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‘Tomorrow evening’s going to be a change. You like the opera?’
She gave him a guarded look, which was usually accompanied by telling him that what she thought was irrelevant. She could say it as much as she liked, it wasn’t irrelevant to him.
‘Do you normally dress up?’
‘It’s the opera. It’s supposed to be sublime, and I can’t abide this tendency just to come as you are for it. Grant and Sara Goodman are joining me and Sara will definitely be dressing up. We have a box in the Grand Circle.’
‘Okay. I’ll bring something that blends in.’
He chuckled. Maybe it was time to put this one to bed. ‘Clara, you always look fabulous. You couldn’t blend in if you tried.’
The look she gave him was almost a smile. ‘Clearly I’ll have to try a bit harder, then.’
* * *
Clara looked stunning. A red dress, the soft fabric following her curves like a caress. When he saw her, Gabriel caught his breath.
‘Does this stand out enough for you?’ She gave him a mischievous smile, and Gabriel felt a flush of satisfaction. She’d worn the dress to please him, and he just wished he could tell her how much he liked that idea.
‘You look exquisite. The dress is lovely, too.’
She gave an amused wince and pretended to fan her cheeks with her hand. ‘So charming.’
Was that a challenge? Gabriel was confident that he could deliver more than enough charm to drive Clara to distraction.
He helped her on with her coat, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, leading her out to where the car was waiting for them. Good manners and attentiveness wore her down, and by the time he’d escorted her to her seat at the opera house, she’d had enough.
‘Stop it, Gabriel.’ She leaned towards him, tapping the back of his hand with the rose he’d given her. ‘Or I’ll forget I’m here to protect you and beat you to death with this rose.’
‘That’s not going to work. The thorns are shaved off so they don’t scratch your hand.’
‘Well, perhaps I can try strangling you with it, then.’
This was the Clara who made the blood rush to his head. The one who was more than a match for any compliment he could devise. ‘I’ll remember not to choose such a long stem in future. Are you saying that staring at you, instead of the stage, is out of the question?’
‘Yes. I’m the one watching you, remember. You’re here for the music.’
‘Understood.’ Gabriel settled back into his seat. Tonight promised to be as enjoyable as he’d hoped.
* * *
The opera had been wonderful. Grant and Sara had been friendly and accepting, and Clara had managed to survive the melting look in Gabriel’s eyes, and the way his evening suit made him look so mouth-wateringly handsome. The music had been sublime and it had been a struggle to stay focused on what she was there for.
She lay in bed, the music still running in her head. Gabriel had seemed so much at one with it, obviously caring more for the performance than who he might see or be seen by. Yet another contradiction in a man who seemed defined by the unexpected.
Her phone rang and Clara sat bolt upright in bed, reaching for it. At this time of night, a call was generally some kind of emergency.
‘Clara Holt.’
‘Clara. It’s Alistair Duvall. I’m sorry to call you so late but I think we have a...situation.’
‘Where are you, Alistair? Are you all right?’
‘Yes...yes... But I’m in my office. I popped back after an evening meeting to get something I need for tomorrow. There’s no one here, and I didn’t bother with the lights. I saw the screen on Gabriel’s computer come on...’
‘Okay.’ Clara thought quickly. Gabriel’s computer screen faced away from Alistair’s office... ‘Don’t move. Can you see from where you’re standing now if there’s a red camera light?’
‘Um...yes, I think so. I can see something like that reflected in the windows. Do you want me to go and switch it off?’
