Men Like This. Roxanne Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ although she couldn’t place the dialect. Definitely European. Rather than turn around right away to face her new visitor, she took a long, hard look at the beer bottle in her hand. Too soon to order her third? She wanted fuzzy, not pickled.

      She’d put it off long enough. Quinn swung around on the tail end of an eye roll to greet Bachelor Number Two. The smart reply she had ready died on her lips.

      Chapter Two

      An overly polite, “I’m sorry?” squeaked out from Quinn’s mouth before she could stop it.

      She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Short, fat, and balding? Someone more low-grade Hollywood with thick gold rings and a bad comb-over leering at her through a pair of oversized shades?

      None of those described this man. He stood tall, even by her standards. At least a few inches over six feet. His dark brown hair flirted with the collar of his T-shirt. His five-o’clock shadow had gone rogue. It looked more like a three-day affair. Lean, narrow hips, led to broad shoulders and toned arms; muscular but not steroidal.

      Best and most intriguing were those eyes. They gleamed green like the Caribbean and directed oodles of amusement and mutual attraction right at her.

      Quinn hated men like this.

      Men like this were one-night stands and Vegas weddings complete with next-day annulments. She studied him. He studied her right back.

      Did he like what he saw?

      Did she care?

      He was a perfect stranger. Handsome but probably not so smart. That’s usually how it worked out. Richard had proven the theory for her less than an hour ago.

      The mysterious man grinned at her. “I said you don’t match.”

      Peachy. Here stood the most dangerous kind of man. Hot and charming. Blake had been charming once.

      Quinn narrowed her eyes and set her beer bottle down deliberately. “Care to elaborate?”

      “May I?” The man indicated the seat next to hers but didn’t wait for permission to sit. “Seems to me your drink doesn’t match the dress you’re wearing.” His tone told her he believed this an obvious observation. “You ought to have a glass of bubbly or expensive Bordeaux with a dress like yours.”

      He was flirting with her, and she was sadly out of practice. No clever comebacks leapt to mind.

      She used words for a living. She did seminars, held Q and A’s, talked to fans, wrote complex dialogue. Yet she was stumped by an attractive stranger in a bar. “I’ve moved past champagne.” The lame response came nowhere near flirtatious. She kept talking in the hopes he wouldn’t notice her social handicap. “Are you Scottish?”

      “Irish, actually, but I grew up in London. My accent often throws people off the trail. It’s something of a hybrid.” He rested his elbows easily on the bar.

      He was getting too cozy. Time to scare him off. “You’re gay, right?”

      His grin exploded, and his eyes twinkled. “Now, why would you go and ask such a question?”

      His reaction threw her off guard. She hadn’t expected the question to amuse him. She shrugged and blithely sipped her beer. “Your fashion insight. Not only into my ensemble. Your jeans scream designer, and even your plain white T-shirt didn’t come from any two-for-a-dollar bargain bin. Statistically speaking, the odds are high.”

      The Irishman’s half-cocked grin of amusement gave way to full-blown laughter. He had a deep, genuine laugh. A killer smile, too. Great lips. Nice teeth. Quinn’s reserve melted a tad.

      His gaze swept her face as if seeing her for the first time. “Your powers of deduction are impressive, I’ll give you that. I’ll even go so far as to applaud your delivery because who doesn’t love a one-two punch of logic? However, your conclusion is flawed. You see, I’m quite obviously attracted to you. Your being a woman makes me not gay by its very definition.”

      An unusual rush of pleasure heated her cheeks and gave her new appreciation for the dim lighting. She was used to the standardly good-looking man. Richard emulated a real-life Ken doll. Blake was a chisel-chinned blond.

      This Irish stranger had something altogether different; an edge, a raw sexiness she’d never encountered before. How was he possibly attracted to her—bookish, mundanely good-looking Quinn Buzzly? Men like this wanted miniskirts and ankle tattoos, not classic features and high fashion. She frowned. Maybe he was gay and hadn’t come to terms with it yet.

      Hot, charming, and smart. Damn. This wasn’t going as planned. “Touché.” She fought back a grin.

      “Really?” He laughed again, this time with lifted brows in an expression of mild surprise. “You wave the white flag so easily? I expected more of a fight from a woman like you.”

      “A woman like me?” She quirked a brow. Her new friend assumed much. “You don’t know me.”

      He eyed her with open admiration. “You branded me gay by giving my denims a once-over. You’re clearly not a lady to be trifled with. D’you mind if I have a go?”

      Quinn pretended to consider before nodding her acquiescence. What might he garner from her appearance alone?

      He sat forward and rubbed his hands together. His eyes gleamed with anticipation and amusement. It made her dizzy to have a man look at her like that. “I gather you’re loaded by the ridiculous cluster of diamonds you’ve got pinned to your dress. Honestly, I’m questioning your personal judgment sitting in a place like this.”

      She coughed politely. “It’s a brooch and it’s borrowed.”

      “Ah, my faith in you is restored! Only the crazies actually buy those gaudy trinkets. The dress, however, is a worthy investment.” As if to drive his point home, the Irishman swept his gaze from her bare shoulders down to where the hem of her gown brushed the dark tiled floor.

      A thrill shot through her alongside a wave of anxiety. This man oozed trouble. “How do you know the dress wasn’t borrowed too?”

      “Because it conforms perfectly to every curve of your body.” His grin was too friendly to seem salacious despite his words. It was merely a wonderful compliment coming from him. “It’s obviously been tailored to fit.”

      Quinn was torn. This stranger affected her big time. Was he real? He seemed so genuine and endearing. She’d believed the same of Blake at one time. Warning bells clanged in her head, but she was already falling for the Irishman’s easy conversation and playful demeanor. He flirted without applying pressure, and every smile reached his eyes.

      Men like this….

      She had to quit overanalyzing. She wanted to exist in the moment. She wanted to stop thinking so hard and engage with a handsome stranger. Why not? “You’re sure the diamonds are real?”

      Nothing like an innocuous, inane question to be engaging. She vowed to take social lessons after tonight.

      He drummed his knuckles over his knees. “My jeans are designer, remember? I recognize the good stuff when it’s right in front of me.” His extraordinary СКАЧАТЬ