Was it his commanding height that drew her gaze? Certainly he stood head and shoulders above the crowd, but that was secondary to some inner magnetism, a hint of wildness about him that was immediately apparent to her and that held her attention. His hair was golden, burnished by a much hotter sun than ever warmed British shores, a conclusion that was heavily backed by his superb teak suntan. His perfect physique suggested that he was a doer rather than an observer. Not a backseat man, but a hands-on-the-controls man. The type who went looking for a challenge as opposed to one who merely accepted a challenge when it presented itself. An eye-on-the-highest-summit man who would scorn the easy path in favor of the difficult rock climb. The more forbidding the mountain, the greater the urge to conquer it; the more alien the river, the keener the desire to swim it. Warming to her theorizing, she decided that his attitude toward women would follow the same pattern. An easy conquest would not fire his enthusiasm.
