into his eyes, what Perla glimpsed made her heart hammer.
In that instant she knew he wasn’t here to prey on unsuspecting or vulnerable women. That wasn’t to say women would be safe from the sensual aura and sheer charisma that oozed from him. Far from it.
But for tonight, in this very moment, whoever this man was, the emotions lurking in his eyes weren’t of a predatory nature. The pain she saw resonated with her on so deep a level, she found it hard to breathe through it.
His eyes narrowed, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. He stiffened and his mouth firmed. For a moment she thought he was going to change his mind about his earlier invitation.
Abruptly he moved a step forward, touched the back of the chair. ‘Sit down. Please,’ he repeated.
Perla sat. In silence, he pushed her drink towards her.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
He inclined his head and raised his glass towards her. ‘To not talking.’
She touched her glass to his; a surreal feeling overtook her as she stared at him over the rim of her glass and took a sip of her cocktail. The potent alcohol hit the back of her throat, warming and cooling at the same time. The tartness of the pomegranate burst on her tongue, making her close her eyes in a single moment of pleasure before the strength of his scrutiny propelled her eyelids back open.
Once again, he seemed fascinated with her hair. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to fiddle with it. She sucked harder on her straw, partly to finish the drink quicker so she could leave and partly because it gave her something to do other than stare at this hauntingly beautiful man.
They sipped their drinks in silence.
With a very unsettling amount of regret, Perla set her empty glass down.
The stranger followed suit. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For controlling the urge to indulge in idle chit-chat.’
‘I told you, that’s not what I came here for. If it was, I’d have brought a friend. Or come earlier when I knew there would be more people here. I presume you chose this time for the same reason.’
A shaft of pain flitted over his features but was gone in the next instant. ‘You presume correct.’
She shrugged. ‘Then there’s no need to thank me.’
He stilled, the only movement his gaze as it flew once again to her hair. When it traced down to her mouth, Perla became very much aware of the scarlet lipstick. Before she could stop herself, she licked her tingling lower lip.
His low hiss was an alien sound that sent a fresh wave of goose bumps over her skin. She’d never elicited such a reaction in a man before. Perla wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or terrified.
‘Are you staying here, at Macdonald Hall?’ she asked, in the hope of deflecting the unsettling feeling his hiss had elicited.
The stranger’s hand tightened slowly into a fist on the table. ‘For tonight and the next few nights, yes.’
She looked from his hand to his face. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be here?’ she asked.
‘Because we don’t always get to decide our own fate. But I’m obliged to be here for the next few days. It doesn’t mean I’m pleased about it.’
She glanced at his empty glass. ‘Then I suppose you’ll be upgrading to a bottle instead of a glass shortly?’
He shrugged. ‘Drinking is one way of making the time pass faster, I suppose.’
Danger crawled across her skin, sparking a flame in her belly, but Perla couldn’t move. ‘When you’re alone in a bar at almost midnight, I don’t really see much else to entertain you.’ Her voice emerged huskier than she’d ever heard it.
He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘But I’m not alone. Not any more. I’ve saved you, a damsel in distress, and my reward is your company for now.’
‘I’m not a damsel in distress. Besides, you don’t know me from a blade of grass. I could be one of those predators you described, for all you know, Mr...?’
Her blatant demand for his name went unanswered as he nodded to the bartender and indicated their empty glasses.
‘I don’t think I should have another drink—’
Hooded hazel eyes trapped hers. ‘But we’re just getting to know one another. You were telling me about being a ruthless predator.’
‘And you wanted to be alone less than ten minutes ago, remember? Besides, what makes you think I want to get to know you?’
His small smile was both self-assured and self-pitying, a curious, intriguing combination. ‘I don’t. Forgive me for the assumption. If you wish you leave, you may do so.’
Again the courteous words laced with arrogance set her teeth on edge. But Perla found she couldn’t look away from the fascinating man, whose extremely powerful aura held a wealth of pain and sadness that drew her...made her hesitate.
She licked her lips and immediately regretted it when his gaze latched onto the movement. ‘I don’t need your permission but I...I’ll stay for another drink.’
He nodded solemnly. ‘Efharisto.’ The way his voice and sensual lips formed the word made her stomach perform an annoying little flip.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Greek, for thank you.’
‘Oh, you’re Greek? I love Greece. I visited Santorini a long time ago for the wedding of a client. I remember thinking at the time it’s where I’d like to get married one day. That has got to rank up there as one of the most beautiful places on earth—’ Perla drew to a sharp halt as his face tightened suddenly. ‘I’m sorry. Mindless chit-chat?’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘It’s not as mindless as I thought it would be. So you love Greece. What else do you love?’
Her gaze dropped to the table, then immediately rose to meet his, almost against her will. ‘Is this the part where I say long walks in the rain with that special someone?’
‘Only if it’s true. Personally, I detest the rain. I prefer wall-to-wall sunshine. And the sea.’
‘And the special someone is optional?’
That look she’d caught on his face earlier returned—the cross between ragged pain and guilt—and this time it stayed for several moments before he shrugged.
‘If you’re lucky enough to have the choice, and to hang onto your good fortune.’
She bit her lip but was stopped from answering as the bartender delivered their order. Again silence ensued as they sipped their drinks. Only this time, when his gaze travelled over her, she boldly watched him back.
The silvery strands that blended into his temples coupled with the designer stubble gave him a seriously gorgeous but distinctly imposing look that sent her heart thudding faster. He looked vaguely familiar. Mentally shrugging, Perla concluded she must have seen him in the newspaper or on TV. His air of importance and easy way he commanded power lent itself to that theory. And, of course, he was here, at Macdonald Hall, one of the most exclusive private sport clubs in the country.
His fingers curled around his glass and she watched him lift his drink to his lips, his gaze staying on hers. Heat rushed through her, filling her up in places she’d begun to think were frozen forever. Perla tried to tell herself it was the alcohol but in an angry rush of rejection she forced herself to face the truth. She was done lying to herself, to glossing over the bare truth in order to lessen her pain.
No more!
She was attracted to this man. To his gorgeous, pain-etched face, the haunted hazel eyes, the strong stubbled