скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Then far be it from me to emasculate you.’ She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her sudden, irrepressibly inane grin.
Then, crossing her leather-trouser-clad legs on the bar stool—the brand-new purchase intended to lift her spirits—she gestured discreetly.
‘Be my guest.’
Without another word the stranger stepped forward. Goose-bumps coursed along Elle’s arms and over her skin and for one long second her gaze lingered on a tight backside and muscular thighs, all wrapped up in black jeans, then slowly travelled upwards. He was tall, very tall, and solidly built, with a black T-shirt seemingly following every contour of his exquisitely hewn torso.
She blinked—since when did she ogle?—before forcing herself to focus on what he was saying.
‘Well, lads? Didn’t you say you were leaving?’ he said, offering the men a way of backing down while still allowing them the appearance of keeping their dignity.
It was a pretty impressive skill, which was sadly lost on the drunken duo. One of them craned his head up to glower, swaying precariously.
‘D’you wanna fight, or shhomething?’
‘I don’t, particularly.’ The response was even, conversational, but there was no mistaking the ominous tone. ‘But if that’s really how you’d like to end your evening...?’
For a moment everything seemed to hang. And then, to Elle’s relief, the one turned to his mate, muttering something about her not being worth the effort, and slunk away into the crowd. Still, the stranger watched with his arms folded across his chest making his biceps bunch appealingly from behind, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Poised, controlled, but ready if they suddenly returned.
‘Better?’ she asked him, once she was sure the men had left.
Affecting nonchalance, she deliberately plucked a non-existent stray thread from her thigh, wondering who had removed all her internal organs and replaced them with a veritable butterfly pavilion.
‘Much, thanks,’ he agreed with no trace of embarrassment, pulling a comical pose as he flexed his muscles. ‘I feel like a man again.’
She finally made herself look at him properly, and the instant she did she found she couldn’t drag her gaze away.
And what a man.
He was strong, fit—Stevie had been fit, his football giving him an enviable physique—but this was something...more. A whole different level. The stranger had a dangerous power about him that seemed to emanate from the inside just as much as the view on the outside. He was commanding, impressive, thrilling. She’d worked with plenty of majors and colonels and brigadiers in her career, but this guy eclipsed them all.
Was this what she’d been missing all these years?
She barely resisted cocking her head to assess him more thoroughly. Lookswise, his face was inarguably masculine with a defined jawline and a blade of a nose. Not pretty-boy handsome, but far more arresting. The kind of face that would be imprinted in her mind for ever. Greedily she drank in the view. From the honed, squared jaw to the tiny crinkle lines around his eyes, which seemed to add character, it was a face that could have stopped a whole bar full of women and, if the daggers she could feel in her back even now were anything to go in, already had.
Unreadable and intense, his eyes were a smoky blue-grey and were were focussed entirely on her. They drew her in and refused to release her, and so help her she didn’t want to go anywhere. Forget the butterflies; now a hundred tiny fireflies had sprung up in her belly like a magical light show on a warm summer evening.
She couldn’t decide whether it was thrilling or nerve-racking. She flicked her tongue out to moisten nervous lips.
Something momentarily flared in his eyes, something that sent the fireflies racing for cover as fire spread through her entire torso and her heart pounded so hard it would surely leave black and-blue marks on the inside of her chest.
‘Where did you learn to do that thumb-lock, incidentally? Very Jane Bond... You’re not army, by any chance?’
Something about his tone made Elle hesitate, as if it was more important to him than he would have preferred to let on. Maybe he was one of those blokes who hated the military, or one who got a kick out of a woman in uniform? Either way, tonight she didn’t want to be Major Caplin, Dr Caplin, or even Gabriella Caplin. She just wanted to be Elle.
‘Self-defence class when I was a uni student,’ she answered, not untruthfully.
‘Ah.’
She might have been imagining it, but she could have sworn he relaxed. So, not a military fan, then.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine,’ she croaked out. ‘Thanks.’
