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His quiet laughter filled the space between them. "Right."
"I know you probably won't believe this, and it's a waste of breath, but that was the one and only time I've ever propositioned a man. I always wanted to pick up a boy toy in a bar, but I'm too inhibited. I'm sexually repressed."
"You weren't inhibited or repressed that night."
"I was drunk."
He made a scoffing sound that made Kate want to hit him. "You weren't that drunk. You had a nice buzz going, but you knew exactly what you were doing."
True, but there was no way she was going to admit it. "I just wanted to live out a fantasy for one night. One night, that's it. Is that so horrible?" The collar of her peacoat brushed her chin as she looked out the passenger's window at the dark silhouette of pine trees. "All I wanted was to pick up a man and use him bad. Twist him into a sexual pretzel, then kick him out the door when I was through and never see him again. But look what happened." She'd been turned down flat, then given a moral lecture a few weeks later. "Why are women considered promiscuous when we take cha
rge of our own sexuality? Why is society threatened by strong women who go after what they want? Men proposition women in bars all the time, and they're just being men when they do it."
She turned her gaze to the front. The head beams lit up the road, and she paused a moment to think about the injustice of it all. "Why is it different for women? We have control over our own fertility, but we still must conform to some archaic moral code. Even in the twenty-first century, women can't be as sexually aggressive as men. If we are, we're sluts. Why is it so wrong for women to admit that we think about sex like men do?"
Rant over, Kate sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. Silence filled the vehicle for several long moments, and she began to think he hadn't been listening.
He had. "You planned to twist me into a sexual pretzel?"
"Yeah," she said through a sigh. "But we both know how it turned out. You ran away as fast as you could."
"I didn't run."
"Practically."
He reached for the navigation system again, pushed a few buttons, fiddled with the stereo, then shut it off. He glanced over at her, and his brows were drawn together as if he were hard at work thinking about something important. He returned his attention to the road, and when he spoke, his voice was a little lower than before. "How were you going to twist me into a sexual pretzel?"
"Forget it."
"Will you tell me if I beg?"
"No."
"I'll pay you."
"No. You already think I'm a slut."
He glanced at her then back at the road. "I don't think you're a slut."
"Yes, you do. You grabbed my hand and shoved it on your crotch. That pretty much says to me that you think I'm a slut."
The lights from the dash accented the outline of his mustache and the scowl turning down the corners of his mouth. "I shouldn't have grabbed your hand."
"No," she said. "You shouldn't have."
"I was provoked."
Maybe.
Again he was silent for a few seconds. "Do you really believe women can think like men when it comes to sex?"
"Yes," she answered, although she'd never had the opportunity to try. The guy across the HUMMER had killed her only chance.
"You think women can just have a good time and that's enough?"
"Yes." At least in theory. "Don't you?"
"I used to, but I'm not so sure anymore."
