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His right hand was cupped around his left elbow, lending support to the bulky sling in which his arm was cradled. He was wearing a dark, herringbone-patterned blazer over a white shirt and black jeans. The empty left sleeve of his blazer hung off his shoulder.
Elle’s heart began to beat erratically, her palms turned damp, noisy buzzing filled her ears. She couldn’t account for these absurd physical reactions to seeing him, except that it was so unexpected.
The intersection of their destinies had been random and fleeting, and she hadn’t anticipated it ever happening again. At least not before she’d had an opportunity to consider and rehearse what she would say to him should the occasion ever arise.
He hadn’t noticed her. She thought about retreating to prepare a brief speech, but she didn’t want to be late for the appointment. She also didn’t think that any amount of preparation would make this easier. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue down the hall.
As she neared him, he glanced up and acknowledged her presence with a curt hitch of his chin, then directed his gaze back to the floor space between his shoes. Boots, actually. Black ostrich cowboy boots.
Being as unobtrusive as possible, she sat down in one of the chairs along the opposite wall, facing him. She couldn’t help but wonder about the nature of the thoughts that had him so absorbed.
She had a direct view of the crown of his head. At its center was a whorl like the eye of a hurricane from which his wheat-colored hair fanned out. He had thick eyelashes and well-shaped brows that were drawn steeply together to form a vertical dent above his nose. His jawline was firm and well defined. It contracted and released as though he was grinding his teeth.
He must have sensed her scrutiny. Nothing in his position changed except for his head, which he raised suddenly, looking directly at her.
Caught staring, she had to say something, and it came out gruffly. “Mr. Hudson?”
Chapter 8
When he’d heard someone approaching him, he’d reacted with a glance. His brain had registered only that the individual was female; then he’d dived back into that bottomless, lightless pool of rumination in which he’d been submerged for a week.
He hadn’t become fully aware that she’d sat down across from him until he’d felt the intensity of her stare, weightless but palpable, like a breath against his face.
He’d raised his head, and their gazes had collided, and immediately he’d been arrested by the unusual color of her eyes.
Then she’d said his name.
And with the precision of a lightning bolt that had nearly knocked him off his chair, he’d been struck with the realization of who she must be. Jesus. When he’d gotten up this morning, he sure as hell hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t ready for this! But it was happening, and there was no getting out of it.
As resigned as a man facing a firing squad, he drew himself up straight. “Calder Hudson.”
“Elle Portman.”
“I assumed.”
She was observing him with such rapt curiosity, he flicked his gaze away. He looked down the long hallway in one direction, then in the other. No rescue in sight.
When he came back to her, he hesitated, then said, “That wasn’t quite the truth. What I just said. I didn’t assume who you were. Iknew. Something…” He exhaled a gust of breath, made a dismissive motion with his hand, then plowed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know how I knew. I just did.”
She shifted in her seat and looked toward the door of room 306 as though willing the detectives to materialize. And where the hell were they, anyway? He’d dreaded having another meeting with them, but this was worse. This was sheer torture. She was looking at him again.
“You didn’t know me by sight,” she said. “Because you didn’t really see me.” Apparently she realized his confusion because she added, “You didn’t recognize me from the fair.”
“Oh. No, not from the fair. I remember bumping into you, but, no, I didn’t really see you.”
He felt like a shit for having to admit it, but he realized that he couldn’t lie to her while looking her in the eye, although, before seven days ago, lying artfully had been the ability he’d been proudest of.
“No reason you should have noticed us, of course,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for the stroller, you wouldn’t have.”
There was nothing to say to that. It was another statement of fact that put him in a bad light.
“It was blocking your path, and you were already irritated.”
“Was I that obvious?”
Her lips formed a hint of a smile. “You were to me. I noticed you because you weren’t dressed for the fair. I sensed that you were annoyed and not at all happy to be in that crowd.”
“You’re right, but how did you get all that in only a couple of seconds?”
