A Dangerous Arrangement Read Online Free PDF Page A

his long, slim fingers, then brought her gaze back to his face again. He really did have a brilliant smile.
    â€˜It’s okay, I guess. But why don’t you concentrate on the architecture from now on, Mr—er?’
    A sudden breeze lifted her hair, whipping it across her face as they came out from under the bridge.
    At that very moment, the gondolier chose to begin his commentary.
    With a pang of regret, Marina dragged her hair over her shoulder and her eyes away from the handsome man beside her.
    It seemed she wasn’t to learn his name after all.

Chapter Four
    A fine mist rose from the water as they drifted under the Bridge of Sighs. Nightfall was approaching, and one by one lights came on inside the buildings, illuminating the dramatic architecture of the marble-framed windows. On the right a cat perched on a ledge, cleaning its face and totally ignoring them. To the left and above, flowers spilled from window boxes in a riot of colour. Creepers wrapped themselves around wrought iron railings or clung to a rose painted wall.
    Dean pressed his eye to the viewfinder and took photographs of a gothic-style arch, then nonchalantly panned his lens in the other direction and took a photograph of Marina Wentworth. Her stillness intrigued him, so different to those sitting behind, oohing and aahing and pointing. She could have been Christine from the Phantom of the Opera, sitting in the front of the gondola, fog swirling around her, long hair tumbling down her straight back.
    He lowered the camera, resting it on his thigh as the gondola rose and fell on a gentle swell. Since leaving Rialto the gondolier had kept up a continuous commentary, making conversation impossible. But the man was taking a breather now while he concentrated on manoeuvring the gondola from one canal to another.
    Dean searched his mind for a conversation opener, irritated that Marina seemed disinclined to talk. A part of him wanted to put her on the spot and interrogate her about the activities of her flatmate. The other part wanted to chat her up.
    Shit!
    â€˜You don’t take photographs?’ he asked, inwardly cringing at the pathetic line.
    She turned, the lights of Venice reflecting in her amazing eyes.
    â€˜I left my camera in my room.’ She shook her head, luscious mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. ‘I know that’s a crazy weird thing to do when you’re in a place like Venice. But it’s okay. I tend not to look back much.’
    When he didn’t reply, she gave a casual shrug, like she understood others might find it a peculiar characteristic.
    Dean didn’t. He envied her. Wondered if it were innate, or a learned behaviour, wondered if it was something he could sign up for. He blinked away the memories of a dark place on a sunny day.
    What he’d give not to look back.
    They passed another gondola, and while the others waved to its occupants, Dean filled his lungs with the cool air rolling in from the Adriatic and stared at Marina’s profile. She’d loosened her white-knuckled grip on the side, and her face held a mixture of awe and admiration as they sailed past the gothic-inspired architecture of St Mark’s and the Doge’s Palace.
    So, taking happy snaps wasn’t her thing.
    What was?
    White-collar crime?
    Despite the evidence pointing to her being involved, Dean just couldn’t picture it. The prisons were hardly filled with music teachers.
    With a sudden jolt of inspiration, he straightened. He needed to keep her engaged until they returned to the dock. ‘Do you know the story of Casanova?’
    She turned, her face centimetres from his, the shore lights casting shadows across her cheeks. Up this close, he could see the brown flecks in her eyes and a pale smattering of freckles across her nose.
    Her pupils moved a little, as if she were appraising his every feature, or his face was a painting she needed to study. ‘Casanova? I know he was a violinist, and a