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Just then, the man's weight vanished from her back. Before she could register why, she heard a vicious curse and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Spinning around, she spotted two men bouncing off the wall and into some garbage cans, sending the receptacles flying and causing a loud clatter. In the dim light, she could barely make out a large man punching a slightly smaller man. The more slightly built one was dressed in a hoodie, the bigger one in jeans and a T-shirt.

She had to do something. Get help before her rescuer got hurt.

Just as she was about to turn and run, the attacker shoved the bigger man away from him and fled. He was fast, booking it down the alley and skidding around the corner. Gone, just like that. The bigger man stood under a sliver of moonlight, chest heaving, his tense stance suggesting he was tempted to give chase. Instead, he faced her and took a couple of tentative steps.

“Ma'am? Are you all right?”

His voice was so familiar, but she was badly shaken. She could hardly think straight as she replied, “I feel sick.”

“Here, let me help you.” Taking her gently by the hand, he led her out of the alley. Then he stooped to grab her purse on the way and handed it to her.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Tears pricked her eyes, a testament to how frightened she'd been. She hadn't cried in years, since she'd finally learned to swallow being a disappointment to her mother.

Her rescuer urged her back onto the sidewalk, under a street lamp. Then he turned to speak and stopped, his mouth hanging open. “Anna! I mean, Miss Claire,” he corrected himself. “My God, I can't believe it's you. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I—Mr. James,” she stammered in surprise. “Yes, I think so.”

As if to reassure himself, he stepped close and took her hands in his, rubbing them as though to ward off a chill. Then he turned her a bit and inspected her from every angle.

She gave a watery laugh. “Really, I'm fine.” Except for the nausea, which threatened to upset her dinner.

“You don't look fine,” he replied, eyeing her with a concerned frown. “Just to be sure, I'm going to walk you the rest of the way home.”

“Oh, that's not necessary.”

He shook his head. “I insist. Which way?”

“No, I mean it's really not necessary because I live there.” She pointed to the building on the corner.

“You're kidding! That's where I live, too.” He smiled. “Then it's definitely no trouble at all to see you safely to your door.”

“I don't—”

“Please? For my peace of mind?”

He looked so handsome, so worried, she had to smile back. “Fine. That would be nice, thanks.”

“First, though, we should file a report. I should've thought right away of calling the police.”

She considered that, then blew out a breath. “I think that'll be a waste of time. I'm not hurt, and he didn't take anything. I didn't even get a look at him, so my input isn't going to help much.”

“Are you sure? They can at least have it on record.”

“No. Really, I just want to get home.”

He hesitated, then relented. “I can understand that. Come on.”

Tucking her hand in his arm, he escorted her the rest of the way to their building and inside. As they crossed the spacious lobby, she briefly wondered how a lowly prep chef could afford to live in a neighborhood like this, where the apartments were so expensive. Then she remembered that he'd been a hotshot attorney of some kind, so that made sense. He'd probably socked away plenty before changing careers.

As they stepped into the elevator, his finger hovered over the number panel. “Which floor?”

“Six.”

He smiled again, a blinding slash of white that made her knees a little weak. “What do you know.”

“You, too?” She blinked at him.

“Yep. I'm curious, though. How is it that the boss lady missed the fact that I live in her building, on the same floor?”

She shrugged. “I make it a point to memorize names and faces, because I like my employees to feel as if they matter to me—and they do. But my manager, Jeff Wilson, does all of the hiring paperwork and tax forms, and he collects the employee information sheets we keep on file. If I need to know specific information about one of you, I can look it up.”

“I met Mr. Wilson, but I don't see him around much,” he mused. “He doesn't take a very active role on the floor.”

“Because that's not what I hired him to do. He does most of the paperwork, ads, and marketing.”

“So you can be among the people, which is what you enjoy most.”

“Yes.”

“And yet . . .” The elevator arrived at their floor, and they got off.

She stopped and faced him. “What?”

“I don't know if I should say.” His gaze settled on hers, assessing.

“You can speak freely. You
did
just save my life.” She grinned in encouragement.

He relaxed some. “It's just that you seem very reserved most of the time. Aloof. It's interesting to hear you say that you enjoy being around your staff and guests when you don't really show it.”

She stared at him in surprise. “I don't? But . . . I speak to people all day. I ask them how they're doing, if their meals are excellent, what they're celebrating. Things like that.”

“What about the staff?”

“What about them?” She started to feel defensive. “I ask them if they need anything, what I can do to help them. I inquire about any incidents that may have occurred, how the kitchen has been running, check on the special reservations to make sure the staff is prepared.”

“Yes, you do. You're a good boss,” he allowed.

“Why thank you,” she said dryly, giving him a droll look. “I'm so glad you approve.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “But when was the last time you actually
talked
to any of them?”

“What the hell do you mean? I just told you I talk all day!”

“When's the last time you asked one of them anything personal?”

“Personal?” She was at a complete loss. “Like what?”

“Jesus.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dropped his hand and regarded her in part amusement, part exasperation. “You know Brandon, the waiter?”

“Brandon Gates. Of course I do.”

“Right. But did you know his pet iguana died yesterday?”

Obviously one of them had been dropped on his head. And it wasn't
her
.

“So? As long as Ethan didn't serve it in the soup, what does that have to do with me?”

The bastard actually laughed. An honest-to-God laugh that made his eyes crinkle and her toes curl. Made her insides warm in the most pleasant way.

“Christ, you're so uptight, you squeak when you walk.”

“What?” She gaped at him. “Listen, Mr. James—”

“I saved your life, as you pointed out,” he murmured, moving closer. Reaching out, he gently touched her face with the rough pads of his fingers. “I believe we've moved on to first names, Anna.”

