Текст книги "Stinger"

Автор книги: Mia Sheridan

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CHAPTER 9

Grace

I held the door open as Carson walked in behind me. The lump that had been in my throat during the entire walk from the pool up to my room was starting to recede, but I still felt the lingering hurt over watching Carson with Tawny and what he had said to her about me. I had asked myself all the way up to my room why that stung so damn much that I wanted to roll into a ball and cry. But I had hurt him too. I just hadn't realized it at the time. I thought he would understand why I couldn't flaunt the fact that I was spending time with an adult film star. That was the kind of thing that could come out later and ruin my career as a lawyer–especially in D.C. where politics always came into play. I had thought he would roll with it and laugh it off after Parker walked away. It's why I had come up with that dumb name on the spot–trying to put a private joke out there for Carson. I hadn't meant to make him feel like he was nothing, that's not how I felt. But our lives didn't mix. Those encounters at the pool made that blatantly obvious. This was supposed to be a weekend of fun, of letting go temporarily, and then going back to exactly what I had been doing before I came to Vegas. Was this thing with Carson morphing into something dangerous for both of us? If feelings got involved, even on a basic level, where did that leave us when all was said and done?

I didn't know what to do. The logical part of me was telling me to end this and walk away, despite the fact that I liked him and we had this electric chemistry. The emotional part of me was holding on, but to what, I didn't know and it didn't make sense.

He was an enigma to me–stinging me one minute and then soothing me the next–with his words, his touch, his smile.

Shit, shit, shit! This had become complicated and I'd only spent a day and a half with him.

I dropped down on the bed and looked at Carson, now standing with his hip against the corner of the wall, arms crossed casually, studying me. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? It was his poison and he'd injected it into me–I was infected. I laughed humorlessly, ending on a sigh.

"What?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Us." I raised both arms and dropped them. "What are we doing, Carson?"

He looked down, sliding his teeth up his bottom lip and worrying his brow. "What do you want to be doing, Grace?"

I looked down. I wanted to be spending time with him. But I wanted it to make sense. I was pretty sure my whole "Guy Number Two" cover was blown, for me anyway. I had done a good job of convincing myself that that was the reason I agreed to spend the weekend with him, but had it ever actually been the case? Maybe not. Something about him drew me in and made me want to stay, break all my rules, throw all my well-made plans out the door, experience things I'd never allowed myself to experience, want things I'd never allowed myself to want. He wasn't part of my plan as I'd convinced myself–he was the antithesis of my plan. And I wasn't sure anymore if that was bad or good. But did it even matter? We couldn't be any more than a weekend, it wasn't possible. For too many reasons to count. And I was pretty sure that it was going to be hard to walk away Monday morning, knowing that that was it. Definitively. Was it worth it to make it that much harder by spending another day with him?

Carson came and squatted before me, resting his arms on my knees and looking up into my eyes. "Listen, Buttercup, clearly this weekend arrangement has changed into something that we didn't necessarily expect it to. We're friends." He smiled. "Who would have guessed? And I for one, want to spend the rest of the weekend with my friend. Do you want that too?"

I looked down at him. Is that what we were? Friends? Friends who had sex for the weekend? I guess maybe that was better than strangers who had sex for the weekend. And really, how much harder was it going to be to walk away in thirty-six hours, rather than right now? I couldn't see things changing much by Monday morning. I would survive. It would suck because I liked him, but I would do it and it would be okay. By the time I'd touched down in D.C., reality would be back in focus and I'd resume my life.

"Yes, I want that too."

He shot me that heart-melting smile that went straight to my head like fine champagne. "Good. I'm going to go up to my room and get dressed for dinner, and then I'm taking you somewhere nice. Can you be ready in half an hour?"

I nodded. "I have that gift certificate," I reminded him.

"Yeah, but I want to take you out so I'm not using your gift certificate."

"Why? We both earned it for getting stuck in that elevator."

"Because it's important to me to treat you, that's all. End of story."

I bit my lip. I needed to say one final thing about what happened at the pool before I could put it to rest. "I hated seeing you touch her, Carson, and that scared me too," I said quietly.

He closed his eyes for a beat, dropping his head. When he looked back up into my eyes, his own were filled with regret. "I used her to get back at you. It was wrong on so many levels." He shook his head slightly. "I didn't know what to do with it. I've never been… jealous before. It was unchartered waters."

