Page 22 of Frankly, My Dear

She felt an odd tug at her sympathies at the proud manner in which he carried his obvious poverty. She fought for a way to halt her weakening resistance. “Blondes. Your companion last night—Maureen—was blonde, and you liked her a whole heck of a lot by the sounds of your moans.”

“You heard?” he asked, a surprising blush rising up his neck.

“Half the hotel heard,” she exaggerated, then continued, “Back to the question of blondes. First there was Maureen. Then, Lizette is blonde, too, and you obviously like her looks. And that blonde woman across the street—don’t try to deny she turns you on, too.”

“Turns me on?” he choked out. “Moans! Mon Dieu! You are coarse, for a lady. If you are that.”

“Oh, I’m too vulgar for you, am I?” His criticism cut Selene deeply. Stiffening with pride, she snapped, “Hah! You’re probably critical of me just because I’m a brunette, not a blonde. You know what they say about blondes, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Dumber than doornails. Is that what you like? A woman who lies down like a door mat for a man?”

“What I like or don’t like is none of your affair. And don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

“Yeah, well, I’m sick up to here,” she said, slicing her neck with a forefinger, “of men who are more interested in a woman’s boobs than her brains.”

His mouth dropped open with surprise. “Surely, surely, that word does not mean what I think it does.” When her face colored with embarrassment, he shook his head in disbelief.

Suddenly Selene was tired of James’s lack of humor. He never smiled. He never laughed. He took himself entirely too seriously. Well, she’d show him. “Do you know how to get a blonde to laugh on Sunday?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he wouldn’t answer, no doubt sensing he would be the butt of her strange question.

“You tell her the joke on Friday.”

He didn’t crack a smile, just scowled at her.

“Okay, what did the blonde say when she found out she was pregnant?”

He set his empty cup on the bench next to hers, and a little black boy immediately scooted over and took them away. James stared at her as if she were truly hopeless and refused to answer.

“The blonde said, ‘Are you sure it’s mine?’”

She saw in his marvelously luminous blue eyes the moment he began to understand her jokes.

“Are you implying that blonde women have lesser intelligence?”

“Yeah.”

He glared at her, stone-cold somber. “And that I am lacking in mental discernment for appreciating their beauty?”

“You got it, buster.”

He sat there like a blasted statue, glowering at her. Oh well, she might as well jab him some more. “Two blondes were walking through the woods and came to a set of tracks. One said they were moose tracks. The other said they were deer tracks. They were still arguing when the train hit them.”

James made a clicking sound of disgust with his tongue. “You have a warped sense of humor.”

“You have none at all,” she accused, then decided to go for the kill. “Why did the blonde climb the glass wall?”

“To see what was on the other side?” he retorted, surprising her with his quick rejoinder. He tilted his head in a So there! attitude. “See, I do have a sense of humor, but it finds nothing to appreciate in your weak excuses for wit. Perhaps you try so hard with these sorry attempts at amusement to make up for your lack of beauty.”

Once again, Selene felt a stab of hurt at his criticism. “You know, I’m really fed up with you looking down your nose at me. You might think I’m unattractive, but I want you to know that in my time I’m considered very beautiful.”

“So you’ve told me before.”

Selene blushed. She hadn’t meant to blow her own horn, but he goaded her so. “James, I would have to be considered a beautiful woman in order to be a model, and I’m one of the most sought-after models. Do you know how much I was being paid for this one-week shoot in New Orleans?”

He stubbornly refused to ask, but Selene saw the spark of interest in the tilt of his head.