serious-voiced. ‘You’re probably just looking for a handy diversion, if the truth be known.’
‘Really? A diversion from what, exactly?’ A dark blond eyebrow with tiny glints of copper in it lifted in amusement.
‘From whatever unhappy thoughts that have been bothering you.’
The smile vanished. His expression became as guarded as though a wall made of three-foot-deep granite had thundered down in front of it.
‘How do you know I’m disturbed by unhappy thoughts? What are you…a mind-reader?’
‘No.’ Anna’s teeth nibbled anxiously at her lip. ‘I just observe people and—and sense things about them.’
‘What a dangerous occupation. And you’re compelled to do this why? You don’t have any of your own material to contemplate? You must be a rare human being indeed if that’s the case…to have managed to negotiate your way through life without any problems at all.’
‘I haven’t…gone through life without any problems, I mean. How would I have learned anything or be able to empathise with other people if I’d been problem-free? I’d also be quite superficial…which I’m not.’
‘And here I was, thinking you were just a simple, uncomplicated barmaid, when in fact you’re clearly quite the little philosopher.’
Anna didn’t take the comment as an insult. How could she? As well as the pain glittering in his wintercoloured eyes, locked inside his scathing tone was the suggestion of the blackest kind of despair.
A heartfelt desire to help ease it in some way swept passionately through her.
‘I’m not looking for trouble. You just seemed so alone and sad, sitting there, that I thought that if you wanted to talk…well, I’d be a good listener. Sometimes it’s easier to tell your troubles to a stranger than someone you know. But anyway, if you think that’s impertinent of me, and another drink would help more, then I’ll gladly get you one.’
The man who’d told her to call him Dan raised a shoulder, then dropped it again dismissively.
‘I’m not the unburdening kind, and if you were hoping I might be then I have to tell you that you’re wasting your time. What’s your name? ‘
‘Anna.’
‘That’s it… just Anna?’
‘Anna Bailey.’
A cold sweat broke out across her skin, where previously his disturbing glance had kindled the kind of heat that made dry tinder burst into flames. Was he going to report her or something? She hadn’t meant to insult him. Her only desire had been to help if she could. Was he an important enough customer for a complaint from him to help her lose her job? She prayed not.
The comfortable family-run hotel in a quiet corner of Covent Garden had become her home for the past three years, and she loved everything about it—including her work. She didn’t even mind if she sometimes had to work long hours. Her employers were so kind—generous to a fault, in fact—and her recent pay-rise had helped make life a whole lot more comfortable than when she’d worked at jobs she’d hated and for too little money. Lord knew she didn’t want to go back to struggling again.
‘Look, Mr, er…’
‘I told you to call me Dan.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why? ‘ he snapped, his expression irritated.
‘Because it wouldn’t be professional. I’m an employee here and you’re a guest.’
‘Yet you offered me a shoulder to cry on. Is that on offer to all your guests, Anna?’
She flushed. ‘Of course not. I just wanted to—’
‘So the only thing that prevents you calling me by my first name is that you’re a stickler for the rules and you work here, while I’m a paying customer?’
‘I’d better go.’
‘No—stay. Is there any other reason you can’t be more informal? Like the fact that you’ve got a husband or boyfriend waiting for you at home, perhaps?’
Anna stared helplessly.
‘No.’ She cleared her throat, then glanced round to see if anyone was observing them.
Brian—her young, dark-haired colleague—was wiping down the half-moon-shaped bar and chatting to a customer at the same time, whilst a smartly dressed middle-aged couple sat tenderly holding hands as they lingered over their after-theatre drinks. They’d regaled Anna earlier with tales of the play they’d been to, and their infectious enjoyment was contagious. Twenty-five years married and they were still like young lovers around each other.
Sighing, she turned back to find him broodingly examining her. The sudden jolt of her heartbeat mimicked another heavy brick splashing into a pond as his glance interestedly and deliberately appraised her figure. His gaze lingered boldly on the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, trailing sensuous fire in its wake. There was nothing provocative about the purple silk blouse with its pretty Chinese collar and the straight grey skirt that denoted her uniform, but when he studied her like that—as if he were imagining her naked and willing in his bed—Anna felt as if there was nowhere to hide.
A trembling excitement soared through her blood at his near-insolent examination. An excitement that was like a gargantuan powerful wave dangerously poised to sweep her into uncharted waters she’d never dared visit before.
‘In that case…I’ve had a change of heart,’ Dante drawled, smiling. ‘Maybe sharing my troubles with a sweet girl like you is just what I need tonight, Anna. What time do you finish?’
‘Around midnight, by the time Brian and I have cashed up.’ How was it possible for her voice to sound so level when inside a roaring furnace was all but consuming her?
‘And how do you normally get home? Do you get a cab?’
‘I live in, actually.’
Just like a popped balloon, her last defence deflated and it was no longer possible for her to pretend that the handsome, hard-jawed stranger hadn’t affected her deeply. The truth was that he held a dangerous fascination for her. She was hypnotised by the simmering aura of sensuality implicit in his rough velvet voice and in the twin lakes of his troubled haunting eyes. As a result, her bones seemed to be held together by running water instead of strong connective tissue. Unable to think straight, Anna knew her returning glance was nervous as she gathered the round wooden tray up close to her chest as though it were a shield.
‘Have you made up your mind about the drink? Only I’ve got to get back to the bar to work.’
‘Another drink can wait.’
Unbuttoning his coat for the first time that evening, Dante handed her his empty glass with another long, slow, meaningful glance. His lean fingers brushed hers. Did she imagine that they lingered there against her skin much longer than necessary? His touch was like being grazed by lightning—deliberate or not.
‘I’m
