All Night Long

Which was so true. Her traveller’s cheques, her passport, and her air tickets were all in the bag. She’d been too nervous to leave them locked in her suitcase in her room.

‘Accidents happen,’ he responded lightly, his dark eyes appraising her with discomforting intensity. ‘Are you waiting for your husband?’

Her husband?

Ally somehow suppressed the desire to laugh. It would have been slightly hysterical laughter, she thought bitterly, and she had no desire to show herself up in front of such a disturbing—and she sensed sophisticated—individual.

So, ‘No,’ she replied, with what she hoped was cool assurance. ‘I’m not waiting for my husband.’

‘Then can I buy you a drink?’ he asked, nodding towards her almost empty glass. ‘Vodka, isn’t it?’

Ally’s jaw was in danger of dropping and she hastily pressed her lips together. ‘I—why—well, that’s very kind of you, but—’

‘But you don’t know me from Adam,’ he suggested softly, easing his hip onto the stool beside hers. ‘Well, that’s easily remedied. My name’s Raul. What’s yours?’

Ally hesitated. Raul, she thought, liking the sound of it. But, just Raul. Not Raul whatever-his-surname-was. It seemed that he had no more desire to betray his identity than she did, and while that should please her, it didn’t.

‘Um—I’m Diana,’ she said, choosing a name at random. ‘Diana—Morrison.’

‘Hello, Diana.’ His thin lips curled into an engaging smile. ‘So—can I buy you a drink, Diana?’

Ally swallowed her disappointment that he hadn’t chosen to be any more forthcoming, and cautiously inclined her head. ‘Why not?’ she said steadily. ‘Thank you.’

He summoned the bartender with considerably less effort than she’d needed earlier and ordered her another vodka and tonic and himself Scotch over ice. Listening to him order the drinks, Ally wondered if he was an American, but although his accent wasn’t wholly familiar, she sensed it wasn’t a transatlantic drawl.

But it was an attractive accent, she conceded. Just as he was one of the most attractive men she had seen in her life. He was very dark-skinned, with lean, tanned features that had a faintly aquiline severity. But his mouth was far from severe. It had a decidedly humorous twist to the sensual lower lip, and his very dark hair made her wonder if he had any southern European blood in his veins.

She felt a slightly incredulous twinge that he should actually be buying her a drink. In her experience, men seldom came on to her, and just because her dress had a rather more daring neckline than usual, and she’d had her hair professionally styled, it did not mean she was any less the ugly duckling. There had to be some other reason why he was showing an interest in her, and she couldn’t help worrying that she might not be experienced enough to cope with it, whatever it was.

What did she know of men, after all? Precious little, she acknowledged ruefully. She’d married Jeff soon after leaving school and for eighteen years after that she’d been too busy juggling the tasks of supporting him though his university days and raising the twins to pay much attention to anything else.

‘There you go.’

The barman had returned with their drinks and Raul, if that really was his name, was pushing her glass towards her. Perhaps with a couple more of these inside her she’d feel a little less anxious, she thought hopefully, obediently raising her glass to her lips and forcing herself not to drop her gaze when he caught her eyes across the rim of his glass.

But it didn’t last.

‘I guess it’s okay.’

His lazy comment made her realise that she’d swallowed at least a third of the drink in one gulp and she hurriedly replaced it on the bar. ‘I wasn’t thinking,’ she said foolishly, her nervous fingers toying with the edge of her coaster. She concentrated on setting the glass more centrally on the small mat. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘Good.’ He set his own glass down and she was supremely aware of his dark gaze assessing her averted face. Then, his breath fanning her hot cheek, ‘Do I make you nervous?’

Ally sucked in a breath. ‘Why should you think that?’ she demanded, indignation giving her voice more confidence, and he sighed.

‘I suppose because I get the impression that you’re not used to—well, to this.’

‘Picking up men in bars, do you mean?’ she asked, controlling the instinct to confirm his suspicions and walk out of the bar with some difficulty. ‘No, I’m not. Are you?’

