There was so much to her, so many layers that he didn’t yet understand. There was that chip on her shoulder, the way she’d been at first. Something had got her sent to Abu Dhabi, had left her alone on the Life and Style beat. She certainly treated questions for it like the Spanish Inquisition. Then there was the amorous side, the passion he’d felt at both the gallery and the restaurant. And yet, underneath all of it was a hesitance, a fear he could see in her eyes. When the girls had begun urging her to dance, she’d hesitated. He was watching her closely enough to see the glance she’d given her hips, the way she’d pinched a bit at her thigh. His goddess legitimately didn’t know how fucking gorgeous she was. Granted, he’d often had his appetites run to the thinner girls, to those models before, but it had been so long since he’d had his hands on real (and not silicon-inspired) curves, that he had forgotten so much about what he’d been missing.
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