She sure was something to look at, in fact he couldn't take his eyes off her, which said a lot. Golden skin his fingers ached to touch contrasted with waist-length blond hair sparkling brilliantly in the sun. Legs that went on forever, a figure fit for a fantasy. Something he had an uninhibited view of too. Welcome to paradise Maximillian Chanteur.
She wore a strip of cloth tied around her waist, fluttering open as she walked, tugged at occasionally by the breeze to reveal bikini bottoms underneath. And nothing else. Well, well, well... When his aunt told him Villa Chanson des Palmiers had magnificent views, she neglected to mention the ones on the clothing optional beaches. This riveting view had him feeling like a teenage boy with his first look. He could not tear his eyes away. Coherent thought deserted him as blood from his brain quickly went elsewhere.
She watched her feet as she walked, though it didn't affect his view of her face. A face with delicate features that didn't live up to the expectations created by the rest of her body. Until she raised her eyes to gaze down the beach and their impact slammed him like a punch in the gut. She hadn't looked at him, was unaware of his presence, yet he sizzled down to his toes. Large, peacock blue eyes overshadowed the rest. He changed his mind. She was drop-dead gorgeous. The figure, the hair, the eyes, she didn't need the perfect face for a man to have his thoughts obliterated by an all-consuming need to lose himself in her.
It took several moments for him to gather himself and harden his heart. He knew why she was here and why she was half-dressed. And though it may be cynical of him, he was convinced it had nothing to do with the fact this was St. Barthelemy where going topless—naked even—on the beach was commonplace. He was at his aunt and uncle's villa to get away from an endless stream of girls just like this one. Girls a rock star has showing up anywhere and everywhere. Some fans, some seriously fanatical, all of which, after more than a decade, were getting to be too much.
Actually, he was surprised by his gut reaction to her. She wasn't his type at all. Dark, petite and exotic got him hot and bothered every, single, time. But he wasn't going to think about her—the other reason for his escape to the West Indies.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he let the soft breeze soothe him. He'd gotten so far off track the last few years his music had suffered. St. Barth was a last ditch effort to get it back. And how he loathed the desperation that brought him to that point. Blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes. He was sick to death of its companionship, so anxious to get rid of it he had travelled a god-awful distance to shake it.
Andree Bancroft loved her life, her island home, her cat, her job, even her friend Etienne in that buddy sort of way. She'd probably end up marrying him one day and she could do a lot worse. He was tres beau inside and out. But right now, she didn't care about any of it.
Her life was perfect and maybe that was the problem. She had no desire to think bad things about her father, but the feeling in her heart that he kept her too sheltered wouldn't be stifled. She looked up from her feet, to gaze down the beach, blinking away tears of frustration. This was stupid. She was being stupid. Crying because Papa was so protective of her. He loved her and wanted the best for her and she was an ingrate for getting upset. She was the daughter of a successful artist living on an island in the Caribbean. All the islanders respected and looked up to her father, and having that same respect given to her was a good thing. Knowing it in her head didn't stifle the desire in her heart to do something crazy and reckless. Just because.
So her father led a secluded life, as did she by extension. She wasn't isolated from everyone and everything, and had carved out a place for herself in the social life of St. Barth. Her mornings were spent underwater, guiding boats in and out of the harbor, so their anchor lines didn't get tangled up. She loved being in the sea. Swimming in her scuba gear among the awe-inspiring array of sea life. Afternoons... Well, there was the sieste, usually on the beach, which she was returning home from now. She was able to spend her afternoons lounging around on the beach, a privilege few people had. On top of which, she had more than enough time for her artwork, and living on an island provided plenty of inspiration. Not that she was inspired to do much of anything lately. What was wrong with her?
She sighed, returning her eyes to the sand and the indentations made by her bare feet as she walked. A sense of unease washed over her and she looked over her shoulder, sure some guy was giving her one of those looks. It didn't bother her anymore, but her radar went off regardless. Weird. The few people enjoying the beach were oblivious of her. Must be her mood. She changed direction and headed down the path to Villa Chanson des Palmiers. She needed to see how Papa was doing.