"You were jealous?" I asked. "Of Parker?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I wanted to drown him in the pool."

I laughed, but quickly covered my mouth and shook my head. "That's not nice."

He smiled. "No, it's not. It's also illegal. So I held myself back and chose to be an asshole instead." His face went serious. "I really am sorry."

I smiled and said softly, "Me too." I paused, looking into his sincere eyes. "Half an hour?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Half an hour."

On his way to standing up, he stopped and brushed his lips on mine. "See you soon."

He walked out the door and I fell back on the bed. "Life is wild," I reminded myself quietly.

After a few minutes, I got up and hopped in the shower. I shaved everywhere and then got out and patted myself dry. I spritzed on some perfume, just a little, and then blew my hair dry and used a curling iron until it fell down my back in soft curls. I applied a little more makeup than I usually did, including two coats of mascara to darken my light brown lashes. They wouldn't be anywhere near as lush as Carson's, but nature was cruel that way; giving long, dark lashes to boys who didn't appreciate them. I kept my mind on mundane things while I got ready, turning on the radio and singing along to a few songs as I got dressed.

Not knowing if I'd go out to a nice dinner or not while I was here at the conference, I had only brought one cocktail dress, a little black number that I had borrowed from Abby that was hanging in the closet. It was short and strapless with an eyelet lace embellished waist and skirt that flared out. It was sexy, yet demure. I loved it and I hoped Carson would too. I slipped on my black heels just as I heard a knock at my door.

When I opened it, Carson was standing there in a pair of black dress slacks and a light, sage green shirt that did all kinds of crazy things to the color of his hazel eyes. He had obviously done a little something with his hair–slicked it back slightly. He started to grin, but then his face went serious as he looked me up and down. "Not nice, Buttercup."

I laughed. "What do you mean?"

"How am I supposed to sit through an entire meal when all I'm going to be thinking about is getting you back up to my room and fucking you senseless? That dress does crazy things to me."

I laughed and shook my head as I grabbed my room key and my license. I handed them to Carson. "Do you have room in your pocket for these?" I asked.

He took them and put them in his back pocket as he took my arm.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we stepped on to the elevator.

"I made a reservation at Olives. That okay?"

"Yes. I mean, I haven't been to any of the restaurants here."

He pulled me to him as the elevator made its descent, enveloping me in that singular scent that made my hormones flash fire through my body. I couldn't help leaning into him and sticking my nose in his neck, inhaling deeply.

He chuckled. "You like the way I smell, Buttercup?"

"Mmmm," I breathed, not coming up for air.

"I like the way you smell too," he whispered. "It makes me hard." And I could feel that indeed it did.

I leaned back, looking up at him, that spark flaring between us.

"Do you have running shoes?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow, confused at the unexpected change of subject. "Planning on ditching the bill?" I asked.

He laughed. "No, I was thinking we could go hiking tomorrow morning if you're up for it. Red Rock Canyon has some beautiful trails. We'd have to go early though. In the summer, it gets pretty hot by the afternoon."

We stepped off the elevator.

"I'd like that," I said. "I did bring running shoes. Remember though, I have to be back for the one conference presentation at two. I'm trying to get into a law class in the fall and the professor who teaches it is presenting tomorrow."

"We'll be back in plenty of time for that." He looked at me. "What time does your flight leave on Monday?"

"Six a.m." I said quietly. "Yours?"

"Seven. We could ride to the airport together."

I nodded but decided I didn't want to think about that. We were here now and I was going to enjoy the last of our time together.

We arrived at Olives and I looked around. It was beautiful, with the same Mediterranean style as the rest of the Bellagio. I waited back a bit as Carson leaned in and spoke to the hostess. She giggled and nodded her head and he smiled back at me, offering me his arm as we followed the hostess to our table. We walked out on to the balcony, overlooking Lake Bellagio where we had watched the fountain show and I gasped. "It's beautiful," I whispered. Carson just smiled at me and pulled out my chair. "It's not hot dogs on the strip, but I figured, we gotta eat, even if we have to slum it." He winked at me.

