BLADE'S LADY Read online

Blade's smile was rueful, edged. "I don't know when I'll be back."

  "Believe me, I understand. Take all the time you need."

  Chapter 4

  Anna hung up the pay phone, relief making her weak. She had finally found a room in a boarding house, although the cost of the bond would come close to cleaning her out financially.

  She checked her watch, saw that she'd exceeded the fifteen minutes she had for a break, and started back toward the restaurant, her mind swiftly calculating all that she had to do and how quickly she would have to move. Just a few more hours and she could leave.

  Sunlight flashed, diamond bright, off the side mirror of a nearby car. Her eyes squeezed shut to ward off the stab of pain and what it did to the throbbing at her temples.

  As she reached the staff entrance of Joe's Bar and Grill, the sunlight was abruptly smothered by heavy gloom. She glanced at the purplish-black thunderheads seething above, rain-rich and roiling with violent energy. She could smell the moisture in the air, feel the tension of the approaching storm.

  More rain. Great, just what she needed when she had to shift out of her flat, she thought, as she strode inside, automatically bracing herself against the mental assault of working at Joe's.

  At least the lunch rush was well over. If Joe's ever had a lull, this was it, the brief hiatus before the evening trade picked up, although the liquor licence ensured that the huge barnlike restaurant and bar was never empty.

  Joe's specialised in bad coffee, fast food and even faster beer, and attracted a clientele that was definitely on the seamy side. The sweeping wooden counter lined with stools emphasised where the money was made. The companionable wail of rhythm and blues soothed patrons into parting with that money even faster, and the pool room off to the side enticed swaggering groups of brash young men to stay until they were flat broke.

  The mock saloon doors swished open on a low rumble of thunder, and Anna was glad her tray was safely set down on a table as Blade Lombard stepped into Joe's as casually as if he ate there every day.

  He was dressed for business in a suit made of some dark, fine material. The jacket fitted his broad shoulders like a supple, expensive glove. His gauzy grey collarless shirt was open at the throat and had probably cost the equivalent of a month's worth of her wages. He looked wealthy, sleek and dangerous, and as out of place at Joe's as an exotic jungle cat prowling a city alley.

  His gaze found hers, night-dark eyes unblinking, and so direct that any fiction she might have entertained that he had just wandered in casually off the street died.

  Heads turned as he angled around a cluster of tables. The steady hum of conversation dropped away, so that he walked in a spreading pool of silence.

  A group of women in the next booth, regulars who Anna knew were hookers working out of the bar, stopped their heated debate over the love-life of one of their friends. They were dressed in tight jeans and even tighter low-cut tops, with jackets pulled capelike over their shoulders for warmth.

  "Is that for real?" one demanded. "Nita, how many beers have I had?"

  "Not enough if you're still thinking of going home with that jackass you were eyeing before," came the dry answer.

  "He don't have to pay," another one murmured.

  The first woman who had spoken sighed. "Speak for yourself. I was thinking of paying him."

  Anna jerked her gaze back to the booth she was supposed to be clearing. Blade had said he would check on her tonight, at her flat. She tried to isolate one believable reason for him to come looking for her today. There wasn't one.

  Abruptly, she swung on her heel, abandoning the table and the tray as she began threading her way through the tables, heading away from Blade toward a side door that led to the rest rooms. There was a small storeroom next to the Ladies that was generally unlocked, as it had nothing in it that anyone would want to steal – not even the patrons of Joe's. It was usually crammed with mops and buckets and cleaning materials, but it had the added convenience of a bolted door that opened onto the dusty service entrance in back.

  She quickened her step, her mind automatically putting together a strategy. If she could just get outside to the car park, there were any number of places she could hide. When she was sure Blade was gone, she could come back and claim her briefcase, which was stored in a staff locker. If she had to leave Joe's early and forfeit her money, then so be it.

  The flat of her palm connected with the swing door. She was into the hallway, her heart pumping wildly, head faintly dizzy at the fast movement. Her hand closed around the door handle to the storeroom. For a crazy moment she thought it was locked, but then the stiff handle gave way. She stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her.

