Jezebel's Blues Read Online Free PDF

fragility and honor about her that was so far removed from the lusty women he’d known on the road that it was hard to imagine they were the same species. And the truth was, he liked his women ripe, even a little bawdy. It saved time.
    No, he corrected himself. That made those women sound cheap, and they weren’t. They were just like him—raised to fend for themselves, to fight for whatever they got. When you had to scramble for your daily bread, it put the niceties of social convention into perspective—life was too hard and too short to waste on ridiculous social dances, particularly if both parties knew ahead of time what they were looking for.
    He tapped the windowsill on another restless round. No, Celia Moon was not his type. She’d need some wooing, and once bedded, she’d expect more than he’d ever be able to give.
    At the window he paused, noting the water level was still rising, although it had slowed somewhat. On impulse, he threw the casement open and inhaled deeply the cooler, fresher air that sailed through.
    From behind him, Celia spoke, her voice amused. “Too bad you can’t dive from there and go swimming. It would probably make you feel better.”
    He glanced over his shoulder and felt himself grin. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy, being trapped like this?”
    “A little.” She put the book down, face first. “I learned early how to amuse myself almost anywhere, so it’s not so bad, really.”
    With a nimble movement, she stood up and stretched. For one weak moment Eric admired the narrowness of her waist, the long lines of her arms and legs, then shifted his gaze. “I hate the sound of it. It grates on my nerves. Pat, pat, pat, pat—”
    She laughed. “I was thinking exactly the same thing last night before you showed up. I made popcorn so that I wouldn’t have to listen to it.” She dug into the boxes of provisions and came up with a can of Vienna sausages, a sleeve of crackers and peanut butter. “Want something to eat?”
    Eric wanted to growl at her. He had an appetite for something besides eating. But it wasn’t her fault she made him hungry or that she wasn’t the kind of woman to ease that hunger without some return. “Sure,” he said, exhaling suddenly, and pointed to the window. “You mind if I leave this open? There’s not much rain coming in.”
    “Considering everything,” she said, “a little rain on the floor of the attic isn’t going to bother me much.”
    After they ate, Celia dragged one of the trunks away from the corner, brushing cobwebs from it. Eric settled on the edge of the mattress and pulled out his harmonica to fiddle with while he watched. “What’s in there?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. Thought it might be fun to see.” The latch had an old key still dangling from it, and it turned easily. “I hope it’s not filled with black widows,” Celia said with a wrinkled nose.
    “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
    Her wide, pale eyes reflected utter skepticism. “I seriously doubt that.” She stood up, gripped the edge of the trunk lid and took a long, deep breath. She flung it open, then jumped back.
    Eric chuckled over her peering into the trunk from three feet back. She inched closer, her chin jutting out as she stretched her neck to make sure there were no spiders inside.
    He couldn’t resist. Just as she reached the trunk, assuring herself there were no creepy crawlies inside, he jumped forward. “Boo.”
    Celia flinched, then her eyes narrowed. “That was mean.”
    “A little,” Eric agreed cheerfully, and blew a quick scurry of notes through his harmonica.
    “You’re not afraid of anything, I suppose?”
    “I’m afraid of the dark.” He looked at her. “And airplanes and floods.”
    “Airplanes? Why?”
    He shrugged. “Why are you afraid of spiders?”
    “Because they can get under your clothes and in your hair and bite you.”
    “Well, I hate the idea of being thirty thousand feet in the air with only