have had more intelligence than Danny Eames seemed to have. Joy pitied any woman who had to spend more than one evening in this man’s company. Thank God she wasn’t one of them. He—
‘…to introduce me to your dining companion, Danny?’
Joy had been in danger of falling asleep with her eyes open, but the different timbre of voice, this one huskily deep, broke her out of her inner torment, and she turned curiously in the direction of that voice. Any diversion had to be welcome.
And this wasn’t just ‘any diversion’, she quickly realised, instantly recognising the man who now stood so confidently beside their table as the man who played the part of Danny’s boss in the detective programme: Marcus Ballantyne.
This man was actually the real star of the television series Danny Eames seemed to feel would fall apart without the aid of his so-brilliant acting. And Joy should know—she had been listening to just how wonderful Danny thought he was for the last four hours.
But Marcus Ballantyne really was a true talent, star of numerous television series over the last fifteen years. He had made his big break into Hollywood ten years ago, returning there periodically to star in films that were inevitably box-office hits. But he remained true to his native England, preferring to make his home there, occasionally making appearances on the West End stage in plays destined to be a success simply because Marcus Ballantyne deemed them worthy of his time and talent.
But the last thing Joy needed was another egomaniac to join them and bore her to sleep!
Joy knew Marcus Ballantyne was in his late thirties—older than Danny Eames by at least ten years. He was well over six feet tall, with slightly overlong dark hair, and deceptively sleepy blue eyes, a deep, dark blue that, as Joy looked up at him, she could see contained a sharp intelligence. Maybe she wasn’t going to be bored, after all…
Danny had risen hurriedly to his feet at the sound of the other man’s voice, some of that overbearing self-confidence leaving him as he shook the older man by the hand, evidence that even he bowed to the older man’s superior talent. ‘Marcus,’ he greeted, a little too enthusiastically. ‘I didn’t know you came to places like this.’ He looked pointedly around the noisy restaurant.
‘I’m not in my dotage, Danny,’ the other man drawled derisively.
The younger man’s cheeks were slightly flushed. ‘No, of course not. I just…well, I didn’t think… It’s good to see you, Marcus,’ Danny finished lamely.
‘Is it?’ the older man drawled, dark brows raised mockingly.
Joy looked more intently at Marcus Ballantyne; he obviously shared her opinion that Danny was an idiot, and he made no attempt to hide his contempt for the younger man. Which posed the question: why had he bothered to come over to their table at all if he felt that way about Danny?
As he turned that probing blue gaze in her direction, Joy suddenly knew exactly why.
There was no mistaking the admiration in that gaze as it swept over her appraisingly. Joy felt a quiver of awareness down her spine as she seemed unable to break that searching blue gaze.
This had never happened to her before. She had never been instantly physically aware of a man in her life before. But there was something about the hard lines of Marcus Ballantyne’s face that was mesmerising; the lean length of his body in the casually expensive clothes exuded a physical magnetism that Joy couldn’t help being completely aware of.
She shifted uncomfortably as he continued to look at her. This was ridiculous! She wasn’t some star-struck teenager, but a grown woman of twenty-seven, and certainly not the type to be impressed by a man whose face was famous enough for him to be recognised wherever he went. Hadn’t she instantly recognised him herself, although she rarely watched television or went to the cinema?
She turned away abruptly as she realised how stupidly she was behaving, and looked at Danny instead. But even that was a mistake, because he just looked more young and affected than ever compared with the hard assurance of the other man.
‘Introduce us, Danny,’ Marcus Ballantyne instructed the younger man, his gaze not leaving Joy’s slightly flushed face.
Danny looked more flustered than ever. ‘Er—this is Casey Simms—er—Joy. She prefers to be called Joy,’ he introduced awkwardly, his bravado completely gone in the face of the other man’s quiet authority.
‘Why?’ Marcus Ballantyne addressed the question to Joy, totally ignoring the younger man now as he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down without being invited to do so.
Which brought him all the closer to her, and Joy could feel her hands shaking slightly as she clasped them together beneath the table. This man was something else, unlike anyone she had ever met before. No wonder he was so much in demand both on television and the big screen; he was magnetic. And Joy could feel herself being drawn unresistingly towards him. Unresisting because she simply couldn’t break the spell of that steady gaze.
‘Why Joy?’ he repeated huskily, leaning forward slightly, effectively cutting Danny out of their conversation as the younger man resumed his seat opposite Joy.
She moistened lips that felt suddenly dry. ‘Casey is…It’s an old family name,’ she told him truthfully, wondering if that slightly breathless voice could really be her own. But she knew it was, knew she had never felt such emotional confusion, knew her usual capable efficiency was deserting her. ‘I prefer my other name—Joy.’ She had refused pointblank to spend the whole evening with Danny Eames answering to her cousin’s name, and had decided before meeting him that she would use her own name. He hadn’t been concerned about her name anyway—in fact she was surprised he could even remember it to introduce her to the other man!
‘So do I,’ Marcus Ballantyne told her huskily. ‘Much more…feminine.’ His tone implied that that was exactly what he thought she was.
Joy swallowed hard, knowing she was—subtly— being flirted with. Ridiculous. She was a librarian from a small rural town in the south of England—
‘And what do you do, Joy?’ That cobalt-blue gaze continued to hold hers.
It was almost as if by doing so he had been able to read her thoughts. He obviously knew she wasn’t an actress, otherwise their paths would probably have crossed before. But, somehow, just baldly stating that she worked in her local library didn’t seem appropriate—
‘Joy lives out of town.’ Danny Eames was the one to answer the other man. ‘She’s an old… friend.’
She gave him a startled look at this explanation. What on earth…?
Marcus Ballantyne relaxed back in his chair now, watching her from beneath brooding brows. ‘She doesn’t look that old to me,’ he finally drawled.
Danny gave a nervously dismissive laugh at the other man’s obvious sarcasm. ‘You know what I mean, Marcus.’
Joy knew what he was implying too—and she didn’t like it one little bit! Why was Danny lying to the other man? What possible reason could he have for giving the impression that they had once been—even if they weren’t now—involved?
‘Yes,’ the older man acknowledged gratingly, still looking at Joy. ‘But that still doesn’t tell me—’
‘Marcus, I think