The girl wasn't more than five feet away when she finally saw him leaning against the palm tree. Though he hid it, her shock when she noticed him was amusing. Though, now he thought about it, he did present a rather frightening picture. His loosely curling, dark hair was pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his neck and he hadn't shaved in at least three days. He hadn't slept much lately either so all in all he presented a rather haggard appearance. Piratical even. Not that his adoring fans cared how he looked. It was all good to them.
"Monsieur!" she gasped. "Qu'est ce que c'est? Qui êtes-vous?"
The soft, soothing voice fell on his ears like music. He was so bemused it took him a moment to realize she spoke in French and he didn't understand a word. Well, he was in the French West Indies, so he should've been prepared.
"I'm sorry. I don't speak French. The best I can do is 'bonjour' and maybe a few other words here and there." His deep, gravelly voice, which normally had more than his fair share of the female population melting at his feet, apparently wasn't having any effect on her. She merely looked at him inquiringly.
Her voice, on the other hand, had him wishing he did speak French, because he would've paid a lot to hear her say something else. However, as his eyes appreciatively raked her figure he concluded the view more than compensated. When they returned to her face, he decided they needed to stay there. Though she didn't appear bothered by his perusal, he didn't like what it was doing to him. He clenched his fists for a moment in an effort to keep his hands to himself. What the hell? They actually ached with the need to follow the path of his eyes.
A disconcerted look crossed her face. "That's okay I speak English. Who are you? This is private property. You shouldn't be here."
She pulled the sun-streaked hair hanging down her back to the front, effectively and modestly covering all that exposed golden flesh. And yes, it made him look again before he could stop himself. Her action, though, didn't strike him as a result of embarrassment, more of a habit. Was she aware how distracting her attributes were? Damn! Now he wanted to feel her golden tresses running through his fingers before relishing the heat and softness of her skin.
He gave himself a mental slap. Get a grip. He was here to get away from females. All females, not just one in particular. Besides, this one was too young. He hardened his heart. He needed to take control of the situation before things got out of hand. Something he had far more experience with than any person should.
"I might ask you the same."
He braced himself and wondered how creative this one was going to be. Been there done that. Though usually not without a bodyguard or two. She was doing a good job pretending she didn't know who he was, but he'd seen crazy fans pull all sorts of things, so he was prepared for anything. Well, mostly, as long as she didn't draw too much attention from the people enjoying the beach. A mob of crazy fans rather than one was more than he could cope with, all things considered. He glanced around and his tense muscles relaxed. Not too many people nearby, thank goodness.
"It's the private path to my family's villa, so I suggest you continue your journey down the beach and be glad I'm not calling the authorities. And I don't want to see you around here again. Your attempt to attract my attention wearing almost nothing failed, Sweetheart. Go find someone else. It shouldn't be too hard."
She gasped, her face mirroring shock and confusion. A flash of anger too, but only briefly. "Qu'est-ce que c'est? I am sorry, Monsieur. You say Villa Chanson des Palmiers belongs to your family?"
He narrowed his eyes. She knew the name of the villa. Did it mean she had a right to use the path or merely that she was a native of St. Barth?
"Yes." He ground his teeth. He was done. He just wanted to be left alone. He couldn't begin to guess what her tactic was, but he'd bet she spotted him at the airport and hoped to have a fling with a rock star.
"Sacre bleu!" she muttered and before he could do more than blink, she brushed past him and darted up the path to the villa.
His stomach tightened. The picture she made sprinting up the path, her blond mane streaming behind her, took his breath away, rooted him to the spot and removed every other thought from his head. He clenched his hands in protest to the thundering of his heart. Maybe he was wrong about her. She certainly wasn't acting like a crazy fan. Just crazy. She'd hardly given him the time of day and was headed for the villa like she lived there.
He frowned, too drained to care. The trying trip to the island had his brain muddled, but he recalled his aunt, Erika, saying a caretaker lived in a cottage on the property. Shane Bancroft was the name that came to mind, and he seemed to recall Erika saying Shane had a grown child. What was the name? Andre. Maybe the siren he'd encountered was visiting Andre. Lucky fellow. He shook his head. What was wrong with him? Jet lag? Most likely his personal version of jet lag.
Loathe to return to the confines of the villa after spending an interminable amount of time on an airplane, he pushed himself off the tree, wandered towards the ocean and collapsed on the beach, luxuriating in the shade of the palms, the incredible view, and the smell of sand and surf. Paradise. It felt good to finally be here.
