Unexpected

He studied her face appraisingly.
It was beginning to dawn increasingly on him that she was very attractive.

It wasn't simply about appearances - a previous girl vaguely involved in his confused past - and surprisingly cynical beyond her years - had casually thrown that postulate at him over dinner : ultimately, attraction is all about looks, no? He had rebelled instinctively - and only in part because he had felt she was insinuating something shallow in himself, with respect to their then-relationship... In truth, he had always wanted to believe he was atypical, someone with more substance in his soul than fleeting himbotic superficiality. Someone... more than the average, pathetic horny man she was so casually dismissing. In retrospect, he realised that it had been she who had been truly shallow.

He had noticed that she was pretty before, over lunch by the Old Market by the riviera. It would have taken a blind man not to notice that fair skin set against the long, flowing black hair, and the delicate, yet pointed - feline - jawline set below those dark, almond eyes.

It hadn't meant that much to him then. The encounter had been brief, and born of a mutual need to simply while away time. Their companies had been thrown casually together, and they had passed the time as strangers would, lightly tasting each other's thoughts without really engaging each other.

Tonight was different.

As she spoke of her life and her past, he found his eyes straying over hers... he found his interest piqued. He discovered an irrepressible spirit and courage. She had a thirst for knowledge beyond her confines and the tenacity to chase it down. She parried his little jokes with deft ease and riposted with well-timed counters, some immediate, some delayed till much later, all delivered with impeccable timing at just the right instant.

She was utterly unexpected.

He absently traced the countours of her eyes with his gaze, and realised with a shock how beautiful they were.

A self-styled casanova friend of his had once declared that all women have beautiful eyes : it only takes for you to see it, and tell them so.

But the truth is, for us mere mortals - we only see beauty in the eyes of a few women, and we only tell a fleeting few of these what we see - because we do not search for it in the others. Life would become far too complicated if we did.

Her eyes were communicative and sought his out whenever they laughed together, which was often - and sometimes when they didn't, which was less often. He found himself searching them out time and time again, lingering for a moment as something unspoken and inexpressible - yet intuitive and eloquent passed between his mind and hers.

She had the eyes of the Watcher.

He didn't watch to see if anyone else was looking at her, or at him looking at her. Tonight it didn't matter at all.

*****

Later that evening as they parted company he offered her and her companions a lift home. They clustered on the far side of his car around her, standing in turn before the passenger door.

He watched as they paused, looking first at her, and then him, and then shyly demurring and turning away, even as she turned towards him and looked him in the eye.

The words were soft, but clearly spoken.

Her tone of voice was a gentle command at odds with the subtle, tentative arch of her brow.

"Take me home."