Heather Graham Read Online Free PDF Page B

couldn’t hurt the man if he was innocent—entertaining a guest for a couple of weeks would be no hardship for him.
    “So why the cold feet now?” she quizzed again out loud.
    Planning to use him was a lot different from actually being here. Feeling like … feeling awful.
    She had never worried about his reputation with women. Not in her planning stage. She had fought very competitively in a field where men were known to have the edge of strength and she had always held her own. And in her chosen profession, she’d come across all types—the golden and muscled; the suave and the cool beach boy toughs. She’d also learned to handle the worst of them; once she had learned to break the hold of a drowning swimmer, she could master any overambitious date.
    She knew that when she needed to be, she could be hard and assertive. She felt she was capable of seeing her goal and heading straight for it. She was impatient with the idea of backing down, and leaving things to fate. To Brittany, it was impossible to forget what had happened. She had made her plans—fully aware that they could be dangerous as well as uncomfortable. She had to move forward—and keep in mind that Flynn Colby was just a man. Perhaps he did intend to seduce her. Fine. She needed him, and she needed his connections. She had to allow herself to be charmingly seduced—to a point: Unless he was the guilty party, of course. Then she would hope that he rotted in a jail cell until he was far too old to be much of a lady-killer. And if he wasn’t guilty … Maybe he would even understand.
    Flynn Colby was different from any other man she had known.
    She could feel him when he wasn’t even really near her. He moved with extra energy; his eyes were more intense than the average man’s. His voice could be a caress … or a whiplash. She barely knew him, yet when he looked at her, she felt he knew her through and through. There was just that manner about him. Courteous charm, complete confidence. It was easy to see why he had become such an international fascination. He was different—as rugged and sharp as an uncut diamond.
    “Maybe it’s because he’s a crook!” she chided herself impatiently. She had to forget feelings. Turn her back on any situation which made her uneasy.
    If she didn’t, someone was going to get away with what amounted to murder.
    In short, she had to accept Flynn Colby’s charity, and she had to continue to play the role of a lost and sheltered socialite—being careful that she also kept her wits about her at all times. It was her only chance.
    Grinding her teeth together hard, Brittany plucked the clothing from the floor. She tossed the peignoir set on the bed, and headed into the bathroom with the cocktail gown. Carefully folded into the elegant green depths was a set of equally elegant lingerie. Handmade lace panties, a teddy and stockings. Perfect for her size and the outfit. Perfect—and alarmingly intimate.
    She bathed quickly and dressed, only realizing then that she hadn’t any shoes—nor did she have the slightest idea of where she was supposed to go for dinner. From Flynn’s yacht, they had gone directly to the police station—a horrendous experience as she had tried to remember her lie word for word—and when they had reached the casa , she had only seen the corridors briefly, downstairs, and then up.
    She sat nervously on the bed again, running her fingers over the llama fur. Donald would probably come back for her.
    Too nervous to sit on the bed for long, Brittany returned to the dresser and picked up the tortoise-shell brush again. She was startled by her own reflection. The emerald of the dress brought a flame to her eyes; they were wide and their color seemed to dance and shimmer along with that of the silk. Her hair fell over it in tumbling waves that gleamed a rich and radiant chestnut; she had never seen herself look better.
    Someone really was a connoisseur—of clothing and women.
    “ Touché , Mr.