Alice After Hours (4 page)

Alice smiled and reached for her glass.
Suck on that one, honey!

“
You find them disappointing?”

“
Eventually.”

“
And women?”

“
No problem.”

“
But those relationships are platonic.”

“
Of course,” she typed.

“
Why do you dislike men so much?”

“
I don't dislike them.”

“
Your attitude suggests otherwise.”

“
And that offends you?”

“
No,” he typed, “but if you find those you choose are always coming up short, you might consider that you are targeting the wrong type.”

“
Meaning?”

“
Those who present no challenge to you.”

She frowned. But he was still typing.

“
So why bother? You know how it will end. Why not live a little? Do something completely out of character for once.”

“
Such as?”

“
Take a risk.”

And we're back on that subject

“
Isn't that why you're really here? The only issue I have is that you are still trying to avoid the obvious.”

“
How so?”

“
Because when the conversation goes in a direction you find uncomfortable, you leave.”

“
And you blame me?”

“
No. But I'm curious as to what you are hiding.”

“
That's easy. Nothing.”

“
Everyone has something to hide.”

“
Not me.”

“
So why leave your location blank?”

“
You checked out my profile?”

“
Of course. Just as you checked out mine. So where in the world are you?”

If her intention had been to provoke him, it didn't seem to be working.

“
Not far from you. If you live where you say you do.”

“
London's a big city.”

“
That's all you get.”

“
For now,” he typed.

“
You're expecting more?”

“
You may not enjoy a challenge, but I certainly do.”

“
Is that how you see me?”

“
You're not exactly forthcoming. Even your conversation tonight is missing the social niceties. We should meet.”

“
I don't think so.”

“
You might enjoy it.”

“
You're wasting your time.”

“
Really? Not even the slightest bit curious?”

“
Not the slightest. I'm logging off now.”

A
lice managed to stay away from her laptop a whole two days. Eventually though, curiosity got the better of her.

He'd left a message.

“
Thursday. 7pm. Grain and Grapes, Pimlico.”

Just the one line. This was taking things too far.

Shocking, agreed the voice in her head. Too short notice, and not very well thought out. How would they recognise each other, for a start?

Not that she had any intention of going, but he clearly hadn't thought the whole idea through, and that was disappointing, since she'd credited him with a certain level of intelligence.

Oh well!
It was a lesson he would learn.

She ran a search on Pimlico Grain and Grapes. She still had no intention of going, of course, but thought it might be interesting to at least have a look at his choice of venue. It was just a she'd expected. Wedged between a bookstore and an old-fashioned gentleman's outfitters, the pub had an exterior that when viewed from the street cam was a trendy restoration of purple and green paintwork overlaid with a lavish amount of Victorian gilt. And inside? No doubt trendy microbrewery beers and on-tap Prosecco, all served up with potato wedges and a side of aioli.

She could see it now.

He must think she was stupid! The very idea of meeting up was foolhardy in the extreme. What if he turned out to be a sad and lonely individual? Or he'd lied on his profile, and was eighty-five? Or sixteen, and a school kid?

Then he would hardly suggest meeting in a pub, would he? her little voice pointed out reasonably.

Then there was the question of what to wear. Definitely not a date, but nor was it a business meeting. So nothing overly casual, but nothing too formal either. And certainly nothing that would give out the wrong signals.

She considered her wardrobe.

Obviously heels were out, as was anything too revealing or close fitting.

No, what she would wear—not that she was going, of course—would be black pants tucked into leather riding boots. She had exactly the right pair—madly expensive, and from an exclusive store in Milan. She'd complete the look with something long and silky and a few pieces of statement jewellery, and then throw her cashmere coat over the lot. That would show him who he was dealing with.

He would choke on his beer when she walked in. If indeed he was a beer drinker.

Alice smiled.

Really, it was a shame she wouldn't be going.

I
f it hadn't been for the fact the door was being held open for her, Alice would never have made it over the threshold. But given that the gesture was both polite and expectant, she could hardly retreat. She eased her way inside thinking—a little belatedly perhaps—that anyone with a modicum of sense would have made a preliminary visit to get the lie of the land, so to speak. Other than the odd glance, most of the clientele were too involved in their own conversations to worry about her, leaving her to wonder if her online buddy had even bothered to show up.

Or was that him? She made her way to the bar. The weird-looking guy in the corner staring into his pint? Please God, no!

But didn't he say he was over six feet tall? Not him, then. What about the one down at the end? The oldish guy with the jacket? But then a very attractive girl appeared from a door at the back of the room and eased herself onto the barstool beside him. Well, not that one, either.

“
Bourbon on the rocks,” she said, smiling at the bartender. Even he would fit the bill, since he definitely had the height. But watching him reach for a glass, she dismissed that idea as a non-starter too.

