“Maybe just a few.” She raised her brows slightly, immune to his male phobia on relationships. “Or would you prefer I leave?”
He dragged in a breath, stared at her, and knew he was going to regret it even before he said, “No.”
“Then be nice. I don’t need you to make my life interesting. I can do that on my own.” She smiled just a little because he was looking at her with such blunt curiosity it was clear she didn’t conform to his type of sex partners. “With all the single men on your guest list today, finding someone to entertain me won’t be a problem.”
She was a cheeky little thing—actually not so little everywhere, he corrected himself, letting his gaze settle briefly on her lush tits. Suddenly, his misgivings were irrelevant, evaporating like rain in the desert after a hundred-year drought. Slipping his hand into his shorts’ pocket, he pulled out the door key and held it up. “One slight drawback to your finding other entertainment.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re serious?”
“As death and taxes,” he said softly.
“Hmmmm.” She measured the distance from the table to the key.
He followed her glance and suddenly smiled. “In over your head?”
She smiled back. “Never.”
It was his turn to say, “Hmmm.” She was relaxed, her breathing steady, not even a hint of unease in her lounging posture, despite the fact she was locked in a stranger’s stateroom and wearing very little. “Don’t tell me you have a black belt in karate or something?” Pocketing the key, he dropped into a chair opposite her.
“Not a black belt, but I do have something.” Her blue gaze sparkled with amusement. “Something you want.”
“I could just take it.”
She gave him a look of mild forbearance. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
He placed his hands on the marquetry table, slid them forward, and, leaning over, held her brilliant blue gaze. “Tell me about this fun.”
“First,” she said gently, “let’s clear away the obstacles. We’re both feeling this incredible attraction, excitement—whatever it is. Don’t panic—I’m just stating a fact, I’m not looking for permanence. I have a life. You have a life. And that’s not going to change. You don’t have to explain anything to me about what you’ve done in the past or why you’ve done it.” She leaned back a little in the shagreen and aluminum sculpted chair and smiled at him. “And if it makes you more comfortable, I don’t have boyfriends probably for the same reasons you don’t have—what—attachments? Are we good now? Can we just enjoy ourselves? I’m sure you know how and if you don’t”—she laughed a little—“I have some suggestions.”
Her soft laughter was without artifice and damned charming. Sliding back in his chair, he smiled warmly. “Are you a bloody therapist?”
“No—just realistic, fickle, superbusy—like you I’m guessing. By the way”—her voice was amused—“do you give that all-worked-up speech about no attachments often?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not until I met you.”
“So I’m special,” she said, her eyes alight.
“Yes. In every impractical, improbable, disturbing way.” Then he exhaled, releasing his lingering doubts. He’d spent a good many years chasing new sensations and no one had ever provoked this sort of reaction in him. No one but this beautiful, smiling woman. “So the complexities aside”—he said, sketching a small circle in the air with his index finger—“this thing we’ve got going—you and me—us… karma—whatever the fuck it is, I’d like to take it slow and easy if you don’t mind.”
“You mean stamp the date and time on our psyches, tattoo it on our hearts, send word balloons out into the ether?”
His sudden smile was dazzling. “I’m obviously more sober than you, but yeah—something like that.”
She grinned. “Personally, I’m going with the liquor rather than magic.”
He sighed. “I’m not so sure. But I do know I don’t want to rush this. That okay with you?”
“Maybe.”
His brows spiked upward.
“You can’t plan everything, that’s all I mean. Sometimes shit just happens.”
“I know.”
“Like this.”
“Yes.” He held out his hand. “Like this.”
His long, slender fingers closed over hers, and rising from his chair, he pulled her to her feet and drew her near. “Christ,” he murmured, squeezing her hand lightly. “Did you feel that?”