* * * *
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" growled a newly familiar voice.
Andrée stifled a scream, dropped the edge of the comforter she was pulling into place and collapsed on the edge of the bed. Mon Dieu. He was back and the villa wasn't anywhere near ready for guests, even though she'd been rushing around like a maniac trying to get it in shape.
Though the man's sudden appearance caught her by surprise, his antipathy didn't. She'd had a foretaste of coming attractions on the beach and it factored greatly in her panicked attempt to take care of a job that was overseen by her father and, up until recently, handled flawlessly by Sylvie. As if that wasn't enough to leave her feeling out of her depth, now she was supposed to figure out how to handle a riled up male? Her heart started pounding in her chest so hard it made her head spin. What had she done to make him so upset?
The Unexpected Guest marched over to her, grabbed her by the arm, and pulling her off the bed, started hauling her across the room. Being man-handled was a new experience she could've happily lived the rest of her life without experiencing.
"I knew it. I knew you were trouble the moment I laid eyes on you. I'm not putting up with this sh—" He waved his hand up and down in the air encompassing the length of her. "This on my vacation. You better have a damn good explanation why you're in my bedroom, because I know for a fact you don't belong in the villa."
She did, although faced with his anger, she doubted herself. She yanked on her arm, but his hold was like a shackle so she ended up helplessly dragged behind him as they headed down the hall to the living room. The fear, never mind how outlandish he was acting, left her somewhat paralyzed. Though her brain was screaming, struggle, her body wasn't listening, it merely stumbled along behind him.
She was a tall girl and felt like she dwarfed everyone but her father. Not this man. Broad and well over her father's six foot frame, he seemed massive. She actually felt feminine in his grasp. But there was something about him other than his size, a presence that filled up the room and overwhelmed her, leaving her disconcertingly helpless. After he flung her down on the couch, she sat staring at him apprehensively.
"Monsieur", she whispered, but couldn't gather her thoughts enough to say more.
"Looking at me like that with those eyes will get you nothing. You're trespassing and I'm calling the authorities." He pulled his cell phone out, turned it on, then let out a disgusted, "No service," and shoved it back in his pocket.
"You need to set up cell service here in order for your mobile phone to work."
A smile tugged at his lips, which was momentarily promising. Until his eyes wandered around the room in search of a telephone and he muttered under his breath, "Lord save me from fanatical girls."
What in the world was that supposed to mean? Instinctively being helpful, Andrée motioned to a small table in the corner with a cushioned chair next to it where the cordless phone sat. A surprised look crossed his face as he turned his head in that direction. With his hands off her and some distance between them, her brain began to function more normally.
"Monsieur, s'il vous plâit..." Guess she wasn't as composed as she thought. English, Andrée. "Please. My father is the caretaker here." She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "I'm trying to get the villa cleaned up and ready for you. I—wasn't expecting any visitors and there's a lot of work to be done."
Halfway across the room he stopped and spun around, pinning her with narrowed eyes as cold as the emeralds they mimicked. He looked her up and down and his lips thinned. "So that's your story, huh?" His gaze bored into her for what felt like an eternity.
At least she'd stopped him from rushing to make the call. She could do without being held prisoner while they waited for the police. Anxious, she decided to continue talking. "My father's been the caretaker for the Carlyle's since I was small. He's sick with a headache, but I could've had everything ready for you if I'd known you were coming."
He ignored her and continued across the room to pick up the phone. Rather than make the threatened call, though, he sat down in the chair. Leaning back, he crossed his legs at the ankles.
"And your father's name is?"
"Shane Bancroft."
"Your name?"
"Andrée."
A startled look crossed his face and he sat up. "Andre? But that's a boy's name."
The insult jolted her out of defensive mode. She sat up straighter and threw her shoulders back. "Not in French when it's spelled with two e's." She took a deep breath and continued before he could say anything, "How do I know you're not the one who isn't supposed to be here? Maybe you're acting like this to get a free stay in a nice St. Barth villa."
His hearty chuckle was unexpected, as was the way it vibrated through her from her ears to her toes. Clenching her teeth, she decided she didn't like what he was doing to her. Her brain was all muddled and weird sensations kept shooting through her out of the blue.
"Well, I guess one phone call would straighten everything out, wouldn't it?"
