Читать книгу All Night Long - Anne Mather - Страница 7

THE man was watching her.

Ally shifted a little uncomfortably on her stool at the bar and transferred her attention to the tall glass in front of her. Despite the fact that she had come down to the bar with the avowed intention of flirting with the first attractive man she saw, the reality was proving rather more daunting than she had anticipated. Besides, although she was almost sure he was watching her, he could be staring at something over her shoulder. Young men like him did not usually waste their time with middle-aged divorcees, particularly when the divorcee in question looked considerably the worse for wear.

Ally heaved a deep sigh and permitted herself another surreptitious glance in his direction. This time she caught his eye and she could feel the heat surge into her cheeks as she quickly looked away.

Dear God, she thought, picking up her glass and taking a reinforcing gulp of her vodka and tonic. He was watching her. But why? Surely he couldn’t think she was a wealthy tourist, not with her cheap jewellery and chain store clothes.

She took a steadying breath. The trouble was, she wasn’t used to this. It was twenty years since she’d been an active member of the singles scene and she had no idea how to cope with such an obvious appraisal. All right, she’d been fairly satisfied with her appearance when she’d looked in the mirror of the hotel room vanity unit upstairs, but she didn’t kid herself that her brown hair—which had been decently cut and styled and streaked with blond highlights—or her decidedly unmodel-like figure were the stuff of any man’s erotic dream. She was—or rather, she had been—a wife and mother for too many years to start regarding herself as an attractive single woman again.

But that was why she was here, she reminded herself. Why she was spending the night at this luxurious hotel at Heathrow Airport before boarding the morning flight to Nassau and from there to the tiny island of San Cristobál. This holiday was intended to be her opportunity to escape—at least for a few weeks—from the pain and humiliation of the past year. And if, by going to stay with Suzanne, she was falling short of making a complete break from everything and everyone she knew, she was doing something she had never done before.

So why was she behaving so coyly, just because some man—some strange man—was showing interest in her? It wasn’t as if she was likely to see him again after tonight. And, besides, he was far too young for her. If he was watching her, it was probably just curiosity. She looked so out of place here; he was no doubt wondering what she was doing out alone.

‘Is this yours?’

She started at the voice. Despite her awareness of the man at the other end of the bar, she’d been completely wrapped in her thoughts, and the low appealing enquiry came as a total surprise to her.

It was him. As she’d been absorbed in finding reasons why he wouldn’t be interested in her, he’d left his stool and was now propped against the bar beside her, her black clutch bag in his hand.

‘Oh—’ How had he taken possession of her handbag without her being aware of it? ‘I—yes. Yes, it’s mine.’ She fairly snatched the bag from his outstretched fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ His voice had a faintly mocking tone as if he found her rather ungracious acceptance of his kindness amusing. ‘It was on the floor.’

‘Was it?’ Too late. Ally remembered her elbow brushing something as she’d swung round in her seat. ‘Well, I’m very grateful. I’d hate to have lost it.’

Which was so true. Her traveller’s cheques, her passport, and her air tickets were all in the bag. She’d been too nervous to leave them locked in her suitcase in her room.

‘Accidents happen,’ he responded lightly, his dark eyes appraising her with discomforting intensity. ‘Are you waiting for your husband?’

Her husband?

Ally somehow suppressed the desire to laugh. It would have been slightly hysterical laughter, she thought bitterly, and she had no desire to show herself up in front of such a disturbing—and she sensed sophisticated—individual.

So, ‘No,’ she replied, with what she hoped was cool assurance. ‘I’m not waiting for my husband.’

‘Then can I buy you a drink?’ he asked, nodding towards her almost empty glass. ‘Vodka, isn’t it?’

Ally’s jaw was in danger of dropping and she hastily pressed her lips together. ‘I—why—well, that’s very kind of you, but—’

‘But you don’t know me from Adam,’ he suggested softly, easing his hip onto the stool beside hers. ‘Well, that’s easily remedied. My name’s Raul. What’s yours?’

Ally hesitated. Raul, she thought, liking the sound of it. But, just Raul. Not Raul whatever-his-surname-was. It seemed that he had no more desire to betray his identity than she did, and while that should please her, it didn’t.

‘Um—I’m Diana,’ she said, choosing a name at random. ‘Diana—Morrison.’

‘Hello, Diana.’ His thin lips curled into an engaging smile. ‘So—can I buy you a drink, Diana?’

Ally swallowed her disappointment that he hadn’t chosen to be any more forthcoming, and cautiously inclined her head. ‘Why not?’ she said steadily. ‘Thank you.’

