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“You strike me as a woman with no coyness to her and I am too damn old to be playing games. You look like you are either in your late thirties or early forties.”
Her smile came and was wide with pleasure. “I’m actually fifty-two years old.”
He stopped in the process of pouring the wine, a frown deepening his brow. “You’re lying.”
“It says so on my birth cert and my driver’s license.” She told him cheerfully, her cheeks dimpling. “Want to see them?”
“I might.” He continued to stare at her. “My God.” He whispered. “How on earth do you manage to look so young?”
“I work out a lot and eat right. Screw that. I have lousy eating habits, and I binge eat sometimes. I don’t know what to tell you.” She took the glass from him and took a sip, her eyes widening. “This is very good.”
“Glad you appreciate it.” He was still staring at her and in his mind he realized that he had been wondering if she was too young for him.
“You’re getting weird.”
“What do you do for a living?”
She had expected the question and was ready with an answer.
“I am an aspiring novelist.”
His brows lifted in surprise. “Aspiring?”
She shrugged and took a bunch of grapes. “I am just starting out. I was a photographer before that and just decided to follow my dreams.” She wondered if she sounded as lame as the statement and decided that she did when she saw him staring at her skeptically.
“What genre?”
“Historical romance.” She latched onto the first thing she could think of. Her aunt was an avid fan of historical romance and always had a pile of them in her library.
“You don’t strike me as one who would write novels, let alone a romance novel.”
She bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“it means you don’t strike me as being the romance type.” He told her bluntly, intense gray eyes watching her too closely for comfort.
“You don’t know me well enough to assume that.” She went on the defensive and drank champagne to avoid looking at him.
“You are right of course, but I happen to an excellent judge of character. From the little I have seen; you are a straight shooter with no form of coyness about you. You shy away from accepting help and you are very careful when it comes to men. Are you sleeping with the guy you came with?”
His assessment of her was close enough to the truth to have her feeling more than a little uncomfortable.
“He’s just a friend.” She said tightly. “And that’s none of your damn business.”
He simply inclined his head, expression neutral. “I have offended you.”
She backed down when she realized she was being defensive.
“It’s fine.” She thought of letting the subject die, but something he said nagged at her. “How do you know I am careful when it comes to men? Because I said I was not sleeping with you?”
“Firstly,” he began with a smile. “We would not be sleeping and second, I said it because I think it is the truth. Are you going to tell me otherwise?” He enjoyed talking to her and wondered fleetingly if they were going to end up using the cabin down below.
He wanted their first time together to be somewhere solid, like inside his bedroom, but he would take what he can.
“No. And nothing is wrong with being cautious. Men are often known to be faithless pigs.”
A chuckle escaped him at her fierce expression. “is that right?”
“I am guessing you’re going to tell me you’re not one of them.”