Banish Misfortune Read Online Free PDF Page B

the bed, wrapping Johnson's silk kimono around her slender body. Chances were she wouldn't sleep till dawn. Hot milk and brandy had sometimes been able to fool her resistant body into drifting off before then, and it was worth a chance. Ham's kitchen would be deserted at this hour—she could make her potion and pray that this would be one of the lucky times. She didn't know how she could face the decisions the weekend would bring if she didn't have just a tiny bit more sleep.
    There was definitely a feeling of unreality to the sound of that husky drawl in the dimly lit kitchen. "My father's boyfriends," he'd said. Slowly she turned, with majestic calm, to look at Elyssa's son.
    He was quite a sight in the flesh. And a great deal of flesh there was. He was wearing nothing more than an old pair of jeans hugging the long legs that Hamilton had assured her could eat up a basketball court in seconds. The long, narrow feet were bare; he wore no belt and no shirt; his chest, dark with a summer tan, was wiry, muscled and lean, the flesh warm-looking to Jessica's jaded eyes. And he was standing there with that beautiful, aloof Indian face of his, branding her as one of his father's lovers. Male lovers at that. He obviously hadn't come to terms with his father, she thought absently, still staring at him.
    Springer was leaning against the dooijamb, watching her out of hooded eyes that were clearly filled with contempt. "I'm Springer MacDowell," he added. "Hamilton obviously didn't expect me tonight, or you would have had your walking papers. When you go back to bed you might tell him I'm here." His voice was cold and cynical as he straightened up, prepared to head back upstairs.
    Jessica later wondered what had come over her. She was usually the most deliberate of people, but something about Springer MacDowell's contempt, both for her and for a man she loved dearly, coupled with the almost brazen good looks, wiped out her usual care. She started toward him then, and the movement of her lithe, thin body halted him. She knew if she spoke her light, clear voice would give her away, just as the stronger light from the hallway would illuminate the very feminine lines of her face and eyes.
    Without a word she came up to him, and his eyes were like chunks of black marble staring down at her. She wasn't used to looking up at men that much taller than her five feet eight—and it took her a moment to quell her reaction. But he had gauged it already, seen the flicker in her eyes in the darkened kitchen, and his mouth curled in disgust.
    "Sorry, boy," he snapped. "I'm not your type." Before he could turn away she reached out one slender hand—the rings lay discarded on her bedside table— and came in contact with that warm smooth skin. She touched his arm, and of its own volition her hand slid across the smoothly muscled flesh, across his shoulder and down his chest. He stood very still, but she could feel his tension beneath her hands as he watched her.
    Now that she had started she didn't quite know how to stop. It was also a fairly dangerous activity—from Springer's words she could guess that he wouldn't take very well to a strange man making a pass at him. She might get one of those strong, well-shaped hands driven into her empty stomach.
    Jessica started to pull her hand away, and just as quickly his hand shot out, catching her wrist in an iron grip. "Don't stop now," he whispered, pulling her slowly forward. She tried to pull back, but her puny strength was useless against him. A moment later her slender, shaking frame was up against his hard, strong body. Staring up at him mutely, she tried to break his hold on her, but it was useless. She stood there, held against him, and waited.
    Her breath was coming rapidly beneath the thin silk kimono, while his was even, steady, unmoved by her struggle. "You'll find I'm a hell of a lot more man than my father ever could be," he drawled. "If that's what you're looking for." And then to her horror