He summoned the bartender with considerably less effort than she’d needed earlier and ordered her another vodka and tonic and himself Scotch over ice. Listening to him order the drinks, Ally wondered if he was an American, but although his accent wasn’t wholly familiar, she sensed it wasn’t a transatlantic drawl.

But it was an attractive accent, she conceded. Just as he was one of the most attractive men she had seen in her life. He was very dark-skinned, with lean, tanned features that had a faintly aquiline severity. But his mouth was far from severe. It had a decidedly humorous twist to the sensual lower lip, and his very dark hair made her wonder if he had any southern European blood in his veins.

She felt a slightly incredulous twinge that he should actually be buying her a drink. In her experience, men seldom came on to her, and just because her dress had a rather more daring neckline than usual, and she’d had her hair professionally styled, it did not mean she was any less the ugly duckling. There had to be some other reason why he was showing an interest in her, and she couldn’t help worrying that she might not be experienced enough to cope with it, whatever it was.

What did she know of men, after all? Precious little, she acknowledged ruefully. She’d married Jeff soon after leaving school and for eighteen years after that she’d been too busy juggling the tasks of supporting him though his university days and raising the twins to pay much attention to anything else.

‘There you go.’

The barman had returned with their drinks and Raul, if that really was his name, was pushing her glass towards her. Perhaps with a couple more of these inside her she’d feel a little less anxious, she thought hopefully, obediently raising her glass to her lips and forcing herself not to drop her gaze when he caught her eyes across the rim of his glass.

But it didn’t last.

‘I guess it’s okay.’

His lazy comment made her realise that she’d swallowed at least a third of the drink in one gulp and she hurriedly replaced it on the bar. ‘I wasn’t thinking,’ she said foolishly, her nervous fingers toying with the edge of her coaster. She concentrated on setting the glass more centrally on the small mat. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘Good.’ He set his own glass down and she was supremely aware of his dark gaze assessing her averted face. Then, his breath fanning her hot cheek, ‘Do I make you nervous?’

Ally sucked in a breath. ‘Why should you think that?’ she demanded, indignation giving her voice more confidence, and he sighed.

‘I suppose because I get the impression that you’re not used to—well, to this.’

‘Picking up men in bars, do you mean?’ she asked, controlling the instinct to confirm his suspicions and walk out of the bar with some difficulty. ‘No, I’m not. Are you?’

‘Used to picking up men in bars?’ he echoed mildly. ‘Hardly.’

‘You know what I meant,’ she accused him hotly. ‘Now you’re making fun of me.’

‘No, I’m not.’ And then, seeing her disbelief, ‘Well, possibly. Just a little.’ His smile was rueful as he picked up his drink. ‘I’m just trying to get you to relax, that’s all.’

‘By asking me if I’m nervous?’ Ally was scornful. ‘I’m self-conscious enough as it is without you making me feel worse.’

The cuff of his blouson jacket brushed sensuously against her bare arm as he set his glass down again. It was made of soft leather, fine and expensive, and she couldn’t prevent a shiver from sliding down her spine at the involuntary touch. It was black, like his hair, and beneath its folds a black tee shirt outlined the taut muscles of his flat stomach.

Ally caught her breath. Jeff would never have dreamt of wearing anything so casual in the evening, she reflected. A dark suit—latterly he’d been buying himself Armani, only Ally hadn’t been aware of it until— She discarded that thought before it could hurt her and moved on. A blazer, a sports coat—Harris tweed for preference—those were the things she was used to. But Raul looked as elegant in black jeans as Jeff had ever looked in his designer gear. But then Raul’s clothes were obviously designer-made, too…

‘Tell me why you’re self-conscious,’ he said, distracting her from her covert appraisal of his appearance. ‘You have nothing to be self-conscious about.’

‘No?’ Ally stifled the snort that rose into her throat. ‘Well, as you so succinctly remarked earlier, I’m not used to this—this scene.’

‘What scene?’

‘This scene.’ Ally permitted herself to look at him for a moment and then expanded her gaze to include the whole room. ‘Women sitting in bars on their own, accepting drinks from total strangers.’

‘We’re not total strangers.’ He kept a perfectly straight face but she was sure he was laughing at her. ‘We’ve been introduced.’

‘We introduced ourselves,’ Ally amended wryly. ‘That’s not the same thing at all.’

‘Okay.’ He conceded her point. ‘But it’s moot now, anyway. You can hardly pretend we don’t know one another when you’ve just swallowed half the drink I paid for.’

