"Yes, it is fine to meet you as well, Mr. Landry," Isabelle said, giving me a graceful smile. I considered asking her to dance, even though it was not an activity that I thoroughly enjoyed.
“Tell me about yourself.” I broke the lingering silence, finally deciding to make conversation instead of waltz. Her face lit up at the sound of me expressing some interest in her. If there was one thing I knew for certain about women, it would be that they loved to talk about themselves. She opened her mouth and began to tell me her life’s story. I was only half listening. The rest of my attention was focused on her appearance.
Isabelle’s eyes were the colour of melted chocolate. When she turned towards the light they would glint and become the lighter shade of butterscotch. Those eyes – beautiful, I will admit – were set in flawless ivory skin. I knew from experience that if I were to touch that tone of skin in the heat of passion, it would blush crimson. I shifted my gaze to Isabelle’s hair. It was not pure blond, but gold highlighted with a mixture of browns. Her locks cascaded all the way down to her waist.
She seemed to have noticed that I was no longer listening to her.
“And what about you Mr. Landry?” Isabelle challenged me. She was trying to hide that she was hurt by my crudeness.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologised. I knew that the best way to deal with situations such as these was to show some honesty. “I find myself distracted by your beauty. You say that you lived in the countryside?”
Isabelle shot me a knowing smile. Alas! She was aware what I was up to. I glanced at her warily. A woman one step ahead of me was the last thing that I needed.
“Care to dance, Mr. Landry.” It was not a question, but a subtle demand. This one was feisty!
“Sure, why not?” I replied coldly. It was obvious that she had realised my dislike of dancing and that there was no chance that I could decline politely.