Bonnie of Evidence Read Online Free PDF Page B

into a self-confident smile. “I stuffed so many bottles into my suitcase, I’ll never run out.”
    Of course she wouldn’t.
    “I had to play it safe, Emily. I knew I couldn’t replenish my supply with British pounds sterling. Did you get a load of the exchange rate? It’d wipe me out.”
    I heard a key card being slid into the outer lock, and in the next moment Etienne strode into the room, his piercing blue eyes locking on Margi. “Ms. Swanson! Just the person I wanted to see. How fortunate to find you here.”
    He crossed the floor with the wiry grace of a panther, every pore in his six-foot, two-inch frame oozing testosterone and some powerful pheromone that rendered women deaf, dumb, and dizzy. His hair was black, his shoulders broad. His dimpled smile had the same effect on the female psyche that sunshine had on flowers. In a perfect world, his picture would appear twice in the dictionary: once under “raw sexuality,” and the other under “1 percent body fat.”
    “Your public is clamoring for you in the hotel lounge,” he announced as he crossed the floor toward us. “And bring a pen. They’re demanding your autograph. Who knew that your being suspected of domestic terrorism would cause such a sensation?”
    She stared up at him like a puppy dog, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes adoring. “Okay.”
    He offered her his hand, which she stared at, adoringly.
    “Ms. Swanson?”
    Her gaze drifted to his face. “Uh-huh?”
    “Would you like to join the other tour guests in the lounge before it closes? The drinks are on them.”
    “Okay.”
    He helped her to her feet and slid her shoulder bag up her arm. “And if I could impose upon your good nature, would you mind distributing your sanitizer to our Destinations Travel guests only? We want your sightseeing experience to include visits to sites other than police interrogation rooms.”
    She smiled dreamily. “Okay.”
    I rolled my eyes. It was official. There was no justice in the world.
    He escorted her to the door and let her out. “The hotel lounge,” he called after her. “Ground floor. Through the glass doors to the right of reception.” He rejoined me, looking a bit wary. “Did she seem a bit ‘off’ to you?”
    “She’ll be fine once she’s outside your force field.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Let’s just say that she likes your suggestions better than mine, even when they’re the same suggestion. You kinda have that effect on women.”
    “I do?” Smiling seductively, he pulled me off my chair and pressed me against him, locking his arms around the small of my back. “Well, then, Mrs. Miceli, I have another suggestion.”
    Oh, boy . I knew what that tone meant.
    “But it involves some minor effort on your part, like … not objecting when I do this.” He unclipped the barrette at the back of my head and tossed it onto the armchair. Tangling his fingers in my unbound hair, he tilted my head, baring my earlobe. “Or this.” He traced the curve of my ear with his tongue, electrifying every nerve ending in my body. “Or this.” He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed each of my fingertips slowly, provocatively, before drawing my freshly sanitized forefinger into the warmth of his mouth and—
    “Emily, darling.”
    “ Mmm ?” I moaned in a hormone-induced haze.
    “I have another suggestion.”
    “Okay.”
    “Are you hungry?”
    “Ravenous,” I purred.
    He set me away from him and tidied my hair. “Would you hold that thought until after we find a deli? I’m at a loss to explain it, but I have a sudden, uncontrollable urge for a ham sandwich.”
    _____
    By noontime the next day, Edinburgh was a distant memory.
    We’d stopped at St. Andrews long enough for everyone to have their picture taken on the course’s first fairway, gawk at the Chariots of Fire beach, and argue about whether the tide was in or out—an issue that went unresolved due to the fact that Midwesterners know less about tides than Prissy