properly styled in days. My stylist would have a heart attack if he saw it.”
He grinned at the complaint. “There are millions of women in the world who’d like their hair to be half so incredible after a few days in the middle of nowhere.”
Her gaze locked with his, and he thought he read complete bafflement in her eyes. That hint of uncertainty startled him. How could Ashley Wilde, admired by millions, be uncertain about anything?
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“What?”
“The impossible. I woke up this morning feeling miserable and dowdy, and with no more than a few glib words, you’ve turned that around.”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look dowdy decked out in your grandmother’s worst muslin frock.”
She grinned. “Frock? Dillon, where do you spend your time?”
“I read one of my sister’s historical romances once,” he said, then added quickly, “purely as research, of course. I wanted to be able to carry on a conversation about something that actually mattered to her. At any rate, the heroine was very big on frocks. She had a wardrobe filled with them, as I recall.”
Ashley’s eyes danced with amusement. “And did this research pay off? Did you and your sister have a meaningful conversation as a result?”
“Actually, no. I was too afraid she’d want to talk about the love scenes, and that was definitely not a conversation I intended to have with her.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine you ever being unwilling to discuss sex,” she said.
“Not with my sister. She was a baby at the time.”
“How old?” she asked, laughing, no doubt at his horrified expression.
“Sixteen,” he admitted. “But that was too young for sex.”
“Maybe to do it, but obviously not to read about it,” Ashley said. “Somebody should have discussed it with her.”
“I asked one of my girlfriends to do it. She knew more about sex than any book I ever read.”
“Oh, really?”
She looked so thoroughly indignant that Dillon chuckled. “Jealous, sweetheart?”
“Hardly.”
“It was ten years ago, you know.”
“Whatever you did ten years ago or two days ago is none of my business,” she said stiffly.
“Exactly.”
She peered at him. “But what have you been doing all these years?”
“So much for leaving the past in the past,” he noted. “But I’ll indulge you on this one point. No marriages. No serious long-term relationships.”
“Ah, commitment phobic, then,” she said knowingly.
He stared straight into her eyes and waited a beat before declaring softly, “No, just committed to finding the right person before I jump into anything that’s supposed to last till death do us part.”
He watched as she swallowed hard and tried to tear her gaze away from his face.
“I think maybe we’d better go for that walk,” she said in a voice that sounded slightly breathless.
“Afraid of what’ll happen if we stay here?”
Her chin tilted defiantly. “I am not the least bit afraid of you, Dillon Ford. But I just ate more calories and cholesterol than any human being should consume at daybreak. It’s time to work it off.”
“Have I mentioned that this obsession you have with the fat content of food is a little twisted?” Dillon asked.
“If you read the newspapers or watched TV news, you’d know it’s not possible to be too obsessed with what we eat. Everyone should be concerned about it, not just models.”
“If you declare that we are what we eat, I may have to stuff a rag in your mouth,” he warned.
Apparently he’d managed exactly the dead-serious tone he’d intended, because she was regarding him warily. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said.
“Try me,” he said grimly. “And before you ask, I’m packing our picnic and you’ll eat what I bring, are we clear?”
“Do you have control issues?” she inquired testily.
“If you’re asking if I tend to take charge, then the answer is yes. I find it saves a lot of time.”
“Ever hear of
He grinned at the complaint. “There are millions of women in the world who’d like their hair to be half so incredible after a few days in the middle of nowhere.”
Her gaze locked with his, and he thought he read complete bafflement in her eyes. That hint of uncertainty startled him. How could Ashley Wilde, admired by millions, be uncertain about anything?
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“What?”
“The impossible. I woke up this morning feeling miserable and dowdy, and with no more than a few glib words, you’ve turned that around.”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look dowdy decked out in your grandmother’s worst muslin frock.”
She grinned. “Frock? Dillon, where do you spend your time?”
“I read one of my sister’s historical romances once,” he said, then added quickly, “purely as research, of course. I wanted to be able to carry on a conversation about something that actually mattered to her. At any rate, the heroine was very big on frocks. She had a wardrobe filled with them, as I recall.”
Ashley’s eyes danced with amusement. “And did this research pay off? Did you and your sister have a meaningful conversation as a result?”
“Actually, no. I was too afraid she’d want to talk about the love scenes, and that was definitely not a conversation I intended to have with her.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine you ever being unwilling to discuss sex,” she said.
“Not with my sister. She was a baby at the time.”
“How old?” she asked, laughing, no doubt at his horrified expression.
“Sixteen,” he admitted. “But that was too young for sex.”
“Maybe to do it, but obviously not to read about it,” Ashley said. “Somebody should have discussed it with her.”
“I asked one of my girlfriends to do it. She knew more about sex than any book I ever read.”
“Oh, really?”
She looked so thoroughly indignant that Dillon chuckled. “Jealous, sweetheart?”
“Hardly.”
“It was ten years ago, you know.”
“Whatever you did ten years ago or two days ago is none of my business,” she said stiffly.
“Exactly.”
She peered at him. “But what have you been doing all these years?”
“So much for leaving the past in the past,” he noted. “But I’ll indulge you on this one point. No marriages. No serious long-term relationships.”
“Ah, commitment phobic, then,” she said knowingly.
He stared straight into her eyes and waited a beat before declaring softly, “No, just committed to finding the right person before I jump into anything that’s supposed to last till death do us part.”
He watched as she swallowed hard and tried to tear her gaze away from his face.
“I think maybe we’d better go for that walk,” she said in a voice that sounded slightly breathless.
“Afraid of what’ll happen if we stay here?”
Her chin tilted defiantly. “I am not the least bit afraid of you, Dillon Ford. But I just ate more calories and cholesterol than any human being should consume at daybreak. It’s time to work it off.”
“Have I mentioned that this obsession you have with the fat content of food is a little twisted?” Dillon asked.
“If you read the newspapers or watched TV news, you’d know it’s not possible to be too obsessed with what we eat. Everyone should be concerned about it, not just models.”
“If you declare that we are what we eat, I may have to stuff a rag in your mouth,” he warned.
Apparently he’d managed exactly the dead-serious tone he’d intended, because she was regarding him warily. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said.
“Try me,” he said grimly. “And before you ask, I’m packing our picnic and you’ll eat what I bring, are we clear?”
“Do you have control issues?” she inquired testily.
“If you’re asking if I tend to take charge, then the answer is yes. I find it saves a lot of time.”
“Ever hear of
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