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"Anna Johnson," she said, without hesitation or inflection, and Blade knew beyond all doubt that his
ghost lady was lying.
Chapter 3
Anna let out a shaky sigh when Blade left her holding the ice against her forehead while he went in
search of painkillers.
The piercing quality of his gaze had been so unsettling, she had almost given in and told him her real
name. For the first time in years, the lie had seemed deceitful, rather than necessary armour against de
Rocheford.
He handed her a glass of water and a couple of Paracetamols, then shifted away to lean one hip against
the kitchen counter. Arms folded across his chest, he watched her swallow the pills and drink the water.
His steady regard was unnerving. The plain fact was that this room had always been small, but Blade
made it seem claustrophobically tiny. It wasn't just his size, although that was intimidating in itself. It was
that he seemed larger than life, brimming with a male power that both fascinated and alarmed her,
because he drew her so strongly.
"Have you got family you can contact?" he asked.
Carefully, Anna set the now empty glass down, glad for the bulk of the tea-towel wrapped in ice,
because it served to obscure part of her face. "No."
"A friend?"
She hesitated. If she gave him a name, she might be able to get rid of him sooner. "If I need help, I can
call on Tony, from the flat above."
He frowned. "Boyfriend?"
The sheer ludicrousness of the suggestion made her smile. Tony Fa'alau wasn't an old man, but he was
somewhere north of his fifties, tall and soft-spoken, with a limp. He often turned up at the library and
walked her home, but tonight was one of the nights he helped his son, Mike, with security at the video
parlour. "No."
"Good."
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Her heart skipped a beat at the deliberate way he held her gaze, the satisfaction inherent in that one
word.
"But you should still see a doctor. I could take you."
His tone was neutral, but she could feel the relentless, underlying force of his will. He was a man used to
taking charge, used to giving orders. With a sense of amazement, she realised he would take her over
completely if she let him. "It's only a bump on the head. Believe me, this one's not so bad, I've had
worse." She stopped, aware that on top of everything else, she now had to squash the urge to confide in
him.
"Someone hit you?" he demanded softly.
He didn't move from his semirelaxed position, but Anna was aware of the change in him. His gaze on her
had sharpened, and the relaxed pose was no longer indolent.
"No! I that is, I was & accident-prone as a child."
The intensity of his regard didn't lessen. "What kind of accidents?"
The killing kind.
Anna closed her eyes briefly against the throbbing pain that thought elicited. "I had a couple of nasty falls
that ended in concussions."
She rose to her feet, setting the now melting icepack down on the table, forestalling any further
questions, hoping he would take the hint and leave. Her head didn't spin, and her legs no longer felt like
limp noodles. The rest and the ice had helped, and soon the pills would ease the pain even further.
Blade took the hint, but in order to get to the door, he had to pass right by her. He stopped, one hand
on the door handle, close enough that she had to reluctantly tilt her head to meet his gaze. Close enough
that she realised with a sense of shock that he was more than just damp, he was wet through; that all the
time he had cared for her, his clothes had been clinging to his skin. Even as she watched, a droplet of
water trailed down his temple, but he ignored it.
"I'm glad you don't have a boyfriend," he said bluntly, "but I don't like it that you're alone tonight. I'll
leave now, because you're out on your feet. You need to rest. But I'll be back tomorrow to check on
you. Do you work during the day?"
Anna thought that was a slightly unusual way to phrase the question. Most people worked during the
day. "Yes," she said, not supplying him with any details.
The omission didn't seem to bother him. "I'll take you out for dinner, then."
Anna blinked at the flat statement, wondering if she'd heard wrong. Now she was completely confused.
Dinner? That sounded like a date.
Again, her lack of reply didn't seem to bother him. He lifted a hand, brushed a strand of hair back from
her forehead and stared critically at the bump. She drew a breath at the strange tingling heat of his touch,
that odd internal jolt, but forced herself to stay very still when he transferred his attention to her eyes,
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staring intently into first one, then the other.
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