Romance Of A Lifetime. Кэрол Мортимер

had found, could afford to buy company if none was readily available.

      And yet this man appeared to be alone. In fact, she felt sure he was.

      And she had just wasted half the allotted interval time thinking about a man she had no interest in ever seeing again!

      She delayed her return to her seat for as long as she dared after the final gong had sounded announcing the beginning of the second act, lingering over the cool orange juice she had purchased for herself.

      On her return a long glass, of what Beth knew without a doubt to be champagne, stood on the cushion she had purchased the use of, to cover the otherwise metal seat, during the operatic performance.

      Her mouth firmed as she stood looking down at the intrusive glass, having no choice but to pick it up if she wanted to sit down again, needing to do just that as the lights slowly lowered in preparation for the start of the second act.

      Damn that man!

      She would have loved to just push the full glass under her seat and forget about it, but that would have been taking rudeness to the extreme, and she wasn't normally that, not even to intrusive strangers, although this man was starting to push his luck just a little too far!

      She turned only briefly, raising the glass in acknowledgement, her smile one of practised dismissal.

      It would have been the end of the incident as far as Beth was concerned, except that she could tell by the determined glint in pale grey eyes that it was far from over.

      But the champagne—and its purchaser—were forgotten as the lights blazed on the stage, and Beth was unaware of the fact that she sipped at the bubbly wine throughout the second act, once again caught up in its spectacular beauty.

      ‘Another?'

      The silkily smooth voice was unnecessarily close to the lobe of her ear this time, Beth felt, turning sharply as the lights came on for the second interval, only to find the man was too close for comfort, leaning forwards in his seat, his face now dangerously close to hers.

      Beth's eyes blazed deeply emerald as she glared at him with anger.

      ‘You seem to have enjoyed that glass so much.’ Mockery glinted in his eyes as he indicated the empty glass in her hand.

      Her cheeks blazed fiery red in her naturally pale cheeks, shoulder-length ash-blonde hair swinging agitatedly against the heat of her face. ‘I didn't even realise—–'

      ‘Ah, I didn't think I was wrong about your being English,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Although I have to admit that I did wonder when I continually failed to get a verbal response—–'

      ‘Actually,’ Beth cut in coolly, ‘you are wrong; I happen to be Manx.’ And she felt a certain satisfaction in being able to contradict him, plus a certain pride in the small island in the middle of the Irish Sea between England and Ireland that was her birthplace, and had been her home until she was eighteen years old, was still her home in her heart despite the years she had spent away from it.

      Dark brows rose. ‘Is there a difference?'

      Her eyes flashed her indignation. ‘Of course there's a—–’ She broke off, looking at him with narrowed eyes, realising in that moment that she was giving him exactly the response he wanted. Her first impression of him had been a correct one—he was a very intelligent man, and he knew just how to use that intelligence to his advantage. She stood up smoothly. ‘If you'll excuse me …’ She gave him a coolly dismissive nod.

      ‘You didn't answer me about the champagne.’ His hand on her arm stilled her as she would have walked away.

      Beth stiffened as if she had been burnt, staring stonily at his hand until he slowly removed it. As he did so she thrust her empty glass into his hand. ‘I didn't really want that one,’ she snapped, not allowing him to delay her any further but making her way outside to one of the bars.

      The last thing she wanted, or needed, was a man like that showing an interest in her. She couldn't repress her inward shudder. The last thing she needed was any man showing an interest in her, let alone one of his type!

      Thank God she was only in Verona for one more day, and then she moved on to Venice. She had only come to Verona at all for the opera. Like a lot of other people here tonight, she was sure.

      It was unfortunate that she had no choice but to remain in that particular seat, close to that infuriating man, for the rest of the performance, but these seats in the centre of the Arena had been booked for months in advance, and there wasn't a vacant seat in the place, no one, understandably, wanting to miss the performance they had waited so long to see.

      It was a slightly shorter interval than last time, although Beth had plenty of time to purchase another glass of orange juice, the evening feeling even more airless than earlier.

      Thank goodness she had thought to put on a cool green sheath of a dress rather than one of the gowns she would normally have worn to the opera or theatre in London. Her uncovered shoulders at least felt the benefit of any small breeze that there was, although it wasn't much. Stormy weather was on its way, the man behind the reception desk at her hotel had warned her. She was sure he would know, being a local, but she could only hope it would hold off until after the performance; it would be too awful if it were to be rained off now.

      Just as the continued persistence of the man seated behind her was awful; a glass of orange juice was waiting on her seat for her return this time.

      She studiously avoided looking at the man as she picked up the glass so that she might sit down, although she could almost feel the touch of his gaze on her bare shoulders.

      ‘I thought you might find the juice more refreshing,’ he leant forwards to murmur.

      She couldn't deny the truth of that. In fact, she had thought of bringing a drink back herself to sip through the third act, but hadn't relished trying to return to her seat with a full glass through the jostling crowd.

      The German couple were now watching the two of them with a knowing indulgence, and Beth hated the assumptions they must be making. Damn the man, why couldn't he just leave her alone and accept that she wasn't interested in him? It had to be obvious to him by now that she wasn't. Although, as she very well knew, a man like him would probably see that reluctance on her part as even more of a challenge!

      ‘Thank you,’ she accepted tightly, aware that the German couple were now nodding their heads approvingly in their direction.

      ‘I'll let you buy me a drink during the next interval,’ the man murmured as the lights went down once again.

      Beth opened her mouth to protest at this idea but was prevented from doing so as the music began to play.

      But she had no intention of buying him a drink, at any time this evening, hadn't asked for either of the ones he had given her, and she had no intention of returning the gesture. If he wouldn't take the hint that she wasn't interested in him then she would just have to tell him so, and as soon as possible.

      If he had given her the chance!

      She had no sooner stood up at the end of the third act than her arm was taken in a firm grasp and she was literally dragged out to one of the bars.

      By the time Beth had got over her shock and managed to catch her breath, they were almost there! ‘Will you please—–?

      ‘Mi scusi, mi scusi—–’ The man at her side totally ignored her struggles as he pushed his way through the crowd, nodding politely to the people who allowed them to pass, not even checking his stride at her unmistakable protest at his cavalier behaviour.

      ‘What do you think you're doing?’ she finally gasped as they reached the foyer ahead of the crowd, impatiently pushing lean fingers from her arm, glaring up at him indignantly.

      ‘Avoiding the rush,’ he murmured with satisfaction, looking around them pointedly. ‘What would you like to drink?'

      ‘I thought it was my turn to