Always - Iris Johansen [4]
Possessiveness. Damn, the emotion had slipped into his thoughts without his even being aware of it. When had he ever felt possessive about any woman? And this woman was a complete stranger.
The round of requests had ended now and Lisa Landon slipped from the stool and smiled again. Then she was gone from the stage as quickly as she had come.
Galbraith leaned forward and grinned at Clancy. “Well, have you defined the ‘something’ the lady’s got?”
Me. She’s got me. The answer emerged swiftly and instinctively from the jumble of emotions that was whirling within Clancy. He rejected the thought as quickly as it came. “Character,” he said lightly. “And maturity. I can see how a boy like you would be dazzled by those qualities. The pretty dolls I’ve seen you squiring around have a few years to go before they begin acquiring them.”
“The pretty dolls are entertaining,” Galbraith drawled. “And I think that old poker face of yours slipped enough so that I could see you were dazzled by the qualities of the lady.”
“You’re getting fresh, John.” Clancy pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Remind me to slap you down the next time you annoy me. It will do wonders for your own character development.”
Galbraith grimaced. “I won’t have to remind you. You remember everything. Unfortunately. I suppose you’re going backstage. Do you want me to wait and continue surveillance?”
Clancy hesitated. “No,” he said slowly. “I’ll take care of it.”
Galbraith’s brows lifted in surprise. “Really? It must be years since you did any chore as plebeian as surveillance. Are you sure you remember how?”
“Fresh.” Clancy enunciated the word distinctly. “Very fresh. I assure you I’ll muddle through.”
Galbraith’s cheeky grin faded as he silently cursed himself. It wasn’t safe to bait Clancy who, when he lost patience, could turn and mete out punishment efficiently. Galbraith held up his hands. “Joking.” He smiled. “I’m no fool, Clancy. I know what you are.”
“It’s nice that you’re so confident of your perceptiveness,” Clancy said with a slightly enigmatic smile. “There are times when I’m not at all sure that I know.” He turned and walked swiftly across the tiny dance floor to the arched doorway through which Lisa Landon had disappeared.
The knock on the dressing room door was brisk and authoritative.
Lisa tensed, then consciously forced herself to relax. It couldn’t be he. She’d seen no sign of Martin since she’d arrived here. She mustn’t let her imagination run wild just because a knock on the door was demanding instead of politely perfunctory. She reached for a tissue and began wiping the cream from her face. “Come in.”
“For God’s sake, didn’t anyone ever tell you that you don’t leave your door unlocked and invite just anyone who’s on the other side to come in?” The man who stood in the doorway was frowning and his voice was harsh. “For all you knew, I could have been Jack the Ripper.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she turned away from the mirror to look at him. “You’re not Jack the Ripper,” she muttered. The man did look dangerous though. He stood well over six feet with the broad shoulders and the deep chest of a longshoreman. His features were rough and craggy, with broad cheekbones and a nose that had been broken at some time or other. He had the golden tan of a man who lived in the hot sun of the tropics, and his hair might once have been raven dark but was now flecked with silver. He gave the impression of a man fully mature, fully in control, and very used to having his own way. She found herself instinctively rebelling against him. She’d had her fill of men who wanted their own way. She lifted her chin. “It’s true you could be just as disreputable as Jack