The air between them changed when she closed the distance; or maybe it was the same, only condensed. He held her gaze. His stomach did flips. Hell, he thought. He hadn't meant to scare her off, although he had been hoping to dissuade her from going. He hadn't meant to be this obvious. Was there any chance that he was wrong about tonight, and if he got out of his own head it really would just be a typical dinner party? There was a chance; even hedonists had to interact with the rest of the world on occasion. And there was still the chance that she might not have noticed anything, if he hadn't gone and primed her to be on the lookout, with all his projected anxieties. But that ship had rather sailed, and he was finding it difficult to be evasive when her eyes were only a foot away from his.

"I — don't think it's your sort of party," he said, wondering if this was suggestive enough that she'd be able to piece anything together. Years into their marriage, he'd still never come clean about the sorts of things he did before she was in the picture (or in some cases continued to do when she wasn't around). The only thing he'd admitted to was having slept with men; he didn't know what her mind would jump to next. Maybe straight to the bottom — there were rumors about men with his proclivities, after all. Perhaps she believed them.

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