Perched on a stool and cradling her drink, she eased one leg over the other and flexed her foot in order to admire her boots. God, they looked the part. Take-no-shit authoritative. So where was he? Or had the sight of her, a self-possessed woman, frightened him off? For apart from two separate groups of men enjoying after-work drinks, there were no other candidates.

Perhaps he'd been held up.

Alice turned back to the bar and repositioned her glass until it was exactly centre of the coaster.

Or of course, he could be a no-show. Maybe that was how he got his kicks, by arranging to meet up with online hopefuls, and then sitting back at home to laugh at their gullibility.

She caught her reflection in the mirrored shelves behind the bar. Hair piled up on top of her head, gray eyes wide and alluring thanks to lash extensions, and a perfectly applied pout of glossy red lipstick.

Okay, she might have overdone it a little. But she had a point to make.

Unless she truly had been taken in, and was wasting her time.

And then she saw him.

Behind, and a little to the right, he was looking directly at her, and suddenly her heart was beating loud enough for everyone in the place to hear, for she'd never imagined for one moment he'd be
that
attractive.

Locking his reflected gaze, she lifted her glass to her lips once more. It was a gesture of defiance. Of insolence even, and in response he raised an eyebrow and grinned.

And then he was leaning an elbow on the bar and signalling to the bartender.

“
Hi,” he said to her, his voice warm and thankfully non-threatening. “Glad you could make it. Drink?”

He was indicating the remnants in her glass.

“
Thanks.”

“
And it is …?”

“
Oh. Bourbon.”

“
Neat? I should have guessed.”

“
Why?” Alice was still bemused by his appearance. He looked nothing like she'd imagined.

“
Because you're only here to prove a point.”

Gathering their drinks, he led her over to the brick hearth and a couple of comfortable armchairs. After settling in and taking a mouthful of wheat beer, he placed his pint on the low table between them.

“
I would ask if you've travelled far,” he said, “but I doubt you'd tell me.”

“
You're right,” she replied, “I wouldn't.”

“
Well, my journey was relatively short.”

“
And no doubt why you chose this place.”

“
That, and other reasons.”

“
Such as?”

“
A very good restaurant around the corner, for one.”

Alice wished his eyes weren't quite so distracting. And that his features weren't so strong and defined. Why couldn't he have been balding and rippled with excess weight, or his skin blotchy, with a nasty sheen of sweat? Instead he was so darned good-looking it was as if the ground had shifted beneath her. She needed to reassert herself.

“
I see. So this is your local?”

He shook his head.

“
Not particularly. Though I come here enough to be known to some of the staff. What about you? Any favourite haunts around where you live?”

“
Not really. A wine bar close to where I work in the city, but other than that, no.”

There was a moment of silence.

He didn't look like a man who enjoyed dominating women, she thought. Though exactly what such a person should look like she had no idea. What had she expected? An overpowering persona, and conversation littered with barely contained demands and innuendo?

Instead, Archangel was relaxed, and if she were to choose one word, she would describe him as engaging.

“
I almost didn't come,” she said after a moment.

He nodded, as if he expected nothing less. “And yet here you are. Taking a risk.”

“
Am I?”

“
Leaving your comfort zone to meet a man you don't know and whom you met in a BDSM chat room? Yes, I would say you are taking a risk.”

“
That's not very reassuring.”

“
It isn't, is it? But you always have a choice.”

“
And what would that be?”

His eyes were boring into her very soul, seeking and prying and searching for whatever might be hidden there.

“
Continue fighting. Or step into the unknown.”

Alice had to look away.

She wasn't there to submit to any man, let alone a total stranger. In fact her aim was the complete opposite. She was there to show him that while some women—and by definition those who contributed to the website—might be weak-minded, the rest were not.

“
And what makes you think I won't leave right now,” she said, needing the distraction of reaching for her bourbon.

“
Curiosity.”

“
You're right. I am curious,” she said, “though perhaps not quite in the way you imagine.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
Pretty certain. You see,” and she leaned back as if to give weight to her words, “I believe in equality of the sexes.”

“
And you think I don't.”

“
No.”

“
Ahh. Then you're here to justify your case.”

“
Only as a means to an end.” Seeing he was about to interrupt, she held up her hand. “If I may be candid, you don't immediately come across as a chauvinist, but then I doubt that would be your public persona.”

“
Chauvinist?” He laughed delightedly. “Hardly. In fact, if you insist on buying the next round, I'll happily let you.”

“
And there it is.” Alice's eyes flashed. “You will let me.
Let
me
.
Have you any idea how patronising that sounds?”

“
And if I reversed it, and asked if you would let
me
buy the next round, would you see that as patronising too? Or would you see it as completely acceptable?”

Before she could reply he had picked up his empty glass.

“
Either way, would you like another drink, or can I tempt you with dinner? If it helps, we can share the bill.”

Alice glared at him. “I don't even know your name.”

“
Gabe. Short for Gabriel.”

“
Ah! That explains it
.
”

“
It does?”

“
Archangel.”