Dustin was clearly on the far side of sense. What had she gotten herself into?

“As I’m sure you’ll quickly learn,” he clarified, “I’m not everybody. Run-of-the-mill does not apply to me. I often walk, but I have a nifty little sports car and I like to drive it.”

“Oh,” she said lamely.

“And you came in…?”

The question dangled before her, taunting her silently for an answer.

She blushed. “A Towncar.”

“Yeah? Huh. Well, what do you know? That doesn’t surprise me in the least. You look the type. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a Towncar, though.”

“Why is that?” she asked, intrigued despite wondering if his attitude might be condescending to her. It didn’t show in his tone or facial expression. His smile was genuine and kind. He had a strong, masculine smile that made her heart beat faster in response.

He was pulling her under his spell and she knew it, but she was helpless to stop herself. Maybe that was exactly what he wanted, and she was playing right into his hand, but she’d never been as cynical as she oftentimes thought she should be.

She immediately decided to take Dustin at face value unless he proved her wrong. It was only fair, and he seemed nice enough.

She cupped her chin in one palm and leaned forward to better hear his answer.

“Well, I can’t afford it, for one thing,” he said. “At least, not until I get my inheritance.” He laughed at his own joke. “And for another, I think fancy cars give off kind of a hoity-toity attitude to the general public, don’t you?”

Isobel nearly choked. Towncars were a regular, accepted part of her existence as an image consultant, and something she’d taken for granted. She had been raised in a small Texas town and had not grown up with such luxuries, yet she admitted now she’d never given a single thought to how a person on the streets of Denver, perhaps someone less fortunate than herself, would consider the mode of transportation she chose.

“But you said you drive a sports car,” she countered tightly as it occurred to her. It was an accusation, and she knew it sounded like one.

“That’s true. I do,” he said, smiling. He didn’t look the least bit offended, but he offered no further explanation.

“And that’s okay with you.”

His grin widened. Then he lifted his dark eyebrows and shrugged.

“Are you hungry?” Dustin asked, meeting her gaze squarely. She had the feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking and was playing rescuer to her own guilty conscience.

It was an unnerving feeling. She shook her mind from the thought and said, “No, thank you. I try not to eat much after noon.”

He glanced at his watch, as if he weren’t already aware it was well after the noon hour. “You’re kidding. That can’t be good for your health.”

Isobel chuckled. Ten minutes into their first conversation and he was already trying to change her. What an amusing paradox.

“A drink, at least?” he coaxed in a warm, rich voice. “You aren’t going to sit across from me with nothing while I stuff my face, are you? I missed lunch and I’m starving.”

“All right,” she said, giving in gracefully to this one small concession. “I guess I might enjoy a good cup of hot tea. Herbal. And make sure it has no caffeine or sugar.”

He stood and saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring you just what you ordered.”

“Thank you, Dustin,” she said with a sigh as she watched him approach the counter. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her or not, for he didn’t turn or acknowledge the comment.

“Dearest Lord, what have I gotten myself into?” she prayed under her breath as she stared at Dustin’s broad back. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed here. This is a new one for me. A little help? Please.”

Actually, she could use a lot of help. She felt she was way out of her league where Dustin Fairfax was concerned.

He quickly returned to the table with a loaded tray, placing it on the table before turning his chair around properly and seating himself.

“One cool-mint hot tea for you, and two large, completely indigestible pastrami sandwiches with extra jalapenos and onions, extra-large French fries and a large cola for me.”

With a cheeky smile he leaned on his elbows and began unwrapping his first sandwich.

“Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?” she quipped.

He burst into laughter and had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting food. Putting his index finger in the air in a gesture for her to hold on for a moment, he chewed and swallowed his large bite of sandwich, then chased it down with a big drink of cola.

“This stuff doesn’t bother me,” he assured her. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”

She eyed his meal in disbelief, then twisted her lips and met his sparkling gaze. “Right. Tell me those same words again in ten years.”