I looked around. Everything surrounding me was filled with light. The glow from the strip shined in the distance, the water sparkled, and the twinkle lights adorning the balcony danced. It felt magical, like another world. I looked up at Carson and he was studying me. "What are you thinking?" he asked taking my hand across the table.

I looked into his eyes, deciding that just for tonight, I was going to experience everything I could and enjoy every minute of it. Life is wild, Carson was right. Or it could be, if you let it. I was going to let it. I was going to clear my mind and soak in the beauty of everything around me–the location, the food, the man sitting across from me. I was going to live for all the years I had rejected relationships that might have come naturally if I hadn't been overly focused on other things, and for all the years I had made choices that I thought would make other people happy, never considering what would make me happy. Carson had infected me, it was true, but maybe his looks weren't the only part of his poison. Maybe it was his spirit too. And maybe when it came to Carson, just like a vaccine, a little poison was the cure, not the disease.

There would be consequences to this weekend, I knew that now and I wasn't lying to myself anymore. But maybe they wouldn't all be negative. Maybe I would walk away a better person because of my encounter with this man. Yes, it sure was, life was wild.

"What I was thinking, Carson, is that I feel lucky to be here with you tonight."

His eyes warmed and a small smile turned his full lips up right before something that looked like surprise skated over his features.

I raised the glass of wine that we had ordered and that the waiter had just placed on our table. "To life being wild," I smiled.

He raised his glass. "To well-made plans," he smiled back.

* * *

Carson

I watched Grace across the table, her eyes shining as she looked around at all the sights. I loved it. I wanted to show her more. I wanted to give her all the experiences I could. I wanted to watch her big, blue eyes widen in delight, not just at the things I could do to her body, but with all the experiences she had deprived herself of for so long. I wanted to show her things she'd never seen before. I wanted to take her snowboarding on a mountain at twilight, I wanted to make love to her in the bright sunshine on a beach somewhere exotic. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had something to offer other than my body. But the wanting felt like a double edged sword–it made me feel alive in a way I'd never felt alive before, but it filled me with regret to know that I could never have any of it with this girl.

But maybe the wanting of it in and of itself was a good thing. Maybe Grace had opened my eyes to the possibility that I could be more, that life could be more. Something about that filled me with a feeling I couldn't identify in that moment–something I'd think about later.

We ordered dinner and Grace smiled across the table at me.

"So, Carson," she said, "should I trust you to take me hiking out in the desert, all alone? I'm not going to 'mysteriously' disappear tomorrow morning, am I?" She raised an eyebrow.

I chuckled. "Not because I'm planning on burying you in a shallow grave, but there is a real risk of me pouncing on you like a desert hyena because you're irresistible." I looked at her very seriously, not cracking a smile.

She burst out laughing. "I guess the authorities could trace me by following the trail of torn and discarded clothes?"

I took a drink of wine. I never drank wine. But tonight seemed to call for it. "And the scream of my name echoing through the canyons," I said, my eyes drooping slightly against my own will, and my cock throbbing in my pants at the memory. God I loved to hear Grace scream my name. Nothing like it.

She cleared her throat. "Speaking of which, should we stay in my room tonight? It hasn't even been used."

"No, I decided I like having you in my room."

She tilted her head, taking a sip of her own wine. "Why?"

"I don't know. Something about having you in my lair." I winked.

She rolled her eyes. "More like your sex den, desert hyena."

I laughed. "I like that even better."

Our food came–I had ordered the Ribeye and Grace had ordered the Salmon. We ate quietly for a few minutes. "Mmmm, this is fantastic," Grace moaned.

"Do you go out to eat a lot?" I asked.

"No, rarely. I have a scholarship that pays my expenses too, but there's not a lot left over at the end of the month." She shrugged. "I don't have a lot of time to do anything except study anyway. It'll pay off." She took a drink of her wine, looking over the rim at me.

"I'm sure it will," I said. "What's your law focus anyway?" I cut a piece of meat and speared it and stuck it in my mouth.

"Corporate law."

I looked at her for a minute. "God, that sounds about as exciting as the patented burp of the Tupperware container."

She covered her mouth as she laughed out loud. "It's actually very interesting."

"Oh yeah? What's interesting about it?"

She looked up, thinking for a minute. Then she looked straight at me and laughed as she shook her head. "Nothing. There's nothing interesting about it at all."

