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“You could always go back to your room and go to bed.”
“I could.”
Except, she wanted to spend more time with him. The way she liked this man was probably in a psychological diagnostic manual somewhere, classified under terms related to fixation, obsession, passion, and mania.
“Be careful, Raina.” He took her hand and pulled her along, headed for the elevators. “I’m a very determined man when I want something.”
“And if we end up wanting each other?”
“I think we already do.”
She groaned. “You and that huge ego.”
“Oh, it’s much bigger than you might have imagined.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Much bigger.”
* * *
They picked up a deck of cards and poker chips on the way to his room, and she set up their game on the dining table while he took her purse and shoes to the closet.
The view outside the window momentarily distracted her—the beauty of city life and high-rises in the shadow of the setting sun. The neon landscape was romantic in its own way, colorful and vibrant, promising liveliness and sin during the hours most other cities would be fast asleep. It reminded her of a royal figure’s jewelry box, a collection of rubies and emeralds and a sky gradually being lit like spilled diamonds on black velvet.
“So, Raina Daniels, do you have a taste for anything specific?”
She faced Lucas to respond, but he was standing across from her, shirtless, with the button on his slacks undone and a T-shirt strewn over his shoulder. He was looking down at his phone, so he couldn’t see her ogling him, but if she stared any harder, he would soon feel it.
“There’s Lentil Dal,” he said. “It says it comes with basmati rice and a side of naan.”
“Can you get extra naan?” she asked. “If so, get me a few extra.”
“Yes, ma’am. What about drinks? Wine? Something from the bar?”
“Bar. Tequila sunrise.”
He ordered their meals and then disappeared inside the suite’s bedroom. When he reemerged, he’d changed into a T-shirt and drawstring pajama bottoms.
“Boo, not fair.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t get comfortable.”
“Would you like a shirt?”
“And some shorts, please.”
The shirt fit like a dress, and she had to tighten the string and fold over the top of the shorts four times to prevent them from falling. By the time she was finished getting dressed, he’d completed their table setup, and their drinks had arrived.
He shuffled the cards, eyes on her. “Should we start with monetary stakes?”
“Sounds good.” She took a sip from her glass as she climbed onto a chair. “How about…twenty bucks?”
“Let’s double that.”
While he dealt the cards, she watched him. He seemed different, but it didn’t have solely to do with sitting across from her in casual clothing. More than once, when she looked at him, even at his pictures online, she compared each one to the man she’d first met. The man who’d assumed questioning her research and borderline questioning her intelligence was flirting.
Like this, he was more attractive than she’d ever found him, so it made little sense why he would waste time with arrogance. Had he walked over, taken the seat next to her, and then asked her to have dinner with him, she would have likely accepted.
Despite their mutual attraction, a relationship seemed unlikely, but not because she wasn’t interested in one. That “something” about him resonated like a bow on violin strings.
This man was the only one in all of her thirty years she’d ever pictured more with. With him, her fantasies didn’t stop at award ceremonies or galas or end with a mutual agreement to separate that didn’t put the slightest dent in her emotions.
She wanted him.
