so dark they appeared as black as onyx, were making a leisurely perusal, moving over her from head to toe and then back again. Males had been giving Hannah the admiring, assessing once-over since she’d donned her first training bra at age twelve. She knew how to deal with it, knew when to be flattered or insulted, knew how to respond playfully or forbiddingly.
But she wasn’t sure how to respond to this man. For after taking careful, minute inventory of her every feature, her every curve, he merely blinked and dispassionately looked away, totally dismissing her.
Hannah followed his gaze, saw those dark eyes of his fix on Katie, who was crossing the room to him, looking worried and nervous and apologetic. Hannah’s eyes widened. She silently willed the dark stranger to look over at her. She intended to devastate him with her most sultry stare, then reduce him to a quivering pool of nerves with an ego-shriveling insult.
But the man never looked her way again. She might as well have been invisible. It was as if he was unaware she existed, hadn’t seen her at all during those few charged seconds when she’d watched him devour her with his eyes.
“Mr. Granger, is there something wrong?” Katie asked breathlessly.
Hannah was standing near enough to overhear the conversation, and she moved closer, listening shamelessly.
“Yes, Miss Jones, you could say that,” Mr. Granger growled. “I want you to come upstairs to my room immediately.” He turned and headed up the stairs, not looking back, expecting Katie to follow him without question, without protest.
And she did exactly that! Hannah’s jaw dropped as she watched Katie trail after the man, up the steps and away from the party.
“I want you to come upstairs to my room immediately.” The deep, commanding voice seemed to echo in Hannah’s head while her mind’s eye kept flashing his image as visual accompaniment.
She pictured him so clearly he could still be standing in front of her, dressed all in black, his T-shirt, jeans and sneakers nearly the same dark shade as his hair. His complexion was swarthy, his teeth very white. It was as if Dracula had appeared at the summer-night party, a dark, menacing presence among the colorful floral and pastel dresses of the ladies and the light ice-cream suits of the men.
Hannah shivered. She felt edgy. Worst of all, she felt ridiculous! Her imagination, always active—why had she been the only Farley ever to possess one?—had clearly gone into overdrive. Dracula, indeed! The man was obviously a tenant here, seeking out the proprietor, and most rudely, too!
His bare arms flashed to mind, unnerving her further. He was muscular, his forearms covered with a sprinkling of hair, his shoulders broad. His hands were big, his fingers long. He was probably very strong.
Hannah was disconcerted by her detailed observation of the man. After all, she’d only seen him for a few moments. And then he had summoned Katie to his room. The party no longer held Hannah’s interest. Impulsively she climbed the stairs to the second floor of the three-storied house, hurrying through the halls, listening.
“...I’ve been in dumps and dives all over the world, but this place has to be the worst! I have never experienced...”
The irate male voice was coming from the end of the hall, and Hannah rushed into the room. Katie was standing beside the window, looking mortified as the man she called Mr. Granger lambasted the Clover Street Boardinghouse, comparing it unfavorably to accommodations found anywhere in an inner-city slum.
Hannah glanced around and understood why. It looked like it was raining inside the room. Water didn’t simply trickle or drip; it was pouring through several places in the ceiling, as if there were shower heads embedded in the roof directing the water down into this bedroom.
“The roof is leaking,” Hannah blurted out.
“Did you figure that out all by yourself?” The stranger turned from Katie to Hannah, his dark eyes mocking. ”You’re a real genius, aren’t you, little girl?”
“I am not a little girl!” Hannah snapped, instantly incensed. “Of all the sexist remarks to make, that one—”
The man’s eyes swept over her. “I was referring to your height. You’re short. Little. Can’t a man make a truthful observation without being called sexist?”
Hannah was indignant. Her height—or the lack of it—was a sore point with her. She was barely five foot three and considered herself too short. She had never stopped wishing that she were tall and willowy like her two older sisters.
Tonight, the nearly four-inch heels she wore gave her a sense of height and power. “You’re not much taller than I am. Does that make you a little boy?” She squared her shoulders and held her head high. Her power shoes did bring her somewhat closer to his height, which was an inch or two under six feet.
“You’re on stilts and you’re still shorter, honey,” he observed ungallantly.
“Mr. Granger, I am sorry.” Katie jumped into the decidedly confrontational conversation. “I was aware that the roof had a-a couple of small leaky spots but I didn’t realize...I never dreamed...this has never happened before—”
Granger turned back to Katie. “Look at this!” He had been momentarily diverted, but was not ready to be appeased. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated a stream of water splashing onto a case. “That is my laptop computer. If it hadn’t been in its case, it would’ve been soaked.” He picked up the case, moving it out from under the cascade. “Do you have any idea what damage water causes to electronic equipment, Miss Jones? And this—” He pointed to the bed where the indoor deluge was in the process of drenching the pillow. “If I’d been asleep, I would have been shocked awake by a blast of rain on my head!”
“Well, you weren’t asleep so you weren’t shocked awake by a blast of rain on your head,” Hannah said coolly. “And your precious computer was in its case so it wasn’t damaged by water. As far as I can see, there’s no harm done, certainly nothing to warrant this tantrum you’re throwing. What’s a little water anyway? Are you a complainer by nature, Mr. Granger? Would you like some cheese to go along with your whine?”
She had the immense satisfaction of watching his face redden. She knew how very much men hated to be accused of whining! It was the antithesis of the ideal of strong, silent male fortitude.
Katie, however, was aghast. “Oh, no, Hannah!” She gripped her throat, gulping for breath. “Mr. Granger has every reason to be infuriated. I agree with him. These conditions are inexcusable and totally unacceptable! Mr. Granger, I hope you’ll give the boardinghouse another chance to make this up to you. I’ll move you to a new room immediately, and of course, you won’t be charged for today or tonight—or—or tomorrow, either. I am so terribly, terribly sorry.”
“Katie, there is no need to grovel to this man.” Hannah was speaking to Katie, but her eyes were focused on the darkly rugged Mr. Granger. He was staring back at her, his black gaze piercing and intense. “I think he owes you an apology,” Hannah continued gleefully. “He’s behaved rudely, summoning you up here as if he’s some sort of feudal lord taking the servant girl to task.”
Katie choked. “Mr. Granger,” she began placatingly, “please don’t—”
“Who is she and why is she here?” Granger asked Katie, his eyes never leaving Hannah. “If she turns out to be the demented co-owner of this place, I’m checking out immediately.”