  It was pitch-black. She didn't dare turn on a light in case he saw it and decided to check this room before the Ladies.

  She heard the creak of the swing door as she picked her way gingerly forward, and her heart accelerated on another spurt of adrenalin. Her shin connected with a box, she gasped, shuffling sideways. The back of her hand brushed against a stack of what felt like broom handles. One more step and the door should be right in front of her. Her fingers encountered the heavy door, then searched for and found the cold metal of the bolt. She fumbled, easing the bolt back, then pulled the door inward.

  Wind blasted into the room, thrusting the door back against her, almost knocking her off balance. A sound had her turning in time to see the widening arc of light as the other door swung open; then she was outside in the alley, damp wind cold around her legs, flattening her black skirt against her thighs and tugging hair loose from its knot so strands whipped around her face.

  Anna heard her name, risked a glance over her shoulder, and saw him burst through the door. His black gaze seared into hers, and panic exploded through her. She knew Blade wouldn't hurt her physically, but she was too much on edge, too hunted, to respond in a rational way. She rounded the corner and broke into a run, her breath shoving hard into her lungs.

  She had only gone two steps when his hand fastened on her arm. Instinctively, she jerked to free herself, and when that didn't work, she lashed out, her elbow driving back to connect with his stomach. He grunted as she pivoted to strike out with one foot, at the same time still desperately wrenching at his hold. But he was too strong, shifting every time she tried to hurt him, so that her blows glanced harmlessly off his body. Instead of breaking free, she found herself pressed face first against the unyielding surface of a concrete block wall, his muscled arm snaking around her waist, cradling her against the impact as his heavy weight pinned her.

  Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in harsh pants. For a dizzying moment, she was paralysed by the blinding speed with which he'd moved, the easy way he'd handled her; then the intimacy of his hold registered. His arm was locked around her, his elbow snug against her hip, his hand splayed over her stomach and rib cage. The hold was at once confining and protective, and all he had to do was move his hand up an infinitesimal amount and he would be cupping her breast.

  She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. In contrast to the damp chill of the wall, waves of heat rolled off him, penetrating her clothes so that her skin grew instantly damp. One big hand was planted beside her head. Without moving, she could see the strong sweep of his jaw, the softer curve of his lips, feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was willing her to look at him.

  His hot breath stirred in her hair, and a small shiver swept up her spine. She could also feel something else stirring.

  Anna drew a shallow breath, then another, and still he didn't move or let up on the pressure. Their pose suddenly struck her as blatantly sexual. When he had spun her around, she had automatically splayed her legs for balance. His arm had both cushioned her from the impact and tilted her torso so that she was angled in tight against his hips. Now the firm bulge of his arousal was lodged in the soft cleft of her bottom, and she was starkly aware of how flimsy a barrier cloth was. Added to that, her skirt was caught between the
m, nicked up high enough that she could feel cold air circulating around her inner thighs.

  The hand beside her head curled into a fist, and she swallowed, her heart pounding almost as hard as it had when she had realised he would catch her. Abruptly, the warmth from his body and her own reached some kind of flash point, and a wave of smothering heat rolled through her, making her breasts prickle and swell, and a heavy ache flower low in her belly. Perspiration dewed her skin, so that she felt feverishly hot where her body was held tight against his and chilled where the cold pressure of the wind evaporated moisture from her skin.

  "If I let you go, will you promise not to run?"

  The soft rumble beside her ear made her jump. Instantly, she forced herself to stillness, startled by the giddy pleasure of being so close to Blade. The painful flood of confused yearning she'd felt last night washed over her again, and she pressed her cheek against the cold, gritty wall to stifle the mindless need to relax into his hold.

  Once again, confusion rocked her. He was a stranger, and she was violently attracted to him. She didn't understand or trust any of what she was feeling. "I won't run."

  He let her go slowly, as if he thought she might make a dash for the car park despite her promise. The thought passed through her mind, but she discarded it immediately. He would be on her before she could take more than a step. Smoothing her palms down her hips to straighten her rumpled skirt, she turned to face him.

