"Improper English" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAlister Katie)

He didnТt look intimidated by the threat of being impaled by a loaf of French bread, but he didnТt look happy about it either. His eyebrows came together in a frown as he gave me the once-over. It was apparent from the look of distaste that flickered across his face that he wasnТt impressed with what he saw.

УYouТre no prize either, you know.Ф He blinked in surprise as I poked him in the chest with the bread. That was a lie, but I wasnТt going to stand there and be examined like I was a piece of moldy cheese.

УI beg your pardon?Ф

УThat look you gave meЧit wasnТt very flattering. I just wanted you to know that you can speak in that Alan Rickman voice all you wantЧitТs not going to do a thing for me.Ф I nodded and pulled myself back from where I had leaned in to deliver my warning. Somehow that cologne he wore seemed to pull me in closer. I fought a curl of lust that flared briefly to life, and matched his frown.

УI see. Thank you for telling me that. Now perhaps you would care to show me your identification?Ф

I goggled at him. The nerve of some people! УMy what?Ф

УYour identification. I assume youТre American or Canadian?Ф

УAmerican, not that itТs any of your business. Just open the damn door, Bulldog Drummond, and let me get to my flat before my ice cream melts.Ф

УYou must have a passport,Ф he insisted.

I looked around in an exaggerated manner. УGee, I could have sworn I went through passport control at Heathrow. If you wonТt open the door, the least you can do is step out of the way so I can kick it down.Ф

He gazed over my head for a moment, sighed, then slipped his hand into his suit jacket and pulled out a leather wallet. He flipped it open. A thumb-sized image of his face, minus frown, stared back at me. I read the words at the top.

УMetropolitan Police.Ф

УThatТs right.Ф

УScotland Yard?Ф

He closed his eyes briefly and nodded. I looked again.

УYouТre a detective inspector! Cool! Who are you visiting here?Ф

УNo one. I live here, which puts me in the perfect position to know that you, my fair little bread-wielding housebreaker, do not. Now please show me your identification.Ф

УIТm subletting Stephanie ShayТs flat,Ф I told him, suddenly noticing that his hands were large, but nicely shaped. I admit to having a thing about menТs hands, and the combination of a real live Scotland Yard Сtec, his hormone-stirring cologne, and those hands was making me a bit woozy. УYou can ask Isabella. YouТre not one of the people who lives on the ground floor?Ф

УNo, I live on the fourth floor.Ф

It was my turn to blink in surprise. УYou live above me?Ф

УEvidently.Ф He frowned once more for good measure, then picked up my spiky plant and gave it a curious look. УAre you accustomed to carrying illegal drugs around with you?Ф

УHuh?Ф

He held out the plant. My fingers overlapped his as I tried to take it, but he wouldnТt let go of it. I tugged harder.

УYouТre aware that this is a marijuana plant, arenТt you?Ф

I stared at my cute little spiky plant. It looked so innocent! УI ... no! I bought it off a guy outside the tube station. He had a whole row of themЧhe said it was . . . oh.Ф