Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
She crossed her arms over her chest, saying disapprovingly in Dutch, “You are bad news, mijnheer.” She was normally more tactful than this, but she had a feeling there was no need to be so with this man. He just didn’t feel like the type of man to cost Ilse her job if she rejected him.
“How can you say that,” he drawled out mildly, “when you don’t even know me?”
But he was also the type of man who wouldn’t so easily give up once he found himself a toy he wished to acquire and play with until he lost interest.
Well, that toy would not be her.
“I don’t need to know you,” she informed him bluntly, “to understand the kind of man you are. And because I do not want you to waste your time, let me tell you now, mijnheer. I am not interested. You are not my type.”
“You slay me, mevrouw.” He had switched to English this time, his tone cultured, and Ilse’s frown became more pronounced. Oh, how sly! How had he figured out she had a secret thing for men who were bilingual?
“At least let me prove myself first.” He moved towards a vacant table and pulled out a seat for her.
“It will do you no good,” Ilse muttered even as she grudgingly took the seat he offered. A job was still a job, and she didn’t want to give him any reason to ask for a refund.
When he took his seat, he chose the one adjacent to her, and Ilse stiffened when their knees bumped under the table, the contact causing a spark of electricity to jolt through her body.
When her eyes flew to him in suspicion, he released a laugh. “Surely you can’t blame me for the way your body reacts?”
Oh, blast it, he wasn’t only wicked, but he was charming, too!
Ilse scowled, and he grinned. “You hate the thought of being attracted to me that much?”
She nodded vehemently, causing him to laugh again, and Ilse’s teeth gnashed.
Ongelooflijk!
Incredible!
Another thing she used to think ridiculous was the way her friends described some men’s laughter as sexy...until now.
“Would you like to order anything?”
She shook her head.
“Are you certain?”
“I don’t drink when I’m on the job.”
“Then a glass of water or—-” He gestured to his glass of pink lemonade. “Perhaps something like this?”
She had to ask. “Is that really yours?”
“If I say it is?”
“I’d say it’s just your way of getting women to think you’re cute.”
He chuckled. “You are even more entertaining than I thought.”
“And you,” she returned sweetly, “are more annoying than I expected.”
“Such strong words.” He gazed at Ilse under hooded lids, murmuring, “Every hatred is caused by love.”
Ilse leaned back, stunned. Ongelooflijk!
“You recognize the quote,” he observed.
“Thomas Aquinas,” she supplied warily.
“Impressive.”
She stiffened. “You think people in my line of work don’t read?”
Unperturbed by her tone, he answered lazily, “To be honest, schatje, I believe most people your age don’t even know who Thomas Aquinas is.”
Oh. He was probably right, and she said grudgingly, “You have a point.”
“Speaking of your age—-” He paused. “May I ask how old you are?”
Seeing no reason to lie, she answered him truthfully. “23.”
“Ah.” A faint grimace crossed his lips. “I’m 32. Is that too old, do you think?”
When she only allowed herself to shrug in answer, he chuckled again, and Ilse hated the way her toes curled inside her sneakers. Ongelooflijk! She couldn’t even remember the last time someone from the opposite sex had made her feel this...this much.
“It just occurred to me I’ve neglected to introduce myself.” Pulling out a card from his wallet, he handed it to her, murmuring wickedly, “Jaak de Konigh, at your service.”
Ilse’s toes curled harder, the last three words making her recall the porn films she had watched, which showed all the ways a man could service a woman.
Lieve heer!
Dear Lord!
He really was bad news, the way he made her imagine such shameful thoughts—-
The import of his name sunk in a moment too late, and her gaze flew to him, Ilse demanding under her breath, “You’re a de Konigh?” It was the most famous surname in Netherlands, and the fact left her even more bewildered and suspicious. This man had royal Dutch blood running in his veins, for heaven’s sake! Why was he even wasting time with her?
“De Konigh is my last name, yes,” he acknowledged, and after a pause, he asked silkily, “Does this please you?” When Ilse only allowed herself another shrug, his gaze became shrewdly contemplative, and she quickly willed herself to remain expressionless.
“Is it only me you distrust,” he asked suddenly, “or men in general?” When she started to shrug, he shook his head, saying in a soft, cajoling voice, “You may be honest with me, schatje. You have my word as a de Konigh that I will never hold the truth against you.”