“There you go, trying to Christian Watson your way out of answering the question by pulling a conversational about-face.”
“Touché,” he allowed. Then he told her, “You celebrated a birthday three months ago, and I overheard you telling one of the women back at BKI that you could no longerget away with making silly mistakes. That it was one thing to cock things up in your twenties. You could blame it on youth. But once you hit thirty, being young and inexperienced didn’t hold any water.”
“Eavesdropper,” she accused.
“Loud talker,” he fired back.
Glancing over his shoulder, he found her head down. She was watching her footing over the uneven, leaf-strewn ground, andher damp hair created dark, wavy curtains that hid her face from him. The forest held the earthy aromas of moist soil and wet moss. But even so, he was almost certain he could detect the slightest hint of her shampoo.
Without glancing up, she said, “But you’re still two years older than I am, so my statement holds. Age before beauty.”
“Fine.” He blew out an overly dramatic breath as hereturned his attention to the path. “I’m old, and you’re beautiful.”
He heard her boots stumble to a stop behind him. When he frowned over his shoulder, the look of astonishment that wallpapered her face brought him to an immediate halt. “What? I just let you win. Why are you staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second set of twig and berries from my forehead?”
“You think I’m beautiful?”The last word winged up an octave.
His brow pinched. “Of course I do. Any heterosexual red-blooded man would.”
Emily shook her head. “I’m too skinny. I don’t know how to put on makeup. I barely have any boobs.”
“Are you serious? Or are you fishing for compliments?” How could she not know how truly lovely she was? The woman had occasion to look in a damn mirror.
“I don’t evenowna set of high heels.” She set her jaw at a mulish angle. “My preferred mode of dress involves hair ties and sweatshirts. I am the mostunglamorous woman I know.”
Okay. Apparently she reallydidn’tknow how lovely she was. It was the bloody damnedest thing.
“Glamour doesn’t have anything to do with beauty, darling. As for your breasts…” He allowed his gaze to travel over her chest, eventhough he couldn’t see past her puffy coat. Warmth stole into his blood, making him glance off into the distance. “Most men would say they’ve no use for more than a mouthful.”
Speaking of mouths, when he turned back, it was to find hers slung open. Deciding he’d said more than he should, he set off after the others. After a couple of seconds, he heard Emily’s hiking boots crunching atop thewet leaves behind him.
“On the subject of secrets…” she said, even though they were well past that stage in the conversation. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still owe us an explanation for why you didn’t join Boss in Chicago right away. Plus, that bit about your folks requires further clarification, and you know it.”
“Andnowwho’s Christian Watsoning her way ’round the subject?”He purred the words, but there was steel woven into his tone.