Her breath caught in her chest, nerves dancing at his touch. The hunger in his eyes, his nearness, torched all of her arguments to dust. At five-eight she wasn't a short woman, but the top of her head barely reached his chin. That was a secret thrill of hers—a big, tall man surrounding her. Pressing her down, covering her lips with his.

He was so close, their mouths almost meeting. Then he stepped back, and it took her a moment to adjust. To realize he wasn't going to kiss her after all. Flushing, she attempted to cover her embarrassment by fishing in her purse for the keys to her apartment. Finding them, she gave him a smile she didn't feel.

“Well, Gray, I should get home.”

She turned and started down the hallway, and he kept pace beside her, apparently not ready to relinquish his role as her protector. Suddenly her ordered world had been unbalanced, not just by the attack but by Gray's nearness, and she wondered if that's what he had intended.

At her door, she unlocked it and faced him. “Thank you for saving me. I can't imagine what might've happened if you hadn't been walking home right behind me.”

The idea made her feel sick again.

“I'm glad I was there.” A shadow passed over his face and was gone. “Let me come in? You've had a shock, and I want to see you settled before I leave.”

Settled. That would be the very last thing she would feel if she allowed him inside, of that there was no doubt. Some force that obliterated reason and good sense had her opening the door anyway, stepping aside to welcome him to her home.

“Nice place,” he commented.

“I imagine it's the same as yours.”

“Just the floor plan.” Looking around, he appeared impressed. “I definitely don't have your sense of style.”

“I can't claim much credit, except for the colors. I picked those and then hired a decorator.”

“I like the browns with the deep red accents. It fits you.”

Curious, she studied him as she set her purse on the bar. “How so?”

“The browns are subtle, understated, and strong. Alone, they might be boring to the eye, and then
bam
—the red is exciting. Just like those flashes of your true personality when you let them out, as you did in the hallway a few minutes ago.”

“Seriously?” A laugh escaped before she could help it. “You are so full of shit.”

“And like now,” he said, looking smug. “
Miss Claire
would never have said that, but
Anna
sure did. I obviously know what I'm talking about.”

“I don't know whether to be flattered or frightened by the armchair psychoanalysis.”

“Flattered—what else?” Gesturing toward the couch, he ordered, “Sit down. What do you want to drink? Wine? Something stronger?”

Amused, she did as he said—for the moment. “Isn't that my line? This
is
my apartment.”

“You can offer one to me some other time.” He disappeared into the kitchen and began to rummage around as his voice drifted to her. “You know, sometime when you haven't been attacked by a mugger.”

The image caused her to shiver, and she unwillingly began to relive the encounter. “I'll just have some water. Get whatever you want for yourself.”

In moments he was back, the sofa dipping as he sat beside her and twisted the tops off two bottles, handing her one. “I don't often drink this late at night. Gives me insomnia.”

“Hmm.” There was something odd about that man in the alley.

“Are you sure you're all right?” he asked in concern.

“He talked too much.”

“What?”

“The mugger.” Anna lifted her gaze to see Gray studying her, brows furrowed. “He was all talk. He never did much except push me around and scare me. Isn't that weird?”

Gray leaned forward. “What else?”

“He smelled nice, like he had on his best cologne. And . . .”

“And?”

She gasped. “The man wasn't armed! He didn't have anything in his hands.”

“Are you sure? Could be it happened so fast, you missed a small knife or something in his grasp.”

“No, I'm positive. The mugger wasn't armed, he spoke articulately, and he smelled nice. Something is off about the whole thing.”

“That is strange,” he said thoughtfully. “You should be more careful from now on. In fact, I'll be walking you home for a while. Just in case.”

In case the man returns.
Fear overrode the inner whispering that it was smart to keep a distance from this sexy man, no matter how much she wanted him. “All right.”

Their eyes met, and a strange flutter of butterfly wings took off in her stomach. Gray was looking at her as though she were the answer to every question he had, and it was wonderful. Confusing. Arousing.

“You're so beautiful,” he said with reverence, touching her face with the pads of his fingers.

“I don't remember the last time anyone told me that.”

“You deserve to hear that every single day, because it's true.”

“Thank you.” Drawn to him, she reached up and traced his lips with one finger. “You're a very handsome man yourself.”

“I wasn't fishing.”

“I didn't think you were.” She paused. “Why me?”

His face registered surprise. “Why am I interested in you?”

“Yes.”

“Besides your beauty, you're smart, successful. Kind. I think you need to unwind a lot, and I want to help you do that.”

God, he smelled good. Woodsy and manly, and it made her body ache to be touched. Completed. “Then help me, Gray.”

For a few moments he didn't speak. His hand covered hers and waited, giving her time to voice an objection. When it didn't come, he leaned over and closed the distance between them. Brought their lips together, parted hers with his tongue.

His kiss was liquid fire. Slowly, he licked her mouth, his sensual exploration sparking an electrical storm throughout her body. All thoughts of why it was a bad idea to see an employee blew to dust. Pushing into him, she sought more. Needed more from this man. It had been far too long since she'd come alive this way.

All too soon, the kiss was over and Gray moved back. Confused, she tried to pull herself together.

“Will you be okay tonight?”

Only if you stay.
But of course she wouldn't say the words.

“Yes, I'll be fine.” She forced a smile. “Go on, get some rest. You're on the late shift again tomorrow.”

Rising, he looked down at her. He didn't seem eager to go—more like resigned that it was for the best. And it was.

“Give me your cell phone.”

“Why?”

“So I can program my number in for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” Fishing around in her purse, she found the device and handed it over. He punched a long series of buttons, then he handed it back.