Page 152 of The Sinner: James

“Are you?” I ask.

A knowing grin stretches across his lips as if he had just solved a puzzle.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, his smile reaching his blue eyes. “May I?” he asks, pointing at the seat in front of me.

“Sure.”

A moment later, he sits across from me, poised and elegant, comfortable in his skin, quite a match for the woman in the mirror back home.

He brings his glass to his lips and takes a sip while I scan his sculpted hands.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he says, unbridled curiosity flooding his eyes.

“I can say the same thing about you,” I retort, poker-faced.

Amused, he chuckles, his azure eyes sparkling.

“Hmm... A great sense of humor. I relish that. It’s a rare quality in a beautiful woman,” he says, tossing me the compliment without much fuss, displaying solid confidence in his skill.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks, his eyes already on the sommelier.

“I don’t drink… Usually,” I murmur, blood rushing to my cheeks. “Not tonight,” I add as he cuts his eyes at me, telegraphing a questioning look.

He studies me for a second, but I talk first.

“No... You can’t ask that... It’s not polite,” I comment.

“I can’t ask what?” he asks, intrigued.

“How old I am.”

A slow, lopsided smile curls his lips as he ponders for a moment.

“I really like you,” he says before ordering another drink for himself.

My gaze sweeps his broad shoulders, masculine jaw, clean-shaven skin, and smooth hands that bear no rings or a wedding band.

The pleasant contrast between his white shirt and wine-colored tie catches my eye, the smooth fabric of his suit agreeing with his expensive watch.

All speak of good taste and zest for life. And taking genuine pleasure in living.

Watching someone like him for a change is a wonderful distraction, a delightful pause from the drudgery of everyday life.

“I like you too,” I say, my words free of inflections and emotions.

“So, if you’re not staying in this hotel, what brought you here tonight?” he asks, watching me from above the rim of his glass.

“You mean besides waiting for someone who’ll never show up?” I ask, tossing a flirty smile at him.

“Yeah, besides that...” he says, setting his drink on the table.

“Same as you. Curiosity.”

“Hmm... Interesting.”

He narrows his eyes at me, silently observing me, a faint smile curving his lips.

“I’m a writer, so I like to watch people,” I say in a serious voice this time.

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