"Then why did you choose it?"

She sighed. "My dad works in the criminal justice system. He sees all the stuff that goes down everyday with prosecutors and defense attorneys… all the b.s. they have to deal with, all the awful stories they hear. I asked for his advice and he thought corporate law would be a good, safe, solid career choice." She nodded, as if convincing herself.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Your dad chose it, huh?"

"Carson–" she said, with a warning tone in her voice. "This isn't about me pleasing my dad. This is about me asking someone who has a lot of experience in the field to guide and direct me, that's all."

"Hmmm… okay, so if you hadn't had your dad to guide and direct you, what would you have chosen?"

She stared at me for a minute, a small frown on her face. "I'd really like to be a prosecutor," she said quietly, and then looked down at her food, her cheeks turning pink and shame filling her expression, like she had just admitted that she wanted to eat my liver with a fine Chianti.

I nodded, but she remained quiet. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable with this line of questioning, and so I changed the subject. "So, Las Vegas is known for its nightclubs. Do you wanna go to one after dinner?"

She took a sip of her wine and looked up at me with warmth in her eyes. "Actually, Carson, if it's okay with you, I'd rather go back up to your hotel room."

"Check please," I said, pretending to look around for our waiter.

She laughed. We chatted through the rest of dinner, and then the waiter cleared our dishes and I paid the bill. I took Grace's hand in mine and we headed back upstairs. My body was humming with anticipation, but more than that, something had deepened between Grace and me today. I couldn't experience all the things I wanted to with her, but we still had time left together–and I wasn't going to waste a second of it.

CHAPTER 10

Grace

We hopped on the elevator with two other couples and began our ascent to Carson's room. One of the couples got off at the next floor and we rode in silence with the remaining couple, until they too got off a couple floors later. As soon as the doors shut, I found myself pressed to the elevator wall by six feet of hard, really amazing smelling man. I moaned out even before his mouth came down on mine. I expected the kiss to be wild, filled with passion, but he took his time as he pressed against me, his hands stroking down the sides of my body, our tongues tangling slowly. The style of the kiss didn't seem to go along with the location–on an elevator where anyone could potentially catch us–and for some reason, this fact sent flames of want shooting through my body. Carson had kissed me in lots of different ways in the last day and a half. But this kiss was my favorite. This kiss felt like it was personalized just for me–I couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but something about that kiss was different than any before it. Our bodies fit together perfectly, our tongues moved together like a slow tango. I was dizzy with desire.

The doors opened and Carson pulled away from me slowly, leaving me blinking and breathless, apparently unconcerned about anyone seeing us kissing in the elevator. We stepped off and I walked on legs that felt like Jell-O down the corridors to his room.

The door shut behind us and he was on me again–pushing me up against the door, kissing me hard and deep. When he broke away, he gazed down at me, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. "I can't get enough of you," he whispered, his eyes stormy, his expression tense. Then his mouth was on mine again, my tongue meeting his, my hands in the silk of his hair.

Carson suddenly scooped me up and carried me to the bed, setting me down right next to it. He took my shoulders and turned me around slowly, unzipping my dress. I felt his warm mouth kiss down my back as the zipper sliding down revealed more and more skin. I shivered, my nipples puckering at the erotic sensation of his mouth touching me somewhere unexpected.

My dress dropped to the floor and I stepped out of it and moved it aside with my foot. When Carson's hands weren't immediately on me again, I glanced over my shoulder to see him staring at me with a look that was intense and hungry, his eyes moving down my bare back, to the small, black thong exposing most of my backside, down to my heels. "You're stunning, Buttercup. If I could paint, I'd paint you right now, just like this."

I turned back around, smiling a small smile, relaxing my shoulders when I saw the look of intense appreciation on his face. Compliments usually made me uncomfortable. But for some reason, Carson's compliment made me feel warm and relaxed, and I knew by his expression that I had no reason to doubt his sincerity.

After several seconds, I felt his warm body move up against mine. He brought his hands around me to palm my breasts, his fingers drawing lazy circles around my nipples. I laid my head back on his shoulder, sighing with the pleasure his touch brought. "Carson," I breathed out as he continued to rub my nipples gently, causing butterflies to take flight in my ribcage and sparks to shoot between my legs. In minutes, I was wet and ready for him, just like always.

