Fugitive Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

the wals were already occupied, and an appetisingly savoury smel hung in the air. Briony took a deep breath, then walked up to the bar.

    Logan was just turning away, drink in hand, as she reached it. He saw her at once, and recognised her immediately in spite of the dark glasses, and his brows rose with amazed incredulity.

    ‘Slumming, Miss Trevor?’

    ‘It hardly looks like a slum to me, Mr. Adair.’ Her voice sounded cool and composed, and she even managed a smile to match.

    ‘But hardly your usual stamping ground, I would have thought.’ He smiled too, but the cool eyes held a puzzled, almost reflective
    expression as he studied her. ‘Wil you let me buy you a drink?’

    ‘Thank you.’ She hastily suppressed a feeling of glee.

    ‘You―you’re not expecting anyone?’

    ‘No one.’ he said, a touch drily. ‘The house wine is good here, and so is the food-unless you’re going on somewhere for lunch.’ His eyes wandered over the simple chic of the cream wool suit, and the dark green blouse she wore beneath it, al designed to convince Hal
    Mackenzie of her mature efficiency.

    ‘I’d heard the food was marvelous.’ she fibbed hastily.

    ‘That’s why I thought I’d try it.’

    ‘How word does get around!’ He did not bother to disguise his scepticism. ‘But it isn’t patronised much at Board room level. They have their own dining room, I believe.’ He handed her a menu. ‘I can recommend the shepherd’s pie.’

    ‘That wil be fine.’ She would have sampled boiled welington boots on his recommendation, she thought dazedly. Logan gave the order to the barmaid, then ushered her to a couple of vacant seats on one of the benches under a long window. The sun poured through the glass, and she was glad to unbutton her jacket and slip it from her shoulders, arching her body slightly. As she did so, Logan’s eyes flickered momentarily over the rounded outline of her breasts, revealed through the fragile silky texture of her blouse.

    ‘Alow me.’ He helped her with the jacket, and for a second his hand rested on her shoulder and she felt its warmth on her flesh as if she had been naked. She stole a glance at him under her lashes, and saw that his face , looked rather grim as he put her glass of white wine in front of her. She had to stifle the feeling of excited triumph that was beginning to build up inside her. The sophisticated Mr Adair was as aware of her, as she was of him, she told herself in delirious unbelief. Almost imperceptibly she edged nearer to him on the bench.

    ‘Do you smoke?’ He produced a packet of Gauloises and a lighter from the pocket of his brown cord jacket and held them out to her. She shook her head silently.

    ‘Good girl.’ He sounded lazily amused. ‘Al the virtues and none of the vices, which is just as it should be at eighteen. Do you object if I smoke?’

    ‘Not at al.’ Suddenly tongue-tied, she picked up her wine-glass and sipped, enjoying the cool fragrance of the wine in her dry mouth. She searched around nervously for something to say. ‘Did―did you enjoy the awards party.’

    ‘Parts of it―very much.’ The amusement was open now, and she felt herself blush. ‘But the awards themselves are pretty meaningless.’

    ‘Why do you say that?’

    ‘I don’t need an ornament for my mantelpiece.’ he said.‘I’m rarely at the flat long enough at a stretch to appreciate the fact that I have a mantelpiece anyway. And while the money is welcome, it’s not exactly essential. U.P.G. are quite generous in the matter of salaries, whatever your father’s personal feelings about his staff. I suspect that many awards presentations do more for the self-esteem of the donors than the recipients.’

    ‘But doesn’t it mean anything to you to be Journalist of the Year?’ she persisted.

    He shrugged slightly. ‘Most of these titles are meaningless,’ he said. ‘It pleases me far more to know that Mac appreciates me and likes my work. He’s a good