Page 3 of Marry Lies
“Thank you for being a gentleman,” she says a minute later, and I snap my eyes up to hers. She’s grinning as she slides her feet into the sandals laying by the edge of the fountain, fully clothed in pink sweatpants.
“A warning would’ve been nice,” I grit out.But I don’t regret it.
“And miss seeing that expression on your face?” she teases, tying a matching pink zip up sweatshirt around her waist. Her hair is still dripping, creating wet spots on her white tank top. The water makes the material transparent, and I get a brief glimpse of pert, little nipples before she crosses her arms over her chest.
Well, fuck me.
“What expression?” I ask, keeping my tone serious.
She giggles. “That one.”
I frown. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
This makes her laugh more. “God, you really are anal-retentive, aren’t you?”
Letting out a frustrated breath, I shake my head before rubbing the back of my neck. “Compared to what? You? I’m sorry but I’m not about to strip down and show off my cock to random strangers.”
I’d never let random strangers ogle me.
That same flurry of resentment twists through me at the thought. Even if I wanted to be carefree, I couldn’t.
She grabs her purse and walks over to me. I take a step back as she approaches, but then I stop moving as she gets closer. When she’s a few feet away, my eyes rove over her face, spying a small beauty mark on her left cheek. Her high cheekbones are glowing in the light of the Eiffel Tower, and the corners of her mouth are turned upward. I try not to notice her delicious, peach-shaped ass and the way her sweatpants cinch at her waist, accentuating her curves. Her wet hair is curling around her hairline, the color so blonde it’s nearly white.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she asks, her eyes studying my face. I’m not sure I like being scrutinized by her. “Doyou have any tattoos?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Not surprising,” she breathes, almost wistfully. “Why mar that perfect body with ink,” she adds, teasing.
How ironic. I’m already marred.
My jaw ticks. I should just walk away. She’s a nobody. Just a random stranger.
I cock my head. “You’re a hypocrite, you know.”
Something defiant sparks behind her eyes. “Oh really? How so?”
I don’t particularly enjoy the fact that I always have to be right. I’ve learned to read people over the years. In my line of work, I need to be able to sense when someone is uncomfortable. I’m not proud of the fact that I use it to my advantage. I am cunning, and I know exactly what to say and how to word it. Others might see me as manipulative. But I consider myselfdriven.And in this case, it’s clear that this woman is hiding something. I’m not sure what, but I intend to find out.
“You’re here at three in the morning when the Jardin is empty. If you really wanted to make an impact, you’d be here at noon on a Saturday,” I finish smugly.
“I’m not here to make a statement,” she retorts. “I’m here for me.”
I step closer, and I see the way she inhales sharply at my close proximity. The ball is in my court again, where it belongs.
“And what reason could you possibly have?”
She swallows, and I watch the way her throat bobs. I probably shouldn’t be scrutinizing her so harshly. But her words got under my skin. I like to think I’m above the bullshit of stereotypes. That I’mdifferent.That I don’t care about inferior things.
But she’s catalogued me so easily.
“Go on, then,” I say, my jaw tight.
Her shoulders lower slightly. “It’s just something I wanted to check off of a list,” she says simply.
The zest is gone, and suddenly, her body language is all different than before. Physically deflated.
Andfuck.It makes me feel… guilty. Like I owe her an apology.
