Though, of course, he already knew what he was going to say—he’d set up this line ten minutes back. He deliberately let his gaze do a lazy up and down over the sexy blonde sitting next to him, spending ample time on the size D implants. Hey, he had nothing against surgical enhancements. This was an enlightened age. If a woman wanted to make her cleavage the center of a man’s attention, he was all for it. “A model,” he said, finally answering the question of what profession he thought she was in. The blonde laughed in an “I don’t believe you, but I’m flattered anyhow.” Genuine or not, the sound was pretty. “No, really.” He shook his head. “I’m good at this. With those cheekbones you have to be on the runway.” Blondie had done her hair in soft curls down her back, and in her strapless red dress and very high f-me shoes, she was definitely on the hunt—a hunt for a rich, available man.
