Page 9 of Remy

I force myself to maintain our stare even though my blush spreads, the heat traveling down my neck. “What do you mean by a woman like me?”

“Timid. Respectable. Innocent.” He casually places his tumbler on the table. “I would ruin you, and hate myself as I enjoyed every minute of it.”

“Ruin me?” The question whispers between my lips. “I think you’ve got the wrong impression.”

“Really? I’d place a solid bet that you’ve slept with no more than five men.”

Ha. That’s five too many, bucko.

His eyes narrow further. “Make that less than three.”

Perceptive bastard.

I school my expression. “I don’t like this game.”

He gives another sinful snicker, but it’s short-lived. “You’re wholesome, Ollie. Far too virtuous for a guy like me.” He reaches out, gliding my hair behind my ear with an electric touch. “That’s not a bad thing.”

It kinda feels like it is when my so-called wholesomeness is the reason why being ruined isn’t on the table.

“Do I get a turn at making unsubstantiated assumptions?” My gaze is drawn to the female bartender who arrives to deliver another round of drinks, then grabs my empty flute before leaving.

“You think you can read me?” He hands me my fresh glass. “Let me have your worst.”

I take a strengthening sip and sit taller, taking my detective role seriously despite the ache between my thighs.

I leisurely scan my gaze over him, from the tousled hair that seems freshly cut, along the slightest trace of stubble peppering his chiseled jaw, to the perfectly fitted suit clinging to his broad shoulders.

“You come from money,” I say with confidence. “Your suit is tailor made, and from memory, your shoes were Italian leather.”

Enough of my clients have been laid to rest in designer brands for me to tell the difference between a luxury and a knock-off. This guy oozes wealth.

He inclines his head. “Does money excite you?”

No, it doesn’t. I don’t bother telling him, though. “Please don’t interrupt my assessment. The customer is to remain quiet so I can focus.”

He grins. “My apologies.”

God, the tingles.

“Whatever your job, it’s a position of power. You hold yourself to a high regard.” It’s his posture. The almost arrogant tilt of his chin. “But I wonder if that confidence hides something.”

His humor retreats as he raises a brow, silently questioning.

“Your eyes, they’re soulful.” I stare into the rich depths, swimming in the earthy brown peering back at me. Without the smirk he’s almost someone else entirely. “Your eyes hold pain. Or maybe sorrow.”

Something flickers in his expression.

It’s slight. Maybe I imagine it.

Then leisurely, his grin returns, from subtle to blinding in the space of a few heartbeats.

“Have you been spying on me, too, Ollie?”

I snort. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m starting to think that’s for the best,” he drawls. “You already know too much.”

He’s mocking me. Damn it. And here I was thinking I’d been somewhat flawless in my assessment.

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