I smiled into his eyes which were lit up with admiration. "Your dress... it's stunning," he said, sliding his fingers between mine, his other hand landing lightly at the curve of my waist.
"This old thing?" God, the way it came out, it sounded like I was trying to be a Southern belle. "Why thank you. I designed it myself." I held my breath, realizing that was a pretty stupid thing to admit.
"You're a designer?"
Gulp. That was way too much to reveal. "Hmm, maybe. Maybe not," I tried to hedge, keeping my voice nonchalant.
"Maybe? Maybe not?" he questioned, leading us into a soft sway, our bodies a safe distance apart, but still oh so close, closer than I'd been with any man in a very long while. The smell of him was intoxicating—dark, masculine, heady.
A brilliant—hopefully—idea popped into my head. "Maybe we should play a round of two truths and a lie. Or actually, in this case, two lies and one truth?" I suggested, trying my best to ignore my racing heart.
He chuckled. "I like the way you think."
That little throwaway compliment felt nice, and it felt even nicer when his hand gently caressed my waist, a movement he probably wasn't even aware of, but I most certainly was. Everything this man did was quickly becoming cemented in my brain, where I planned to trot it all out later and relish every second of it.
"Okay," he said. "You first."
"Um, okay." I thought for a beat, then decided to go for it. "So when I was ten, my sister stuck a piece of chewed up gum inmy hair, and they had to cut it out, and I ended up with a really weird haircut."
His easy laughter sounded again. "I feel like that could be true."
"Number two," I continued, trying my best not to give anything away. "I've lived in five different states, plus spent six summers in Europe and a winter in Australia. And number three, I'm an award-winning fashion designer who lives and breathes all things fashion and is totally ready for fashion week."
He'd hung off my every word, his focus intense, every part of him fully engaged. If I could see his eyes properly, they'd surely be narrowed at me in scrutiny.
"Those are quite clever," he began, "because I feel like some of those could be partial truths."
Damn. He was right. Why couldn't I have just come up with completely unhinged ideas that had nothing to do with the real me? I was terrible at lying and hiding my true identity.
"What are yours?" I asked, attempting to steer the focus off me.
"Whoa, not so fast. I still need to figure out yours."
Great.
"So..." he started, "I think the first one is the truth, and the others are lies, but only partially. I truly believe you're a designer. I mean, look at this dress. But maybe you haven't won an awardyet, or you're not quite ready for fashion week. As for the other, I'd bet money that you've lived in the city your whole life, but you've probably traveled quite extensively."
I blinked at him, no response forming in my scrambled brain, my body slowing, his own mirroring mine, until we were barely moving.
"So how'd I do?" he asked, confidence lacing his voice.
Damn it. Was I that transparent? Apparently, being the nice girl had become so ingrained in me that I couldn't even tell adecent lie in a game where you were supposed to lie. "Pretty good. So yes, the first is the truth, and the others lies." And that was all I was going to admit to. "What about you?"
His soft laughter met my ear. "Hmm, let me think. Let me think," he mused out loud.
I used it as an excuse to stare up at him, to study his bone structure, or what I could see of it, to wonder if I'd seen him before and why his laugh was familiar. But I still couldn't place him.
Part of me wanted to rip his mask off, but obviously, I would never do that. It was a torture I hadn't anticipated not to be able to see this man's face fully. Was he feeling the same way?
He cleared his throat. "I have a tattoo that no one knows about. I've been to all seven continents, including Antarctica. And I've driven a race car on an official Formula 1 track."
Hmm, those were such typical rich guy things that I really couldn't tell which was which. Slanting my head, deep in thought, I met his eyes, and there was a gleam in them that was positively irresistible.
Smiling, I shrugged my shoulders. "I honestly have no idea. But maybe you haven't been to Antarctica? And you don't seem like the tattoo type. Like you're probably the kind of person who passes out at the sight of even a drop of blood," I teased.
"What?" he gasped, laughing. "I would never."
"Mm-hmm, sure."
