Sudden Insight. Rebecca York

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “Three o’clock. Why?”

      “She had a busy afternoon. After she left you, she came to my restaurant, Le Beau, looking for me. She also asked me to come to her hotel room tonight.”

      This time it was Rachel who asked, “Why?”

      “She said it was something personal. Something she couldn’t tell me at the office. She said she wanted me to meet someone.” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “I’m assuming it was you.”

      They stared at each other.

      “We need to talk,” he said.

      She considered that. “What if I don’t want to?”

      “You’re afraid?”

      “Aren’t you?” she retorted.

      He gave her a hard look. “I always hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

      “Which is what in this case?”

      He waited until a couple walking along the street passed them. “I don’t know. Let’s get off the street. Le Beau is only a block away. We can talk there.”

      His heart started to pound as he watched her considering the suggestion. What if she said no?

      What if she walked away from him? That thought made his chest feel hollow, but he told himself he knew where to find her.

      When she finally said, “Okay,” he relaxed a little, yet his nerves were still humming as he turned in the direction of the restaurant.

      They walked through the darkened streets, neither of them talking nor touching each other, yet each of them giving the other sideways glances as though that would lead to a sudden revelation.

      The restaurant was crowded when they entered, but the maître d’ nodded at Jake as he headed straight toward the back, reassured by Rachel’s footsteps behind him.

      They walked into the same office where he’d talked to the now-dead woman.

      In addition to the desk and chair, the room contained a small, comfortable seating area with a modern leather sofa, antique tables and an Oriental rug that he’d gotten from an estate sale. To the right of the sofa were a bar and lawyer’s bookcases filled with old, leather-bound volumes that he’d bought when the aging resident of a Garden District Victorian had moved to a nursing home.

      Rachel looked around with interest. “You’re doing well for yourself.”

      He shrugged. “Moderately. Make yourself comfortable.”

      She sat down gingerly on the edge of the sofa, looking as if she could spring up and bolt at any moment. He understood why. The atmosphere in the little room had turned supercharged, as though their very proximity was about to set off sparks.

      “I think we could both use a drink,” he said.

      “You have some wine?”

      “Of course. What would you like?”

      “Merlot.”

      “You have good taste,” he said, thinking that sounded inane.

      Turning, he opened the bar, got out a high-end bottle and removed the cork before pouring them each a glass. When he held one out to her, she said, “Put it on the table.”

      “Why?”

      “Because apparently we read each other’s minds when we’re touching.”

      She’d said what they’d both been thinking.

      He kept his gaze fixed on her as he sat down on the sofa, keeping several feet of space between them, even though he wanted to test the theory again.

      “You’re sure of that?” he asked.

      “Aren’t you?”

      “I know what happened, but I’m having a little trouble believing it.”

      “Me, too.”

      He wanted to ask what she thought had happened, but he kept the question locked behind his lips. Instead, he studied her, trying not to be too obvious. She looked to be in her late twenties, with long dark hair pulled back into a French twist that was a bit undone so that a few wisps of hair hung down fetchingly. Her face was oval, her eyes large and blue. Her lips were very appealing. Too appealing.

      He hadn’t brought her to this private room for seduction. Or had he unconsciously had that in the back of his mind? Not a good idea. If touching her hand opened his mind to her, what would kissing her do? What about more than kissing?

      He ruthlessly cut off that line of speculation before he could act on the feelings coiling inside him.

      Shifting in his seat, he said, “You read people’s minds all the time.”

      “I read tarot cards.”

      “And you pick up more than what’s in the cards.”

      “How do you know?”

      He shrugged, then gave her the kind of analysis he might give a business associate.

      “Well, you support yourself as a reader. So either you’re great at slinging bull … or you give people accurate information. I haven’t seen you putting ads in the Times-Picayune, yet your business is thriving.”

      “I’m not into slinging bull.”

      “I didn’t think so.”

      “But I don’t have to live strictly on my income,” she added, apparently wanting to make full disclosure. “I inherited some money from my parents and my aunt.”

      “They’re dead?”

      “Yes,” she said without elaborating.

      When she didn’t volunteer anything else, he leaned back and tried to relax, which wasn’t easy with whatever was humming between them. He wanted to reach for her. He wanted more than just his hand on her arm, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Not yet.

      Of course, maybe she sensed it from the wary look she gave him as she took a sip of wine and set down her glass.

      “I think we can assume that Evelyn Morgan wanted us to meet each other,” he said. “The question is why.”

      She shrugged one shoulder.

      “What if she came to New Orleans specifically to hook us up?” he asked.

      “Why would she?”

      “You have no idea?”

      “No.”

      “Even after doing a reading?”

      “No.”

СКАЧАТЬ