your gaze from mine so often? Do I repulse you?"
Is that what he believed? "N-no." The opposite was at fault. He was too good looking that she worried she would be caught staring.
"Then why?" He dragged his fingers upward in a delicate stroke that tingled and gave her goosebumps. Then he cupped the side of her face, and before she realized what she was doing she leaned into it and sighed. A coconut scent lingered from the cruise line's signature soaps, but there was a masculine undertone to his skin that spoke to all within her that was feminine.
The entire situation was embarrassing enough. Might as well confide in him. She pulled away, noting his hesitation before he set his arm on the edge of the table in front of him. "I don't do well in conversation with people I don't know well. Especially men."
"I gathered as much, but why avoid eye contact?" He shook his head. "That's a habit reserved for those who have been abused or horribly shamed."
That observation punched her in the gut and she snapped, "No one's abused me."
"Shamed you then? He leaned back and partially pulled the hilt of the sword up ever so much. “I can run them through for you, if you'd like. I'm told I'm not likely to appear in any criminal databases, whatever those are. Sounds suspicious though."
"Ha ha." She crossed her arms, lowered them, and then clasped them in her lap. He joked so easily about his lies. Her old shame had been brought to the surface by his words, something she had kept buried for years. She found herself speaking before she could think better of it. "I was loner as a teen. A nerd. Some of the football players placed bets on who could rack up the most points sleeping with the girls in the school." She laughed bitterly, and his frown intensified. "Classic dick move that happens throughout the country, I suppose."
He nodded for her to continue.
"Brett Youngerman was our quarterback, and he was every girl's crush back then." She paused and sipped her water as the server returned with two glasses of red wine. Christophe's deepening scowl told her without words he already could see where this story was headed, and his indignation matched her own.
She gave him the short version. "I thought he cared for me. We went on a few dates, and then he wanted to fool around. I was reserved, sure, but having never had a boyfriend before him... I-I let him talk me into it on the pretense that everyone was doing it. We were the posterchildren of the peer-pressure cliché. I didn't enjoy my first time. At all. The next day he wouldn't so much as speak to me, yet everyone else was shooting looks my way like they knew. Like I was this horrible loose woman and he was a saint among men."
Blinking rapidly, she fought off the tears that painful memory brought her. The irrefutable damage it had done to her self-esteem and trust in men. "Everyone did know. Virgins were the highest points to score in their stupid game." And she'd become more closed off than she'd been before. In the back of her mind, all men thought the way Brett had. Everyone else who looked at her were determining if she was a slut or not. It didn't matter that she knew the majority of people glancing her way didn't think twice about her. Irrational fears were considered irrational for good reason.
Fast-forward to a day ago, when Christophe had made her feel desirable, before he mistook her for a prostitute and then proceeded to tell her he was from the past. Three hundred years in the past. Perhaps fear was warranted. People took advantage of those who appeared meek. How did she know what was real and what was fantasy when the man had frowned at various words she'd used but looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman on the planet?
Confusing was putting it mildly. She wished she could believe his story. How romantic that would be.
***
H e would gut the bastard who'd hurt her. Christophe doubted she'd point him in the direction to do so. Men like this Brett coward didn't
Is that what he believed? "N-no." The opposite was at fault. He was too good looking that she worried she would be caught staring.
"Then why?" He dragged his fingers upward in a delicate stroke that tingled and gave her goosebumps. Then he cupped the side of her face, and before she realized what she was doing she leaned into it and sighed. A coconut scent lingered from the cruise line's signature soaps, but there was a masculine undertone to his skin that spoke to all within her that was feminine.
The entire situation was embarrassing enough. Might as well confide in him. She pulled away, noting his hesitation before he set his arm on the edge of the table in front of him. "I don't do well in conversation with people I don't know well. Especially men."
"I gathered as much, but why avoid eye contact?" He shook his head. "That's a habit reserved for those who have been abused or horribly shamed."
That observation punched her in the gut and she snapped, "No one's abused me."
"Shamed you then? He leaned back and partially pulled the hilt of the sword up ever so much. “I can run them through for you, if you'd like. I'm told I'm not likely to appear in any criminal databases, whatever those are. Sounds suspicious though."
"Ha ha." She crossed her arms, lowered them, and then clasped them in her lap. He joked so easily about his lies. Her old shame had been brought to the surface by his words, something she had kept buried for years. She found herself speaking before she could think better of it. "I was loner as a teen. A nerd. Some of the football players placed bets on who could rack up the most points sleeping with the girls in the school." She laughed bitterly, and his frown intensified. "Classic dick move that happens throughout the country, I suppose."
He nodded for her to continue.
"Brett Youngerman was our quarterback, and he was every girl's crush back then." She paused and sipped her water as the server returned with two glasses of red wine. Christophe's deepening scowl told her without words he already could see where this story was headed, and his indignation matched her own.
She gave him the short version. "I thought he cared for me. We went on a few dates, and then he wanted to fool around. I was reserved, sure, but having never had a boyfriend before him... I-I let him talk me into it on the pretense that everyone was doing it. We were the posterchildren of the peer-pressure cliché. I didn't enjoy my first time. At all. The next day he wouldn't so much as speak to me, yet everyone else was shooting looks my way like they knew. Like I was this horrible loose woman and he was a saint among men."
Blinking rapidly, she fought off the tears that painful memory brought her. The irrefutable damage it had done to her self-esteem and trust in men. "Everyone did know. Virgins were the highest points to score in their stupid game." And she'd become more closed off than she'd been before. In the back of her mind, all men thought the way Brett had. Everyone else who looked at her were determining if she was a slut or not. It didn't matter that she knew the majority of people glancing her way didn't think twice about her. Irrational fears were considered irrational for good reason.
Fast-forward to a day ago, when Christophe had made her feel desirable, before he mistook her for a prostitute and then proceeded to tell her he was from the past. Three hundred years in the past. Perhaps fear was warranted. People took advantage of those who appeared meek. How did she know what was real and what was fantasy when the man had frowned at various words she'd used but looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman on the planet?
Confusing was putting it mildly. She wished she could believe his story. How romantic that would be.
***
H e would gut the bastard who'd hurt her. Christophe doubted she'd point him in the direction to do so. Men like this Brett coward didn't
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