Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. “Come to my rooms and have a drink. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. “He just wants to get laid, you know. He patted the hand on his sleeve. “Oh, that. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. I shall now be able to test my skill. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. ” His lips tightened, and he frowned with solemn resolution.
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