PAIGE
A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips. His question hung in the air, ripe for the plucking. What is your type? Oh, I wasn't going to make it that easy for him.
"Let's see," I mused, tapping a finger on my chin as if giving it serious thought. I took a small step back, just enough to break his grip on my wrists, but not enough to break the spell. "My type is... complicated. They have to be incredibly smart. Devastatingly handsome, obviously."
I let my eyes sweep over him, a deliberately slow and appraising look, from his tousled hair down to his bare chest. I saw his jaw tighten just a fraction. Good.
"But also," I continued, my tone turning mock-thoughtful, "they have to have a truly breathtaking lack of self-awareness. A real talent for jumping to the most dramatic conclusions possible. It's a very specific combination. Rare, really."
