Page 6 of Sexting Mr. CEO

"Which is?"

"You're so rich and powerful, you're tired of people treating you differently."

"You're bang on the money there."

She nods. "So I'll respect that... for now."

"Good. Now – let's go. There's a bottle of champagne with our names on it."

"You'resobossy."

"It comes easy?—"

"To a boss, I know."

I take her hand and guide her toward the door.

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 beslightly 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 wasinterestingabout 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.

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