Duck Lake Metaphorically, I'm a whore, and that's denial number four

His eyebrows raised in shock at the inflammatory look his question earned from the woman. He silently watched her extract herself from the water plants and make her way to dry land where she shook out her coat, stifling the amused smile that threatened to curve his lips for fear it would anger her further. She barked her question at him, demanding to know why he was here. He raised an eyebrow and glanced around. This territory isn't claimed, he calmly pointed out, his gaze returning to the damp stranger. I feel like I should be asking you that question since you're the one that was lurking around in the water without making me aware of your presence. He assumed that to be the case anyway. He certainly hadn't heard her approach and was beginning to wonder just how long she had even been there. Lucky for her (and him to be honest), brazen women were a favorite of his, and her curtness was just the distraction he needed.