"You're cute; can I keep you?"

A voice, rumbling in deepness, raising fine hair with its silkiness, trickles into her ear. Balmy wisps of the stranger's breath caresses the tender skin of her ear tauntingly. It's a pleasant voice, a baritone of smoothness like her lukewarm black coffee on this Monday morning. However, she appreciates her personal space as much as the next person and leans away from the oppressing presence at her nape.

She's not in such a good-humored mood at the moment, having to start the day out early in the dawn, so her temper is ticking. This stranger's provoking remark is the trigger to the flood of her ire. "Will you be capable of keeping me?" there's a sharp bite to her words as she angles her head to peer over her shoulder to glimpse at her admirer. The woman is startled at what she finds— he's, unfortunately, attractive.

The length of his flaxen-blonde strands is a rugged version of the business hair style, sweeping to one side of his Grecian sculpted face. His eyes hold a lightning of mischief blazing within the stormy grayness. It makes her wonder why an eye-candy would be flirting with her, but then she realizes it's a possibility the stranger is a charmer.

"Appreciating the view?" he breaks her reverie with his harmless tease.

She's unimpressed with his smoldering gaze and heart-catching smile. "No, just attempting to figure out why a Casanova would waste their charms on me." She turns her attention back to her task, red pen poised ready to mark mistakes in her manuscript. Her spine presses into the grooves of the park bench, her cooling coffee sporting the stains of her Nivea lip-balm coated lips, but she can still feel his overwhelming aura trailing brazenly across her bare nape, over her right shoulder, and down the slope of her arm—

She hastily bats his hand away, realizing it's not his eyes she feels. First with the flirting and now the touching; she draws the line at physical contact, especially since it's more than a handshake. Her glare is intense, but nothing compared to the severe passion within his eyes as they hold her prisoner.

His smile melts to a smirk, dripping with smugness. "Who said I was a player?"

She truly wonders how she caught his attention, because he's proving he isn't about to leave her alone. "Your face," she deadpans. If his looks are anything to go by, then his laugh has lived to her expectation—it's husky, but boisterous.

"And why wouldn't I waste my charms on such a lovely woman?"

"That's not what I meant when I said 'waste', your charms don't affect me, and thus you're wasting your time."

"I think I've spent my time well."

Here she rolls her eyes. Secretly she enjoys a man who can keep up with her thoughts; he's witty and seems intelligent enough.

"Whatever charm you've cranked up just keeps pulling me in," he whispers, pressing forward until they are breathing each other's air. "Oh, the beauty of irony."

It baffles her, because she doesn't believe it. "You're saying you meant to seduce me, but I unintentionally charmed you and you ended up being the seduced?"

"Well, I was hooked first when laying my eyes on you, and then your words sunk and anchored me—"

"Enough with the puns!" but she's laughing and she can't help it. His smirk widens, eagerly consuming her reaction and using it as fuel. "Oh, gods, what have I gotten myself into." She shakes her head, gathering her materials and her half-empty cup of coffee and stands to leave.

"Wait!" the stranger shoots up and chases after her. "Can I least get your name—"

"Not a chance."

"—or number—"

"I'd rather not."

"—maybe a date—"

She spins around on her heel and he nearly crashes into her from his haste. Her eyes scan him skeptically, but not with hostility. "First off, if you want the girl you need to be a gentleman and offer your name first, spend time getting to know each other, make sure she laughs a lot and doesn't misunderstand anything or assume mistaken intentions, after the mingling, offer a date at a coffee shop, and then you can get her number."

He's speechless, and then grinning, and no later his laugh is echoing in the park. He trails after her, rambling off like a broken motor.