I heard the whisper of Caine’s movement against my pillow as he turned his head to look at me. “My what?” he said, bemused.
After a few days of no sex and some major anticipation, I’d given Caine the all-clear for resumption of the fun stuff that Thursday morning. He’d appeared at my apartment a few hours after work and we’d gone at each other as though we hadn’t had each other in years.
Relaxed, I lay beside him on my bed, my arms flung above my head in postcoital satisfaction, and decided it was time to ease him into the whole getting-to-know-each-other thing. “What’s your favorite color?” I repeated.
“What’s your favorite color?”
I looked at him and saw his mouth was curled up at the corners in amusement. I liked this side of him, this playful, boyish side that peeked out at me sometimes. “Purple. Now yours?”
“I don’t have a favorite color.”
I frowned. “Everyone has a favorite color.”
“I don’t.”
“You must at least have a color that you’re partial to more than other colors.”
He grunted. “Wouldn’t that be the same thing as having a favorite color?”
I stopped and resaid it in my head. I giggled at the realization he was right.
Caine gave a huff of laughter, but I wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook. I rolled to my side to face him, resting my head in my hand. “Okay, let your mind go blank.”
His gaze moved over my naked chest. “Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
I rolled my eyes. “Try.”
“Okay.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Now what?”
“What is the first color that comes to mind?”
“Yellow,” Caine blurted out, and then immediately scowled for some unknown reason.
“Yellow?” I grinned. “That’s definitely a surprising color, but we’ll go with it. Your favorite color is yellow. What’s your favorite movie? And don’t say you don’t have one, because I’ve seen your DVD collection.”
Caine raised an eyebrow. “Has someone been snooping?”
“No.”
If anything his eyebrows rose to greater heights.
“Fine,” I huffed. “I snooped in your DVD cabinet.”
To my surprise and gratitude he didn’t say anything else about that. Instead he said, “Seven Samurai.”
I attempted to mask my shock that he’d offered the answer so easily. “What’s it about?”
I watched, fascinated, as Caine moved onto his side so we were facing each other. There was interest and light in his eyes. “It’s this Japanese movie made in the fifties and it’s about these seven down-on-their luck samurai who are hired by this poor farming village to defend them against marauders. The battles scenes are some of the best in cinematic history—for its time it just … It’s fantastic. It’s real, though—it’s got grit and heart. It’s a great movie.”
I brushed my fingers along his forearm. “Do you have it?”
“I do.”
“Maybe we can watch it sometime.”
Caine’s gaze roamed over my face. “I think you’ll like it.”
I took that as a yes to us watching the movie together and hid a smile. “Favorite band?”
“You didn’t tell me what your favorite movie was.”
“That’s easy. Gone With the Wind. Although I could slap Scarlett silly for most of the movie. I mean, who would ever choose Ashley over Rhett?”
Sensing I wanted an actual answer, Caine shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“No one, that’s who. Ashley is this Byronic limp noodle and Rhett is dark and challenging and all man. There’s no competition. Scarlett was a nincompoop.”
Caine’s lips twitched. “A nincompoop?”
“Yes! It would be like me choosing to have Dean in this bed instead of you.”
His amusement fled. “Who’s Dean?”
I choked on a laugh. “Dean. Your main receptionist. You know, the guy that sits at that big glass desk and directs people where to go.”
“Oh, that Dean.” Caine appeared adorably confused. “I thought he was gay.”
“My point exactly.”
“Ashley wasn’t gay,” Caine argued. “He was a gentleman.”
“Whatever he was, he was boring and spineless.” I flopped over onto my back. “Women are attracted to men who can take charge of a situation.”
“Not all women.”
I glanced up at him. “Speaking from experience there, are you?”
He sighed. “I’ve been known to intimidate some women.”
“You? Intimidating?” I teased. “No.”
Caine laughed and reached for me, sliding one arm across my belly so he could pull me into him. “And some women need to learn to be more intimidated by me.”
I giggled, wrapping my arms around him as he rolled so he was braced over me. “It’s not going to happen.”
He nodded, contemplating me. “I’m getting that.”
“I think you like it.”
Instead of answering in the affirmative, Caine brushed his thumbs across my cheekbones. “Favorite band?”
I smiled, glad he was so cool with sharing, even if it was just trivial stuff. “The Killers.”
“Nice choice.”
I warmed under his approval. “You?”
“Led Zeppelin.”
I trailed my fingertips over his muscular back in a lazy, familiar way that felt altogether much too good. “Favorite city outside of Boston?”
“Sydney. You?”
“Prague.”
Caine stilled under my touch. “A very nice choice.”
“I really want to visit Budapest, though. All the places I visited were with Benito, and none of them were the one place I wanted to see.”
“I’ve been to Budapest.” He bent his head to sweetly brush his lips against mine. “You’d love it.”
I loved this. I loved that he was no longer fighting to keep who he was from me. Right now we were two friends getting to know each other. While we were naked.
“Why do you like my apartment?” I suddenly blurted out.
Caine studied me a moment, seeming to drink in every aspect of my face. “Because it’s got charm. There’s no flash—it’s got a timeless, simple beauty about it. A lot like its owner.”
His compliment seeped into me, warming through to the very tips of my fingers. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I whispered.
Caine smiled. “You think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to you?”
“Yeah.”
“See. No flash. Just beauty.”