born and raised. You?”
Growing up, Serena had lived all over the world, thanks to her father’s naval appointments. Southern California had been the final stop, and despite her flighty nature she’d been eager to put down roots. She and Jayne had that in common, since Jayne’s father was also career military.
“I call San Diego home these days.”
“Nice city. Great beaches and a pretty decent night life.”
“Do you get there often?”
“No. I’ve only been once when I was in college.”
His answer disappointed her. Ridiculously, she’d hoped he was a frequent visitor. Maybe then there would be a chance they would see each other again after tonight.
“I didn’t think Vegas had many natives,” she said.
Jonas smiled. “There are a few of us around—and, in case you’re wondering, we don’t all work in the casinos.”
“You never did say what you do for a living,” she reminded him.
“I’m an attorney.”
Attorney. She’d never been hot for an attorney before. She’d avoided them on principle, unless they were the pro-bono sort, who wore sandals and hemp clothing and worked for worthwhile causes.
“From the look on your face, I take it you’re not a fan of the profession.” Before she could answer, he added, “I probably shouldn’t mention my political aspirations, then.”
An attorney and a politician? How much more pro-establishment could one get? And why wasn’t Serena rising to her feet and beating a hasty retreat?
Instead, she sipped her drink and said, “Tell me about these political aspirations of yours.”
“I’m running for Mayor of Las Vegas.”
“No kidding?” At his nod, she asked, “Why? I mean, what made you decide you wanted to do this?”
“I have something to offer.” He sipped his drink. “There’s more to this city than tourism and casinos. The people who live here have legitimate concerns, as does the business community.”
As Jonas spoke, Serena studied him. All that passion, and it went well beyond his kissing ability. But then hadn’t he already warned her that appearances could be deceiving?
“What about you? What line of work are you in?”
“I decorate cakes.”
She held her breath, half expecting him to make a derogatory remark. Her current choice of profession was a keen disappointment to her parents, and they made it plain every chance they got. But Jonas smiled broadly. She liked the way his cheeks creased when he did.
“No kidding? That’s a sweet job.” She groaned at the bad pun, which he apparently anticipated, because he raised his shoulders in a shrug and apologized. “I couldn’t resist. So, what do you like most about your profession?”
She didn’t have to think about it. “The creative aspect. Customers come into the shop and say they want a cake for their boss’s retirement party, or their son’s christening, or whatever. They give me a list of that person’s hobbies, and sometimes they suggest a theme or a color scheme. From that, I create a cake.”
“Edible artwork?”
She nodded. He got it. “Exactly.”
Two hours and a second dirty martini later, Serena knew she should be going. But she didn’t want the evening to end. That was as perplexing as it was terrifying. Her last halfdozen relationships—if they even could be classified as such—had fizzled out fast. Usually by the end of the first date, or at least by the second, she was eager to find an escape hatch. Serena liked men, but she wasn’t willing to entrust her long-term happiness to one. She had only to look at her parents to understand why. Susanne and Buck Warren had made it their life’s mission these past thirty years to make one another miserable. And, since misery loved company, they’d made their only child’s life hell, too.
“You’re frowning,” Jonas remarked.
“I’m just wondering where the time went.”
“I know.” His laughter was bemused. “I came in here planning to grab a quick drink before heading home. I was wound up, yet exhausted.”
“Long day?”
“Endless.”
“But here you are.”
“Here I am.” He smiled. “And I’m not tired at all.”
“It’s the scintillating conversation,” she teased.
In addition to more substantial topics, such as his reasons for running for public office and her plans to open her own cake shop, their conversation had leaned toward the ridiculous. They’d hashed out the lyrics to The Flintstones theme song, agreed on which Stooge was the funniest—Curly, by far—and debated the merits of “innie” bellybuttons versus “outies.”
Yet Jonas was perfectly serious now when he said, “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”
“I’ve enjoyed talking with you, too.”
“This isn’t like me.” He fiddled with the edge of his cocktail napkin, rolling it up until it stayed curled. “I don’t usually strike up a conversation with a stranger in a bar, much less kiss her.” He glanced up. “It’s nuts, but I feel like I know you so well, and I don’t even know your last name.”
“It’s Warren.”
“Mine’s Benjamin.”
“Well, Jonas Benjamin, for the record, I don’t normally let strange men kiss me in a bar.”
“I’m glad you made an exception.”
The creases in his cheeks reappeared when he smiled, and her stomach took a funny tumble. “Same goes.”
A long moment passed before he said, “Technically, we’re no longer strangers. So, if I were to kiss you again…” He left the thought unfinished, but his gaze was now focused on her mouth.
Anticipation began to build. Their last kiss hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity, or anything else.
Just as Serena started to lean forward, a hand slapped a little black folder down on the table between them. She and Jonas sat back abruptly. Their waitress had appeared from nowhere.
“I’ll take your bill up whenever you’re ready,” the woman said.
“Gee, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Serena murmured, realizing for the first time that the bar was nearly empty.
“It’s almost closing time. You probably should be getting back to your hotel,” Jonas said. He pulled out his wallet and laid some bills on
