Falcon's Flight Read Online Free PDF

hear the door closing behind the bellman.
    “Good.”
    Leslie gripped the receiver. How had he managed to inject such a wealth of sensual meaning into a word as simple as “good”? she asked herself, nervously moistening her suddenly dry lips. A twinge of pain in the fingers clutching the smooth plastic receiver brought her to her senses.
    “Mr. Falcon, I—”
    “Flint,” he interrupted in that disconcertingly soft tone. “Please.”
    His tone was so very polite. Yet beneath that politeness lurked the sensuous intent Falcon had made no attempt to conceal from her earlier. The shiver at Leslie’s spine increased in intensity and spread to tingle the short hairs at her nape. Her heartbeat quickened; her breathing grew shallow. Swallowing convulsively, she opened her mouth to tell him she was
    leaving the hotel immediately. Falcon spoke before she could form the first word.
    “Leslie?” His tone wasn’t quite as soft or smooth. “Yes?” Leslie paused to gather breath and courage. “Flint, I’m leaving—”
    Again he cut her off. “Okay. I’ll be tied up for most of the afternoon with meetings. Will six-thirty be convenient for dinner?”
    Of all the overbearing—Leslie’s mind went blank from amazement. His self-assurance was incredible. Anger flared as her senses came together. Did the man actually believe that all he had to do was breathe to command her attention? Worse still, was he convinced he could gobble her up like a tasty tidbit simply by installing her in an opulent suite of rooms? The speculation set fire to Leslie’s temper and brought the actress to the fore.
    “Have dinner at your own convenience, Mr. Falcon,” Leslie said in her best haughty tone. “I won’t be here. I’m not leaving to spend the afternoon playing or shopping, as you’ve obviously assumed. I’m leaving the hotel, period. I’m sure I can get a room at the—” Flint again exercised his infuriating talent for interrupting.
    “Why are you running away?” he inquired in that same polite tone. “Are you afraid of me, Leslie?”
    No more than I’m afraid of a stalking panther, Leslie thought somewhat wildly. But of course the threat of having every one of her beautifully manicured, fashionably long fingernails clipped wouldn’t have forced her to admit to her confusing sense of excited intimidation.
    “Afraid? Of you?” Leslie laid the haughtiness on so thickly her tone sounded almost British. “Not likely, Mr. Falcon.”
    The man laughed. “You’re afraid,” he chided politely. “Or are you playing a variation on a theme of coyness?”
    “Playing coy!” Leslie’s tone came to within a hair of being a shout. “I outgrew coy at age six!”
    “I’m delighted at having my initial impression of you confirmed,” Flint murmured. “Now, about dinner—”
    “I just told you I won’t be here for dinner!” Leslie exclaimed, gratified at the opportunity to interrupt him. “I am leaving this blasted hotel to find a room that doesn’t look like a courtesan’s salon.”
    This time Falcon was satisfied with a low chuckle. “The suite does lend itself to the idea of debauchery, doesn’t it?” As he didn’t expect an answer, Flint didn’t wait for one. “I’ll have you moved out of there at once,” he went on in a brisk tone.
    Leslie was beginning to feel as if she was trying to clutch at fog. “Mr. Falcon—Flint—listen very carefully,” Leslie said slowly and distinctly. “1 do not wish to remain in this hotel. Have I made myself clear now?”
    “Sure,” he drawled. “You’re scared witless.”
    “I am not scared,” she denied through gritted teeth. “Ahh, but darling, you should be.”
    Leslie’s heartbeat went crazy. Falcon’s low, sexy voice evoked images so erotic that she had to sit down or fall down. “Are—are you threatening me?” she asked, knowing the answer, yet perversely needing to hear it.
    “Only with pleasure, darling.” Flint’s soft voice had the impact of a