Bedroom Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

into the placket to undo the third button.
    Her hand clamped onto his wrist. Surprisingly strong, pleasingly smooth and soft. Before his mind could explore that thought further, she struggled against him and said in a cross voice, “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “Cooling you down,” he said without letting go of her, then carried her the few steps to the covered bus shelter and deposited her on the bench. Several waiting riders glanced their way, but displayed not a shade of curiosity.
    In the French Quarter, the sight of a man carrying a woman wasn’t anything to elicit comment.
    But for Penelope, Tony would be willing to bet it was a whole new experience. She watched him with wary eyes as he settled her onto the bench, almost as if she expected him to snatch her up again. Her hair, he noted, had loosed itself from the tight knot and sent a damp curl forward on her neck. After what appeared to be a brief inner struggle, she said in a small voice, “It was good of you to keep me from cracking my head on the pavement.”
    “I’d do the same for any stranger on the street,” he said. Good of him? Hardly. He wanted to keep her alive and well to use her to needle Hinson. If she only knew his plans, she’d probably have preferred a crack on the head and a trip in an ambulance. Annoyed at the sweet expression stealing over her face, he pushed away from the side of the bus shelter. “I’ll find you a cab.”
    She rose. “I don’t need—”
    He was back by her side before she sagged to the bench. “Don’t need a cab, hmmmm? Don’t need any help. Don’t need—”
    “You.” She stuck her lip out. “I don’t need you. If you insist, I’ll take the cab, but then I want you gone.”
    He nodded. Let her think she could have her way. There was always tomorrow.
    To Penelope’s relief, he gave her no argument and stepped away to flag down a cab. Crumpled limply on the bench, surrounded by people who no doubt assumed she was another tourist unable to hold her liquor, Penelope wanted to be anywhere but sitting here. And in her woozy state, she wanted no argument from this man. That could wait until she was strong enough to win.
    That thought shot her straight upright. “I am not going to see him again,” she said aloud, in a very firm voice.
    From her purse, she heard a grouchy-sounding voice saying, “Don’t tell him that until he gets the cab. It’s getting hotter than Hades here in this purse!”
    “Oh!” Penelope opened the top of her purse further and fanned some air in. “Better?”
    Mrs. Merlin shook the folds of her caftan, saying, “Mr. Gotho warned me.”
    Penelope wanted to inquire as to Mr. Gotho’s identity, but the man next to her had scooted a few inches away, stared at her, then scooted over even more. Clearly the other people at the bus stop were figuring her for nuts.
    Wishing to be home in her cool and uncomplicated apartment, Penelope glanced over at her rescuer-tormentor, wondering how long it would take to get a cab to stop. Then she saw him pull a phone from the pocket of his shorts.
    Perspiration trickled down her neck, pooling beneath her bra and sealing it to her skin in a way that made it even harder for her to breathe. After a furtive glance, she plucked at her shirt, attempting to pull her bra off her overheated skin.
    She should have stayed in Chicago.
    The thought hit her hard.
    “No,” she mouthed, and dropped her hand. Better to suffer heatstroke, better to embarrass herself silly fainting in public than to have remained in Chicago.
    Here at least she had a chance for a new life.
    Her tormentor returned to her side and held out a hand. When she hesitated, he tucked an arm around her shoulders and eased her to her feet.
    His touch surprised her. So gentle despite the way he lifted her as if she weighed no more than an empty file folder.
    He’d slipped on a pair of dark glasses. Disappointed that he’d hidden those magnetic eyes of his, yet also relieved, Penelope