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He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t generally hear complaints.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
Her cheeks heated as she heard the words tumble from her lips and lifted a hand, covering her mouth. “I didn’t mean—that wasn’t—,”
“Acknowledgement of my prowess?” He teased, so she felt as though he was laughing at her.
“Right.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I meant…Oh, I don’t know.”
His grin showed he knew exactly what she’d meant, and she honestly wished the floor would open up and swallow her, deep into the bowels of the ocean.
“I date,” he said after a pause, moving deeper into the library, so his face was cast in shadow. He scanned a finger across one shelf, then removed a book. “But brief affairs are more my style. A few dates, perhaps a week or two. Nothing serious.”
“Why not?”
He angled his face to hers. “What do you mean?”
“Why avoid serious relationships?”
His eyes narrowed, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Why not?” He turned her question back on her. “What’s to gain?”
She pondered that. “All the benefits of a committed relationship?”
“Such as?”
“Intimacy.”
“I have no issues with intimacy.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean sex. I mean true intimacy. Heart to heart stuff. Knowing someone with every fibre of your being. Waking up and reaching for them because you can’t wait to see them smile, to hear them speak, to share your thoughts and hear theirs.”
The air between them crackled and she knew what he was thinking, even when he didn’t say it. He was wondering if that’s what she’d shared with his father. It was on the tip of her tongue to set him straight, to tell him her understanding of relationships was not gained through personal experience, but rather because she’d been on the outside, looking in, on relationships for such a long time, she’d built up a fantasy of what an ideal partnership would look like. She had no idea if it was accurate or not, but deep down, she had her fingers and toes crossed.
“And that’s what you want in life?”
He began to move towards her, carrying the hardbound book. Her eyes stayed locked to his.
“Yes,” she answered, but frowned, dubiously. “I know it sounds idealistic.”
His expression showed agreement.
“You’re young enough for idealism to still be acceptable.”
“But you’re too old and cynical?”
“Even at your age, I didn’t want what you seek.”
“Why not? You can’t blame your parents. You believed them to be happily married.”
“That’s true.”
“So?”
He frowned. “I suppose it was my father. He taught self-reliance above all else. He made us understand the importance of the business—we all work for the family company. My aspiration, as a teenager, was always to take over from him. To be the best I could be. And as I got older, I was happy with relationships as a fringe part of my life. Sex, as a silver lining, without the entanglements and drama of what you call ‘intimacy’.”
“You’re a loner.”
“Yes.”
