“Maybe on the outside. But he likes his women—” She searched for the right word, fingers pinching the air as if she could grab hold of it.

Gideon readily supplied it. “Wimpy?”

“Yeah,” she confessed, nodding. “You could say that.”

“In my experience, wimpy guys only go for two kinds of women: wimpy or bossy. There’s no in between.”

“How do you figure?” She set her drink aside and leaned her elbows on the table. It had been a long time since she had had a stimulating conversation. Even longer since she’d been with a stimulating man.

“Wimpy men like women who make them feel stronger. Or they like the bossy types that can tell them what to do. It’s lead or be led.” He tilted his head, cool green eyes assessing her. “Like with lycans.”

She frowned. “How so?”

“With lycans you’re either an alpha or a beta—a leader or a follower. One pack, one alpha.”

So he was saying Cyril liked her because she was spineless and could be led? Claire had spent a lifetime watching her father bully her mother. Had she turned out the same way? As submissive as her mother? Attracting men like her father? Ready to impose their will on a woman so that they could feel stronger?

Shaking her head, she bit out, “How do you know Cyril didn’t like me because I was the other way? Bossy?”

He seemed to fight back a smile. “Just a hunch.”

Her nape grew hot and she lifted her hair to let air cool her skin. “You’re wrong. I’m not a wimp.”

“Not now,” he allowed.

“Not ever.” Not entirely true, but she didn’t care. It would never be true again.

Their food arrived then. Claire grabbed her foot-long cheesesteak out of the basket. The waitress barely pulled her hand out of the way in time. Sinking her teeth into it, she groaned at the explosion of moist steak and gooey mozzarella in her mouth. Hot juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped at it with the back of her hand and took another bite without having even swallowed the first.

Wide-eyed, the waitress left, glancing over her shoulder, clearly amazed at the speed with which Claire devoured her sandwich.

Lifting her gaze, she watched the slow movement of Gideon’s well-carved lips as he chewed his dinner. A different kind of hunger sparked in her blood.

“What about you?” She set the remains of her sandwich back in the basket, her voice low and sultry in a way she had never spoken before. “What kind of woman do you like?”

“Me?” The question clearly caught him off guard.

“How do you like your women?” she repeated. “Someone you can easily lead? Or do you like a woman to take charge?”