Adopting a mocking tone, I ask, “Like butterfly-scary or much less terrifying, like waking to find a serial killer has you tied up in a room covered in plastic?”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Very clever, but don’t try to shift the focus. We’re talking about you.”
Bugger. That would work on most people. “Excuse me if I don’t want to talk about how intimidating I am to the male of the species,” I say. “It’s pathetic really, that women exist solely for the comfort of their male counterparts. If we have the slightest hint of ambition or a brain in our heads, you men can’t get away quickly enough.”
“You’re going to be quite a success in a courtroom, but your redirection skills won’t work on me. I won’t be baited into an emotional argument, no matter how sweeping you are in your sexist opinions,” he says. “A lot of men—myself included—want a smart woman, one who will challenge us and keep things interesting. You’re definitely in that category, no matter how much you wish you weren’t.”
“What makes you think I want to be in the throw-away pile?”
“Because you do your best not to be noticed, and when someone does show interest, you change tactics from ‘please don’t see me’ to ‘get away from me or else.’”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is that you’ve gotten away with it for so long without anyone calling you on your bullshit.”
We stare each other down for a second, my head feeling like it’s going to blow, and my heart pounding with anger. He’s angry, too, even though he’s doing his best to keep his nothing-bothers-me attitude going. I’m about to call him on his bullshit when he starts up again with a slight grin. “You do realize you’re filled with rage because you’ve just been told you’re smart, attractive, and you’ll be a hell of a great attorney.”
“That’s not it at all!” I snap and push my bare feet under the sand to cool them, trying to think of a good comeback. Nothing. Maybeheshould be the one in law school. “I’m angry because you’re acting like you know me so well, and you don’t.”
“I never implied I know you. I’m only providing you with objective facts with regard to your attractiveness.”
“Well, stop it,” I huff.
“Okay,” he says simply.
“Good!” Damn him. I cannot afford to fall for a guy like him—one who’s going to up and leave in a few months. This man will crush me, and there’s not much left of my heart to crush.
“I really didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, giving me a thoughtful expression.
“Yes, well…you did,” I say, still wanting to be in a snit. But as the words come out of my mouth, I realize how insane this all is, and I start to laugh at myself.
After a second, Leo starts to laugh, too, and when we’re done, he says, “You really are not like any woman I’ve ever met—and that’s a good thing, in case you were about to accuse me of some nefarious reason for saying so.”
“You mean most women don’t become absolutely furious when complimented?” I ask, staring into his eyes much longer than would be considered smart.
“Some actually enjoy it.” He stares back, then swallows hard as the mood shifts between us to something more…intimate. I look away first, losing our lust-filled staring contest, and when I glance back at him, his eyes are fixed on the ocean. “Speaking of things that are enjoyable, let’s take a dip, shall we?”
I blush and shake my head. “You go ahead. I try not to swim within a couple of hours after eating.” Or if I’m going to eat in the next several hours. Or if the sun is out…
He holds up one hand, and I know he’s going to remind me of our improv rules, but I beat him to it. “Right. Say yes to everything.”
“Exactly,” he says, stretching out one arm toward the shimmering water. “And at the moment, we’re saying yes to a relaxing, refreshing dip in the sea.”
He peels off his shirt and tosses it on the log, then looks at me, waiting for me to do the same. Only I’m not moving. Well, nothing but my eyes, which are darting around his torso like a coked-up bee in a flower shop.
“Eyes up here, Ms. Lewis.”
My cheeks burn as I tear my gaze away from that sculpted body and to his gorgeous green eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened there.”
“It’s fine, really. It happens to most women. Some men, too,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s the curse of being naturally muscular.”
“How awful for you,” I deadpan.
“I’m learning to live with it.” He gestures toward the water with one thumb over his shoulder—which incidentally causes his bicep to bulge. Oh, wow. That is a massive bicep. He totally did that on purpose. Bastard.
“Okay, you go ahead, I need a second to get undressed and put my swim skirt on,” I say, digging around in my bag.
“You’re not going to hop on the bike and abandon ship, are you?”
