you don’t want to give me your address.
‘OK. I’ll be there at seven-fifteen, armed with the tickets. We can have a drink before the show. I’ll get them in ready. What would you like?’
‘Oh. Um—dry white wine?’
‘OK.’ He smiled at her, curious that she seemed suddenly flustered by the idea of the drink. ‘So—do you want me, or were you just eavesdropping?’
‘I want y—’ She broke off, and soft colour washed over her cheeks again as she registered what she was saying, but she held his eyes anyway and he suppressed a smile. ‘There’s a little girl I want you to look at,’ she amended.
‘OK. Lead me to her, and you can fill me in.’
* * *
This is not a date.
She stared blankly at the contents of her wardrobe, the words echoing in her head like a mantra.
So—what to wear, then? Jeans? Or smart-casual, which opened a whole new can of worms, because there was a huge range of options.
Who was she kidding? Her wardrobe was scanty, to say the least, and apart from work clothes she spent precious little on it because the budget just didn’t stretch to pretty stuff she never got to wear.
But there was one thing, a rich sapphire-blue maxi dress in soft jersey that she’d bought last summer that she could dress up or down, and she really, really didn’t want to wear jeans and a top again. She hardly ever went out. This was the first time in ages, and she knew it wasn’t a date, but there was no harm in looking nice, was there?
And at least it didn’t smell of coffee.
She put it on, ripped it off again and put a strappy white vest top on underneath, then pulled it on again and stood back. Better. Cleavage would send out a whole different message, one she wasn’t happy with—and just to be on the safe side, she was wearing a T-shirt bra with moulded cups so her nipples wouldn’t show if she got chilly. He’d seen quite enough of them today already.
She slid her feet into some pretty little flat pumps, pulled on a cardi, contemplated and dismissed a necklace and at the last minute spritzed herself with perfume.
It was evening, after all, and she couldn’t wear it at work, so why not? She checked her lippy, stood back for another look and then glanced at her watch.
Yikes. She was going to have to run.
‘Bye, Mum,’ she said, sticking her head round the door.
‘Bye, darling. You look lovely. Have a good time.’
‘Thanks, I will. Call if you need me, I’ve got my phone on silent. Got to dash.’
She grabbed her bag, debated a jacket and then went without it. No time to dither, no time to stroll there in a leisurely fashion, just a rapid walk that brought her up the steps to the Yoxburgh Playhouse at a hair past seven-fifteen.
She walked in, went up to the bar and he was standing there waiting for her, looking good enough to eat in a casual linen blazer, jeans and a blinding white shirt open at the neck to reveal that oh-so-masculine throat. He hadn’t shaved, and the dark shadow on his jaw just added to the tantalising aura of danger that surrounded him.
His smile made her heart trip faster.
‘Hi. Sorry I’m late.’
‘You’re not—well, only a few seconds. Here, have a drink.’
She took the glass, conscious of the fact that she was windswept, breathing hard and would probably start to glow like a beacon in a moment. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. You look lovely, by the way. Pretty dress.’
‘Thanks. I don’t really have a lot of choice, and it’s nice to have a chance to wear it.’
‘It suits you. That colour really works with your eyes.’
‘What, the shadows underneath?’
He chuckled. ‘You really need to learn to take a compliment, Annie.’
Well, no, she didn’t. She’d had compliments, bucketloads of them, but they’d all been lies and frankly she didn’t care if she never heard another one. As she’d pointed out to him, being suspicious was a habit.
‘Sorry. I don’t trust compliments.’
He frowned, opened his mouth as if to say something and then shut it again, but his eyes were frank and assessing, and she got the feeling there wasn’t much he didn’t see.
And that made her uneasy. She didn’t want to be the object of his scrutiny, so she changed the subject fast.
‘So—remind me of the plot?’
One of those strong, dark eyebrows quirked, but he let her get away with it.
‘Oh, it’s crazy. Two daffy old sisters who poison their lodgers and bury them in the cellar in graves dug by a brother who thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt and he’s digging the Panama Canal, and another brother who’s in love with the preacher’s daughter. I haven’t seen it for years but it’s very, very funny.’
‘It sounds chaotic. I was trying to remember if I’d ever seen it, but I don’t think I have. What a shame about Elizabeth’s fall.’
‘Mmm. They were really looking forward to it. She’s doing OK, by the way. I rang a little while ago and she was out of surgery and back on the ward and it all went well.’
‘Good. Well, here’s to them.’
She raised her glass, and he clinked his against it and held her eyes with his as he took the first sip.
They smouldered slightly—or was it just her imagination? She looked away, suddenly conscious of his nearness in the now-crowded bar, and she felt the warmth from her brisk walk beginning to make itself felt.
‘Gosh, it’s getting hot in here,’ she said, peeling off her cardi and slinging it over her arm.
‘It’ll be warm in the auditorium, too. We’d better drink up and go and find our seats.’
‘Good idea.’ She drained her glass, felt the wine hit her system and wished she’d had a little more to eat before she’d come out. All she needed was to trip over the steps and fall flat on her face.
But she didn’t fall, and he held her elbow and ushered her politely to her seat, folding it down for her and then sitting after she was settled.
Bone-deep good manners.
And suddenly she felt safer, less threatened, because for all he was gorgeous, he’d said and done nothing to make her feel uncomfortable. It was just her own reaction to him, and she could manage that. It was under her control.
It would be fine.
And it was, right up until the time the lights dimmed, the audience went
