“It is no problem at all. I will see to it.” He took their empty mugs and disappeared through the crowd. Soon a chorus of “Roll out the Barrel” started, with everyone joining in. Mr. Newman returned as the music died down. He waited patiently as Mrs. Green tucked away her knitting. When she finished, he handed the pickle sandwich to her. Slowly and with deliberate care, she peeled away the parchment paper. She smiled up at him as he handed her the mug. “Ta, Mr. Newman.”
He handed Gillian her tea, and his long fingers brushed by hers causing her breath to catch. A fiery heat travelled through her at his touch. She flushed once again in embarrassment, for he must have heard her sharp intake of breath. These past three years she’d forgotten how alluring a man could be, his height, voice, the brush of his fingers, his soft, warm breath feathering across her cheek…Stop it. Silly woman.
Mr. Newman pulled a wrapped sandwich out of his side pocket. “Care to share this ham sandwich with me?”
She sipped her tea, keeping her eyes forward. “It could be a long night. You may wish to save it for later.”
“I doubt it, I don’t hear any bombs. In fact, I will bet the all clear will be sounded soon.”
She gazed up at him, but only his silhouette was visible. “How can you hear anything outside through this din?”
He took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “I have exceptional hearing. Besides, the stuka bombers have a distinct sound. It’s the siren they use when they dive. I haven’t heard it tonight. But then, the Luftwaffe has been using the stuka more on the Eastern Front of late. I also haven’t heard any bombs making impact. The ground has not shaken at all.”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt any impact either. He held out the sandwich wedge sitting on the paper, she took it and murmured her thanks. A good thing there was no bombing run tonight by the Germans as her frayed nerves could not take it.
Gillian no sooner finished the sandwich when the steady whine of the all clear sounded. Thank God. She couldn’t abide crowded, enclosed places. It was why she sought out tube stations during an air raid instead of basements in public buildings or other smaller shelters. All she wanted was to breathe fresh air into her lungs, or at least fresher than the stale, smelly air down here. She stood, eager to move off when Mr. Newman clutched her elbow.
“Allow me to escort you ladies to the safety of the street.”
Frowning, she tried to shake her arm from his tight grip but there was no shifting him. “There is no need to escort me,” she sniffed haughtily.
“I am afraid I must insist.”
Oh, the audacity of the man. Annoyance clutched her insides at his forwardness. Before she could reply, he steered her and Mrs. Green toward the stairs. Maybe once they reached street level she might finally be able to see his face. Gillian admired his patience with the older lady who experienced difficulty ascending the stairs. Several minutes later, they stepped out onto Broadway and Gillian was disappointed to see the street was still in complete darkness for she wanted to have a good look at the man. Mrs. Green thanked them both profusely, toddled off down the sidewalk, and soon disappeared in the crowd.
“May I see you home, Miss O’Keefe? I am assuming you do not live far from here,” he asked politely.
It was entirely possible this man had the best intentions, but paranoia was part of her life, she lived and breathed it. She could not chance this stranger knowing where she lived. On the other hand, she should not be too impolite, for he acted as a perfect gentleman and not to acknowledge it would raise his suspicions. If he had any.
“You are most kind,” she demurred, giving him a brilliant smile whether he could see it or not standing here on the darkened street. “You may escort me to the end of Broadway, which is far enough, thank you.”
Mr. Newman reached for her hand and tucked it through his right arm. Gillian was tempted to pull away, but let her hand rest lightly on his sleeve. Muscle flexed under her touch causing her stomach to flutter. Honestly, this was ridiculous. Reacting to him this way made her feel weak, not in control of the situation. Which she was not, and it merely annoyed her further. The sooner she was away from this Robert Taylor look-alike, the better. The last thing she needed was a man in her life mucking things up.
They reached the end of the street. Gillian tried to pull her hand away, but he held it, slowly raised it toward his lips. No. He wouldn’t. What astonished her was how cool his skin felt. And it had a pale shade from what she could make out in the shadows, which followed this mysterious man everywhere he went. Bowing slightly, his full lips barely brushed past her knuckles, but made enough contact for her breath to quicken. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, his fingers stroking along her palm leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Good night, Miss O’ Keefe. Until we meet again.”
She stepped back, her legs jittery from his arousing touch. His fedora was pulled low over his face and all she could make out was his perfectly-shaped patrician nose. “Meet again? It’s highly unlikely.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “You never know.”
Gillian turned and quickly walked away. She could have invited him up to her flat for a drink. But that would be an invitation of another kind, and taking a stranger to bed for quick sex was not a wise idea. A stranger she met in an air raid shelter of all places. She picked up her pace knowing he watched her as she could feel his intense stare boring into her. Rounding the corner, she stopped and leaned against the brick building, trying to catch her breath. She waited five minutes to see if he would follow her. He didn’t. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she sprinted to her flat, her heels clicking on the pavement.
Once inside, she stood by the window and pulled aside the blackout curtain enough to peer out. The street was empty. After she let go of the curtain, she removed her wool coat and headed for her small kitchen. With shaking hands, she reached for the bottle of brandy. Yes, it was best she did not let her attraction to a mysterious stranger go any further. How could she not be attracted by his obvious masculine power? He radiated virility from the broadness of his shoulders, the sensual tone of his voice, to his hidden-in-shadows perfect profile. Emotionally, she was a wreck. The guilt she carried overwhelming. It took everything she had to get through the day. Never again would she allow any man to engage her heart.
* * * *
Once Gillian rounded the corner, Luke waited thirty minutes before fetching his car. He rented the loft of a large chalet-style home on Hastings Avenue in Redbridge which afforded him a modicum of privacy as the older couple who lived in the main house stayed out of his business. All the greenery surrounding the property along with the separate rear entrance also met his privacy requirements. The street was suburban in look and quiet for the most part. Since leaving Cornwall eleven years ago, he rented small, private flats and never stayed in one place more than two years. His previous life was packed in boxes in storage, and he basically lived out of two pieces of battered luggage.
Luke didn’t sleep much during the night. Instead he relived his encounter in the air raid shelter with Gillian Browning. She was attracted to him, what little she saw of him. He made sure he remained in shadow. Her heartbeat increased and her breathing became shallow when he was near, especially when he leaned in and whispered in her ear.
One particular talent he honed over the years is if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear a person’s heartbeat, gauge their pulse, and ascertain if they lied or experienced an emotional response. He also became skilled at reading a person’s facial expressions. Gillian had definitely reacted to
