Charm. Flora Dain

I’ve ever said his name out loud. A faint tremor goes through me like I’m bringing something to life. Miss Normal from New England notes that he stays seated to greet me but finally takes off his shades – the politeness of millionaires.

      As he does so I almost wish he’d left them on. His look is hard and cold. Any fleeting hope that something remains of our wonderful night together instantly fades. Now I must face this stunning, powerful man knowing his heart is closed. Our brief moments of passion no longer offer any way in.

       And he’s still watching me.

      Curious now, I open my mouth to ask him why he’s here just as his low, stirring voice cuts in with the same question. As I blurt out an answer I forget my question. ‘Ryan – that’s my ex – asked me to meet him here. He wants to talk to me about something. He said it was urgent.’

      Darnley’s brow lifts. ‘He’s here now?’

      I shrug. I long ago lost interest in Ryan’s movements. ‘Apparently not. They told me at the desk he’s gone out for the day. Fishing.’

      ‘Fishing?’ His lip twists at the corner.

      With a prickle of unease I remember I never once heard Ryan mention fishing. Why now? ‘That’s what he said. Does it matter?’

      ‘You were involved with him the night we met?’

      Colour glows in my cheeks. So he does remember.

      ‘Yes. But not – that was why – I’d just dumped him.’ I break off, scarlet now, and take a sip of my drink. I’m mad at myself and madder still at the collapse of my plan. What happened to walking right up, saying hi and walking away?

      He’s frowning. ‘So you two are – what? Getting back together?’

      ‘He just wanted to meet me. I was touring anyway. I broke it off for a few days to fly down here.’ I tail off and frown, puzzled. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’

      He leans back, his eyes narrow. He casually ignores my question. ‘So where is he?’

      I summon my patience. ‘I told you, I don’t know. Why’s it so important? Should I call the police?’ Now I’m uneasy. I’m glad to be free of Ryan but I wish him no harm.

      Darnley replaces his shades and rises to his feet with feline grace. ‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that. Perhaps you’ll both join me for dinner. Say we meet around eight, in the President Bar? If he’s late we’ll save him a place.’

      He glances at his watch, hinting he’s got better things to do and dismissing any lingering notion that I feature anywhere on his map. Like it’s an afterthought, he holds out his hand and I touch it lightly, feeling a tingle from his fingers, and then he turns and strolls away.

      Miss Normal’s mission lies in ruins. His spell’s as strong as ever.

      * * *

      The President Bar looks like a movie set, all smiling guests, hushed chatter and the clatter and chink of glasses. It’s warm here and there’s a mix of evening dress and poolside chic but the general feeling is formal. The guests look well heeled and have a kind of generous ease about them. It’s not just from crossing into a new time zone. I’m in new country here, warm with broad smiles, real suntans and vigorous handshakes. All around me easy Southern drawls reflect warmer climes and make me feel very prim and New Englandish.

      After the shake-up of my encounter with Darnley this afternoon I’m now fully restored. A refreshing shower and an hour’s pampering in my room worked wonders. Afterwards I tried to call Ryan but he was still not answering so to pass the time I worked down my call-list. My parents are still on a cruise, one of my friends is off on a date and too hyper to talk any sense, and two more are trekking in the Yosemite and have a poor signal, so I gave up.

      On the way down I asked again at Reception but Ryan’s still not back.

      At last I make it to the bar. As I take a look around I take a deep breath, smile and make a conscious effort to relax. I’m on holiday after all and this is an adventure for me. I’ve never been this far west.

      The bar’s larger than I expected. It’s more a reception area for a selection of restaurants. Tall windows open onto the palm-fringed terrace around the pool, letting in warm, scented night air from the Texas heartlands. To me it’s as exotic as the South Seas.

      As I weave my way through the tables I feel a flare of excitement. My short silk dress in a plain bright colour fits well and feels good. The matching heels I stuffed in my case at the last minute make me feel tall and graceful. I’m no great hairdresser but my hair’s out on parole from its daytime ponytail and piled up loosely on my head, stray curls and wisps peeking out shyly and doing duty as decoration. I don’t wear much jewellery.

      I feel heady, like I’m on a date.

      As I catch sight of Darnley my heart gives a thump. He’s at the far side of the room talking with a small knot of business people. He looks handsome and distinguished in a dark suit. Cliff Face hovers nearby and I notice a few more of the stony-faced henchmen, formally dressed now and kind of blending into the crowd, their watchful expressions giving nothing away.

      I can only hope they’re having fun.

      The next instant Darnley looks up and sees me, sweeping me with a look that shifts the ground under my feet. Heat flares through me in a flame of arousal so acute I feel almost weak. How exciting must it be to actually date someone like this? Maybe I should have called that number after all …

      But as I walk across the room to greet him I pull myself together. Everything about him warns me this man is dangerous. Something tells me he doesn’t date Miss Normal from New England without good reason, and the odd, slanted questions he fired off at me this afternoon mask some kind of problem.

      He watches me draw near, once more unnaturally still. ‘Ella.’

      The sensual lilt he gives to my name sends a thrill through me. The intensity of his look paints colour in my cheeks.

      We find a quiet table in an alcove and toy with our drinks until the waiter leaves us in peace. I’m foolishly asking Darnley whether he’s here for business or fun – forgetting his company’s hosting some function soon so obviously he’d be here – when all at once he reaches out and runs a finger along my wrist bone.

      I halt mid-sentence.

      ‘Your wrist is very slender.’ He’s gazing at it, his expression rapt, his attention suspended. I hold very still as he takes my hand, turns it over in both his own, slides his fingertips over my wrist and circles it with his thumb and forefinger. His touch is doing strange things to me.

      The feel of his hand holding me like this is exciting but oddly his touch is not close. It’s like he’s measuring me. What’s so interesting about wrists? Is he making up his mind to say something else?

      ‘It was a shock, seeing you again.’ His murmur is so low I barely hear it. He might be talking to himself.

      His attention is still focused on my wrist and for a few seconds he circles it with his finger and thumb. They curl round it easily, meeting to complete the circle on the soft, sensitive place at the inside where my pulse is now in overdrive.

      There’s something very intense, disturbing even, about his stillness as he does this. I hardly dare breathe. At the same time I’m keenly aware that we’re in a public place, surrounded by smiling, elegant people, but for some reason I don’t understand this is a sudden and very private moment between us.

      When he lifts his eyes to mine I see a brief gleam in them that fades quickly into a polite smile.

      ‘You were saying?’

      I take a deep breath. Do I care why he’s here? The main thing is he is. And Ryan may get here any moment and then all hope of saying anything personal will be lost for ever. ‘I may have given you the wrong impression the first time we met. I’m not really the person you think I