Page 29 of Dagger in the Sea

“Thank you.”

“Ah, so polite. The ass in question has no manners. I went out to dinner with him once at my father’s request, and it ended quite badly.”

“Is he the type who behaves one way in front of parents, and another when you’re alone?”

“Exactly. Are you that type?”

I only chuckled.

She drank, her eyes meeting mine. “You were right about the donkey.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“The ass. I don’t care for his looks either—thick brows, large ears, long face. Donkey.”

I grinned. “Acerbic.”

Her lips twisted just a bit. “Ah, I’ve heard women being called much, much worse.”

“True.”

“There he is, see for yourself.” She raised her chin in the direction of a tall thin man with indeed a long face and large ears, his hand on the back of a short, dark haired woman being led to a corner table by a hostess.

“He’s here with another woman and he came onto you?” I was more offended than she was.

“He’s the type of Greek man who must always have the last word. Well, that rather describes most men, doesn’t it?” A noise escaped her throat. “And you? Do you feel strongly about having the last word?”

“No, I have no such obsession. I make my points known in other ways. Ways that echo louder than words.”

“Hmm.” She drank, her eyes on me.

Our gazes locked and heat seeped through me; it wasn’t only the wine having this sultry effect on my bloodstream.

“Are you here alone or with friends?” I asked.

“I’m here with a friend, but he’s busy now,” she gestured casually toward the tables outside, “and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Kill some time with me.”

She laughed. A dirty, dark laugh which made me grin. “Oh, I don’t wish to kill anything tonight.” One long finger traced over the rim of her glass as she studied me, her lips quirking up. I wanted to taste those lips, discover her tongue, suck on that finger.

And then out of those perfect lips came the perfect reply.

“You are a lovely distraction I’m indulging in.”

I let out a small breath, rubbing a hand along my jaw. “I’ve never been called ‘lovely’ before.”

“Oh yes, you’re quite lovely. Indecently lovely,” she murmured on a soft laugh that was a sincere response, not a brazen come-hither.

A spill of heat flowed through my veins as I held her frank gaze. A gaze that flared into amusement at my surprised reaction.

“Have you never been called indecent before either?” she asked.

“Indecent, yes. Many times,” I replied. “But never with so much finesse.”

Her eyes sparked, narrowed, that slight smile widening. She didn’t quite know what to make of me, but was enjoying this as much as I was.

“Well, then—” I traced my middle finger over her hand and up her arm, and her breath caught. “Let’s indulge in some lovely indecency.”

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