looked him straight in the eye. "Why don't we save ourselves a lot of time," she proposed.
"I'm all for efficiency."
"Okay. I don't know you, Mr. Foxx, but it seems fairly obvious that you've decided I make a dandy sparring partner."
"Among other things," he said.
"What other things?" she demanded baldly.
He smiled slowly.
When it became obvious that was going to be the only answer he gave her, Amanda drew a deep breath and released it slowly. "Mind telling me why? I mean, do you have some masochistic need to go after any woman who's pointedly not interested?"
"No." He spoke casually, as if the conversation were about the weather. "There's just something about you, I guess. Your sharp tongue or your red hair. Something."
Amanda stared at him and felt an unexpected flash of amusement. "Chemistry?"
"For want of a better word. Don't you believe in chemistry, Miss Trask?"
"Sure, in a laboratory."
"But not between a man and a woman?"
That little voice in Amanda's head was urging caution; she ignored it, and didn't stop then to wonder why. "Look, I'm not responsible for your, er, chemical reactions."
"In this case," he said calmly, "you certainly are."
"You know what I mean."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Engaged?"
Amanda shook her head.
"Anybody special?"
"Not at the moment. Mr. Foxx—"
"Let me guess. You've had a tragic past romance and now you're very bitter toward men."
She dropped her gaze to the catalogues in her lap. Damn the man, why wouldn't he stop this? With an effort she held her voice even. "Can't you just accept the fact that I'm not interested?"
"Only if you give me a good reason." He studied her lowered head, watching the shimmer of firelight on her hair. It occurred to him vaguely that he was pressing too hard, that for some reason this was terribly important to him, but he didn't question that. He'd always listened to his instincts, and right now they were telling him to break through her guard even if he had to use strong tactics to do it.
She looked up at him, and Ryder felt his insides tighten. She was lovely, he thought, and there was something almost fragile about her—not physically, but emotionally. He had the feeling that the chip on her shoulder had been earned, that his light remark about tragic past romances had been closer to the target than he'd expected.
"Mr. Foxx—"
"Ryder." He heard the change in his voice, the note that wasn't mocking or casual but something very serious. And she heard it too; he saw her green eyes widen slightly. "Please," he added quietly.
Amanda tried to keep her guard up, but he was being unfair by suddenly switching tactics like this. It was shockingly difficult to maintain a belligerent front when the man looked at her with an unexpected gentleness in his gray eyes.
"Dammit," she muttered.
Quick amusement curved his firm mouth. "Is it so hard? Just a name, two syllables. And since Miss Nell isn't the only one who knows the meaning behind some names, 111 admit that mine means 'knight' or 'horseman.' "
"Figures," she said, half to herself.
His smile widened. "And yours means 'beloved.' I suppose I could call you that since you won't let me call you Amanda."
"Make it Amanda," she said somewhat hastily, choosing the lesser of two evils.
He lifted an eyebrow and waited.
She eyed him for a moment, then gave in reluctantly. "All right. Make it Amanda... Ryder."
"That's a step in the right direction," he noted. "Now for the next one. Do you think we can be friends, Amanda?"
It was her turn to lift an eyebrow. "Friends?"
"Well, for a start. I'm a reasonable man, after all. I don't expect it to be easy."
She shouldn't have said it. She knew that, but Amanda heard the question emerge from her lips. "Don't expect what to be easy?"
"Getting you into my bed."
Amanda blinked. She had heard a number of propositions in her time, but most had been couched in charming euphemisms. Oddly enough, she found his bluntness refreshing. And she didn't know whether
"I'm all for efficiency."
"Okay. I don't know you, Mr. Foxx, but it seems fairly obvious that you've decided I make a dandy sparring partner."
"Among other things," he said.
"What other things?" she demanded baldly.
He smiled slowly.
When it became obvious that was going to be the only answer he gave her, Amanda drew a deep breath and released it slowly. "Mind telling me why? I mean, do you have some masochistic need to go after any woman who's pointedly not interested?"
"No." He spoke casually, as if the conversation were about the weather. "There's just something about you, I guess. Your sharp tongue or your red hair. Something."
Amanda stared at him and felt an unexpected flash of amusement. "Chemistry?"
"For want of a better word. Don't you believe in chemistry, Miss Trask?"
"Sure, in a laboratory."
"But not between a man and a woman?"
That little voice in Amanda's head was urging caution; she ignored it, and didn't stop then to wonder why. "Look, I'm not responsible for your, er, chemical reactions."
"In this case," he said calmly, "you certainly are."
"You know what I mean."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Engaged?"
Amanda shook her head.
"Anybody special?"
"Not at the moment. Mr. Foxx—"
"Let me guess. You've had a tragic past romance and now you're very bitter toward men."
She dropped her gaze to the catalogues in her lap. Damn the man, why wouldn't he stop this? With an effort she held her voice even. "Can't you just accept the fact that I'm not interested?"
"Only if you give me a good reason." He studied her lowered head, watching the shimmer of firelight on her hair. It occurred to him vaguely that he was pressing too hard, that for some reason this was terribly important to him, but he didn't question that. He'd always listened to his instincts, and right now they were telling him to break through her guard even if he had to use strong tactics to do it.
She looked up at him, and Ryder felt his insides tighten. She was lovely, he thought, and there was something almost fragile about her—not physically, but emotionally. He had the feeling that the chip on her shoulder had been earned, that his light remark about tragic past romances had been closer to the target than he'd expected.
"Mr. Foxx—"
"Ryder." He heard the change in his voice, the note that wasn't mocking or casual but something very serious. And she heard it too; he saw her green eyes widen slightly. "Please," he added quietly.
Amanda tried to keep her guard up, but he was being unfair by suddenly switching tactics like this. It was shockingly difficult to maintain a belligerent front when the man looked at her with an unexpected gentleness in his gray eyes.
"Dammit," she muttered.
Quick amusement curved his firm mouth. "Is it so hard? Just a name, two syllables. And since Miss Nell isn't the only one who knows the meaning behind some names, 111 admit that mine means 'knight' or 'horseman.' "
"Figures," she said, half to herself.
His smile widened. "And yours means 'beloved.' I suppose I could call you that since you won't let me call you Amanda."
"Make it Amanda," she said somewhat hastily, choosing the lesser of two evils.
He lifted an eyebrow and waited.
She eyed him for a moment, then gave in reluctantly. "All right. Make it Amanda... Ryder."
"That's a step in the right direction," he noted. "Now for the next one. Do you think we can be friends, Amanda?"
It was her turn to lift an eyebrow. "Friends?"
"Well, for a start. I'm a reasonable man, after all. I don't expect it to be easy."
She shouldn't have said it. She knew that, but Amanda heard the question emerge from her lips. "Don't expect what to be easy?"
"Getting you into my bed."
Amanda blinked. She had heard a number of propositions in her time, but most had been couched in charming euphemisms. Oddly enough, she found his bluntness refreshing. And she didn't know whether
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