Lovers and Strangers Read Online Free PDF

in dealing with the overeager males of the species.
    Well, he thought with a mental shrug, she couldn't have a better teacher.
    The other waitress was sexy and sassy, with a quick, easy smile and a confident manner that said, very clearly, "You can look all you want, fellas, but don't touch." He'd seen her in Flynn's before, though she'd never happened to serve him. She had one of those double-hinged Southern names and she lived in the apartment across the courtyard from his, with a roommate whose name he couldn't bring to mind at the moment. They were both actress wanna-be's, rushing off to auditions during the day and waiting tables at night. Rumor had it that they'd both gone to Yale, met in the drama department, and decided to head for California together to seek stardom and bright lights.
    He wondered if Miss Innocence was an actress, too. Or a Yale graduate. Neither possibility seemed very likely to him. Young women from moneyed families and posh Ivy League schools were usually self-assured, if not downright arrogant. And actresses were, at the very least, proficient at pretending to a self-confidence they might lack in real life. Unless he was very much mistaken, Miss Innocence didn't have what it took to confront and conquer the wolves of Hollywood—no matter how many lessons her friend provided.
    He watched her now, as she walked purposefully across the length of the courtyard toward the large cork bulletin board fastened to the wall just inside the wrought iron gate. She stood in front of it for a moment, a stack of bright neon pink paper in the crook of one arm, her head tilted as she studied the hodgepodge of notices and announcements. Then, turning first to put her papers down on a nearby patio table, she began to rearrange things, straightening them into neat rows as she cleared a space. That done, she tacked up one of her bright pink flyers right in the middle of the bulletin board.
    Politics or religion? Jack wondered, just as the shrill whistle of the teakettle demanded his attention.
    He ignored it for a moment, continuing to watch her. She gave a satisfied little nod and turned away from the bulletin board, picking up her papers as she passed them. After skirting a tub of flowering hibiscus, she entered one of the two doors that led from the courtyard into the hallway.
    She could access all of the first floor apartments from the ground floor hallway. Or, rather, all of the mail slots on the front doors of the apartments. As he carefully poured boiling water over the fresh coffee grounds, he mentally pictured her making her way down the hall, pausing at each door to slip her flyer—he was sure that's what she was doing—into the mail slots. And then, somehow, he was standing just inside his own front door, the coffee forgotten, wrestling with the urge to open it and catch her in the act, as it were, when a soft knock interrupted his internal struggle.
    Why was she knocking? he wondered, suddenly changing his mind about opening the door. He didn't need the distraction of her presence. He certainly didn't want whatever she was selling. And he really should get back in the kitchen and finish brewing his coffee before it was ruined.
    And then his mail slot opened, and a piece of neon pink paper went fluttering toward the floor, and he changed his mind again. He grabbed the flyer with one hand, scooping it up before it hit the floor, and yanked the door open with the other, just as she was horning away.
    Startled, she whirled around to face him. "Oh, you're in," she said inanely. Her voice was low and sweet and he could hear a hint of nerves under the soft, drawn out vowels of the South. "When you didn't answer right away I thought..." She straightened her shoulders under the plain white blouse she wore. "I thought you must be out."
    And you're wishing I had been, aren't you, Angel? "So, what are you selling?" He glanced down at the flyer in his hand and then back up at her. "Government reform or personal