Never Sleep With Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page A

comforting,” Sabrina said.
    â€œVery romantic,” Brett sniffed. “I bet you made all that up to placate Sabrina.”
    â€œI swear it’s God’s own truth,” Jon Stuart assured them.
    â€œWell, Joshua certainly had a field day with Susan Sharp,” Brett said, chuckling with malicious pleasure. “And what a perfect Ripper’s victim. After all, she has been known to ‘entertain’ men for the rewards she might gain,” he remarked.
    â€œThat’s hearsay,” Jon murmured, shrugging.
    Sabrina gritted her teeth at Brett’s boorish comment and silently applauded Jon’s refusal to speak ill of others.
    â€œWho did old Josh use for Joan of Arc?” Brett asked, unfazed.
    â€œMy assistant, Camy,” Jon said. “She’s actually quite religious herself, I believe, and a good, hard worker.”
    â€œHow apropos,” Brett said. “I approve.”
    Jon grinned. “So far you do.”
    Brett let out a groan. “So there’s something I’m not going to like?”
    â€œMost probably not.”
    â€œHe used me?”
    Jon nodded.
    â€œAs?”
    Jon indicated the torturer about to twist the rack with the blond beauty upon it.
    â€œTake away all the facial hair…” Jon suggested with a touch of rueful apology.
    Brett gasped. “I should sue!”
    Sabrina couldn’t help but laugh, which irritated Brett still further.
    â€œCome on, Brett, be a sport. You were just a model—and with the beard and mustache, no one will guess. And remember, the weekend is all for charity. Have a sense of humor,” she suggested.
    â€œOh, very funny. I get to torture my ex-wife. So are you in this rogues’ gallery?” he demanded of Jon.
    Jon arched a brow. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
    â€œWhere?” Brett demanded.
    â€œCome on.”
    Brett looked at Sabrina, shrugging. “He’s probably set himself up as a king—or as Gandhi.”
    â€œGandhi would hardly fit in here, and a number of kings weren’t such great fellows,” Jon reminded him. “But I didn’t have anything to do with Joshua’s choice of models. He doesn’t tell me how to write, and I don’t tell him how to sculpt.”
    They followed him down a corridor to another display. A tall man in European dress of perhaps the 1500s stood above the sprawled body of a woman. Her head was turned to the side, hiding her features from them. The man was staring down at the woman with a mixture of anger and confusion on his face. He had long, light brown hair, but he was still quite evidently Jon Stuart.
    â€œWho are they?” Sabrina asked, confused.
    â€œHe’s not well-known to Americans,” Jon said, studying the display dispassionately. “His name was Matthew McNamara. Laird McNamara. He was a Scotsman who did away with three mistresses and two wives.”
    â€œHow?” Brett asked. “I don’t see a weapon.”
    â€œHe strangled them,” Jon said simply.
    â€œHow did he get away with so many murders before he was found out?” Sabrina asked.
    â€œHe was never brought to justice. He was considered so powerful among the clansmen that executing his own wayward women was considered his right,” Jon said.
    He turned away from the figures to look at her again, and she saw that his marbled eyes had gone very dark and cold. A strange trembling touched her as he slowly smiled. Was he mocking her? Or himself? She was afraid, she realized.
    And worse.
    She felt like a moth attracted to a flame. Time hadn’t changed anything, nor had distance. That Jon Stuart was virtually a stranger to her meant nothing at all. She felt the same fierce and immediate fascination she had felt the first time she’d met him, a little more than three and a half years ago.
    The first time…the last time.
    â€œWho’s the model for the wife?” Brett asked. Then, as if suddenly realizing