That was unexpected.
Not disliked, no.
But completely unexpected.
Even worse, however, was how fake it was. It wasn't her inexperience with such a maneuver that led him to this conclusion, though none could blame him if it were. She had an uncertainty about the slap, about the meeting of her hand to his derriere. It wasn't something she was comfortable doing, he was sure of it. Her fingers seemed to disagree with the action, and his rear was quite aware of this. As a man who was an expert of the flesh, that was all too obvious. She didn't know what she was doing.
But again, there was something more than her sudden desire to feel him up.
She was up to something. It was such a drastic change in personality, in how she'd been dealing with him to this point. She'd talked down to him, put down his ways, spoke to him as though he were a nuisance to whatever she wanted to do. She froze at his lewd words, blushed at his graphic suggestions, and suddenly, out of the blue, she wanted to make herself out to be some saucy minx? This woman was trying to play the wrong man.
"If you're going . . . to make such . . . an advance," he replied, cooly,"you should . . .at least . . . take me out for . . . a bite to eat." With each step came horrible burning pain. He wasn't fit enough. And now he was distracted. He wanted to play her, toy with her. She thought herself so clever, but she'd tried to play games with the worst person she could have picked. So many squires might be wet behind the ears, unaware of how things worked outside their narrow minded lives behind these walls. Not Orion Michaels. Not even a little bit.
"Traveler's Row . . . I'll make sure . . . to look . . . you up." His legs had had about enough. Just a hundred feet more and he'd be there. He took a deep breath, readjusted his grip, and continued on, slow step after slow step. Bend the knees a little bit more. Try not to arch his back. "Miss Starris . . . you normally . . . pick up men . . . while they are working? The strong . . . man . . . your type?" He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman. She was studying him. Was she curious about him? Something he had? Something he was doing? Normally when he was this overtly disgusting it would get someone to leave him alone. It was usually such an effective technique, but this Starris just wouldn't let him go. Odd . . .
Not disliked, no.
But completely unexpected.
Even worse, however, was how fake it was. It wasn't her inexperience with such a maneuver that led him to this conclusion, though none could blame him if it were. She had an uncertainty about the slap, about the meeting of her hand to his derriere. It wasn't something she was comfortable doing, he was sure of it. Her fingers seemed to disagree with the action, and his rear was quite aware of this. As a man who was an expert of the flesh, that was all too obvious. She didn't know what she was doing.
But again, there was something more than her sudden desire to feel him up.
She was up to something. It was such a drastic change in personality, in how she'd been dealing with him to this point. She'd talked down to him, put down his ways, spoke to him as though he were a nuisance to whatever she wanted to do. She froze at his lewd words, blushed at his graphic suggestions, and suddenly, out of the blue, she wanted to make herself out to be some saucy minx? This woman was trying to play the wrong man.
"If you're going . . . to make such . . . an advance," he replied, cooly,"you should . . .at least . . . take me out for . . . a bite to eat." With each step came horrible burning pain. He wasn't fit enough. And now he was distracted. He wanted to play her, toy with her. She thought herself so clever, but she'd tried to play games with the worst person she could have picked. So many squires might be wet behind the ears, unaware of how things worked outside their narrow minded lives behind these walls. Not Orion Michaels. Not even a little bit.
"Traveler's Row . . . I'll make sure . . . to look . . . you up." His legs had had about enough. Just a hundred feet more and he'd be there. He took a deep breath, readjusted his grip, and continued on, slow step after slow step. Bend the knees a little bit more. Try not to arch his back. "Miss Starris . . . you normally . . . pick up men . . . while they are working? The strong . . . man . . . your type?" He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman. She was studying him. Was she curious about him? Something he had? Something he was doing? Normally when he was this overtly disgusting it would get someone to leave him alone. It was usually such an effective technique, but this Starris just wouldn't let him go. Odd . . .
Poor Ana... 
