Provocative Peril Read Online Free PDF Page B

shopping."
    "Ahhh, the picture is coming clearer now." Clay's face lit up, and he once again picked up her hand, playing with her fingers.
    "What do you mean?" His touch seemed to set off hidden mines somewhere deep within her, as though depth charges were going off.
    "You're saying that your friends chose your clothes?"
    She nodded with a slight hesitation. "Is there something wrong with them?"
    "Oh, no. They just reflect a different sort of personality than you appear to have."
    She looked a little crestfallen. "I know. They took me out to have my hair cut and styled." She ran her hand through her short hair, ruffling it. "They took me in for a facial and instructions on how to 'enhance my natural beauty,' or some such thing." He studied her clean-scrubbed innocence with a definite feeling of pleasure. How could she possibly believe she needed any help? Didn't she understand how attractive she was? Had she no idea how enticing she was, even without the provocative clothes she wore?
    Clay was searching for a way to put some of his thoughts into words when Carolyn glanced down at her wristwatch and let out a small yelp. "Oh, no!"
    "What's wrong?"
    "It's after ten o'clock. I wasn't paying any attention to the time. I was supposed to meet Ted to play tennis." She leaped off the barstool and raced upstairs.
    Clay poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and strolled out on the deck. The fog had burned off, leaving a sparkling, clear day. He stretched out in a chair and contemplated the scene before him.
    He could see he had quite a few things to think about, where his roommate was concerned. Was it possible that she was putting him on? Was there any woman over the age of twelve who was that naive? He'd never met one. If Carolyn was on the level, she should immediately be classed with other endangered species. So what do you do now, Clay, ol' buddy? He'd been unconsciously stalking her, going through the age-old ritual engaged in by the male animal when he spotted an attractive female.
    But she's not making the right responses, dammit! Hadn't she recognized his interest in her? If so, why did she rush off at the very moment he was trying to tell her about it?
    Clay shook his head with disgust. In the first place, he was here to rest, not to make further conquests. He had enough complications at the moment with his hectic career. He tilted his head toward the sunlight and closed his eyes. It felt good to have absolutely nothing to do unless he happened to feel like it. He thought about the steps that had led him to needing a rest.
    He couldn't remember a time in his life when he wasn't writing. Getting paid for it became the next step. He'd produced a regular column for one of the Seattle daily papers until the itch to travel became too insistent to be ignored. Eventually he'd won a Pulitzer prize for one of the stories he had written while he was in the Middle East.
    By the time he'd returned to the Pacific Northwest, Clay was ready to sit down in a quiet place and relate the exploits of Derringer Drake, superspy, a character who'd arrived fullblown in his mind during a late night in Hong Kong while too many drinks floated around in his system.
    In the years since that night, he'd enjoyed writing his spy thrillers, just as he'd enjoyed the adventures he'd experienced to gain authentic background for them. When Hollywood decided to film one of his novels, he'd agreed to write the screenplay. With the movie's success came the idea of a continuing series. Each step had logically followed the one before. Before he fully realized it, he'd fallen into the hectic pace that was considered normal in southern California.
    His vacation was in the nature of an escape. He'd needed to get away from the constant pressures of men who demanded more and more from him and aggressive women who didn't understand what "I'm not interested" meant. He'd looked forward to his time in Oregon, and he wasn't going to let anything or anyone prevent him from