“Since when have you cared for glamour?” “I don’t. It’s you I’m worried for.” I pluck at the loose fabric around her thigh. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to those fashionable trousers.” She tips her head at me, eyes narrowing. “You’re mocking me.” “I am,” I reply, as solemnly as I can muster. That oil slick of a smile spreads over her lips, and I want to touch a candle to it and watch her smolder, this dangerous, gorgeous, wildfire of a woman.
