Mira, he shook his head. Being available to his staff at a moment’s notice came with the position, but tonight he needed to focus all his attention on Daphne and their picnic. “Nothing less than a disgruntled multimillionaire, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a dinner appointment I can’t miss.”
Ben opened the outer glass door, the one with Gib’s name arched in gold letters, and they headed down the hallway, papered in subdued gray stripes. “Come on, tell me what makes Cinderella worth pursuing.”
Why was Cinderella so special? The question niggled at his brain like a fire ant’s bite. One reason surfaced, but sounded inane. In his own head it sounded stupid, so saying it out loud was bound to exponentially increase its lack of sensibility. Gib stabbed at the elevator button. When the car didn’t instantly appear, he straight-armed the door to the stairs. Maybe jogging up two floors to the gym would limit conversation. “We fit.”
“If this is a height/weight thing, might I remind you of that week you dated half of a soccer team? Or the touring cast of the Rockettes in December? Eight women, all with the identical height and build...and legs that wouldn’t quit.” In a burst of speed, Ben edged ahead of him. Legs widespread, he blocked Gib’s access to the sixth-floor landing with his arms crossed like a pissed-off genie. “There’s got to be more about this one woman besides compatible anatomy tying you up in knots.”
The more Gib tried to put it into words, the more ridiculous he felt. All he had was a bone-deep feeling of rightness. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been with so many women that I can recognize when something different comes along. Almost, I don’t know, familiar in some strange way? Her kiss, her touch...I sound completely barmy, I know.”
“You sound like a teenage girl crushing hard. I should check your binders.” Ben let him pass, and they took the last set of stairs two at a time. The door led them directly into the large fitness complex attached to the spa. The ever-present faint smell of chlorine tickled Gib’s nose.
“What binders?” Gib asked as he slipped out of his suit coat, despite the fat snowflakes drifting past the wall of windows. Rows of potted palms and bright pink hibiscuses encircling the room required it be kept at jungle-like conditions. At least once a quarter Gib had to resist a strong temptation to smuggle in a couple of lizards. Just to add to the atmosphere.
“That’s right—you wouldn’t know because you went to some fancy all-boys school. Talk about a prison for your raging teenage hormones.”
“Eton? Yes, generally considered fancy. But not exactly an institution with bars on the windows. They did let us see girls. By the time I graduated, I’d dated girls at every school within three counties.” Sure, Eton bussed them in once a month for dances. Ben, however, didn’t need to know all the particulars of how it happened; merely that it did.
Ben unzipped his jacket as they walked the length of the Olympic-size pool. “Teenage girls in school, over here at least, draw all over their binders when they’re in the throes of puppy love. Hearts, flowers, their initials, smiley faces. And now you’re up to speed on your American trivia for the day.”
“Is that like word-a-day toilet paper? Am I supposed to find a way to work binder doodling into a conversation later?”
“Nah. You’re a smart guy. I know you’ll remember.” Ben swiped a bottle of water from a well-stocked shelf by the door. “So since it’s too late to recapture your lost youth, what’s your big plan to find this girl that’s turned you monogamous?”
“Take that back,” Gib growled, throwing Ben into a semi-playful head lock. Monogamy carried with it all sorts of implications, the chief being a serious relationship. Gib didn’t have a problem with the idea of only sleeping with one woman for the rest of his life. He did have a problem with contemplating an
Ben opened the outer glass door, the one with Gib’s name arched in gold letters, and they headed down the hallway, papered in subdued gray stripes. “Come on, tell me what makes Cinderella worth pursuing.”
Why was Cinderella so special? The question niggled at his brain like a fire ant’s bite. One reason surfaced, but sounded inane. In his own head it sounded stupid, so saying it out loud was bound to exponentially increase its lack of sensibility. Gib stabbed at the elevator button. When the car didn’t instantly appear, he straight-armed the door to the stairs. Maybe jogging up two floors to the gym would limit conversation. “We fit.”
“If this is a height/weight thing, might I remind you of that week you dated half of a soccer team? Or the touring cast of the Rockettes in December? Eight women, all with the identical height and build...and legs that wouldn’t quit.” In a burst of speed, Ben edged ahead of him. Legs widespread, he blocked Gib’s access to the sixth-floor landing with his arms crossed like a pissed-off genie. “There’s got to be more about this one woman besides compatible anatomy tying you up in knots.”
The more Gib tried to put it into words, the more ridiculous he felt. All he had was a bone-deep feeling of rightness. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been with so many women that I can recognize when something different comes along. Almost, I don’t know, familiar in some strange way? Her kiss, her touch...I sound completely barmy, I know.”
“You sound like a teenage girl crushing hard. I should check your binders.” Ben let him pass, and they took the last set of stairs two at a time. The door led them directly into the large fitness complex attached to the spa. The ever-present faint smell of chlorine tickled Gib’s nose.
“What binders?” Gib asked as he slipped out of his suit coat, despite the fat snowflakes drifting past the wall of windows. Rows of potted palms and bright pink hibiscuses encircling the room required it be kept at jungle-like conditions. At least once a quarter Gib had to resist a strong temptation to smuggle in a couple of lizards. Just to add to the atmosphere.
“That’s right—you wouldn’t know because you went to some fancy all-boys school. Talk about a prison for your raging teenage hormones.”
“Eton? Yes, generally considered fancy. But not exactly an institution with bars on the windows. They did let us see girls. By the time I graduated, I’d dated girls at every school within three counties.” Sure, Eton bussed them in once a month for dances. Ben, however, didn’t need to know all the particulars of how it happened; merely that it did.
Ben unzipped his jacket as they walked the length of the Olympic-size pool. “Teenage girls in school, over here at least, draw all over their binders when they’re in the throes of puppy love. Hearts, flowers, their initials, smiley faces. And now you’re up to speed on your American trivia for the day.”
“Is that like word-a-day toilet paper? Am I supposed to find a way to work binder doodling into a conversation later?”
“Nah. You’re a smart guy. I know you’ll remember.” Ben swiped a bottle of water from a well-stocked shelf by the door. “So since it’s too late to recapture your lost youth, what’s your big plan to find this girl that’s turned you monogamous?”
“Take that back,” Gib growled, throwing Ben into a semi-playful head lock. Monogamy carried with it all sorts of implications, the chief being a serious relationship. Gib didn’t have a problem with the idea of only sleeping with one woman for the rest of his life. He did have a problem with contemplating an
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