Looking Inside

Technically.

Lie or not, their conversation was making her feel a little bereft. Not to mention like more of a fake than ever, given her scheme to don a sexy playgirl persona and fulfill her selfish fantasies.

He exhaled and also flipped over onto his back. “All I know is that I have a tendency to get mixed up with the kind of woman who isn

’t really honest about what she wants in the beginning. When I don’t give her what she needs, she starts to turn manipulative. Underhanded. Dishonest. But maybe you’re right. They probably sense my lack of commitment, my lack of focus on them. That’s why they start acting that way.”

She gave a dry bark of laughter. “I never said that their being manipulative was your fault. I wasn’t trying to make some big point. And you can’t know if I’m right or full of crap. You don’t really know what to think of women, do you?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” he said. He glanced sideways at her. “I’m starting to think I don’t have what it takes, Eleanor.”

A feeling of tenderness for him went through her, such a different, unexpected experience in comparison to the usual sexual hunger and single-minded determination he typically inspired in her.

She reached up and caressed his whiskered jaw.

She turned her head farther on the mattress. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” she said softly.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m not being hard enough.”

“Do you really think you’ll find answers in the pages of Pride and Prejudice?” she asked, a smile tickling at her mouth. She couldn’t help it. He was Trey Riordan, after all, full of confidence, considered a unique path blazer in the fields of business, technology, art and popular culture. He’d just expanded her vision of how she saw herself sexually a thousandfold, not to mention turned her into a mass of quivering sex goo. Yet he seemed genuinely baffled about how to interface with a woman on anything else but a playing field for sex and good times.

“I never said I thought it held some kind of golden key to truth, but I didn’t think it’d hurt to look.”

She chuckled. He gave her a dark glance.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, reaching to brush back his thick hair. “Your search for something real seems genuine. What’s more, so does your campaign for self-reflection and improvement so that you can be more worthy of finding it. It’s very admirable, actually.” Her smile faded and her stroking fingers paused. Their stares caught and held. “I hope you find what you’re searching for, Trey.”

“Thanks,” he said.

He was regarding her so solemnly. Something about the way he was looking at her made her heart jump erratically.

“Why the Russian food? Briggs isn’t a Russian name, is it?” he asked gruffly after a moment.

She laughed, mostly at herself, for thinking he was about to say something else . . . something meaningful. Of course he’d try to keep things casual. He’d made it clear what he wanted from their fling. She had to admit, however, that if this was light with him, she couldn’t even imagine what the depths would be like.

She really was playing way out of her league.

“No, Briggs is English. My dad’s ancestors were mostly from England and Scotland. But my mom is one hundred percent Russian: brilliant, imperious, always right and a fabulous cook. We call her Catherine the Great, or just ‘The G’ for short. Instead of being insulted, she loves it. She probably wishes we weren’t kidding, and that was her official title,” Eleanor told him, grinning. She loved his easy smile and the sound of his gruff laughter. “Do you want to try some of it? Her cooking, I mean? She loaded me down after Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up on the mattress. “I do. But how about we have it for breakfast?”

“What?” she asked, confused. “You aren’t hungry now?”

“Let’s go out for a walk,” he said, standing. Her eyes widened at the too-brief view of the top half of his bare ass before the tail of his shirt fell down over it. “It’s still early,” he said, shifting his underwear and jeans. “I’ll take you out to dinner somewhere.”

“Really?” she asked, sitting partially up on the bed.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. His brow creased.

“I know I’ve been honest with you about my lousy relationships with women, but you don’t have to look so shocked, Eleanor. I’m not that much of a louse. I like you. I want to spend more time with you, have dinner. Breakfast too, if I’m invited.”

“But I thought you said—and I agreed—that this was just going to be about . . .” She waved lamely at the discarded feather fans on the floor and the place where he’d just spanked her and then screwed her brains out.

“I thought we’d already established I don’t know what I’m talking about half the time,” he muttered under his breath. “If you don’t want to go out, that’s fine. Is that the bathroom?” he nodded toward a door on the right.

“Yes,” she said, her heart plummeting down to her navel. You’re blowing it again, Eleanor. But how was she supposed to know how not to lose when she didn’t understand the rules of the game . . . a game of her own making?

He made a movement with his hand at his crotch and she realized he was removing the condom. He started to walk toward the bathroom.