“Then many women are foolish, I suppose,” he returned evenly. Another half a glass of Scotch had vanished.
Was he trying to become inebriated? And if so, why? But more importantly, how many women did he mean? “How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many women have enjoyed your company?” she dared—for she simply had to know.
“I beg your pardon?” His eyes widened and he looked torn between disbelief and laughter. “Are you asking me how many women I have had in bed?” He now choked.
“Yes, I think I am,” she said, clasping her hands tightly in her lap and blinking furiously. She felt her cheeks begin to burn.
He began to laugh. His laughter had that rough, raw, unused quality, but it was not unpleasant. “I think what I like most about you is your rampant curiosity,” he said, “as it is so unique.” His laughter died. But he smiled now with real mirth and her heart lurched wildly. She had never seen such a handsome man.
“No, strike that, I like your outspoken manner. Has it ever occurred to you not to reveal your every thought, wish and desire?”
She blinked, trembling. Not only had she made him laugh, really laugh, he was flattering her—he liked her curiosity, her manner! Did he know what he was doing? Was this another game, or was she finally glimpsing him relaxed, his guard down, the truth allowed out due to the Scotch he had imbibed?Did he like her just a little bit?“How much have you drank, Devlin?”
“A Scotch or two,” he said softly. “Very well, this is the third. No, the fourth. I am not drunk, Virginia. I do not get drunk.”
“I think you are,” she said, and somehow their gazes met and held. His eyes had become soft, with no hint of ice, as if he was feeling warmly toward her now. She was so elated she could not breathe properly. “No one likes my outspoken manner. Even my parents despaired.”
He smiled again. “You are unpredictable—I never know what you shall say or do. It is interesting.”
Her heart raced. “So you like me, a little, after all?” Dear God, had that been a hopeful tone in her voice? She prayed not.
He tore his gaze from hers and slowly got to his feet, the slumbering lion preparing to feed. He gave her a seductive glance, sidelong and direct, and slowly began to pace. “So many questions,” he murmured. Then he added, “I sent Tompkins to theDefiancefor some wine. The cook has prepared venison and I think a hearty cabernet will do. But I know you prefer white, and I asked him to bring some, too.” He paused, facing her, leaning one slim hip against the sideboard. The posture was at once indolent and suggestive.
She leapt to her feet. “Don’t change the subject.”
His lashes lowered. “There have been many women, Virginia, and I do not count,” he murmured.
How clever he now was, avoiding the subject she so wished to discuss. “It is hardly the end of the world if the great and oh-so-cold Captain O’Neill actually likes another human being,” she said.
His lashes lifted, revealing the gleam of silvery eyes, and then he looked away. “You are like a dog with a bone. What is it that you want me to say? That I find you beautiful? That I yearn for your kiss? That I cannot live without you? I’m afraid that while I do find you unpredictable and interesting, I am not the kind of man to grovel over a woman, to yearn for true love or any other such nonsense. Leave it alone.”
She stared, swallowing, for he was too astute, and it was almost as if he knew her thoughts and feelings. “You started this,” she began. “And we both know I am not beautiful, so I am not asking you to find me so. We also both know it takes little to arouse you, so clearly you yearn for my kiss—or something along those lines. And as for living together? Are you madder than I previously thought? Of course you can live without me—without Sean—without anyone! You are an island, Devlin, an island unto yourself and the whole world knows it.” She was very pleased with her brisk tone and how firmly she had rebutted him.
For a long moment he stared, so intensely that she backed away. “No, I’m afraid that you started this, Virginia, by wanting something from me that I cannot give.” His tone was soft but firm and very sincere.
Virginia almost hugged herself, staring back at him. Was he telling her that he would never love her? Could he be that perceptive? Had the liquor allowed him to speak so honestly with her now?
“I do not know what you mean,” she whispered, perspiring.
He shrugged with a small smile, the gesture meant to convey that he did not believe her, not for a single moment.
An idea struck her then, a wonderful idea that might help her attain her end. “But there is something that I want, Devlin,” she said.
He studied her, half a smile on his face, waiting.
“There is something that I want from you and Iknowyou can give it,” she said firmly. How tense her expression felt.
“Oh, ho! I sense a new battle. Darling, you cannot win, so do not even think to take to the field.” He smiled, but she saw the wariness in his eyes. She realized then that, drunk or not, he would always be a dangerous adversary.
“I am not your darling,” she breathed.
“But you are—in the eyes of the world.” His soft tone was a deadly caress.
She wet her lips, praying hard, wondering if he might actually be trying to seduce her, in spite of what he had said earlier. “I want your friendship, Devlin. Nothing more, just your friendship.”
