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Alys began mentally compiling an observational construct of facts:
No hesitancy intent gaze unhurried step tailored garments handmade boots red wine negligent grooming physically fit.
The words and their associated images floated in her mind, weaving in and out of one another as she applied her acquired knowledge and her intuition to arrange them together into a cohesive assemblage.
    Due to innate short- and long-term memory limits, forming such constructs was beyond most people’s capabilities; few had the natural capacity to acquire and retain the bewildering amount of data, much less sort it into multiple paradigms. Alys, however, had possessed the unique talent from birth.
    From the connections she failed to make between her observations and her knowledge assemblage base, she concluded that he was not an academic, a hotel employee,or anyone with whom she had prior acquaintance. Nothing about his dress or demeanor indicated anything about him, except that he liked to drink wine.
    For her that made him the rarest of men: a complete enigma.
    The mystery man didn’t stop at a polite distance but walked up to her as if he meant to greet her with a hug. Unused to having her personal space invaded with such nonchalance, Alys took a cautious step back. At the same time a warm pocket of scent followed her, lacing the next breath she took with the piquant but luscious fragrance of burnt sugar and cream.
    Delish.
    Alys realized her mouth was watering, and swallowed before she asked, “Are you the gentleman looking for Dr. Stuart?”
    “I need a word with him, yes.” His voice played the words like low notes from a cello, and colored them with a faint accent. “Has he finally got himself here?”
    Twenty years melted away as Alys stared at him and heard two different questions.
Do you see that rock, child, the one sticking up from the path? And the old root just before it?
    “Are you feeling unwell?” the man was asking her.
    He has a British accent. That’s all.
Annoyed with herself, Alys shook off the old memory. “I’m sorry; we’re rather busy at the moment. You should call the hotel later and make an appointment. Or you could give me your card and I’ll have Dr. Stuart call you.” In four weeks, when she’d finished the most important work of her career, she silently tacked on.
    “I haven’t any cards.” He bent his head, and his cool breath whispered against her skin as he asked, “What is your name, love?”
    Love. He called me
love. Alys felt her astonished heart skip a beat before her mind sorted it out. British colloquialism, a term of friendly, casual address.
    “My name is Alys.” Despite her refusal to help him, the man didn’t seem annoyed with her. His stance remained confident, his gaze direct. He’d also managed to eliminate another inch between them without her noticing. If he came any closer, he’d practically be on top of her.
    Was he attempting to wheedle information from her by using physical intimidation? She couldn’t feel afraid of him, not with that voice. Not with the way it made her feel.
    “You’ve a pretty name, Alys.” He stunned her again by lifting his hand and stroking the pad of his thumb along her cheek. “It suits you. Now be a good girl and go fetch Dr. Stuart for me.”
    The light caress confused her, as most physical contact did. She’d learned that unsolicited touching by males was often a demonstration of sexual interest. Over the years she’d learned to anticipate and avoid some of that. This time, however, it didn’t irritate her. In fact she found his unwarranted touching disturbing—and exciting.
    Indulgent tone relaxed features gentle physical contact.
He seemed to be in a state of amusement. Pairing that with his directive, she concluded that he’d mistaken her for one of the interns.
    He thinks I’m a kid.
    Well, that was nothing new, and as good as he smelled and as comforting as his voice sounded, he was a stranger.Alys knew better than anyone what