Come Fly with Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

quiet,” he said in a soft-as-silk, bedtime-story voice. Lindsay settled back in her seat and let the sound wash over her, replacing the low roar of the engines, lulling her into a wonderfully soothing, near-hypnotic trance.
    â€œThe pine trees stand out dark and bold against the white backdrop of snow this time of year. In the spring pink and purple and white wildflowers pop up everywhere. The world looks as though it’s been covered with a crazy-quilt of color.”
    The deep voice throbbed with passionate excitement as he talked about this special wonderland, yet Lindsay couldn’t help feeling a certain amount of dismay. It sounded so horribly lonely.
    â€œYou must feel very isolated,” she suggested tentatively.
    â€œOnly if I choose to be. There are some terrific people who live nearby and I’m not that far from town. I go in at least once a week for supplies. I try to meet some friends for dinner, maybe take in a movie and then go back. Usually I can hardly wait to get home,” he confessed, with a rueful half smile.
    â€œDo you do a lot of traveling?” she asked hopefully.
    â€œNot if I can help it. Not anymore, anyway,” he added almost as an afterthought. “The last couple of weeks have been an exception. I had to go into Los Angeles to see a producer, then to New York to straighten out some business problems and then back to L.A. to try to get out of a ridiculous contract I’d told my agent not to negotiate in the first place. With any luck I won’t have to leave Boulder again for the next six months. Maybe more. I don’t want to miss summer.”
    Lindsay grew increasingly uneasy as he talked. His comments seemed to strike an all-too-responsive chord. Surely he was not the elusive author she’d been sent out here totrack down and seduce by whatever means possible into signing a deal. The contracts in her briefcase were for David Morrow, not Mark Channing. But exactly how many men from the Denver area could possibly be playing cat and mouse with a movie studio at precisely the same moment?
    â€œWhat do you do?” she asked with what she hoped was no more than casual interest.
    He grinned at her in a way that gave her the distinct impression that she’d committed some sort of social gaffe. “I write a little.”
    â€œBooks?”
    â€œUsually,” he said cryptically.
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œI’ve done a couple of screenplays.”
    â€œUnder your own name?”
    â€œYes.”
    Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the same man after all. Thank goodness. Mark Channing was taking enough of a toll on her senses without throwing in the electricity of a volatile contract negotiation.
    â€œWhat have you done?” she asked.
    He sighed, as though the question were all too commonplace and bored him to tears. He ticked off several titles, including an AcademyAward winner, as Lindsay’s relief turned to dismay all over again.
    â€œBut you said your name was Mark Channing,” she muttered accusingly.
    He looked puzzled. “It is.”
    â€œThose films were written by David Morrow.”
    â€œThat’s right,” he agreed easily. “David Mark Channing Morrow. I stick with the middle names in my private life. It’s easier.”
    â€œOh my God!” Lindsay moaned, burying her face in her hands. She’d forgotten all about those stupid, double initials—M.C.—in the middle of the man’s name. So much for magic and romance. She was about to start talking megabucks at 30,000 feet after all.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    She looked at him and tried for a sunny, dazzling smile. It wavered. “It appears I am following you, after all,” she announced.
    â€œYou’re what?”
    â€œWell, Mr. Channing or Mr. Morrow or whatever your name is, it seems I’m on my way to Denver with an excellent contract for you from Trent Studios,” Lindsay explained