‘Used to picking up men in bars?’ he echoed mildly. ‘Hardly.’

‘You know what I meant,’ she accused him hotly. ‘Now you’re making fun of me.’

‘No, I’m not.’ And then, seeing her disbelief, ‘Well, possibly. Just a little.’ His smile was rueful as he picked up his drink. ‘I’m just trying to get you to relax, that’s all.’

‘By asking me if I’m nervous?’ Ally was scornful. ‘I’m self-conscious enough as it is without you making me feel worse.’

The cuff of his blouson jacket brushed sensuously against her bare arm as he set his glass down again. It was made of soft leather, fine and expensive, and she couldn’t prevent a shiver from sliding down her spine at the involuntary touch. It was black, like his hair, and beneath its folds a black tee shirt outlined the taut muscles of his flat stomach.

Ally caught her breath. Jeff would never have dreamt of wearing anything so casual in the evening, she reflected. A dark suit—latterly he’d been buying himself Armani, only Ally hadn’t been aware of it until— She discarded that thought before it could hurt her and moved on. A blazer, a sports coat—Harris tweed for preference—those were the things she was used to. But Raul looked as elegant in black jeans as Jeff had ever looked in his designer gear. But then Raul’s clothes were obviously designer-made, too…

‘Tell me why you’re self-conscious,’ he said, distracting her from her covert appraisal of his appearance. ‘You have nothing to be self-conscious about.’

‘No?’ Ally stifled the snort that rose into her throat. ‘Well, as you so succinctly remarked earlier, I’m not used to this—this scene.’

‘What scene?’

‘This scene.’ Ally permitted herself to look at him for a moment and then expanded her gaze to include the whole room. ‘Women sitting in bars on their own, accepting drinks from total strangers.’

‘We’re not total strangers.’ He kept a perfectly straight face but she was sure he was laughing at her. ‘We’ve been introduced.’

‘We introduced ourselves,’ Ally amended wryly. ‘That’s not the same thing at all.’

‘Okay.’ He conceded her point. ‘But it’s moot now, anyway. You can hardly pretend we don’t know one another when you’ve just swallowed half the drink I paid for.’

Ally’s lips parted. ‘Are you implying I can’t buy my own drinks?’

‘Of course not.’ He was evidently growing weary of her argument. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, right? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted us to get to know one another better, and I foolishly thought that teasing you might do it.’ He held up his hands, palm outward. ‘Obviously, I was wrong.’

Now Ally felt sorry. She hadn’t wanted to offend him, and it wasn’t his fault that she was out of date when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. If anyone was to blame, she was. She had allowed Jeff to control her life for so long that she’d forgotten how to have fun.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, half surprised that he hadn’t moved away to try his luck with someone else. There was certainly no shortage of younger—and apparently unattached—women in the bar, and from the looks she’d been getting, Ally guessed they were speculating about why a man like Raul should have hooked himself up with her. ‘I guess I’m too old for this.’

His dark eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You’re not old,’ he argued. Then, his lips twitching at her tongue-in-cheek expression, ‘I mean it. You can’t be more than what? Thirty-two, thirty-three? That is not old, believe me.’

Ally gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If that’s a sneaky way of getting me to tell you how old I am, you needn’t have bothered. I’m not ashamed of my age. I’m thirty-eight; almost thirty-nine, in fact. Comfortably middle-aged.’

He shook his head. ‘Why do you persist in putting yourself down?’ he exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t exaggerating. You don’t look your age, however much you might like to believe you do.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ Raul regarded her with a disturbingly sensual gaze. ‘Who told you you were—what was it you said?—comfortably middle-aged? Some man?’

‘Isn’t it always?’ Ally was sardonic. Then, because that was one thing she couldn’t blame Jeff for, she added, ‘No, actually, it was Sam. My daughter. I think she thought it was a compliment.’

‘You have a daughter?’ He was polite, but wary, she thought, and she wondered if he was speculating about her husband. ‘Well, children can be very—very—’

‘Honest?’