His words lit her up from top to toe, whether he meant them or not. And how could he when she was no one special?
‘And you.’ She gestured to the drink he’d placed on the small round table beside him. ‘Enjoying a nightcap?’
‘The bar’s finest. Can I tempt you to join me?’
Her eyes darted to his, an impulsive ‘no’ dying on her lips as she heard herself say, ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
‘You’re not.’
She looked back to the foyer, to the exit just beyond and where she should be heading.
‘Unless you count the fact you’re taking my mind off my thoughts, which isn’t a bad thing, believe me.’
His honesty called her eyes back to his and then she saw it, in the lines around his eyes, in their stormy glint—the same kind of pain, the same need for distraction that she felt.
‘It’s late and I really should go.’
‘A quick one then...just to say thank you for today?’
She couldn’t say yes. He was a client. This was her hotel. It wasn’t the done thing. Only the same reasoning she’d used earlier was weaker now, in the lateness of the day, the intimacy of the bar and its lighting, with him filling her vision and drowning out the past. Perhaps for both of them.
‘Okay.’ She nodded, her lips wavering into a smile. ‘A small Shiraz...please.’
His grin reignited the nervous flutter in her belly. And it was nerves. Just nerves.
‘Great, take a seat.’
She did as he asked, sitting in the vacant chair positioned at an angle alongside his own and tried to relax.
Relax? You should be leaving. No good can come of you indulging yourself in the fantasy world he represents. It’s not real. Not for you.
‘It’s on its way.’
His voice was real enough; she mentally fought back as he returned, closing her mind to everything but his presence.
‘I hope I’m not keeping you from anything?’
She laughed at the very idea and watched him settle back in his seat. It was disconcerting, bizarre even. It was her hotel and yet he looked more at home here than she did, perched on the edge of her seat as if at any moment she might bolt.
She shifted back, resting her coat over the arm of her chair and crossing her legs. She wanted to appear just as at home, just as calm, just as in control, when she knew she wasn’t.
‘If by that you’re asking whether I have a partner waiting up for me...’ She lowered her bag to the floor, her eyes coming back to his as she straightened up. ‘No, you don’t need to worry about that.’
‘Good.’
Good?
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you flirting with me, Mr McGregor?’
Heavens, where had that come from?
Not only the question but the realisation that she wanted him to flirt with her. She was in trouble and sinking deeper, when she should be at home, running that bath and forgetting her problems in the sanctuary of solitude.
His long, deep laugh put the brakes on her escape plan, the sound provoking her already racing pulse. ‘It’s Jack, remember, and I suppose I was...’
Sophia tilted her head to the side, her curiosity aroused by his tone, his hesitancy. She couldn’t imagine Jack being less than one hundred per cent sure of himself. Maybe she wasn’t the only one struggling with this surprising connection. It actually made her feel better. Not a lot, but enough to ask, ‘Why do I get the impression you’ve surprised yourself with that admission?’
He held her eye, silent for a beat. ‘In all honesty, I’m a little rusty.’