She tapped a manicured finger against her lips. “Something about a list. Brothers. An inheritance from your mother. You know, light eavesdropping.”
“You must have camped out in the hallway.”
She reached across the table and nudged his menu down. “Please. I do not camp. I linger stylishly.”
His lips twitched.
She went for the kill. “That’s not a hand-me-down suit. And you’re definitely not just a middle manager overseeing roof repairs. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Marcus didn’t flinch. “The lady skips foreplay entirely, I see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Classic male deflection. I accuse you of hiding your identity, and your brain swan-dives into the most overrated part of a man’s sexual skill set.”
He leaned in, matching her energy. “Overrated? Bold claim.”
“Bold yet true.”
That caught him. His brows lifted in open disbelief. “Care to expand?”
“Men. Suck. At. Foreplay.”
Marcus groaned softly, gaze flickering to her mouth. “All men?”
“I’ve yet to find one who managed to bring me to orgasm with foreplay,” she said, unapologetically. “I’ve decided it’s a lost art form.”
He leaned back, fingers tapping the table, gaze locked on hers. “I envy the man who proves to you that foreplay, done right, can be better than the main event.”
She laughed, pulse kicking. “You mean the mythical man who doesn’t treat foreplay like a three-secondprelude to a letdown? He’s right up there with the guy who says ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and means it.”
He clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “On behalf of all men, I apologize you’ve found us so lacking.”
Frankie shrugged. “Not a problem. That’s why God created vibrators.”
He choked on his water.
“I warned you, I don’t do polite small talk.”
“That you don’t.”
“And since I’m not trying to impress you, can we get back to your secrets?”
“Secrets? I thought your topic of choice was sex.”
She scoffed. “Nice try. You’re the one who brought up foreplay.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now, be a peach, and tell me your secrets.”
He leaned in, the candlelight catching the warmth in his eyes. “Trust me. My secrets aren’t half as interesting as what I could teach you about foreplay.”
Frankie leaned in with mock solemnity. “Let me guess. Every woman’s been vocal about your talents, so you’ve concluded you’re the foreplay king?”
He grinned, confidence unfazed. “Exactly.”
She shook her head, laughing softly. “You’ve evidently never watchedWhen Harry Met Sally. Women can fake orgasms just as easily as they lie about their weight.”
He shrugged. “Don’t take my word for it. My offerto prove it stands.”