Her heart leapt. She so didn't want a scene and if he called the police, there would be one. Not to say she wasn't in the middle of one, but it would be nice if it didn't involve anyone else.
"Joe and Erika should have the answers we need." Turning on the phone, he placed the call.
She just stopped herself from sagging with relief. The last thing she needed was for him to know how much he was getting to her. She wasn't going to be intimidated by him. She'd done nothing wrong. He had.
His eyes rested on her speculatively as he conversed and she forced herself not to squirm. Then he stood, walked across the room, stopping just the other side of the coffee table that was in front of the couch she was sitting on. She stood up and as he held the phone out to her, the ring on his pinkie finger caught her attention. Jewelry wasn't really her thing, but art was, and his ring was a masterpiece. It looked as though a tiny keyboard made out of onyx and platinum was wrapped around his finger. Her eyes traveled to his wrist where he wore a black metal bracelet accented with a large diamond. She swallowed convulsively as she took the phone from him. Her gaze made its way up the front of his white linen dress shirt and was snared by the chunky gold chain nestling in the hair of his chest. Her palms started to sweat. She'd bet he paid more for that shirt than her father charged for one of his paintings. This man didn't need a free stay in a nice villa. He could afford to stay anywhere. But that wasn't what had her hands all clammy. The peek at his chest had done that. Her eyes darted to his face.
"My aunt wants to talk to you."
She took the phone and put it to her ear while he walked over to lean against the baby grand piano and crossed his arms, an inscrutable look on his face.
"Bonjour, Erika. I'm sure you've figured out things are a bit of a mess here right now."
Erika laughed softly. "Par for the course where my nephew is concerned, Andrée, don't worry about it. I'm sorry you didn't know he was coming, though I tried to call."
"Papa has one of his headaches and unplugged the phone. With Sylvie retired, there's no one to take care of things here except me. Your nephew may not be getting the care he expects until Papa finds someone other than me to do the job."
"Do your best, my dear and don't worry about him. He's rather spoiled and it might do him some good. He can be moody and demanding but my advice is, ignore it. I don't want you to rush hiring someone because you feel inadequate, and we won't be down there to visit for another few months, so as long as there's someone to do the job by the time we arrive, it should be fine. My nephew thinks he needs someone on call to do his bidding 24/7, but he doesn't. He's seriously in need of a reality check and I made sure he knows that's how I feel. He agreed with me, actually, but it may take a while for him to adjust."
Relieved Erika wasn't upset, her comments had Andrée wondering about the man. Not that she wasn't used to being around people with a lot of money. St. Barth was a getaway for them. She just hadn't been quite so up close and personal with one of his caliber before. Joe and Erika weren't that sort of rich. St. Barth was an extravagance they worked hard for the rest of the year.
"Merci Erika. I appreciate the head's up and don't worry about things here. We'll handle it."
"I'm sure you will. Now, I need you to put my nephew back on. There's something I forgot to tell him."
"Of course. Au revoir."
She walked over and gave him the phone. "Erika needs to talk to you again."
His fingers brushed hers as he took the receiver and she was surprised by the effort it took to suppress her physical response. He certainly didn't need to know how such a slight touch affected her. She went back to the sofa, ignoring the tingles that raced down her back from head to foot. He was giving her one of those looks. The fact she rather liked it made her too restless to sit.
When he ended the call, he put the handset on the piano and let out a heavy sigh. She winced at the dust on it and hoped he hadn't noticed. She wiped clammy hands on her denim shorts and tugged at them when she noticed his eyes lingering on her legs. What was wrong with her? She was seriously enjoying the admiration in his gaze. She stifled a groan when he pushed himself away from the piano, walked across the room and came to a stop just the other side of the coffee table from her.
"It appears we've gotten off on the wrong foot, and it's pretty much my fault. I'm sorry for—" He paused. "Well, there's no other way to put it. I'm sorry for going psycho you. I hope I didn't hurt you or—frighten you."
The apology and change of tone had her gaze flying to his face. It was transformed. His eyes glowed with the warmth of the sun shining on a palm leaf, and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Now her heart was pounding for a completely different reason. It was an effort to drag her eyes away and look at the arm he'd grabbed her by. There were two black and blue marks shaped like fingers.