She was jerking her head like she’d just electrocuted herself.
‘Are you always so effective at shooting a guy down?’
‘I don’t know where that came from.’ She shrugged. ‘He put his hand on me and I just reacted, but I had tried ignoring him first. I thought he might have gone away.’
The stranger nodded sagely.
‘Ah, you see, that’s where you went wrong,’ he continued deadpan. ‘That’s a polite woman’s logic. A drunken man just thinks, She hasn’t told me to sod off yet, she must be interested.’
Elle laughed. She couldn’t help it. Some of the awkwardness dissipated.
‘I see. Well, thanks, I’ll remember that for the next time.’
A small smiled tugged at those irrationally tempting lips of his.
‘At the risk of a knee to my most valued possessions, can I buy you a drink?’
For the first time that evening, Elle was actually tempted. More than tempted. And it only had a little to do with the devilish grin he’d just flashed, which turned her insides out, and more to do with the man flashing it.
But something made her stall.
It could have been the fact that she’d been about to head for the door before the unpleasant interlude with the drunken duo. But Elle suspected it was more to do with the fact that this man here was ridiculously hot, making her brain turn to treacle and her tongue forget how to function. She’d come here to rediscover herself, not pick someone up. And if she accepted a drink from him, would he think she was somehow...obligated to more? She had no idea, but she was sure that wasn’t going to happen. Still, what were the rules? How did she go about this flirtation dance stuff? The last time she’d dated had been fourteen years ago.
‘I have a drink,’ she managed, buying herself time to think.
‘Which is no doubt warm and unpleasant since you’ve been cradling it for the last hour.’
She wasn’t sure whether to be feel pleased or creeped out. Something about the guy made her feel more the former than the latter.
‘You’ve been watching me.’
His chuckled. A rich, warm sound that made her stomach flip-flop.
‘I wouldn’t say watching exactly, that might sound a bit...off, don’t you think? I happened to be getting the drinks in when we first arrived.’
We?
‘You’re with someone?’ She tried to remind herself that she had no right to feel so disappointed.
‘Over there.’
She followed the direction he indicated, the ridiculous beam rushing back to her face.
‘A lads’ night out?’
‘I’m glad that delights you so much,’ he commented wryly, turning to the bar with a minimal dip of his head to attract the bartender’s attention. ‘I think I’ll take that as a good sign and order you a fresh drink after all.’
Elle gave herself a mental kick. She had some good qualities, she knew that. Her colleagues generally described her as focussed and driven yet also fun and bubbly, and she prided herself on her ability to master a curveball, but she never had mastered the art of flirting. She’d never had to. And right now she felt about as sophisticated as turning up to an officers’ garden party wearing jeans and a white tee. Yet somehow the obvious appreciation in his gaze stopped her from feeling too gauche.
She was still trying to work out her next move a few moments later as the bartender carefully removed her tepid half-consumed drink and replaced it with a fresh one.
‘How did you do that?’ she marvelled, with a glance at the frantically waved notes in the crowd as customers still clamoured for attention. ‘It was like magic.’
‘No magic, we’ve just got a tab going. And we tip well.’
‘You come here often?’
Oh, Lord, had she really said that?
‘Not really, but when we do it’s usually an all-out affair.’ He grinned, and white-hot attraction seared through her, turning her inside out. Elle swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain nonchalant.
‘Celebration?’
‘Call it a bit of a...leaving do.’
Moments later a generous glass of dark liquid was set quietly in front of the stranger. Elle glanced at the fizzing bubbles in surprise.
‘You’re on soft drinks?’
‘I don’t drink.’ He shrugged casually.
‘Ah.’
Recovering alcoholic? That explained a lot. Like why a guy who looked like he did was still single. And that unexpected bitterness to his earlier comment about not knowing how the drunken guy was going to react.
‘Maybe the odd glass of wine if I’m dining out, but I’m generally happy to be the designated driver on a night out like this,’ he added, as if he’d read her mind. ‘Easier than trying to get a taxi sometimes.’