I rocked my hips gently against his hardness and he sucked in a breath. "The things you do to me, Buttercup," he ground out, "I didn't know…" but he trailed off there, not finishing the thought. I wondered what he had been about to say, but my lust was so all-encompassing that when his hand wandered down between my breasts in the direction of my hot core, all questions vanished, and I held my breath with the sweet anticipation of his touch right where I so desperately needed it.

Just as his hand reached my belly button, he stepped away from me and I made a whimpering sound of loss. "Shhh, Buttercup," he said, "I just want to be able to feel you skin on skin."

I didn't look around as I heard him taking off his clothes. Then he was back against me and I moaned at the sensation of his warm muscles against my soft curves, his erection hot and hard poking into my lower back. He was so supremely masculine, I felt feminine in a way I never had before. I relished it, discovering this side of myself for the very first time. I didn't have to be in control here, nor did I want to. I trusted him. I loved the way he talked, the things he said when we were intimate, the way he took control and told me what to do. It made me feel safe, taken care of, and hotter than I'd ever in my life felt before.

He rubbed my nipples for another minute and kissed and licked down my neck and then he said, "Bend over the bed, Grace." He sounded strained.

Heat rolled through my belly at his words and I started to take my thong off, but his hand stopped me. "Leave it on."

"But–" I started to say, looking back around at him.

"Leave it on," he repeated.

I nodded, turning my head back around.

"Spread your legs," he said gently.

I did as he said and then bent forward over the bed. For several seconds, there was no movement behind me again. "Fucking perfect," he whispered, right before I heard the condom wrapper being ripped open. Not knowing exactly what was happening behind me and when it would happen, had my blood raging and my body trembling. I wanted to cry with the desperate need that was clawing through my body now, the deep ache pulsating in my core.

I felt him push my thong aside and although I expected to feel the blunt tip of him push inside me, instead what speared inside my opening was his warm, wet tongue. I cried out with the unexpected sensation, made up of equal parts physical pleasure and the mental shock of the picture of him behind me, lapping at me from that angle.

He reached underneath me, using his middle finger to draw lazy circles on my clit as he continued to plunge his tongue slowly in and out of me. I couldn't help it, I writhed down on his face, gasping, feeling an orgasm just within reach. "Faster, please, Carson," I panted out. How was it exactly that he always managed to make me beg? I wanted, needed, to come so badly, and his movements, although delicious, were just too slow to tip me over the edge.

He ignored me though, instead licking backwards, over my, oh my God! Was he really licking me there? I tensed up slightly, but he kept moving upwards, licking up the seam of my ass until he hit my lower back and then kissed my skin lightly. His movement stopped again and I almost screamed out in frustration. If he wasn't inside me in the next three seconds, I was going to take matters into my own hands. I was so worked up I thought I was going to combust.

But then I felt him push my thong aside again and then finally the blunt tip of his cock at my entrance. I leaned back into it, moaning greedily. He pulled it back though and I made an angry sound of frustration in my throat. "Stay still, please," he said. Despite the please, it sounded like an order, not a request.

I nodded my head, too desperate to form words. I briefly considered turning around and jumping on top of him, and forcing him to take me, right before I felt him at my entrance again. I was trembling with the effort to stay still, but when he saw that I was going to, he pushed in a little bit. We both moaned out together. "You're even tighter from this angle, Grace. Jesus."

I dropped my head and he pushed in all the way, filling me completely. Oh God, that's amazing.

He started moving slowly, his hands holding my hips steady. I tilted my backside up toward him, wanting him as deep as possible. He moaned out, "Grace," as his thrusts picked up in speed.

"I wish you could see this, baby. I wish you could see me pumping inside of you. It's so beautiful. You're so beautiful." His voice panted out with his movements, sounding thick.

I closed my eyes and pictured what it must look like and moaned at the image my mind created. He reached around and put his hand under my thong and started massaging my clit again to the rhythm of his thrusts, one hand still on my hip. He had never made any sounds during any of the other times we had had sex, but this time he let out little grunts with each thrust. Something about those little sounds sent me over the edge and I screamed out his name as I came, hard and fast, intense ecstasy tightening my body.