  His jaw was set, and a faint flush rode his cheekbones, giving the illusion that his dark eyes glittered with heat. He was furious and didn't care that she knew it. It was then that Anna noticed the earring. The small red jewel glowed against his lobe, catching the murky light like a drop of ancient warrior's blood. The earring was exotic, barbaric, like him, and it set the seal on his prowling restlessness. He could have been a pirate, a mercenary knight. There was a sense of enduring timelessness about him; if he were transported back several hundred years, he would fit right in.

  His dark brows jerked together. "Are you going to tell me why you ran?"

  Blade's irritable demand burned away the startling vulnerability he'd made her feel when he'd pushed her up against that wall. The plain truth was that she hadn't wanted to run, even though he had pinned her like a criminal, not bothering with social niceties like keeping his sexual arousal to himself. "Right after you tell me why you grabbed me," she snapped.

  For a split second, he looked frankly incredulous that she'd bitten back; then amusement lightened the annoyance in his eyes. His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth. "Guess," he said flatly.

  "No." Anna shook her head, rejecting the whole idea of a man like Blade being attracted to her, even though she had felt the reality of it.

  She was slim, she had nice eyes and she had a mouth that men seemed to like. Big deal. She was also intelligent and very well-educated, although he couldn't know that. The only thing he really knew about her was that she was a waitress. She shouldn't even register on his personal scale.

  "I can do a lot of things," he murmured, "but I can't fake sexual arousal."

  She shook her head. "You don't want me." You don't want what's following me.

  He looked impatient now, as if he weren't used to women arguing with him. His hand lifted, and for a disconcerting moment she thought he might reach out and touch her again. She braced herself for that disconcerting tingle, but instead, he appeared to take a mental step back.

  "Okay," he said neutrally, "let's go back to the first question. Why did you run?"

  Anna briefly considered telling him exactly what he could do with his question. She just as quickly abandoned the idea. His jaw was set, his gaze cop-cool and remote. She realised how big a mistake she had made in giving in to panic and running. It would have been smarter to have stood and faced him, preserving a polite distance. Running had incited all of his predatory instincts. "You scared me."

  He frowned. "I told you I was going to check on you."

  She edged away from him a half step. To her frustration, he followed her. "I didn't tell you where I worked. How did you find me?"

  He glanced at her sweatshirt. "If it's such a big secret, you shouldn't wear the company uniform."

  Anna fought off a hard jolt of pure panic. If Blade had found her this easily, then so could the man who had lain in wait for her last night. Had he seen her sweatshirt? She'd worn her raincoat most of the time, because it had been a showery day. He wouldn't have seen it when he attacked her, because it had been dark, and she knew her coat had been buttoned against the drizzle, but if he had been following her for several hours…

  "You remind me of someone," he said, studying her with his head cocked to one side. "Around the eyes."

  Anna stared at him in blank dismay, her heart once more pounding too hard and too fast. "No."

  "Easy," he muttered, his voice low, the soothing tone all-too-familiar.

  "I'm not a horse!" She glared at him, exasperated at his attempts to soothe her, and abruptly tired of the paranoia the last twenty-four hours had forced on her.

  The flare of temper felt good. It was more natural for Anna to fight than run, and the temptation to challenge him with her suspicions instead of meekly retreating was almost too much. Taking a deep breath, she carefully blanked her expression and almost, but not quite, met his gaze. The trick was to imagine that a frosted panel of glass interrupted her line of sight so that even though she looked directly at his eyes, she never quite connected. "If you'll excuse me," she said coolly, stepping sideways again. "I need to get back to work."

  "Dammit!" he roared. "Stop trying to run away!" Incredibly, he planted his hand on the wall, blocking her. "I'm sorry I had to grab you, but you shouldn't have run. I'm not going to attack you. I came to see how you are."

