Page 13 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Heat floods my face, spreads down my neck. No guy has ever looked at me the way Charles does - like I'm some priceless treasure he can't believe he found.

"Um, thank you." The words come out barely above a whisper. I stare at my wine glass, unable to meet those intense golden eyes. What do you even say when a billionaire compliments your legs?

Charles beckons a waiter over with a graceful flick of his wrist. The man appears at our table so fast I wonder if he teleported.

"There will be a drone delivery arriving at your front door in approximately two minutes." Charles slides a crisp hundred dollar bill across the pristine tablecloth. "Retrieve it and bring it here."

The waiter's eyes widen at the bill. He pockets it with a quick bow and hurries toward the entrance.

My attention drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows. A strange light catches my eye - red and blue dots blinking against the night sky. The drone hovers like a mechanical hummingbird, its rotors whirring almost silently as it descends to the sidewalk.

"Is that...legal?" I press my nose against the glass. The drone deposits a small cardboard box and zips away into the darkness.

The waiter scoops up the package and brings it to our table with the same reverence he showed the wine.

"Give it to my lovely date." Charles's gaze entraps me, intense enough to make my toes curl inside my shoes. "A gift, for you."

My fingers tremble as I lift the lid off the sleek black box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, lies a pair of impossibly fine black tights. The fabric feels like liquid silk against my skin.

"You can wear these under your dress." Charles's voice drops to that low tone that makes my insides melt. "I guessed your size, but they will fit."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest - half nervous, half delighted. Who orders emergency tights by drone in the middle of dinner? Only Charles Varakian, apparently.

"How can you be so sure they'll fit?"

"Height five foot six, waist twenty-eight inches, hips thirty-eight, inseam-"

"Okay, okay!" Heat floods my face. The measurements are exact - down to the quarter inch.

My fingers tighten around the box. Most guys can barely remember my birthday, let alone my exact proportions. But Charles... those golden eyes miss nothing. The way he looked at me when he made me turn around - like he was memorizing every curve, every detail.

A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the restaurant's air conditioning. Well. He's very... observant.

Dinner is delicious, fabulous. I barely notice it going down, because the company is so amazing. Charles is attentive,thoughtful, and interested in what I have to say. In other words, the perfect date. Maybe too perfect, but he has a way of sneaking past all of the alarms I've put up over the years.

He holds my hand from the restaurant outside to the waiting car. The night air feels good on my skin. It's almost ten at night but I don't feel tired. I'm possessed of an energy that's simply indescribable.

The limo door clicks shut behind us, leather seats creaking as we settle in. My fingers toy with the box of tights in my lap.

"Should I close my eyes while you put those on?" Charles asks, ever the gentleman.

A wicked impulse strikes me. Maybe it's the wine, or maybe it's the way he's looked at me all evening.

I kick off my heels, the plush carpet tickling my bare feet.

His golden eyes widen as I unfold the tights. The silk whispers against my skin as I roll them up my legs, taking my sweet time about it. The hem of mom's dress rides up my thighs, and Charles's breath catches audibly.

His nostrils flare, fingers gripping the leather seat tight enough to leave marks. The intensity of his gaze sends electricity dancing across my skin.

The tights slide on like a second skin, smoother than anything I've ever worn. They must have cost a fortune, but right now I'm more interested in the way Charles tracks every movement of my hands.

Feeling bold, I extend one leg into the air, pointing my toes like a ballerina. "How do I look?"

"Perfect." The word comes out rough, almost reverent. His eyes burn into mine with such raw sincerity that a shiver runs down my spine.

Oh my God, where is this going to lead?

CHAPTER 5

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