He stuck out his lower lip like a pouting child and puffed out a breath that lifted the lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. He brushed it backirritably.
“Yes. There’s a section for women. And maybe we’ll get to that. But for now, could we please do this myway?”
She shifted irritably in her seat, wishing she wasn’t so wildly attracted to this man. And if she had to tutor him in seducing a woman, she’d at least like to do it on her own terms and with her own agenda, not according to some self-proclaimed sex expert’s idea of how to go about it. “He’s got some nerve, this Lanceperson.”
“Why do you saythat?”
“Imagine a man writing a book for couples. How does he know how women think? What they want?What…”
“Turns them on?” His voice tauntedher.
“Exactly.”
He shrugged. “Maybe he’s askedthem.”
Thinkingabout her conversation with Therese, she snorted. “Not if he’s a flesh-and-blood man.” She scanned the crowd, smiled a little at a couple slow dancing on the small square of parquet dance floor. “This place is gettingbusy.”
“What did youmean?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “More people are arriving than are leaving. Not so unusual for a Fridaynight.”
He jerked his head in quick denial. “Not that. The thing you said before, about men not asking women what theywant.”
He appeared a bit huffy at her assertion, and she hid her smile behind her drink, sipping from the cool, salt-rimmed glass, thinking the bartender had known what shewanted.
“I’m saying they don’t ask women what they want. Men make assumptions. A guy who calls himself Lance Flagstaff is a perfectexample.”
“A man can’t help his own name.” He was reddening, she could see it even in the dim light of the bar. He must have a really grim love life if he’d invested this heavily in the theories of some dumb book. And speaking ofdumb…
“Lance Flagstaff has to be a pseudonym. Any writer who’d choose it must be in love with his ownlance.”
“Maybe it’s awoman.”
“What?” she asked on a surprisedgiggle.
“If it’s a fake name, it could be a woman writing that book. Or acouple.”
She thought for a second. “As a kind of joke, youmean?”
“Why not?”
She recalled seeing Mr. Flagstaff’s byline in a national women’s mag she sometimes purchased with her groceries. He gave the male perspective on dating and sex. He also answered questions fromreaders.
“I’m pretty sure he’s a guy. That’s not a pen name a woman or a couple wouldchoose.”
“Want another drink?” He gestured to her nearly emptyglass.
Did she? She wasn’t sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure how she felt about this whole thing. Knowing he was following a book she hadn’t read left her feeling off-kilter. “What else is on tonight’sagenda?”
“What agenda?” His eyes were focused on her lowerlip.
She waved her hands around to indicate the bar. “Do we stay here? Go somewhere else? Go home? What else does it say in chapterone?”
His gaze never wavered. “Kissing isoptional.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s what it says in chapter one. Kissing isoptional.”
