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 their 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, her 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 met. 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 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?”
Bemused, 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 that 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.”