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He was wearing a pair of blue jeans with a brown belt, worn to soft gray edges. A black button-down shirt was tucked into the pants. His hair was a bit rumpled, as if by the wind tousling it as he drove, since it was a warm day and he'd probably had the windows down. He had his sleeves rolled up so her gaze was drawn to the points of his wrists and length of his forearms, sprinkled with dark hair.
With time and some discipline, a man could develop a body that met all the physical measurements for hotness, but that didn't translate to sexy. Sexy meant that he could make a woman think of sex just by moving and breathing, because his sexuality was bone deep, a vital part of his masculinity.
It was in their gait, their attitude. Regina had seen overweight, middle-aged men with receding hairlines at The Zone who possessed the quality, and muscle heads with tight asses and big dicks completely lacking it.
A sexy man understood what aroused a woman. He knew because he paid attention, and because getting that response was what he craved to drive his own arousal. It was a trait all sexy men had, be they Doms, subs or vanilla.
Most importantly, it couldn't be contrived, even by someone like Marius. He might be able to exaggerate it in a deliberate way, but the substance had to be there for the exaggeration to work. You might be able to fool yourself, boy, but you can't fool me. I know you want me to be turned on by you, not because you're a conceited ass, but because you want to give me pleasure.
It might be wishful thinking, but she thought if he could let himself, he'd approach sex the way she reached for a good book. With the intent of making it a slow experience to savor, pulling her into it so the outside world became far less real than what was in the pages. A place she'd never want to leave, but when she did, it would stay with her like a memory she never wanted to lose.
Such thoughts allowed her not only to enjoy the view, but imagine all the ways such a body could move in service to her.
He stopped a few feet away as Regina turned and leaned against the car door, looping her keys around her fingers to clasp them in her palm. She could ask him what he was doing here, but that would assume his presence had to do with her, and he'd have to work a little harder for that opening. Instead, she nodded across the street. "Friends?"
"Just met them. I walked over from Marguerite's to see what the game was. And because the lady, that's Mrs. Grant, she wanted to know what I was doing loitering around Marguerite's place without going in. She wanted to know if I had un-Christian thoughts in mind."
"What did you tell her?"
"Probably." His lips tugged. "But not the kind that would cause Marguerite or anyone here any problems."
"Even me?" She tilted her head and watched his eyes follow the ropes of her hair where they tumbled back over her shoulder.
He tucked a hand in one pocket, drumming the outside fingers against his upper thigh. Nervousness or pondering, she couldn't discern. He covered his emotions well. But he looked as if he might be trying to figure out the answer himself.
Regina gestured toward Tea Leaves. "Marguerite's inside."
"I'm here to see you." Marius met her gaze, though his tone stayed neutral. "She called me. Told me you were coming here at one o'clock and, if I wanted a chance to talk to you about things, I could wait outside and see if you were willing to talk to me when you came out. If you say no, I'm supposed to walk
away, get in my car and not bother you further."
"Have you ever obeyed someone that cleanly and decisively?"
He considered the question. "Not in recent memory. I get hit in the head a lot, though, so I could have lost a few instances."
Regina glanced at her watch, telling herself she wouldn't smile. The curious thing was he hadn't, as if he hadn't meant it as a joke. Did he know how to have a sense of humor when it wasn't a deliberate attempt to charm? It was almost three, just as she'd estimated. "You've been here since one?"
"About one-fifteen. Didn't want to interfere with your meeting, and Marguerite said not to disrupt your good mood by letting you see me on the way in." His tone was brittle at the recitation, but Regina could imagine Marguerite saying it in her acerbic way. Her lips twitched again.
"So she ordered you to be here?"
He shook his head. "She told me it was up to me, and you, if you wanted to talk to me. As I said."
"You came by your own choice. That's a good step. But the rest depends on what you have to say."
She settled against the door and leveled a cool stare on him. "You here to beg or bullshit?"
His lips tightened. "I'm sorry about throwing the drink at you. I shouldn't have lost it like that."
"Actually, that was the first honest response I've seen from you in some time. Though it pissed me off that you ruined the shirt. I'd looked forward to wearing it to bed that night and smelling your scent on my skin."
He blinked. She understood his confusion. Her words suggested something far different than her distant body language. Both messages were true, however. She played no games with her subs. Men required clear-as-damn-Windex communication. Since they were used to women being confusing, though, brutal honesty from one had the added benefit of sometimes throwing them off balance. But she liked his recovery.
"I'd have liked thinking about that. It didn't look all that ruined." He tucked both hands in his pockets and rocked, heel to toe. "Don't think it's ever looked that damn good."
For once, it wasn't a line. He said it with an unguarded look, his wry smile almost...shy. Wasn't he a puzzle?
"What is it you're here for, Marius?"
