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While she knew men like this existed, or at least, had been photoshopped into existence, she had no idea they were really out there, moving around in the general population. Truly, he should come with some kind of public health announcement. Even his hands earned her interest and enjoyment, with long, commanding fingers and short, neat nails. He held an overnight bag, black leather and every bit as expensive and well-made as his jacket, she guessed.
Her mouth felt quite dry as she tried to swallow and remember even a modicum of clear thinking.
“Alessio,” she finally managed to repeat, the word barely audible courtesy of her hoarse voice and totally distracted mind.
“Si.”
“You’re Italian?” She asked, simply to fill the vacuum that was her mind, as silence roared around the room, terrifying her.
“Si.”
Pull yourself together, Charlie.She finally, belatedly, managed a polite smile and managed to weave past him—but not far enough past him, because a hint of his fragrance tickled her nostrils, so woody and masculine, and her knees responded with an immediate quiver and her stomach dropped to her toes.
Moving quickly now, she slid behind the bar and flicked open the reservation book—Winnie, who owned the hotel, preferred the old-fashioned record keeping to a computer, which could explain why this oversight had taken place.
“I’m sorry, Mr…Alessio…I don’t have any record of you in the book.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw, and he focussed such a firm stare in Charlotte’s direction that she thought he might honestly burn a hole through her flesh, so intense was the derision she felt emanating off him in waves.
“That is not my oversight.”
“No,” she agreed with a grimace. “I’m sure it’s not.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, watching her without speaking. A silence that unnerved her, as Charlotte was sure it was designed to.
“We do have rooms available.”
“Good.”
“But I’ll need to make one up.” She thought wearily of her own bed, and of Dash, whose little body would be fast asleep, but who she desperately missed and wanted to kiss goodnight. She was fortunate to have a job that made it possible to accommodate the demands of looking after a little boy, but there were times when she wished for a more normal existence, the ability to ‘clock off’ at five and be home for dinner with him every night.
“I would be grateful.” He said it in such a way that left her in little doubt of his genuine gratitude, but no matter. The pub couldn’t really afford to lose an overnight booking, and reviews were everything—better accommodate the man than risk a one star write up going online.
“It won’t take me long,” she said, cursing Winnie and her son Caleb, and their disorganised management of the accommodation. She was the chef—this was definitely not supposed to be her job. Nonetheless, she was, as always, the last person standing and therefore, the duty fell to her.
“Would you care to fill out a guest card while you wait?” She pulled a piece of cardboard from beside the register and slid it over the counter, noting a mark she’d missed earlier and reaching to wipe it on autopilot.
“My details are already recorded.”
She pulled a face. “You mightthinkso, but Caleb can be…”
Alessio’s eyes narrowed, and Charlotte compressed her lips, aware she was straying into the unprofessional.
“It doesn’t matter. Take a seat. I won’t be long.”
Only as she left the bar did it occur to Charlotte that she was taking a lot of what this man said on faith. After all, she didn’t knowanythingabout him, and certainly had no way of knowing his story was true. She’d let him into the bar, and in fact left him there now unattended, with the day’s cash takings in a velvet pouch in the office—albeit locked, but with a pretty flimsy door—and there was only herself and Dashiell in the whole hotel. While she adored the little boy, he was only eight and not likely to offer much deterrence to a would-be attacker.
She abruptly stopped walking, turned, and tiptoed back down the hallway, avoiding the reliable creaks in the floorboards, then peeking around the doorframe.
He didn’tlooklike a nefarious character.
He stood now, exactly where she’d left him, but with his eyes fixed on the wall behind the bar—littered as it was with staff photos and postcards that the regulars had sent from all over the world. Charlotte had suspended a jaunty string of lights around the pin board earlier that week, which now formed a brightly coloured border. One of the pictures in particular caught her eye—a snap of her and Caleb taken after Dash’s birthday earlier that year. A flop of Caleb’s blonde hair had dropped over his brow and Charlotte was reaching up to move it, midway through laughing at some shared joke or other. She couldn’t remember now. It had been a happy night, and Charlotte had been glad—glad that in the wreckage of Dash’s young life, she could give him such a joyous celebration.
“Finished already?”
She jerked her gaze back to Alessio, the smile on her face carrying the remnants of that night’s warmth, changing her eyes so they glowed from within. “No.”
“And yet, you are back,” he drawled, his gaze fixed to her face with an expression that was impossible to read.
