Page 12 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

"Well..." I trace the rim of my wine glass. "I used to want to be a music star when I was little girl. Then an astronaut..."

Charles's whole face lights up at that last word, like I just told him Christmas came early. Interesting. File that away for later.

"But now that I'm grown?" I shrug, the silk of mom's dress sliding against my skin. "I guess I just want to be happy. Though I have no idea what that looks like."

The sommelier presents the cork to Charles with a flourish. A snort escapes me.

"Something amusing?" The waiter's lips purse like he bit into a lemon.

"Sorry, it's just..." I gesture at the cork. "What's he supposed to do, make sure it's real cork and not plastic?"

Charles's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Actually, the ritual allows one to verify the wine hasn't been tainted. Though I admit, it does look rather pompous."

The wine pools golden in my glass. I take a sip, and sweetness explodes across my tongue. The warmth spreads through my chest, but who am I kidding? That giddy feeling started the moment Charles took my hand outside the limo.

"Tell me about your musical preferences." Charles leans forward, those strange golden eyes fixed on mine.

Heat creeps up my neck. I cover my face with my hands and peek through my fingers. "Promise not to laugh?"

"I would never."

"I'm totally into disco. Like, embarrassingly into it. The Bee Gees, ABBA, KC and the Sunshine Band..."

"Disco?" His perfect eyebrows arch up. "The dance music popular in the nineteen seventies?"

"I know, I know. It's not sophisticated like jazz or whatever. But something about those beats just makes me want to move."

"Indeed?" A slow smile spreads across his face. "As it happens, there's an establishment nearby that specializes in historical music events. Tonight's theme centers on that particular decade. Would you care to visit?"

My heart skips at the thought of dancing to ABBA. But then reality crashes in as I tug at mom's borrowed dress.

"I'd love to, but..." My voice breaks nervously. "This skirt's kind of short. One wrong move and everyone gets a free show."

Charles goes still. Those golden eyes fix on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

"Aileen, stand up."

"What? I don't-"

"Stand up." His voice drops lower, softer, but there's steel underneath. The kind that makes my knees weak and my pulse race.

I push back my chair and rise on shaky legs, fighting the urge to yank the hemline down. The silk whispers against my thighs.

"Turn around." One finger traces a circle in the air.

The command sends electricity down my spine. I pivot slowly, face burning as I feel his gaze travel over me. What game is he playing? Checking out just how short this dress really is?

My skin prickles under his scrutiny. The air feels thick, charged, like right before a summer storm breaks.

"Excellent." Charles motions to my chair. "Be seated."

My legs feel like jelly as I sink back into my seat. What was that about? The way he looked at me during that little fashion show - like he wanted to devour me whole.

His phone appears in his hand - one of those sleek models that probably costs more than my car. The screen bathes his perfect features in blue light as his fingers dance across it.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm solving the problem." His smile holds secrets, promises. "You have astonishingly magnificent legs, Aileen."

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