hair was perfect. Too perfect, all sleeked back in a shiny ponytail. Yeah, messy and makeup free was definitely better. More…her. Which made no sense since, clearly, he was looking at the “real” Lauren Matthews. “No, not a hair out of place.” More’s the pity. “I wouldn’t have picked you for a fan of girly colors, that’s all.”
“Why wouldn’t you have thought me a girly-girl? Because of the lovely raccoon-mascara eyes and stringy wet hair I was sporting when we first met?”
“I really haven’t the faintest clue why. Maybe it’s knowing your Washington background and making subconscious assumptions. I’m not usually the type to jump to conclusions. But, it…surprised me, that’s all.”
“So…liking pink and being girly is a bad thing?”
“Not at all.”
She laughed. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying. A woman being feminine is great. Who doesn’t enjoy a very feminine female?”
“You, I think. I’m guessing you prefer your women outdoorsy, natural, with a few tomboy tendencies thrown in for good measure.” He paused just long enough for her to laugh again. “Nailed it in one,” she said, sounding smug.
“We all have preferences. Doesn’t mean I think the alternatives are a bad thing.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not much of an athlete, and although I’d be willing, you really wouldn’t want me anywhere near a power tool. Not if you value your extremities and keeping your arterial flow strictly internal. And, to be perfectly honest, working in a job traditionally held by a man, wearing overly conservative, asexually tailored business suits so I’ll be taken remotely seriously, for the very fact that I’m built like a very feminine female, one who refuses to sleep her way to the top—”
“I thought there were laws regarding that kind of thing these days.”
“Yes, there are. Laws regarding behavior that a smart woman finds other ways to deal with, because blowing the whistle on your male coworkers or superiors, which is the dominant gender percentage of your workforce, is not the best way to win friends and influence people. Namely the very people who would be in charge of promoting you.”
“So, you’re more Clark Kent than Lois Lane. Cloaking your super powers under a perfectly tailored suit.”
She smiled. “Only if Clark likes to wear supremely feminine undergarments under those perfectly tailored suits.”
He smiled at that, but his body was having an entirely more exaggerated reaction to the very sudden, very unexpected mental images that sprang to mind.
“My point was that, surrounded by a distinctly black suit and red power tie work world, of which I am also a part…I liked being able to look down at my sensibly manicured nails and know that inside my sensible pumps are pink polished toes, and that, possibly, under my straight-cut, unflattering skirt are stockings that aren’t necessarily constricting me in places I don’t need to be constricted, and be reminded at the end of another grueling, seventy-hour work week, where I have to prove my worth repeatedly to the Boys Club, that I am female and really—really—enjoy being one. So, I saw the pink bike, sitting there in a sea of blue and green and black ones, and thought, mine.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He couldn’t. Not without possibly growling, or worse. Which would be an entirely too Neanderthal response that would give her far too much leverage. All the leverage, really. Which, he was swiftly learning, she was likely to have anyway. But no point in revealing his weak spot any earlier than necessary. But sensible, sleek hair on the outside, and garters and pink toenail polish underneath? That…well, that was just playing dirty.
She finally laughed and said, “Hard to believe I ever conformed, I know.”
“Actually, I was thinking that I can’t imagine there is a tailor on earth who could make you look asexual.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, but it was the flush that rose to her cheeks that had him permanently changing his opinion on the color pink.
“Yes, well, it’s been…something of a challenge.”
“I’ve always thought most of the men in Washington haven’t a clue what they’re doing, and the fact they prefer you buttoned up and down just proves it.”
“Your support is appreciated. You really should reconsider the job proposition. We could use more men like you on the Hill.”
That earned a short laugh. “No, you couldn’t. Trust me.” He closed the remaining distance between them and rested his hand on one of the handlebars. “You want to park this thing for a bit?”
She lifted her face to his and he had to resist the sudden, very urgent need to rub at her nose with his thumb until he uncovered a freckle or two.
“I didn’t mean to intrude on your work. I’ve already taken up far too much of your time today as it is. I just…”
He ducked his chin to catch her gaze when she looked away. It was so uncustomary for the woman he was coming to know, he found himself curious. “You just what?”
“Your flight school was on the map that the guy at the rental shop gave me, and I was heading through town, and…I guess I sort of ended up here. I was curious.”
“About?”
“What a flight school looked like.” She held his gaze then. “You.”
He was already halfway hard from the previous mental image parade, but that single word made him grow a step harder. He liked her better when she was direct…his body clearly did as well. But he also liked that, at times, she was flustered and talked really fast, and that, when he teased her, she either dished it right back, or got the sexiest blush, and that he never knew which thing was going to get which reaction. “I’m not all that fascinating.”
“I feel like Dorothy, very far away from Kansas.”
“We’re in Colorado, not Oz.”
“It might as well be, compared to home. You were right, about the mountains. Now that the rain has stopped, it’s hard to really take them all in, the immensity of them. I love our mountains back home, but they aren’t anything like this. I’ve been around them my whole life, but they don’t prepare you for anything like this.”
“You have ancient hills back east. Rolling and graceful. Ours are newer, more jagged and raw, not yet worn down by time, and a bit more challenging because of it. But I think yours are beautiful, too.”
“You’ve been to the East Coast?”
“I’ve been to almost every part of our country.”
“Oh,” she said, but didn’t say more, despite the questions he could see in her eyes.
“You want to know more. So ask me.”
“I’m being nosy and rude and taking your time, when I really should be focusing on preparing myself for the inquisition later this evening.”
He smiled, quite easily that time. It was funny how, when
