One Magic Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn't speak, didn't even seem to be watching her. She might have been in the room by herself. She took a sip of coffee, swallowed it, and could stand it no longer.  "I thought you wanted to talk to me."
    He glanced up, one dark eyebrow arched in amusement. "I thought I'd wait until you're ready to listen."
    "I'm ready," she said.
    He gazed at her. "Leigh, I'd like to be able to tell you that I'm giving up the project." He paused, his blue eyes holding hers.
    "But you're not going to," she said.
    "No." The word was drawled in a cool tone.  "Your reaction to me makes it imperative that I go on."
    She shot him a hot, angry look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
    He leaned back in the chair, his lashes half concealing the piercing blueness of his eyes. "Hasn't it occurred to you that you aren't the only child of a celebrity in the world? Think about the tragedy of Scott Newman's suicide. There are other people like you, Leigh, people who struggle with a burden so damn heavy they can hardly carry it. I've already talked to some of them. Maybe if the people were made aware of the problems facing the children of celebrities…"
    "I’m perfectly all right."
    He let his eyes travel slowly around the room. "Is this what you call being all right?  Hiding away on the top floor of a rooming house, drowning yourself in school work, and going out with a man old enough to be your father?"
    Her gray eyes went luminescent with challenge. "I didn’t know this conversation was going to be about my life.”
    “What you have isn’t a life.  You’re hiding from any semblance of a life.” 
    “What makes you think you’re qualified to tell me about my life…”
    He pulled her up out of the chair, planted his hard mouth on hers and released her, all within the time span of an instant.
    She raised a hand to the mouth that tingled with the blood his kiss brought pulsing to the surface.  "Was that supposed to prove something?"
    "I don't have to prove anything to you. You betray yourself every time I touch you," he said in a soft tone. "Think about that. I certainly will." Before she could move or speak, he crossed the room with his long stride and let himself out the door.
    She wanted to throw the cups at the door after him, but she didn't. Instead, she rose out of the chair, went to the door, chain-locked it, and escaped into her bedroom. Mechanically, she stepped out of her clothes and donned her nightgown, a light pink brushed cotton that she had bought for the cool nights up in the Adirondacks when she'd stayed with Dean for a month. Shaking with nerves, she lay down on the bed. Ty Rundell was wrong about her, of course.  He was a predator, a self-serving, egotistical specimen who fed on the misery of other people to make his living and, in the process, convinced himself he was some kind of grand humanist, solving the problems of the entire human race. She had seen his kind before, when she was very young, but hadn't understood about scavengers. She had been in awe of anyone who was creative, the writers in particular had caught her young imagination. Until she was thirteen and had stupidly confided to her mother that she thought one man in particular was "super."  The next night she had been restless, thirsty, unable to sleep, and had gotten out of bed. She had not turned on any lights, and when she reached the hall, she heard the voice of the man she had admired talking in low tones with her mother. "Claire, my God, you're beautiful. Your breasts are ivory perfection."
    Her mother's voice had sounded cool, almost blasé. "What a way you have with words, darling. It's no wonder all the women fall for you."
    "What women?” the words were half-muffled. Leigh had crept around the corner and saw them then, her mother half lying on the cushions of the long cream sofa, her designer dress unbuttoned to the waist, her much-praised skin gleaming in the soft light of one lamp, the man Leigh had thought wonderful leaning over her, his lips