.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I counter.

“That would mean revealing who I really am…”

“I’m ready,” I tell him.

“No, you’re not. You’ll call me crazy.”

“If you’re crazy, so am I. Try me.”

He keeps massaging my hand, prompting goosebumps to pebble over my skin. “I was once a character in a romance novel. But I became obsessed with a certain reader…I couldn’t stop fantasizing about her, so I clawed my way out of the pages to become a real flesh-and-blood man with real flesh-and-blood desire…”

I laugh, shaking my head, and he chuckles.

“I told you.”

“You’re so silly.”

“There’s some truth in it, though, if I’m like those characters you love reading about…”

“Yeah, except it’s impossible.”

“How badly I want you, Sera, so fast, so intensely… that it should be impossible, but it’s not.”

I squeeze his hand even tighter, my heart skipping a beat as a spark of danger zips through me. “Do you want to see the code I’ve been working on? I downloaded it to the new laptop. It’s in my room.”

What am I doing? What if he wants more than I can give him? But I want this. I want him. I want to be the woman I read about. I want to be the confident woman in the bedroom I can be while giving speeches. Is there any reason I have to be so nervous about this stuff?

“I want to see it,” he says. “And I mean that, Sera. If all you want to do is show me your code, then I’ll spent the rest of the evening admiring your work.”

“You saw from the presentation. It’s still in the early stages.”

“And it’s still impressive.”

He stands, taking my hand.

“What about the champagne?” I ask.

He shrugs. “We can take the bottle if you like, but I’ve had enough.”

“I don’t want anymore either. I’m already full of bubbles.”

“Then we’ll leave it.”

“Just like that? It’s the most expensive bottle in here!”

He leans down, whispering, his breath tickling over my ear and my cheek, heating me up. “And you were worth every penny.”

Soon, we’re riding the elevator up to my hotel room. He has his arm wrapped around me, his body pressed against mine. I am aware of how hard he is pressing against my backside. Neither of us acknowledges it, but we can’t ignore it.

He groans when I lean back against him, shifting my hips slightly. When the elevator doors open, I walk ahead of him. Without turning, I feel his gaze on me. This trip is turning into a freaking magical experience.

“Sorry it’s not a suite,” I tease as I walk over to the desk in the corner.

He sits on the bed. “I like it – it’s more intimate than my room.” He leans over and picks up the paperback from the bedside table. “Is this one of those books?” He glances at the cover. “Talk about unfair beauty standards for men. This guy’s ripped.”

I laugh. “And you’re not too bad yourself…”

“I wear a muscle suit under my clothes,” he deadpans.

Another laugh. He says the silliest things. “Sure you do…”

“No, seriously. It helps in business meetings.”

I fold my arms. “What if I ask you to prove it, huh?”

He flips open the book, reading, and then looks up at me with a wicked grin. “This is absolute filth.”

“Yes,” I say, meeting his eye, “it is. And I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be. Wait – I’m supposed to be proving something, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, Mr. Muscle Suit, you are.”

He chuckles, tossing the book aside. “I’m a businessman, Sparkplug. I’ll need something in return.”

“What, you want me to strip? Why the heck would I do that? I’m pretty sure most people don’t want to look like me.”

He leans forward, seething, looking suddenly pissed. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t talk badly about your appearance. You’re the most beautiful, sexiest woman in this whole damn city, and your curves are a big part of that. Don’t for a second consider otherwise.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere…”

“I like to laugh too, Sera, but there’s nothing funny about this. I’m deadly serious. Your body is perfect.”

“Speaking of bodies…”

He smirks. “You first.”