Secret Desire. Gwynne Forster

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Luke leaned back in his desk chair and waited. He had to control the urge to pace the floor, because Axel Strange could misconstrue that as nervousness if he walked in and saw it. Axel had a way of showing his disdain for authority by walking past Luke’s secretary and entering his office door without knocking for permission. Anyway, he wasn’t nervous, just so mad he could barely wait to let the man know how close he was to endangering his job.

      Nineteen minutes. One more, and he’d give him a week’s walking leave. The door opened and he stared at Axel Strange, his hands up as though in surrender and his face wreathed in smiles.

      “You believe in living on the edge, don’t you? You know what happens to detectives caught loafing when they’re on duty, and you know the penalty is even stiffer for officers. You’re entitled to three warnings in the course of your career.”

      Axel’s sharp intake of breath betrayed his fear that he might have gone too far. “You…you’re not serious, are you?”

      Luke swung his fountain pen in rhythmic taps on his desk. “You’re the one who’s not serious. Tell me why you shouldn’t have an official warning? Suppose other officers ignored the rules. What would you recommend for them?”

      “Look, man, I was just passing by, and—”

      “Can that. You were on your knees, shelving books.”

      He knew the minute Axel decided to go on the attack. “What I did was nothing. Let’s get to the real problem. You’re afraid I’ll muscle in on your turf. If she wants me, I’m going for her, and your threats won’t deter me for a second.”

      “You’re bordering on insubordination.”

      Axel raised his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “It’s your word against mine.”

      Luke allowed himself a hard, cold smile. “Right. How many warnings have you had?”

      “None.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

      “I wonder how that happened,” Luke said under his breath. Aloud he said, “Be careful you don’t get three more.”

      Axel lunged toward the desk, and then caught himself, his breathing accelerated and fear glistening in his eyes. “You wouldn’t!”

      Luke continued tapping his Mont Blanc pen. “I just did. Next time you get out of line, be sure it isn’t with me. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” If he’d let him get away with it, he’d be impossible to control.

      He hadn’t expected Axel’s brazen pursuit of Kate. The man usually fought more deviously. Not that he planned to engage him. If Kate’s suspicions proved valid that her in-laws had hired a man, perhaps more than one, to ruin her business or to frighten her into closing it, she’d need his protection. And he couldn’t stay on his toes if burdened with an overactive libido.

      The next day he parked in front of Kate’s bookstore and left the motor running to make certain he got out of there in a hurry. He wanted to get to Caution Point in time for dinner, and it was already five-thirty. He also didn’t want too much of Kate’s company. She had a way of easing herself into him, revving up his engine and messing around in his head, and she did it with the smoothness of a falcon winging toward the clouds.

      “Did you remember my gingerbread?” he asked when she greeted him. He tried not to see the warmth in her flawless complexion, or the temptation of her large, oval, brown eyes and sensuous lips. Everything about her promised him the moon, if he’d just take it. Her smile, so warm and natural, sent fire skittering through him, and he feared she’d hear his pounding heart.

      “I hope it’s as good as Miss Fanny’s,” she said. “I’ve been making it since I was little.”

      “Not to worry. If it’s gingerbread, I eat it. I’ll be out of town over the weekend, so here’s my cell-phone number in case you need me.” Or, in case you’d like to talk with me, his conscience jeered. He thought for a minute. “Try to close up earlier tomorrow night—say, seven-thirty, along with the other merchants on this block. Trick the criminals.”

      She promised she would, and he left, though it cost him more willpower than he would have imagined needing. As he drove away, he glanced at the store and saw her standing at the door. He’d noticed on other occasions that she always watched him leave her, and he wondered what it meant.

      Kate knew she watched him because she loved the rhythm of his long strides, seemingly carefree. Taking that at face value could get her into difficulty, she knew, because Luke Hickson was not a happy-go-lucky man. She’d learned, too, that his eyes had a crinkle and a glint that could fool her into thinking he was about to break into a smile. But she knew she’d better wait until he actually laughed. That crinkle and glint could get a person into trouble.

      She set the buzzer and went into her office. Business was slow, and she had to create some excitement. She wanted the store to become a place where people hung out, a kind of cultural center. She’d thought of putting two round, marble-top tables in the front and serving coffee, but discarded the idea. With one cup of coffee and a magazine, a person could occupy a table for hours. A reading group. She’d sponsor one, and give the members a fifteen-percent discount on books.

      She bit into a piece of gingerbread. If Luke said he’d tasted better, she wouldn’t believe him. She posted a sign-up sheet on the wall to enroll customers in the reading group and answered the door.

      “How may I help you?” she asked the woman, a stranger.

      The woman produced a business card. “My first romance novel is just out, and I was wondering if you’d like me to sign your stock.”

      Her stock! She had three copies of Duckie’s Love Gone Wild, and if she sold one of them, autographed or not, she’d be lucky. With its hideous cover, customers didn’t even turn it over to read the blurb. She sympathized with the woman, who had to feel terrible about that cover, so she gave her a chair and brought her a bottle of lemonade. If only the woman would drink it, so she wouldn’t see her getting the books from the bottom shelf in the section next to Horror and Different Strokes, a euphemism for same sex.

      “You only have three?” the author asked. “This is fabulous. You’ve sold all the rest. I suppose you’ll order some more?”

      Kate made it a policy not to lie except to save somebody from excruciating pain, and she nearly shouted for joy when the buzzer rang and she didn’t have to answer. That joy was short-lived, СКАЧАТЬ