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Holding his gaze was something she wasn’t capable of any more. She ducked it, sat back and concentrated on the conversation.
‘All right. Are you married?’ She’d better establish the basics.
‘Never have, never will.’
Uh-huh. ‘Live-in lover?’
‘Heaven forbid.’
She paused. He was letting her know exactly where he stood on the commitment front. Devilry danced in his eyes. She knew he meant every word, but she also knew he was challenging her to pull him up on it.
‘Gay?’ she asked blithely.
He looked smugly amused. ‘Will you take my word for it or do you want proof?’
Now there was a challenge. And not one she was up for just yet.
‘Diseases?’ Tart this time.
His amusement deepened. ‘I think there’s diabetes on my father’s side, but that doesn’t seem to manifest until old age.’
She refused to smile, was determined to find some flaw. To get the better of him somehow. ‘What do you do for a living?’
‘I work with computers.’
Gee, she nearly snorted, that could mean anything. ‘Computers? As in programming?’
His head angled and for the first time his gaze slid from hers. ‘Sort of.’
‘Ah-h-h.’ She nodded, as if it all made perfect sense. Then she wrinkled her nose.
‘Ah, what?’ He sat up straighter. ‘Why the disapproval?’
She hit him then, with everything she could think of. ‘Did you know the people most likely to download porn are single, male computer nerds aged between twenty-five and thirty-five? You’ve probably got some warped perception of the female body
now, right? And I bet you’re into games—with those female characters with boobs bigger than bazookas and skinny hips and who can knock out five hit men in three seconds.’ She stopped for breath, dared him to meet her challenge.
‘Ah.’ His smile widened while his eyes promised retribution. ‘Well, actually, no, that’s not me.’
‘You think?’ she asked innocently.
‘I’m single, I’m male, I’m into computers and I’m aged between twenty-five and thirty-five. But I don’t need porn because …’he leaned closer and whispered ‘… I’m not a nerd.’
She leaned a little closer, whispered right back. ‘That’s what you think.’ Admittedly he didn’t look much like one, but she could bluff.
But then he called her on it. Laughing aloud, he asked, ‘Should I be wearing glasses and have long, lank, greasy hair?’
His hair was short and wind-spiked and his eyes were bright, perceptive and unadorned—and suddenly they flashed with glee.
‘Do nerds have muscles like these?’ He slapped his bicep with his hand. ‘Go on, feel them.’
She could hardly refuse when she’d been the one to throw the insult. Tentatively she reached out a hand and poked gingerly at his upper arm with her finger. It was rock hard. Intrigued, she took a second shot. Spread her fingers wide, pressing down on the grey sleeve. Underneath was big, solid muscle. Really big. And she could feel the definition, was totally tempted to feel further …
But she pulled back, because there was a sudden fire streaming through her. She must be blushing something awful. She took a much-needed sip of her watered-down wine.
His told-you-so gaze teased her.
She sniffed. ‘You’re probably wearing a body suit under that shirt.’ Completely clutching at straws.
