“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Humor me.”
“Eight or ten, maybe.” Maybe more. In fact, if he counted the casual encounters in bars or clubs that led back to his bedroom, that number was probably closer to fifteen. But that didn’t mean anything. Wanting to play the field, not wanting to settle down yet, did not equate into disrespect for the opposite sex.
“What were their names?” she asked.
That one stopped him. “What do you mean?”
“Their names. The women you dated. They had names, right?”
“Of course.”
“So, what were they?”
He frowned. That was a lot of names. Faces he could remember, or body types. Hair color, even eye color. Names he wasn’t so good with.
“I’ll make it easy for you. Of the last twenty girls you dated, give me three names,” she said.
Three names? What about the blonde from the bar last week. The bank teller with the large and plunging…portfolio. It was something simple. A J name. Jenny, Julie, Jeri. Or maybe it was Sara.
He was usually pretty good under pressure, but now he was drawing a blank.
“You can’t do it, can you?” Victoria said, looking pleased with herself. “Here’s an easy one. How about your last assistant? What was her name?”
Now this one he knew. Tall, brunette. Low, sultry voice…
It was right there, on the tip of his tongue.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “Even I know this.”
He took a guess, which he knew was probably a bad idea. “Diane.”
“Her name was Rebecca.”
“Well, she looked like a Diane to me.” Mostly he’d just called her honey, or sweetheart, so he wouldn’t have to remember her name. Because after a while they all just sort of bled together. But that didn’t mean anything.
She shook her head. “That’s really sad.”
“So I’m not great with names. So what?”
“Name the last five male clients you met with.”
They popped into his head in quick succession. One after the other, clear as if he’d read them on a list. And though he said nothing, she could read it in his expression.
The smile that followed was a smug one. “Easier, isn’t it?”
He folded his arms across his chest, not liking the direction this was taking. “What’s your point?”
“You remember the men because you respect them. You see them as equals. Women on the other hand exist only for your own personal amusement. They’re playthings.”
Though his first reaction was to deny the accusation, it was an interesting…hypothesis. And one he had no desire to contemplate at that particular moment, or with her.
He downed the last of his drink and signaled the waiter for the check. “We should go.”
“We haven’t eaten yet.”
“I have to get an early start in the morning.”
Her smug smile grew, as though she was feeding off his discomfort. To make matters worse, before he could take the bill from the waiter, she snatched it up. “My treat, remember?”
There didn’t seem much point in arguing. And since it was only drinks, he would let her have her way this once.
She paid in cash, leaving a generous tip considering they hadn’t even eaten, then they rose from their chairs and walked in silence to the door. The car was already waiting for them out front.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“You don’t want a ride?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“It’s quite chilly.”
“I’m just a few blocks from here. I could use the fresh air.”
“I’ll walk you,” he said, because God forbid she would also accuse him of not being a gentleman.
“No, I’m fine,” she said, with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer.”
There was something very different about her tonight. He’d never seen her so relaxed. So pleasant and…happy.
At his expense, no doubt.
“See you tomorrow at the office.” She turned to walk away, but made it only a step or two before she stopped and turned back. “By the way, have you decided what to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your family? Not pursuing me. Will you listen to them?”
Good question. And despite all the hemming and hawing and claims that no one could tell him who he could or couldn’t see, he had an obligation to the family. Ultimately, there was really only one clear-cut answer.
He shrugged. “I don’t really have much choice.”
“Well, in that case…”
Another one of those grins curled her mouth. Playful, bordering on devious, and he had the distinct impression that she was up to no good.
She stepped closer, closing the gap between them, then reached up with one hand and gripped his tie. She gave it a firm tug, and he had no choice but to lean over—it was that or asphyxiation. And when he did, she rose up on her toes and kissed him. A tender, teasing brush of her lips against his own.
Before he could react, before he could cup the back of her head and draw her in for more, it was over. She had already let go of his tie and backed away. His lips burned with the need to kiss her again. His hands ached to touch her.
He wanted her.
“What was that for?” he asked.
She shrugged, as though she accosted men on the street on a regular basis. “Just thought you should know what you’re missing.”
Victoria knew that kissing Charles was a really bad idea, but he had looked so adorably bewildered by their conversation in the restaurant, so hopelessly confused, she hadn’t been able to resist. She thought it would be fun to mess with his head, knock him a little further off base. But what she hadn’t counted on, what she hadn’t anticipated, was the way it would make her feel.
She’d kissed her share of men before, but she felt as though, for the first time in her life, she had really kissed a man. It was as if a switch in her brain had been flipped and everything in her being was saying, He’s the one.
Which was as ridiculous as it was disturbing.
Yet her legs were so wobbly and her head so dizzy that once she’d rounded the corner and was out of sight, she collapsed on a bench to collect herself.
What was wrong with her? It was just a kiss. And barely even that. So why the weak knees? The frantically beating heart and breathless feeling? Why the tingling burn in her breasts and between her thighs?
Maybe that was just the effect he had on females, something chemical, or physiological. Maybe that was why he dated so many women. They genuinely couldn’t resist him.
That was probably it, she assured herself. Pheromones or hormones or something. And the effect was bound to wear off. Eventually she would even grow immune to it altogether.
She just hoped to God that he hadn’t noticed. That before she let go he hadn’t felt her hands shaking, that he hadn’t seen her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat or the heat burning her cheeks.