etiquette.”
The grimace on his beautiful face was absolute. “I’d rather you pull out my fingernails.”
She went on, ignoring his lack of enthusiasm. “You need to remember that your words minus the facial expression and the inflection in your tone are open to interpretation.” Holding his gaze, she used her tone to emphasize her point. “You think you’re being charming and witty, and the recipient thinks you’re being insulting.”
“Most of the time I am.”
She stared at him and realized he was telling the truth. Why would someone go out of their way to be disagreeable? “Well … that won’t work for us.”
“I don’t know how to be a suck-up.”
She held back the lift of her brow at the understatement. “Just be aware of the subtle nuances in your words and how they can be interpreted.”
“Nuances?” he said, as if the word had a foreign taste.
“And remember,” she said, continuing her usual spiel on online interactions, pleased he was at least pretending to listen—even if her every statement was followed by a sarcastic comment. “People are interested in those who are interested in them. A little self-deprecating humor is good, as it’s humanizing, but not too much or you’ll appear to lack self-confidence.” Of course, this piece of advice hardly applied to Cutter Thompson. But she was offering up her full speech, because this man needed all the help he could get.
His brows drew together in doubt. “Maybe I should have agreed to establish peace in the Middle East instead,” Cutter said. “Might have been easier.” He settled deeper into the bench. “But I did manage to come up with today’s question for my contestants—If I invited you to a costume party, which superhero pair would you want to go as and why?”
Jessica smiled. Impressive progress. Mr. Thompson appeared to be trainable. Maybe after today’s session he could carry this off on his own. “I like it. It has humor, a flirtatious quality and requires more than a one-word answer.” Feeling encouraged, Jessica pulled her phone from her purse. “I’ll send it out now.”
“No need.” Cutter retrieved his cellular from his shorts and went to work, his thumbs clumsily pushing the buttons.
She blinked. “I thought you didn’t text.”
“I spent the day practicing.” He met her gaze. “Gave my old pit crew buddies a blow-by-blow account on the tune-up of my boat.”
Jessica’s mouth twitched in a smile, trying to picture a bunch of men, hands smeared with grease, phones beeping in their back pockets. “And what did they think?”
“That I’d gone off my rocker.” By his tone and the look on his face, she could tell he agreed with their assessment.
“It’s a quick way to send out a message,” she said. “It’s also perfect for when I don’t have time for one of my mother’s lengthy conversations.” She sent him a dry smile. “You might find it useful with your family.”
The lines of skepticism vanished from his face and Cutter looked to the city. Staring across the glistening urban landscape, he went on in an even tone. “I don’t have a family.”
Jessica’s heart did a double take. “Where are your parents?”
“My dad took off when I was a kid and my mom died five years ago.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, and held no trace of emotion. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“Don’t be.” His tone was easy, and the small twist of his lips didn’t betray a hint of lingering sadness. “The Thompson mantra is when life sucks, deal with it.”
Which had served him well, no doubt. She studied his profile thoughtfully, wondering how old he’d been when he’d adopted the attitude.
When he turned to look at her, he must have caught the question in her eyes. “Sunshine,” he said with a light scoff as he sent her an amused look. “I don’t have any feelings to share and I don’t do Dr. Phil. If you’re looking for a man with a feminine side.” He leaned in, bringing his hot, sea-green eyes and bold gaze so close that her breath momentarily froze in her throat. “You’re looking at the wrong guy.”
She was looking all right. Despite the rising rate of her heart, and now her breathing, she resisted the need to break eye contact. As she stared at Cutter, her brain frantically broadcast a warning about their incompatibility. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t picking up the signal.
Because when it came to men, she preferred charm. And she insisted on polite. Or—for the love of God—at least agreeable.
None of which described Cutter Thompson. But when his gaze dropped to her mouth, as if contemplating kissing her, the rate of her breathing dropped to zero.
He’d take what he wanted with no apologies. No slow, sensual lead-ups. No rose petals on silk sheets. And she was unfamiliar with the rebel breed. Steve had been her first lover, and what had started out gentle had grown into comfortable fun. The sex, at least, had been good. And she’d entered into two intimate relationships since her divorce. Satisfying, both, but not the kind that lit the world and left scorch marks on the ground.
And not one of the men wore the raw edges that defined Cutter.
Water lapped the boat as they stared at each other until his phone beeped. Cutter glanced at the small screen, breaking the spell, and Jessica quietly sucked in air, relieved with the fresh supply of oxygen again.
“Calamity Jane says she wants to go as Batman and Batgirl because I’d look good in tights.” Cutter shot her a lazy, brash look. “Guess I’ll have to explain that real men would choose the sexy, villainous Catwoman over the friends-with-predict-ably-boring-benefits Batgirl every time.”
Jessica didn’t bother stifling her groan. So much for progress.
Lovely, his self-centered ways went beyond money, they applied to women, too. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but his flippant attitude towards relationships went against every value she held dear.
His smoldering glance … the bold stare … No doubt he delivered that look to every woman he found attractive. Cutter Thompson was the worst of the worst, a man with the emotional depth of a flatworm and a derisive attitude toward romance. He didn’t believe in The One, more like The Many. He was everything she didn’t want, wrapped up in a package that was oh-so-much worse. And if the rate of her thumping heart was any indication, her body’s reaction was about more than naked, muscular legs.
Which meant she wasn’t quite as immune to the egocentric bad boy as she’d thought.
An hour later Cutter watched Jessica maneuver the boat towards home. She’d taken over the helm so he could continue his instant messaging, and he was impressed with her ability to handle the craft and intercept his inappropriate comments at the same time. The more appalled her look, the more he’d enjoyed himself. And although peace and quiet had been his only goal since the day he’d announced his retirement, Jessica Wilson had fast and furiously become a major exception to the rule.
He should find Emmanuel, the teenager with the bad-ass photographic attitude, and thank him personally.
She was too easy to tease. “I think I have the hang of this online flirting thing,” he said. “I don’t need your help anymore.”
Jessica stared at him, wide-eyed, and with more than a trace of fear.
A small grin slipped past before he could stop it. He hadn’t smiled this much since he’d first won Nationals. “What?” he said with as much innocence as a thirty-year-old washed-up race-car driver could muster. “You don’t trust me?”
She skillfully maneuvered alongside his dock and cut the engine. “I absolutely trust you to alienate Susie Q Public.”
After hopping out, he secured the boat, and