spun on her heel then froze as she spotted Gabe talking with an elderly lady. He was close enough that he had probably heard some of her conversation with Graham. His gaze locked with hers, sharp and uncomplicatedly male, and for a moment the room full of people ceased to exist. Then a waiter strolled past with a tray filled with glasses, breaking the spell.
Her stomach clenched on a sharp jab of feminine intuition, that despite knowing she had a date, after he had made his call, Gabe had come looking for her. When he’d seen her talking with Graham, he’d stopped far enough away to allow her privacy—to allow her a choice—but close enough to keep an eye on her.
Graham didn’t find her attractive, but she was suddenly acutely aware that Gabe did. Talking to him at the sword display had been easy; there had been nothing at stake. Instinctively, she knew a second conversation meant a whole lot more. It meant she would have to make a decision. Suddenly the whole concept of abandoning her rule about no sex before commitment seemed full of holes when what she really wanted was love, not sex.
Feeling utterly out of her depth, her chest tight, she dragged her gaze away and made a beeline for the ladies’ room and the chance to regroup.
Pushing the door open, she stepped into a pretty tiled bathroom. Her reflection bounced back at her, tousled hair and smoky eyes, sleek dress and black boots. Her cheeks flushed as she registered what Gabe was seeing. Graham was right. She barely recognized herself. The woman who stared back at her looked exotic and assured. Experienced.
She wondered if all Gabe saw was the outer package and the possibility of a night of no-strings passion. What if, like Graham, Gabe wouldn’t be attracted to who she really was?
She found her lipstick and reapplied it, her fingers shaking very slightly. The knowledge that Gabe was attracted to her, that the improvement she had made to her appearance had worked, was unsettling. She hadn’t expected such an instant response.
She should be buoyed by her success. Instead, she felt on edge and, for want of a better word, vulnerable. Maybe it was because in her mind Gabe had become linked with the dream that had been the catalyst for all of this change. She knew almost nothing about him, but in the moment he had picked up the sword, he had made an indelible impression; he had symbolized what she wanted.
She stopped dead as the final piece of the puzzle of her dysfunction with men dropped neatly into place. She drew a deep breath. She felt like quietly banging her head against the nearest wall, but that would not be a good idea with all the security personnel roaming around. The reason she had not been intimate with anyone, even her fiancés, was because, hidden beneath the logic and practicality and years of academia, she was an idealist. Worse, she was a romantic.
Maybe all the years of burying her head in history books had changed her in some fundamental way because it was now blindingly clear why an ordinary, everyday kind of guy with a nine-to-five job had never been quite enough. Somehow, despite common sense, in her heart of hearts, she had wanted the kind of seasoned, bedrock strength and stirring romanticism that it was difficult to find in the twenty-first century.
She had wanted a knight.
When she stepped back into the reception room, despite giving herself a good talking-to about the dangers of projecting crazy romantic fantasies onto a man she barely knew, she found herself instantly looking for Gabe. When she couldn’t find him, disappointment gripped her. In an adjacent room the lecture on Zahir was beginning. She strolled inside and saw him at the back, in conversation with a well-known government official.
The jolt in her stomach, the relief and the tingling heat that flooded her, should have been warning enough. In the space of an hour she had somehow fallen into a heady infatuation with a virtual stranger, but after years of emotional limbo the blood racing through her veins, the crazy cocktail of emotions, was addictive. Just as she debated what to do—brazenly approach Gabe or wimp out completely and ignore the intense emotions—an elegant young woman walked up to Gabe and flung her arms around him.
Numb with disappointment, Sarah turned on her heel, walked into the foyer and began searching for her coat. She was fiercely glad she hadn’t approached Gabe, because he appeared to have a girlfriend, or, more probably, a wife.
Frowning, she flipped through the rack of coats again and pulled out a coat which looked like hers, but which wasn’t. Someone had obviously left in a hurry and taken her coat by mistake. As much as she needed a coat, she drew the line at helping herself to one she knew wasn’t hers. Besides, she still had her small telescopic umbrella, which fit in her handbag. In the wind, it probably wouldn’t last long, but it was better than nothing.
Outside, lightning flickered and, in the distance, thunder crashed. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the rain, which had been light earlier was now tropical.
Extracting the umbrella, Sarah paused by the antique double doors of the entrance, reluctant to step out into such a heavy downpour. A flicker of movement turned her head. She saw Gabe speaking to the tall, bald man who had checked her invitation.
Aware that in just a few seconds he could turn and see her standing in the foyer, watching him, she pushed open the doors and stepped outside.
As she descended the steps the wind, damp with rain and bitingly cold, sent a raw shiver through her. She came to a halt at the edge of the sheltered area. Flipping up her umbrella, she stepped into the wet and wild night.
The bottom half of her dress was almost instantly soaked. Water seeped into the soles of her boots as she threaded through cars that gleamed beneath streetlights. The parking lot seemed farther away than when she had arrived. In the murky darkness, the garish lights from the nightclub were overbright, although the steady thud of music was now muted by the sound of the rain.
Dragging soaked hair from her eyes and glad she was wearing waterproof mascara, she fumbled in her bag, searching for keys. She depressed the key lock, suddenly wishing she hadn’t parked quite so close to the nightclub. The lights of her car flashed and she headed for the welcome beacon of her small hatchback. As she opened the door, she became aware of a cluster of dark shadows congregated beneath the overhang of the warehouse-size building that housed the nightclub. Slamming the door closed, she immediately locked it, just in case the youths tried something silly.
She inserted her key into the ignition. The starter motor made its familiar high-pitched whine, but the motor itself refused to fire. Feeling a little desperate, she tried again, then a third time. When the starter took on a deeper, slower sound, as if the battery was becoming drained, she immediately stopped. She was no mechanic but, at a guess, the wind had driven rain under the hood and the electronics had gotten wet. The car wouldn’t start until she managed to dry the motor. If she kept using the starter she would also end up with a flat battery.
She considered ringing her mother then immediately dismissed the thought. Hannah was overseas on a buying trip for her interior-decorating business. Graham was still inside. As much as she didn’t want to ask him, he would have to help her. Groaning, she tried texting. When minutes passed with no reply, she bit the bullet and rang him. The call went through to voice mail.
Deciding that it would be a whole lot simpler to just walk back into the consulate to get help, Sarah grabbed her bag and stepped out into the rain, which had thankfully eased to a fine drizzle. A tap on her shoulder made her start.
“Having trouble, darlin’?”
She stiffened at the shock of being touched by a stranger and stepped away from the powerful whiff of alcohol fumes. “Nothing I can’t handle, thanks.”
He grinned hazily. “I’d sure like to help you.”
