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Sabrina gave an astounded shake of her head. "How do I respond to that? Do I say thank you?"
Dylan's hand paused on his wine goblet. "I don't know. How do you usually respond when men say you're beautiful and sexy?"
"I'm not sure you want to know."
"Try me."
Debating whether or not to do just that and to blurt out the truth, she took another sip of merlot. She was drinking too much, too fast, and she knew it. But it was only her second—and final—glass. She had no intentions of getting sloshed. But the thin wire of tension inside her was about to snap. The day had simply been too much. And if she didn't have some relief, find some way to unwind, she'd shatter.
"Slow down," Dylan murmured, as if reading her mind. "Drink more water and less wine."
Her brows rose. "Why? Are you afraid I'll take you back to my hotel and have my Way with you?"
There was that lopsided grin again. And damn if Melissa wasn't right. He was hot. Very hot And very earthy. As for being her type, what was her type anyway?
She really had drunk too much wine. Time for water. She reached for her glass.
"An interesting thought," Dylan commented. "Intriguing as hell, too. But not terribly realistic."
"Really." Sabrina's chin came up, and she found she was irrationally annoyed by his assessment. "Why is that?"
He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, until she could see the tiny orange flecks in his eyes. "One, because knights-in-shining-armor don't take advantage of women who are tipsy and at the end of their ropes. Two, because Carson would rip my head off if I touched you. And three, because my guess is you have a lot more experience with corporations than you have with men. Am I right?"
Sabrina could actually feel the hot color flood her cheeks. "It depends on what you mean by experience. I've been hit on by the best of them."
"All of whom you shot down."
No reply.
"I guess it's time to change the subject."
"No." Sabrina shook her head. "Not until I set you straight."
"About?"
"Whatever conclusion you've come to. It's one of two. Either you've decided I'm an ice queen, or that I'm a raging feminist who likes castrating men. For the record, I'm neither."
"And, for the record, I didn't think you were."
Sabrina pushed away her glass, folding her hands firmly in front of her. "I'm not in the habit of explaining myself. I'm not even sure why I'm doing so now, except that I just met my father for the first time, and you're the closest person in the world to him. So maybe I care what you think of me. Or maybe it's because you opened up to me on the plane, and I don't think you're in the habit of doing that either. Or maybe it's just because I'm strung out and a little drunk. It doesn't matter. I'll give it to you in a nutshell."
She leaned closer. "When you're a kid, being super-smart means being alone. Going to college at sixteen when you're as unprepared as a middle-schooler means being alone, too. Jumping into the workforce at twenty and spending half your day saying no and the other half fighting to get ahead because you're bright and qualified, not because you're pretty, means being alone. And meeting an occasional man who shows a glimmer of promise at being different, only to find out he's threatened by your brains and your ambition means being alone. So, no, I don't have lots of experience with men. Frankly, it's just not worth it."
To her astonishment, Dylan gave a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be."
"You don't seem surprised."
"I'm not. Men are simple beings. Most are driven by either sex or power. Sometimes both. They're threatened by women they can't conquer or outshine. With you, that's next to impossible. So they walk."
Sabrina wasn't thrilled by the way that made her come off. But she knew it was meant as an observation, maybe even a compliment. Besides, she was more impressed by Dylan's insight into the male psyche, and his candor about the same. It was rare to meet a man who recognized the truth about his own species, much less one who was willing to admit it.
Lastly, she was amused by the conclusion he'd drawn. "Nice analysis," she commended. "One correction. When I said it wasn't worth it, I didn't mean for them. I meant for me."
"I know. But it works both ways."
"I guess it does." She propped her chin on her hand. "I notice you didn't include yourself in the 'them.' So tell me, which category do you fall into? Are you driven by sex or power?"
He shrugged. "It varies. Sometimes sex, sometimes power. But I'm luckier than most. I've got a healthy ego. So I don't waste time trying to prove myself."
