Demon Rumm Read Online Free PDF Page B

arrived in. His white T-shirt had a blurred, laundry-faded image of the shark that Steven Spielberg had immortalized yawning from it. He had tied his bare feet into a sad pair of tennis shoes. Long ago, he’d begun dressing to please himself. He wasn’t averse to wearing a tuxedo if the occasion called for it, but his “casual” bordered on “sloppy.”
    Kirsten glanced at him. “I’m going to have a drink on the terrace while Alice puts dinner on the table. Would you care to join me?”
    He knew the invitation was issued purely out of politeness, but he accepted it. “Sure.”
    “This way.”
    She led him through the glass door to a lattice-covered part of the deck that provided a view of the swimming pool and the ocean. Built into a corner of it was a bar. “I’m having a white wine cooler.”
    “Soda and lime is fine.”
    He read her surprise in the quick look she gave him, but didn’t comment on it. “Thanks,” he said when she handed him his drink. “This is a beautiful place. Maybe I should invest in a home.”
    “I thought you had one in Malibu.”
    “If the tabloids are to be believed, I have one there, and a ranch in Arizona and . . . hell, I don’t know, an igloo in Alaska maybe.”
    “You don’t?”
    “I’ve got a one-bedroom apartment just off Sunset Boulevard.”
    That disclosure stunned her. “Why?”
    Shrugging, he dropped down onto the low wall where she was sitting. Only he straddled it, spreading his thighs wide and facing her. “That’s all I need.” He laughed at her expression of disbelief. “Don’t tell me you believed all that garbage about leopard-skin rugs, mirrored ceilings, and statues of pre-Columbian fertility goddesses.”
    “I thought it was zebra skins and Egyptian sarcophagi filled with cocaine.”
    She had a wonderful laugh, he decided. The sound of it was pleasurable in itself, but he enjoyed it even more, knowing that whatever anguish he’d caused her earlier was dissipating.
    “I promise you that I don’t have the hide of any animal in my apartment,” he said. She lowered her eyes to the rim of her wineglass, which she was tracing with her index finger. “And none of the other either.”
    “I didn’t ask.”
    “Yes, you did.” He spoke so softly, his words were almost lost on the breeze that carried with it the ceaseless, swishing sound of the ocean. “With your eyes. Where are your glasses, by the way?”
    Their conversation had dropped to an intimate pitch. Kirsten inclined away from him, cleared her throat, and spoke unnaturally loudly. “I only need them when I work. Eyestrain.”
    He stared deeply into her eyes, as though searching for signs of fatigue or stress. She stared back, treating his eyes to the same penetrating attention.
    After a long moment, she stood up. “Another drink?”
    “Okay.”
    She fixed them each a refill, pouring more wine than citrus juice into hers this time, he noticed. He eased himself off the wall and wandered around the gazebo, touching the blossoms of the scarlet hibiscus. They bobbed in the wind like cardinals nodding their heads in approval of a pontiff ’s decree. He slid the tip of his finger into the throat of one. It was an innocent gesture, but he was immediately suffused with a rush of sexual heat. Erotic thoughts of Kirsten’s body crowded his brain, pushing aside all others.
    He turned suddenly, guiltily, and saw that she was watching his hand. Her gaze met his. The impact was physical, as though no distance separated them. Her cheeks were filled with color almost as vivid as that of the blooms. Rylan knew in that instant that her thoughts were running parallel to his.
    However, he knew better than to press the advantage. Instead he asked, “What’s in there?” and tilted his head toward an enclosure.
    “A sauna.”
    “Sounds wonderful.”
    “Feel free to use it any time. It’s never turned off.”
    They resumed their previous positions on the low wall. His knee accidentally bumped hers. She