Page 13 of Duke, Actually
Good. He did, too. He didn’t want to go back to his dark, empty hotel room yet. He had the photographer’s number from yesterday and an invitation to call her anytime, but he was still, uncharacteristically, not in the mood.
Dani stumbled. The sidewalks were slick with new snow, and she wasn’t very steady on her feet to begin with. He grabbed her before she could fall, and once she was righted, he let go and offered her his arm. He was surprised when she took it.
“This is an Italian section of the city, I gather?” he asked, noting the shops with cured sausages drying in the windows as they strolled.
“Historically, but it’s probably more Mexican and Albanian today than it is Italian. It’s a hodgepodge.”
“I’ve never been to the Bronx,” he said.
She snorted. “Yeah, we’re a long way from Manhattan concierges who can get you impossible reservations.”
He shrugged. He wasn’t going to pretend to be a man of the people. He liked his comforts. But he also liked this. “I’m a fan of New York—all of it. All of it that I’ve seen, anyway.”
“You are?”
“Yes. It’s the perfect mixture of tradition and renewal. It retains its identity even as it’s constantly changing. It’s resilient. Scrappy.” Like he was. That sounded like self-flattery, but it was merely a fact. He’d had to be scrappy—doubly so since his brother wasn’t. Perhaps he appreciated New York in a “like recognizes like” way.
“I never thought of New York like that, but you’re right. Eldovia isn’t scrappy?”
“Eldovia isn’t scrappy,” he confirmed with a chuckle. He certainly had been laughing a lot this evening. It was disconcerting to find himself, suddenly, so easily amused. “Eldovia, or at least my experience of it, which I grant is not typical, is protocol and decorum.”And, in some corners, rage and chaos.“But it does have some things to recommend it.”
“What are those things?”
“Mountains, chiefly. I live at the base of one, and I love going up it.” He only said that because she was drunk. Max was not the kind of person who went around earnestly proclaiming his love for nature.
“We turn here. I think.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to reada street sign. “I’m not normally this much of a drunker.” She furrowed some more. “Drinker.”
“No judgment here. I’m the man-whore, remember?”
“Yeah, what is that about?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s ‘about’ anything.”
“At some point this evening you stopped trying to get into my pants. Why?”
“Because you clearly don’t want me there.”
“So you’re a man-whore with morals?”
“While I’m happy to take credit for being morally upstanding in my slutting around, I don’t think it’s actually that high-minded—or that complicated.”
“What is it, then?”
“Call me crazy, but sexual assault turns me off. Coercion, all that stuff. It’s what I believe you Americans would call a ‘boner killer.’” He copied her signature finger-air-quotes gesture.
She turned thoughtful. “Also, why is the termman-whore? Why not justwhore?”
“Marie is the only one who calls me that. Well, Marie and the tabloids.”
“So what do people call you? Oh, wait, ‘The Depraved Duke,’ right?”
He smirked. “Not a duke, though.”
“But you don’t dispute the ‘depraved’ part?”
“Well, people used to call me a playboy, or a rake, before that unfortunate moniker stuck. It’s amazing the kinds of stories people will tell about you when you’re as attractive as I am.” He batted his eyelashes to show he was joking. And also because he truly did not want to talk about it.
“Rich probably doesn’t hurt, either.”