Yet she didn’t miss the flash of...something that skittered across his face before he shot it down.
So he wasn’t the drunk, but maybe someone close to him?
She gave herself a mental shake at her uncharacteristic curiosity.
What did it matter? It wasn’t any of her business.
Admittedly, she’d dealt with enough soldiers telling her only half-truths about their injuries in order to get back to their unit quicker. If you knew the give-aways it could be easy to spot when someone was holding back, even if you had no idea what they were withholding. But this wasn’t the army now. She wasn’t at work. This was about play. So if this stranger wanted to keep something private then who was she to pry?
She smiled openly.
‘So, you aren’t going back to them? Your friends?’
‘Do you want me to?’
She should tell him it didn’t matter to her either way. Hadn’t she been ready to leave anyway for the comforts of her hotel spa bath and downy bed? Instead, she held out her hand by way of silent invitation.
‘I’m Elle.’
‘Just Elle?’ He smiled, stretching out his arm.
His fingers brushed hers moments before a strong palm enveloped her hand. Something arced between them, making the air seem to crackle. It was all Elle could do not to snatch her hand back.
Or to lean into him and give in to the rash impulse to press her mouth to those inviting lips.
‘Well, then, Just Elle, I’m just Fitz.’
‘Touché.’
She couldn’t help a soft chuckle from slipping out and the instant flare of awareness from the stranger—from Fitz—instilled her with another unexpected boost of confidence.
The guy who was coveted by a good proportion of the females in the place actually fancied her? From something as simple as her laugh?
‘So, Elle, what brings you here tonight? Alone? Only—and forgive me if this sounds impertinent—aside from your impressive moves back there with your unwanted admirers, you’ve looked a little...uncomfortable all evening.’
She offered a rueful smile.
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘You mean aside from the ramrod-straight back? Or the untouched drink? Or the fact that most people are happy to flirt yet you were oblivious to the five or six other, non-inebriated men who tried to make a play for you all evening?’
‘Are you saying I don’t fit in?’ She couldn’t help teasing him, firmly quashing the slither of unease that he might have a point.
‘I’m saying you looked a little like you weren’t used to it.’
She sighed. She could try to be nonchalant, but it wasn’t likely to work. Maybe she should just be honest? She had opened her mouth to speak when a commotion on the other side of the room caught her attention. But as the people jostled she caught sight of a body on the floor, convulsing as a screaming girl tried to hold it down.
Elle didn’t think, she didn’t wait, she just glanced at her watch to note the time and she acted.
Chapter Two (#ueff8d483-aaf6-57d5-903b-a530a6452480)
ONE MOMENT ELLE was sitting on the barstool next to him, the next she was thrusting people out of her way as she made a beeline for some hubbub behind him. Call it intuition after fifteen years as an army officer, call it something about Elle’s understated purposefulness, but Fitz was compelled to follow even as he strained to see past the throng.
It was only when he saw the young man on the floor, with Elle gently forcing a sobbing girl to release her grip on him, that Fitz realised what was happening. Icy fingers slid the length of his spine, the length of his body, rooting him to the spot. He fought to shut his mind to the memories that threatened to overtake him, but not fast enough. They slammed into him with brutal force, knocking his breath out like a bullet striking body armour.
The last time he’d seen someone having a seizure like this had been over twenty years ago. His baby sister had had seizures from about the age of one. Not often, but still. How had he forgotten about that?
Memories crowded his head. Images he’d buried along with her body. Her tiny, five-year-old’s coffin next to the adult-size one of their mother. He struggled to shove the unwanted images away and try instead to focus on helping the woman he’d just met who was managing the situation with the same cool efficiency with which she’d dispatched Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dumber earlier.
‘Let him go,’ Elle was telling the girl, kindly but firmly.
‘No. No. I can’t.’ She shook her head manically and tried to shrug Elle off. ‘He’s my brother, he’s going to hurt himself.’
‘How long has your brother suffered from epilepsy?’
