Page 12 of The Vegas Lie
From what Delilah had shared—without her asking—she knew he was born in Turkey, but students thought he was everything from Middle Eastern to Greek. For a man with all of his letters and books and awards, he never married and had no children, and he was the result of what one article had called an “American Dream Success Story.”
“Don’t you have anything more productive to do than spending the rest of your evening with me?” she teased.
“More productive than spending time with you?” He shook his head. “No. This is my chance to get to know you better, and I want to get to know you better.”
“Honestly? I feel the same way.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
“I…might have said the quiet part out loud,” she confessed.
He grinned. “Why do you ‘feel the same way’?”
“It’s not obvious? I’m supposed to share your last name one day. What better time than the present to become more acquainted with my future husband?”
His grin transformed into a deep laugh, and she discreetly squeezed her hands into fists until her joints went ice cold; the minute the sound left his throat, she wanted to hug him, hold him. Late last year, after his declaration in her sister’s condo, she’d barely been able to see straight without the letters of his last name flashing through her mind.
“So, are we playing poker then, Mrs. Saraci?”
Too many sensations coiled in her stomach for her to identify any single one by name.
“Lucas, if I’m being honest, I think I’m ‘peopled’ out for the day.”
“I know what you mean.” He tilted his head to the side, stretching the muscles in his neck and unabashedly scanning her from head to toe. “One, I love it when you call me Lucas, and two, you look incredible. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for about eight hours now.”
All she wore was a simple silk blouse, plain olive green high-waisted dress pants, and the basic striped flats she’d stuck her feet into to walk around the giant hotel.
“Also, send me the website where you bought those pants. I want to get you a dozen. At least.”
“I don’t have your number,” she reminded him.
He retrieved his phone from his pocket. Seconds later, hers chimed in her purse.
“You’re listed as Delilah’s emergency contact at the clinic,” he said. “I made sure to have those numbers pre-programmed in my phone in case of, you know, emergencies.”
She removed her phone and saved his number to her contacts list, but before she could put it away, he snatched it from her hand and looked at the screen, brows narrowed.
“Dr. Doom?”
“That’s what Delilah used to call you,” she said.
“I know. Sometimes, she did it to my face.”
“Delilah,did?” Her quiet and reserved baby sister, who she eventually learned was not as innocent as she’d once believed, had called this man a name to his face?
“She’s not as meek as people seem to think she is.” He flashed her a look. “Which makes me wonder if, despite all that fire inside you, you singe without burning.”
“I’m all fire, Dr. Saraci. All fire. Now, my phone?”
He slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll give it back to you later.”
“What if I’m waiting on an important phone call?”
“From who? Your family?”
“Or my man.”
“Why would I call you if I’m standing right next to you?”