His gaze followed the direction of hers. "I grabbed you pretty hard, didn't I? God, I am sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and ran his hand around the back of his neck. "If you haven't already figured it out, I'm a little crazed right now. Definitely in need of 'getting away from it all' here in St. Barth."
He brushed a finger along one of the marks and instantly her arm was covered in goose bumps. Whatever was going on here, she didn't like it and it took some serious effort to suppress the shiver that ran through her body at the casual contact. Moving away from him, she edged her way around the other side of the coffee table and shrugged.
"Don't worry yourself. It doesn't hurt anymore."
"Well, it'll give me a pang of remorse every time I see it." He smiled crookedly at her and she grinned back. That smile had power. What was it about him that had her wanting to be near him and get as far away as possible at the same time? He intrigued her and it was a new, disturbing phenomenon. Still, when he smiled like that, she didn't want to do anything else but look at him and try to make him do it again.
Fumbling for something to say, "Good. We're even," came out of her mouth. She wanted to cover her face with her hands. What a stupid, childish thing to say.
"How about starting over?" He held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Lian. It's nice to meet you, Andrée."
She wanted to ignore the outstretched hand because she was wary of touching him again. Instead, she put her hand in his and firmly shook it. It wasn't a fluke. Her body had the same reaction. Once he let go, she was compelled to rub her palm against the fabric on her thigh, hoping it would get rid of the electric shocks sparking from every spot his well-sculpted hand touched. Forcing her eyes off his long, well-shaped fingers, she caught a look of confusion cross his face. Had he felt it too?
"Since we're going to be seeing a lot of each other, I'll try to do a better job of being friendly. Though I'm giving you fair warning, I'm here to get away from people."
She cleared her throat. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you heard me when I told Erika, Papa needs to hire a housekeeper. Until he does, I'll do what I can to take care of things, but don't expect much. Cooking and cleaning are not my strong suits. Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot to do." She turned away from him, but the sight of the kitchen had her quickly turning back. "Oh, I bet you want something to eat. Are you hungry?"
"Actually, I am. Am I taking a risk, letting you feed me?"
She shrugged. "Possibly, though I do know how to cook a little. My father and I would've starved if I hadn't taught myself something about it. I guess I'll let you be the judge after you've eaten."
Unable to shake her agitation at his presence, she needlessly tucked her hair behind her ears. "We should be getting a delivery from the market soon. I ordered a few things until I can get to the store and shop properly."
"Well, don't sweat it, I'm not very particular. I'll go hang out in a lounger by the pool and stay out of your hair while you work. Bring me something there when it's ready."
She gaped at him as he left through French doors which opened onto the slate patio surrounding the villa's pool. He was as bossy as Erika said he would be and she wondered if he even realized he was doing it. Regardless, it wasn't going to work for her, as he'd soon be finding out. Her father may be the caretaker for the Carlyle's and technically an employee, but he'd never been their servant and she had no intention of being Lian—. Oh my. She didn't even know his last name. Was it Carlyle? As he shut the door behind him, she closed her mouth with a snap. Rolling her shoulders in an attempt to rid herself of the feel of him, she looked around the spacious living room.
She never failed to appreciate the beauty of the room, even though she'd been in it too many times to count. The caretaker's cottage where she grew up had a similar layout, but it was smaller and functional rather than luxurious. White vaulted ceilings were accented with dark wooden beams, a pleasing contrast to the white walls. Ceiling fans with blades shaped like palm leaves spun lazily overhead, more for show than coolness as the villa was air conditioned. Dark wood furniture complimented the beams, and bright, colorful upholstery brought life to the room. A black Mason and Hamlin baby grand stood in one corner and added a touch of elegance. While one wall was made entirely of windows giving a view of the pool and the ocean beyond, another wall was covered with a dark wood shelving unit. Andrée thought the décor tied in well with the outside of the villa, a bright yellow stucco with a red tile roof.
Since no one had stayed at the villa for a while and it was a few weeks since anyone cleaned the place, it was definitely in need of dusting, and the terrazzo tile floors running throughout hadn't been mopped in way too long. Plenty of work to keep her from thinking about the person who was now staying there.
* * * *
Lian gave a start when Andrée set a plate of food and a glass of something long and cool on the table next to his lounger. He hadn't been asleep exactly, but his mind was definitely drifting on the verge of it. Maybe Erika was right. He'd only been here a few hours and he was more relaxed than he'd been in years. Since... Uh uh, not thinking about her.
