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‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked now, casting a quick sideways glance at her.
Her gaze drifted to his hands, holding the steering wheel with deft assuredness in much the same manner as he handled her.
‘Sex,’ she answered, tingles racing through her at the thought of their imminent return to privacy and all the things they would do...
He burst into deep laughter. ‘Do you ever think about anything else?’
She pretended to think about it before shaking her head. ‘No.’
‘I am tempted to ask exactly what you’re thinking about in connection to sex, but if I crash the car it will take us longer to get back,’ he said drily. ‘You can tell me in graphic detail exactly what you’re thinking later.’
‘I will,’ she murmured, her eyes drifting to his muscular thighs, barely contained in his chinos.
‘Can I ask you a personal question?’
His voice had taken on a serious hue that made her twist on the seat to face him properly. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why did you wait until you were twenty-five before having sex for the first time?’
It was the question she’d been waiting a fortnight for him to ask. She was still no more prepared with an answer.
She pressed her cheek to the back of the seat. If she couldn’t touch him she could at least look at him.
‘I never set out to stay a virgin, but I avoided relationships where lust and desire were the driving forces—I’ve seen my mother’s heart broken too many times to have any faith in passionate love. The flame is too bright and burns to ashes too quickly. I didn’t understand it was possible to have a passion for someone that is purely about sex.’
‘Is that all this is to you?’ he asked, a surprising edge to his voice. ‘Sex?’
‘Isn’t that all it is to you?’ she asked right back, momentarily confused.
He was quiet for a moment, before laughing. ‘You’re right—what we are sharing is just sex. I admit I find it disconcerting to hear that coming from a woman, and even more disconcerting to actually believe it.’
‘Do all your lovers say it’s just sex?’
‘I set out the ground rules from the beginning. I make it clear I only want a physical relationship and they all agree.’ He pulled a mocking face. ‘It never takes them long to change their minds and think they can be the one to tame me.’
‘I don’t think anyone could tame you,’ she commented idly, and swallowed away the strange acrid taste that had formed in her throat. It was no secret he’d enjoyed numerous lovers before her, and would enjoy more when she returned to Paris in little more than a week. ‘You’re as tameable as a fully grown wolf with territory problems.’
Now his laughter came in great booming ricochets. ‘I enjoy my life. I have no wish to be tamed.’
She eyed him shrewdly, wondering why she didn’t quite believe him. She believed his words, but there was a part of Talos he kept closed off. Physically, he was the most generous and giving lover she could have dreamt of, but he had demons inside him she couldn’t reach—demons she caught glimpses of when he would shout out in his sleep, cries in Greek she didn’t understand.
She’d asked him about it and he’d affected ignorance, saying he didn’t remember his dreams. She didn’t believe him but hadn’t pushed the subject. If he wanted to open up to her, he would. And, really, she was hardly in a position to demand to learn all his secrets when their whole relationship was based on sex and getting her performance-ready for the gala.
‘So you’ve never had a relationship of any kind?’ he asked.
‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she corrected him, ‘Quite a few of them.’
‘And they didn’t try to get you into bed? Were they gay?’
She gave a bark of surprised laughter. ‘I suppose it’s possible, but the relationships weren’t like that. It was more about a meeting of minds than physical chemistry.’
‘Isn’t that what normal friends are for?’
‘Probably.’ She swallowed. ‘We would kiss... But my boyfriends were the type of men who were happier to spend an evening discussing Mozart’s eccentricities and how it affected his music rather than trying to get me into bed.’
He flashed her a grin. ‘I don’t pretend to know anything about Mozart, but if I did I can assure you I would be happy to discuss him with you—provided I could be stripping you naked at the same time.’
