Claim (A Dangerous Man 3)

“I’ve been away at boarding school,” She turns her face away, towards the window, “and anyway, I’ve never been very outgoing.”

She has a small frown on her face. I find myself hoping that I haven’t made her feel somehow inadequate. I’m about to tell her not to worry, that I’m sure I’ll find something, when she turns back to me and tells me about some seafood place.

I start the car and enter the name of the restaurant into the GPS.

“Can we stop by my place?” Her voice is tentative.

I turn to look at her. “Of course.” I say, noting that she looks worried. It’s only dinner. I don’t care if we get burgers and eat in the car. I just want to satisfy this crazy desire to be around her, to indulge the weird excitement that being with her gives me.

I drive, following her directions to a brick walk-up not too far from the shop. “I won’t be long,” She tells me, climbing out of the car in a rush. I run through scenarios in my mind. Perhaps she has a pet to feed, or maybe she’s decided that I’m a serial killer and is now running screaming for the safety of her home.

After a few minutes, she reappears, and I go around to open the door for her, admiring her figure as she walks towards me in a pretty blue dress. She must have been worried about not being properly dressed. As much as I like the dress, I wish she hadn’t bothered, I wouldn’t have minded if she had been wearing a grass skirt.

“Nice dress.” I say, joining her inside the car.

“Thank you.” Her perfect lips curve into a small smile.

I start the engine. “You didn’t have to change on my account though,” I add, “You already looked great.”

There is a long pause. “I wanted to.” She says finally.

I shrug and start to drive, wondering at her sweetness compared to the brittle sharpness of many of the women I know. But then, if the saying about birds of a feather is true, then perhaps I’m brittle and sharp as well.

Outside, the sun is setting, casting a gold glow into the car, which lights Sophie’s face and hair. She looks like a girl in a renaissance painting, beautiful and sensual, yet innocent.

“Were you at a conference at Ashcroft Hills?” Her voice cuts into my thoughts.

“Yes.” I reply, remembering self-important, midlevel software company executives and boring conversation.

“I hope it went well.”

I shrug. I suppose it did, in a way. “I went to make a decision about a new software application that could be the next big thing, or a complete waste of time.”

“What did you decide?”

I turn to look at her, wondering that she is interested. She is looking up at me, her eyes soft and wide. “I bought it.” I tell her.

She watches me in silence. I have no idea what she’s thinking. I have a feeling that she can see inside me. I don’t want her to. Somehow, I fear I won’t stand up to the scrutiny.

“Tell me about yourself.” I say. “I already know you’re not outgoing,” I smile to let her know that I’m teasing, “So tell me more.”

She turns to look at her hands on her lap, a small frown on her face. “You won’t be interested.”

I am interested. I want to know her, and not just in the biblical sense. I want to know the feelings behind her expression, the thoughts behind her blushes. I’m confused by my own desires.

“On the contrary, I am very intrigued.” I give her an encouraging grin, “I would very much like to know what you do with your time.”

“I read,” she says, and I’m not surprised. She seems like someone who reads a lot. “Sometimes I draw.” She adds.

An artist. “What do you draw?”

“Stuff.” She seems embarrassed again.

I chuckle softly. “And what do you read? Can I ask, or is it also ‘stuff’?”

“No... I read everything.” Her eyes light up as she continues, “History, classics, popular fiction.” She stops and shrugs, and I get the impression that she could talk about books for a long time.

I smile. “I thought young people never read anymore.”