Page 3 of Captivated By You

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling.” I shrugged.

He smiled, treating me to a full set of perfect white teeth to go with his perfect nose and perfect cheekbones. And those gorgeous eyes… the man should come with a warning in flashing red neon: women, guard your ovaries.

“What else do you see?”

I tapped three fingers against my lips, using his question as an “in” to treat myself to a full head-to-toe appraisal. No doubt about it. I was sitting beside an honest-to-goodness gorgeous specimen of a man, one who’d chosen to engage me in conversation. Might as well take advantage of it. An hour of harmless banter would do wonders to lift my flagging spirits.

“Hmm.” I ran my gaze over him again, noting the expensive watch on his left wrist, the manicured nails, and unblemished skin. The Italian leather shoes and cut of his suit. “You’re rich. Successful. A bit vain. Used to getting your own way. You don’t take orders well, so you work for yourself. You like the finer things in life.”

Getting into the swing of this fun activity, I let my imagination run wild, making shit up on the fly.

“Your mother spoiled you growing up, and you still covet your father’s attention and approval. You’re the eldest child, with one or maybe two siblings. You’re from a close family, although it’s full of headstrong personalities, so there are lots of arguments, and when you don’t win, you sulk because you’re ultracompetitive and can’t accept losing or not getting what you want. As for women, you’re not the settling-down type. You play the field, eat from a buffet. A woman will never tame you.” I grinned, flinging my hands out to the sides, palms up. “How did I do?”

His eyes flared. He brought the surprised reaction under control in a microsecond. Wow. Maybe I’d hit a home run with one or two of my guesses.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “You got that from a thirty-second encounter?”

I lifted my glass to my lips and sipped, more sedately this time. “To be fair, I pegged you in twenty.”

He swirled his drink. The ice clinked against the sides. He peered at the amber liquid, then took a sip, his eyes lifting to mine. “Not bad.”

“Which parts did I get wrong?”

His lips twisted in a half smile. “I’ll leave that to your imagination, which, I might add, is rather healthy.”

“Thanks. My mom would agree with you.”

“Is it my turn now?”

“Nope.”

He canted his head. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. And besides, you asked me. I haven’t asked you. I’ve had a shitty enough day without you psychoanalyzing me.”

“Probably best. I’d be terrible at it.”

He held up his finger at Saul, and only then did I realize I’d finished my gin. Saul refilled our glasses, and my stranger tapped his glass against mine.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“A-Anthony.”

I rubbed my lips together. A stutter from a man as well put together as he was could mean only one thing: he’d fake-named me.

“What’s yours?”

“Ethel.”

He laughed, a sound I was fast becoming addicted to. “You’re not an Ethel.”

“And you’re not an Anthony, but if you’re going to fake-name me, expect the same in return.”

The flare in his eyes lasted longer this time. “You’re an astute woman, Ethel.”

“Thanks.”

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