Page 3 of A Man After Midnight

“Are you staying at this hotel?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The door is locked. Let me at least escort you to the lobby.” He elegantly gestured to the street, inviting her to lead them out of the alley, and followed her as she proceeded down the sidewalk.

Caroline was acutely aware of him walking behind her. Her heart still thudded in her chest, as if she was a young girl on her first date, and no amount of deep inhalations seemed to ease her excitement. She didn’t know what to make of him, the situation, or her reaction.

Maybe Aldy had been right. Maybe she did need to get laid.

They turned the corner, and Caroline could see the entrance to the club, the music from within resonating loud through the open doorway. A bouncer sat checking the IDs of the people waiting to get in. The hotel lobby lay just a short distance away, where the sidewalk curved around to allow for the arriving cars. People passed by them, either going to or from the hotel, but even on the busy sidewalk Caroline felt as if she and Wren were all alone, her body conscious of him and only him.

As they approached the lobby entrance, she felt Wren’s hand rest against the low curve of her back as he escorted her past the concierge. And unlike the disgusting feeling that Gil had instilled in her from the get-go, Wren’s touch burned through her clothing and sent lustful thoughts straight to her brain.

Caroline came to an abrupt halt and pulled away from Wren, turning to him in the fully lit lobby. She studied him, not feeling abashed at all as he studied her right back. Now that she had light to see properly, she determined that he must have Mediterranean ancestry. He possessed the olive skin tone of the region, his forehead sloping straight down into the bridge of his nose giving him an almost aristocratic appearance. He had unusual grey eyes with bits of dark flecks swirling through them. His black hair was cut short and combed back as if he couldn’t be bothered with styling it.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured. “The shaking has stopped. It’s quickly becoming one of those moments that seems so surreal it makes me wonder if it happened at all.”

“I actually know that man,” Wren admitted with a grimace. “I’m here on a business conference, and he’s one of the directors of sales.”

“Troublemaker Cosmetics?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You work for the company?”

“No,” Caroline answered. “My friend, Aldrin Crenshaw, does. She invited me along so I could play tourist. I wish there was some way to let the higher-ups know what a slime ball one of their employees is.”

“Believe me,” Wren replied. “They’ll know.”

She saw the color of his eyes flatten to a slate grey. He had the presence of being in authority, the bearing of someone who told others what to do and expected his orders to be followed.

“I believe you,” she murmured.

The moment stretched between them. Logic reminded her that she’d just had a horrible experience. A man had tried to hurt her, and if Wren Calder hadn’t intervened, who knows what more Gil might have done. It wasn’t the time or place to feel the White Knight Syndrome, yet the jumpy restlessness from earlier had blossomed into a throb that had settled between her thighs. Her brain told her one thing, but her body was telling her something else.

“I suppose I should say goodnight,” he said.

Caroline bit her lip. There was absolutely no reason for him to stay, or for her to invite him to linger. After all, she’d been minutes away from being harmed, possibly raped––so to feel an attraction to this man seemed really messed up.

“But I really don’t want to walk away and never see you again,” he continued, as if reading her mind.

Relief filled her, and then she immediately wondered why this caused such a profound feeling to rush through her.

“I was actually thinking the same thing,” she replied, trying to be nonchalant.

“Listen, there’s a bar up on the mezzanine level,” he said. “Quiet. Public. Why don’t we have a drink?”

Again, caution stirred inside her brain. But when he held out his hand, she slipped hers into his grasp. He led her to the elevator and soon they were upstairs. The lounge was small. Intimate. Here, middle-aged men came to enjoy a fine cognac after dinner––not to try to find a bed partner for the night. She relaxed and settled into a leather chair next to Wren. A waitress appeared, and Wren raised an eyebrow at Caroline.

“Oh, um … white wine, please,” Caroline said to the server. “Chardonnay, if you have it.”

“Scotch on the rocks,” Wren said.

In a moment, they were all alone and secluded. Well, secluded as much as a hotel bar would allow.

“What is it about you, Ms. Grace?” he mused.

“About me?” she asked.

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