“North. I should hope not to find invitations.”
“And the truth about yourself?” he prompted, before she could congratulate herself for surviving three questions.
She stared at him.
“I… collect sentence endings,” she blurted. “When people are interrupted, I finish what they meant to say in my head.”
“You are a menace.”
“I am orderly,” she said.
“Keep that,” he advised. “A man prefers a woman with a mind busy enough to miss him in useful ways. Now, again. This time, while you speak, tuck your hair behind your ear.”
“Why?” She frowned.
“Because it reminds a man you have a pulse.” He positioned two fingers near his own temple to demonstrate. “Do it as if the movement had not occurred to you until it had.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Everything that works looks ridiculous when described,” he said blandly. “Try.”
She rolled her eyes and obeyed. Her fingers found the curl he had loosened and slipped it back. It immediately fell forward again along her cheek.
“Better,” he murmured. “Again.”
“Do you have a favorite… composer?” she asked, relieved to discover her lungs had not closed after all.
“Vivaldi, when I require order,” he said. “Corelli, when I require sin.”
“You cannot say that.”
“I just did.”
She floundered, then snatched at safety.
“What color do you think suits you?”
“You are meant to reveal yourself, not interview my tailor. Tell me somethingwith colorin it. For instance: ‘Blue makes me brave.’ Is it true?” He groaned.
“Perhaps.”
“Say it.”
“Blue makes me brave,” she said.
“Then wear blue tomorrow,” he said. “And red the day after, if you wish to test a theory.” He leaned his elbows on the table, folding himself nearer. “Now, look at me.”
“Iamlooking at you.”
“Yes, but do it softly,” His voice stayed lazy, “It makes more of a difference.”
Maria tried to do as she was told.How does one soften their gaze?She added the barest hint of a smile, and then the corners of her eyes wrinkled.
“Lovely,” Stephen smiled. “That is lovely, and exactly what I mean.”
“I...” she faltered a bit.
“Now, hold my gaze and count to two.”