He studied her face for a long moment, trying to read her. She'd said she had no jilted boyfriends—did people even use that word now?—but Grey had uncovered a contradiction. Maybe their definition of the word differed from hers.
"Tell me about Peter Maguire," he said at last.
"Oh, for god's sake." She took a heavy swallow of the wine. "That little weenie?"
Owen couldn't help laughing. "Doesn't make him sound too attractive."
"He's not." She twisted her lips in a grimace. "I think nothing short of desperation would make a woman accept a date with him."
"According to what Grey learned, he's been telling his friends you gave him a raw deal. Wrote him off. He intends to show you who has the upper hand."
"More like a limp wrist." She snorted. "Or maybe a limp dick." A sudden blush suffuse