  Anna's chin jerked up a notch at the way he was looming over her, as dark and bad-tempered as the storm clouds hovering overhead. Her own temper was on the point of exploding, and she was distantly amazed at her loss of control. She had kept her temper in any number of aggravating situations, from bar brawls to restaurant managers who thought they were God's gift to poor little waitresses. Five minutes with Blade Lombard and they were brawling and yelling.

  "My head is a little achey," she retorted, "but otherwise, I'm one hundred percent, absolutely fine."

  To her relief, he removed his hand and shifted back. His brooding gaze settled on her forehead. The lump had gone down, thanks to multiple applications of ice. This morning she had used make-up to mask most of the discolouration and the slight graze she'd sustained, but it was still obvious she'd hurt herself.

  "You shouldn't be working."

  Anna almost rolled her eyes at his simplistic view of life. "Maybe not, but I need the money, and the only way to get it is to work."

  Automatically, she checked that the knot in her hair was still tight. Strands were flying around her face, but she couldn't do much about that until she got to a mirror. Not that she needed to bother. Most of the patrons of Joe's were only interested in their food and beer. Godzilla could serve them, and they probably wouldn't notice.

  "I need to talk to you. Take a break." The words were softly spoken but laced with command.

  Anna eyed Blade with dazed disbelief. He actually expected her to obey his order. "I've had my break."

  She could almost see his mind sliding over options, assessing, changing tack. If her head hadn't felt so fragile, she would have shaken it, except his presence wasn't funny. She still had to worry about why he had come after her and what that comment about her reminding him of someone meant. The two things just didn't go together. If he was hunting her as Henry was, he would know who she was, know that she resembled her mother in appearance. His perplexity over who she reminded him of had been real.

  And just like that, she was struck with the clear certainty that he didn't know who she was. He wasn't hunting her. His presence in Ambrose Park, while mystifying, wasn't a threat to her. Her relief was in itself subtly alarming. She had wanted to trust
him all along, and now she knew she could. Her instincts hadn't been wrong.

  Which meant he had come after her because he was attracted to her.

  Abruptly, she was swamped by a sense of loss. She had never been so attracted to a man, never wanted like this, and it couldn't happen. She had to leave.

  "What is it?" he murmured, moving closer.

  A growl of thunder presaged the squall rolling in off the Pacific. On cue, big droplets of rain began pounding into the asphalt, and a cold gust of wind sent a scattering of rain under the partial shelter of the eaves.

  Automatically, Blade shifted to shield her from the worst of it, his hand settling at the small of her back as he urged her back the way they had come. Numbly, Anna endured the burning warmth that flowed from the palm of his hand, desperately trying to analyse what it was that made her so acutely sensitive to him. He was only touching her out of courtesy, acting on the same instincts that had seen him help her out of her coat last night, but it didn't seem to matter – he touched her, and she reacted.

  She found herself herded into the small storeroom. The rain was steady now, almost torrential in its intensity, making the close darkness of the cluttered room seem oddly intimate, although the partially open door into the corridor meant it wasn't completely dark. He had to let go of her once they were inside, because the path between the boxes of supplies and ranks of mops and brooms meant there wasn't enough space to walk abreast, but once they were out, his hand resettled against her back, heavy and warm, as he pushed open the swing door into the restaurant.

  He wasn't touching her skin, and she could easily have moved away from him if she'd wanted, but even so, the pressure of his hand continued to unsettle her. He didn't need to touch her now, and with a flash of insight she saw his gesture for what it was: a possessive, territorial act by a dominant male. He was marking her as his.

  The idea that he would want to do such a thing astounded Anna. Her knowledge of men was impressive and her opinion of them poor. She could write an encyclopaedia on how to avoid predatory men, the list of subtle and unsubtle nuances of body language that men construed as a come-on. But she knew very little about the rituals of courtship. All her adult life, she had carefully controlled relationships, keeping people at arm's length as a protective measure against the crippling hurt of loss. It had been a knee-jerk reaction for so long that she hadn't questioned it. She'd always had to move on, always been conscious that she mustn't draw anyone else into danger with her.