A Wicked Truth
“She was beautiful, and not in a stick-figure model kind of way. No, she was all woman. Short, but not petite. Exotic coloring and the sort of confidence that could be spotted across the room. Without hearing her say a word, I could tell this woman was used to holding her own against anyone. Even better, she had a quick wit and the intelligence in her eyes was a welcome difference from most of the women I'd been sleeping with recently.
She wasn't French or American, I realized after she spoke. Her English was flawless, but there was a hint of an accent I couldn't quite place. That was okay though. I only cared what it would sound like when she was moaning my name. When we began to dance, I became more certain that I had to have her. She moved perfectly with me, the kind of instant synchronization that rarely happened and I knew it would transfer to how we'd move together in a far more intimate setting.
I was getting ready to ask her if she wanted to get out of here when she suddenly stiffened.
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