She opened the door for Caro, gesturing for her to enter.
Caro walked into the shadowy room, clutching the duffel bag against herself. Mingled fear and anticipation rattled her as she caught sight of him, silhouetted against the glittering cityscape.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Gallagher?” Mrs. Aronsen asked.
“Not right now, Mrs. Aronsen, thank you.” It was that deep, controlled voice again, the one that had made her clutch at the phone. “I appreciate you and Karen and Aurelia staying longer. Stanley will drive you home, of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” The door clicked shut.
What a set-up. It was supposed to make her feel safe, but it didn’t, not quite. It felt too deliberate. Staff expertly nudged into position. Herself, coaxed into coming.
But please. That was bullshit. She’d chosen to come. She made the call herself.
Standing, Noah Gallagher was a shadow against the dusky gray sky, tall and broad. Perfectly proportioned.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Oh, boy. She had never been so aware of a man’s sexuality in her entire life. And he wasn’t even doing anything. Just standing there on the other side of a very large room. Wearing a dangerously sexy suit and tie.
He flicked a switch on the wall. A row of small lights near the ceiling beam started to glow, warming the gloom to the level of candlelight.
“Excuse the low lighting.” He took off his glasses. “I had a head injury a while back, and I can’t stand too much light without protective lenses. But by the end of the day, I can adjust if I keep the lights low. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine.” Her voice sounded muffled. Talk to the man, she lectured herself. Ask for a place to change. Commence Operation Shake It as of now. Go, go, go.
The words would not come. He was walking toward her. Coherent thought disintegrated. She was close enough now to make out his eyes. They looked different. That luminous, startling flash. Like a wild predator’s eyes. A panther, or a wolf.
“Let me take your coat.” His voice was so silky. Caressing.
But I don’t have my costume on. The words stayed trapped in her mouth as he lifted the garment, weighted by artfully sewn padding. It slid from her shoulders with only a tug of encouragement.
Noah Gallagher took a few seconds to look at the hidden layers, then pushed open a wall panel and hung up her coat.
She felt exposed. “Why did you do that?”
“Just curious. It’s an unusual coat.”
Well, hell. That sucked. The coat was supposed to be quiet and unremarkable, a wall to hide behind. “It’s only a coat,” she mumbled.
“It goes with the hat and that wig. And that thing in your mouth.”
Her mind had been blank walking in, and now, it was blanker still. Wiped clean by the catlike gold flash of his eyes. Wait. Gold?
It hit her with a rush of startled wonder. “Your eyes,” she blurted. “They’re a different color from this morning.”
Not a muscle moved on his face, but she sensed the tension that gripped him.
“Are they?” he asked.
“This morning, they were black,” she said. “Now they’re golden.”
And by saying so, she was admitting to flash-memorizing every minute detail of him this morning. But whatever.
“I wore light-screening contact lenses this morning. Like I said—”
“Yeah, the head injury. I remember. It’s just that they’re—never mind.”
“They’re what?” he prompted.
“Amazing,” she said. “That gold. How they catch the light. It looks right. It’s . . . it’s beautiful.” She was mortified for blurting that out. So inappropriate.
He looked startled. “Thank you,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Excuse me?”
“I took off my glasses. You take off yours. And that thing in your mouth and the wig. I want to see you.”
There was nothing to be gained by being coy. She fished her zippered bag out of her duffle and did what he asked. Except for the wig.
Maybe that was why he didn’t seem satisfied. “Who are you?” he asked. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t need my name,” she replied. “I’m Shamira, the dancer. Do you want your dance? Because that’s all I came here to do.”
His eyebrow went up. “Let’s have it, then.”
She was taken aback at his swift change of tone. “I’ll need a place to change.”
Noah pointed to a door. “There’s the bathroom.”
She couldn’t back out and she couldn’t escape. And most likely she couldn’t crawl out a small bathroom window and climb down a rope made of her fabulous fake hair from the twenty-fourth floor. But it would have been nice to have the option.
“I have the music file on my phone. Could I just connect it to your—”
“Of course. Cue it up and hand it over. I have a cord.”
Nowhere to hide. She handed him the phone and stood there.
“Wait,” she said. “Just hold on. This is too weird.”