Ally’s lips parted. ‘Are you implying I can’t buy my own drinks?’

‘Of course not.’ He was evidently growing weary of her argument. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, right? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted us to get to know one another better, and I foolishly thought that teasing you might do it.’ He held up his hands, palm outward. ‘Obviously, I was wrong.’

Now Ally felt sorry. She hadn’t wanted to offend him, and it wasn’t his fault that she was out of date when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. If anyone was to blame, she was. She had allowed Jeff to control her life for so long that she’d forgotten how to have fun.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, half surprised that he hadn’t moved away to try his luck with someone else. There was certainly no shortage of younger—and apparently unattached—women in the bar, and from the looks she’d been getting, Ally guessed they were speculating about why a man like Raul should have hooked himself up with her. ‘I guess I’m too old for this.’

His dark eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You’re not old,’ he argued. Then, his lips twitching at her tongue-in-cheek expression, ‘I mean it. You can’t be more than what? Thirty-two, thirty-three? That is not old, believe me.’

Ally gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If that’s a sneaky way of getting me to tell you how old I am, you needn’t have bothered. I’m not ashamed of my age. I’m thirty-eight; almost thirty-nine, in fact. Comfortably middle-aged.’

He shook his head. ‘Why do you persist in putting yourself down?’ he exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t exaggerating. You don’t look your age, however much you might like to believe you do.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ Raul regarded her with a disturbingly sensual gaze. ‘Who told you you were—what was it you said?—comfortably middle-aged? Some man?’

‘Isn’t it always?’ Ally was sardonic. Then, because that was one thing she couldn’t blame Jeff for, she added, ‘No, actually, it was Sam. My daughter. I think she thought it was a compliment.’

‘You have a daughter?’ He was polite, but wary, she thought, and she wondered if he was speculating about her husband. ‘Well, children can be very—very—’

‘Honest?’

‘No.’ His smile returned. ‘I was going to say cruel. And short-sighted. They see what they want to see. How old is—Sam?’

Too late, Ally realised she had told him Sam’s real name. ‘She’s twenty,’ she admitted, with some reluctance. And then, because anything she told him was unlikely to go any further, she added. ‘She’s getting married next year. I think she wants to make me a grandmother.’ Her expression grew unknowingly wistful. ‘I suppose she assumes I’ve got nothing else to look forward to.’

Raul shook his head. ‘That’s some opinion you’ve got of yourself, isn’t it?’ He paused before continuing, ‘Does your husband agree with her?’

Ally’s lips tightened. ‘Her father and I are divorced.’

‘Ah.’

His response was typical and Ally felt a sudden resurgence of the determination that had got her to buy her ticket to San Cristobál in the first place. ‘What do you mean—ah?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Does the fact that I’m divorced explain everything? Is that what you’re thinking? A woman scorned and all that guff? Well, let me tell you, I’m glad to be out of that relationship.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ Ally resented having to defend herself to him. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me—’

‘Wait!’ As she would have slid off her stool, his lean brown fingers closed about her wrist, and her heart pounded wildly through her veins. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded, his dark eyes warm and appealing. ‘If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. That was not my intention.’

‘Which begs the question, what was your intention in approaching me?’ retorted Ally tersely. And then, becoming aware that their heated exchange was attracting the attention of other people around them, she lowered her tone. ‘Please let me go. I have a table booked in the restaurant.’

Raul sighed. ‘So do I.’

Ally was not impressed. ‘So?’

Raul’s thumb pressed insistently against the network of veins that marked the inner side of her wrist. ‘We could have dinner together—’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ Despite her obvious opposition, he held on to her arm. ‘We’re both on our own, aren’t we? Why shouldn’t we share a table?’

‘It doesn’t occur to you that I might not want to, does it?’ she exclaimed. ‘And why should you be so certain that I’m on my own? I could be with—with someone else. Just because I’m divorced—’

‘Are you?’

‘I told you I was.’

‘No, I mean, are you with someone?’ he asked softly, and, meeting his disturbing eyes, Ally felt her resistance falter.

‘I—could be.’

He conceded the point. ‘But are you?’

Ally’s breath came out with a resigned gulp. ‘No.’

‘So?’ His thumb softened on her wrist, finding her pulse and massaging its erratic beat with gentle insistence. ‘Will you let me buy you dinner?’

Ally shook her head. ‘I don’t know why you should want to.’

His lips twisted. ‘Put it down to my idiosyncrasy,’ he said drily. ‘Shall we go?’