One Secret Night

The guy stumbled a bit, then righted himself only to grab at the woman’s hand and turn her around to face him. He leaned forward to say something close to her ear. An expression of disgust slid across her face and she shook her head while trying to disengage his hold on her. This was wrong on so many levels it made Ethan’s blood boil. No always meant no. Before he knew it, he was off his stool and edging his way through the dancers, his eyes firmly trained on one target and one target only.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, bending and placing a kiss on the startled woman’s cheek. He turned slightly, placing his body firmly in front of her, and faced her wannabe beau. “She’s with me, mate,” he said, his stance and his expression saying in no uncertain terms that it was time for the other guy to back off.

To his relief the man gave him a drunken apologetic smile and returned to his table. Ethan turned back to the blonde.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“You didn’t need to do that. I can take care of myself, you know,” she replied haughtily.

For some reason the thought of this svelte creature, who didn’t even come up to his shoulder, “taking care of herself” made him laugh out loud. “That much was obvious,” he said when he managed to get his mirth under control.

He was surprised when her face creased into a smile and she laughed along with him.

“I suppose I really should just say thank-you,” she said, still smiling.

“You’re welcome. You didn’t look as if you were enjoying his company.”

“No, you’re right, I wasn’t.” She held out her hand. “I’m Isobel Fyfe.”

“Ethan Masters.”

He accepted her hand, instantly aware of the daintiness of hers in his much larger one. His fingers tightened reflexively as every one of his protective instincts roared to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t let her go as he leaned forward slightly, his masculine bulk shielding her from those around them.

“Can I buy you a drink, or perhaps dinner somewhere else?” Ethan asked as he was jostled by the crowd. “It’s a bit of a crush in here.”

For a minute he thought she’d refuse but then she nodded.

“Dinner. Let me get my pack. The barman’s holding it for me.”

Ethan led her back toward the bar, her hand still in his. When she retrieved her large and well-worn backpack from behind the bar, Ethan automatically reached to relieve her of it as they made their way to the front door.

“It’s okay,” Isobel said. “I can manage. I’m used to it.”

“Yes, but at least let me salve my male conscience by carrying it for you. I promise I won’t lose it.”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that.” She smiled, handing the dusty pack, still with airline luggage tags attached, over to him. “Besides, it really doesn’t match my shoes.”

Ethan cast a glance at the high-heeled sandals she wore and had to agree. “Are you okay to walk in those or should we take a taxi?”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

He named a Greek restaurant farther down Rundle Street. “It’s not far.”

“Then let’s walk,” she said, slipping one small hand into the crook of his free arm. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

Ethan slung the pack over one shoulder, hardly caring for the creases it would generate in his Ralph Lauren Black Label suit.

“That wasn’t your usual haunt, was it?” Isobel asked, nodding her head back toward the pub they’d just vacated.

“That obvious?” he asked with a smile.

For a moment he withstood her silent perusal as she eyed him carefully. The sense that she was checking him out in more ways than one made his blood begin to hum in his veins, sending warmth spreading out to his extremities.

“Yes,” she answered succinctly.

Intrigued, he pressed her as to why.

“A few things,” she said as they came to a stop at a street crossing and waited for their signal. “But mainly it’s your demeanor. You’ve got this air about you. Some would say that it’s probably wealth and privilege but I think there’s more to it than that. You look like you aren’t afraid of hard work.” She took both of his hands in hers and turned them this way and that, examining them carefully before letting them go and tucking her hand back in the crook of his arm. “Yes, well tended but not in a prissy way. And yet there’s an air of entitlement about you, or command, if you’d rather think of it that way. You’re willing to work hard, but you’re used to giving orders and having them immediately obeyed.”

Ethan gave a short bark of laughter. “And you can tell all that just by looking at me?”

She shrugged—a delicate motion of her slender shoulders. “You asked,” she replied simply. “Are we crossing?”

Her question reminded him that they were supposed to be going to dinner. He took a minute to clear his mind as they strolled across the intersection and down the sidewalk. How had this happened? he wondered, supremely conscious of her hand nestled at his elbow and the feminine sway of her hips as she walked along beside him. How had he gone from having a drink to unwind, to escorting a woman he’d only just met to dinner? How long had it been since he’d acted on impulse like this?

The answer to the last question was simple. Never.

Isobel felt the tensile strength of the forearm beneath her fingers and relished the tingle of anticipation it set up deep inside. The finely woven wool of Ethan’s suit—she’d missed catching his last name in the noise back at the bar—was just a veneer to the man who wore it. Her senses fizzed with the same sense of excitement she got when she knew she’d captured a particularly good photo—that prickling spider-sense that she was on the verge of something greater than she’d experienced before. And, having made it a lifestyle choice to grab every moment and make it a worthwhile one, dinner with Ethan was just the ticket.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who was free with her favors, but she wasn’t one to let the opportunity to spend a fun evening with an attractive man fall by the wayside, either.

Her instincts had told her he was straight up—that she had nothing to fear from him—and instinct had never let her down before. Besides, she had little reason to believe that anything would happen beyond an entertaining meal together. This guy was totally not her type. Too self-assured, too dominating and too darn good-looking for her equilibrium. Still, the evening promised to be interesting, if nothing else.

They arrived at the restaurant and she was immediately struck by the deference paid to him by the staff. After they were seated at the table, her pack secured safely on the floor between them, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, reaching for his water glass and taking a long draw of the sparkling liquid. No mere tap water for him.

She dragged her gaze from the movement of the muscles in his tanned throat and reached for her own glass, lifting it to her lips.

“It’s amazing. You just take it all for granted, don’t you?” she eventually said.

The look of puzzlement that crossed his face, pulling his heavy dark brows together, was all the answer she needed.

“I don’t follow.”

“They treat you like royalty,” she said with a small laugh. “And you don’t even notice.”

“I’m a regular, and I tip well,” he replied, looking a bit put out.

“It wasn’t a criticism,” she said softly. “I’m sure they respect your patronage.”

It only took a second for her double entendre to hit its mark, whereupon he surprised her by chuckling out loud.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

Isobel shrugged. “I believe in calling a spade a spade, even when it’s a face card.”

“So you gamble?” he probed.