"Oh fuck," Carson grunted behind me slamming into me one final time and then groaning in release.

My whole body was vibrating with the receding waves of pleasure, my legs shaking from the effort to support the rest of my body.

Carson pulled out of me and I turned around and fell onto the bed. I looked up into his eyes and saw something close to awe as he smiled down at me. He followed me down to the bed and took my mouth, kissing me slowly and deeply one final time, then leaning up and looking into my eyes. "Damn," he murmured.

I smiled lazily. "Yeah," I said, smiling bigger.

He disposed of the condom and then we climbed into bed together, me snuggling into his warm, hard chest.

* * *

Carson

I held Grace, stroking lazily up her arm for a few minutes, reflecting on what we had just shared. It was a base position to have sex in and despite that, I had felt more connected to Grace than I ever had to anyone I had been with. Emotionally connected. I had been about to tell her that I didn't know it could be this way, but as the words came to my lips, I thought better of it. That felt dangerous. This was about one weekend, nothing more. I was confused, and I didn't ever remember being confused. It was a new feeling for me. Confusion indicated possibilities, choice, but what were my choices in this situation? There were none.

I looked down at her and she smiled a small smile at me before she closed her eyes. I leaned down and kissed both lids and she smiled, opening them again to look at me. She leaned up and put her hands flat against my chest, one on top of the other and then rested her chin on them, looking up at me.

"Hi. How are you?" She grinned.

I laughed. "My granny used to say, 'fine as frog hair!' when anyone asked her that. I never knew what the fuck it meant. That just popped into my mind." I grinned down at her.

She smiled. "Tell me about your granny."

"She was a sweet lady. I went to stay with her most summers and then, like I said, when my mom went to rehab. She taught me things." I was silent for a minute, picturing her, hearing her voice in my head.

"What kinds of things?" she asked gently.

"All kinds of things. How to mow the lawn, how to sneak up on a grasshopper, how to choose a cantaloupe at the store." I grinned down at her. "Completely worthless things to a kid from L.A. It wasn't what she taught me so much as that she cared to do it."

She nodded up at me like she totally understood what I meant. I thought she probably did.

"She had a sadness about her too though, because of how my mom turned out." I was silent for a minute. "She never talked much about my mom, but I could tell there was lots of regret there."

"Where does your mom live now?" she asked.

I glanced down at her, surprised by her question. I didn't usually talk much about my mom–even to my closest buddies, but I had already shared things with Grace that I hadn't shared with anyone else. Any question she asked felt comfortable now, normal. I trusted her.

"My mom still lives in L.A.," I answered. "Not too far from me."

She nodded. "Do you have a relationship with her?"

I sighed. "Yes and no. I talk to her every once in a while, but we're not close. She's gotten her life together more than she had when I was a kid, but there's just too much water under the bridge now. We don't really know each other. Being around her is just awkward."

She looked sad, her eyes moving away from mine for a couple seconds as she looked like she was thinking. "She doesn't… "

"Make films anymore?" I finished for her. "No. She lives with some guy. He's a jackass. We got into it one time about eight months ago when I went to see her and I haven't been back. But at least she's off the prescription meds now–or at least as far as I know."

She looked sad. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know what it's like not to have a mom–or at least, not one you can count on. But at least I had mine for the first eleven years of my life."

I thought about that. "Maybe that makes it harder, not easier, Buttercup."

She tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean that maybe having something good and then having to let it go is more painful than never knowing what you're missing."

She looked thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe," she said.

We were both quiet for a few minutes. I looked down at her and put a piece of hair behind her ear. "So pretty," I murmured.

She smiled a shy smile. "Do compliments make you uncomfortable?" I asked. She always looked just a little uncertain when I gave her one. Surely, she had to know how beautiful she was.

"They usually do, but I love hearing them from you," she said quietly. "I grew up with a dad who was a guy's guy, the 'strong, silent type.' He was a great dad, but he didn't ever tell us girls we were pretty. He wasn't the type to dish out compliments on any subject really." She looked thoughtful for a minute. "If he was happy with you, you knew it by the silent, prideful look in his eyes and maybe a chin lift in your direction. I learned to get that look and that chin lift with my accomplishments, never my looks." She shrugged slightly.