This last month had been one of his worst on record—and he'd had some pretty horrific ones. Not that his life was anything but crazy most of the time anyway. And at the age of thirty-one, after living it for over ten years, he was sick to death of it. Composing was his real passion. He'd been sucked into performing in order to get his music heard, not because he actually liked singing. But the public and his manager, Stash, insisted he perform it. Stash claimed there was a presence about him, a certain je ne sais quoi, and his songs were never as good as when he sang them. His voice was unique and appealing enough it didn't need to be perfect, and it was the imperfection that made it mesmerizing.
The last three years had been such an emotional roller coaster ride. His writing had suffered, his muse was gone, and his fiancée running off with his road manager a month ago was the catalyst to his walking out. He ground his teeth. Not thinking about her, remember Lian? He'd had enough of the showmanship. The writing was what he loved and it had vanished.
Now, after only a few hours on this island, he was starting to wonder if indeed it was exactly what he needed. Whether or not it brought his muse back, he was grateful to Joe and Erika for giving him this place to escape to. It got him out of the spotlight. No reporters hounding him about being dumped by his fiancée for his road manager, no paparazzi taking his picture every time he turned around and, thankfully, he was mistaken about Andrée. No crazy fans trying to get his autograph, or anything else they could from him as a souvenir.
Had Andrée recognized him? It was hard to say. If she had, at least she wasn't a crazy fan. Though his guess was she hadn't, and he was going to relish every moment. There was no telling how long he would go undiscovered on the island. Maybe this beard he started growing the last few days because he was too lazy to shave would disguise him enough to give him some anonymity. And if he used his family nickname instead of one that was easily recognizable...
Dragging his eyes open, he looked up at Andrée standing over him like a vision, and his heart began to thud in his chest. He mentally slapped himself again. His life was complicated enough; he was not going to let himself get sucked into anything. The girl before him was the definition of jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Good grief, she was a teenager. She had freckles, for God's sake. The tabloids would have a heyday with that. The mere fact he was attracted to someone so young had him on edge. He hadn't hooked up with a teenage girl since he'd first started out, when he was a teenager himself, though not for lack of opportunities. They were his biggest fan base, as well as the ones who worked the hardest to get noticed. He drew enough attention as it was without getting tangled up with jail bait.
Apparently his body wasn't listening to his brain, because Maximillian Chanteur the rock star took over and a dazzling smile split his face, words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"Thanks, Sweet Pea. Join me?"
The look that crossed her face before she quickly replaced it with a small smile threw him. Charming Maximillian left and jaded Lian returned.
"Don't tempt me. I still have a ton of things to do."
He scowled. "What did I say? You're freaked out." Surely she wasn't holding the scene he caused earlier against him? She had no idea how often he found unwanted girls in his bedroom. His hotel room. His dressing room. He snorted his impatience. "Sit down, for god's sake, I don't like the hovering."
She quickly walked over to the lounger on the other side of him and sank down on it. She was good at taking orders. He should be happier about that. It's what she was there for, right?
He swiped a hand over his face and blew out a breath. "God, there I go again, barking at you. I am freaking you out."
She shook her head, a smile playing about her lips which snagged his gaze and wouldn't let it go.
"No. Ça va. It's not that." She blew out a breath and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "My father calls me that. Do you use it a lot in America? He's taught me quite a bit of American slang."
Why had he used that name? "You know, I haven't heard that pet name in a long time." He shrugged a shoulder. "It seems to suit you somehow."
She groaned. "You've got to be kidding. It's a name for a child."
"Well," he picked up his glass and swirled the ice around in it as he pondered how to field that one. "I suppose. I'm sure when you get to be your age, you don't think of yourself as a child anymore." He looked sideways at her, a smile hovering around his mouth. "You can't be more than, what, seventeen?"
Damn, that was awkward. In an attempt to cover his unease he took a long swallow of his drink. He was pretty sure that hadn't gone over well. He was getting good at saying and doing the wrong things around her.
Her laugh was a delight and caught him off guard, but he wasn't sure if it was what she said afterwards that had him choking on his drink mid-swallow, or the realization of what was in his glass. Most likely both.
"Do I really look that young?" She snorted in disgust. "I'm twenty-two."