"Roberts, Nora - Private Scandals" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

was here."
"I'm sorry." Deanna resisted the urge to clear the huskiness from her throat. She wished now she had left the room
the moment Angela had entered, but the greedy, knowing look on the woman's face as she raced to Finn had rooted
Deanna to the spot. "I was just about to."
"She was going to mix me a drink first." Finn looked over Angela's shoulder to Deanna. There was still amusement
there, Deanna noticed. And if she wasn't mistaken, a faint touch of embarrassment.
"I don't know what I'd do without her." Turning, Angela slid one arm around Finn's waist, cuddling her body back into
the curve of his in a way only small, soft women could manage easily. "I can depend on Deanna for absolutely
everything. And do. Oh, I forgot." Laughing, she held out a hand for Deanna, as if to invite her into the charmed circle.
"With all this confusion, I completely forgot about the excitement last night. I was nearly sick with worry when I heard
about the plane." She shuddered, and squeezed Deanna's hand. "And I meant to tell you what a terrific job you did on
the remote. Isn't it just like Finn to hop right out of the center of a near disaster and do a report?"
Deanna's eyes flicked up to Finn's, then back to Angela's. There was so much sexual heat in the room she could
barely breathe. "I wouldn't know. I'm sure the two of you would like some time alone before the guests arrive, and I
really need to change."
"Oh, of course, we're keeping you. Deanna's a tiger for timetables," Angela added, tilting her head up to Finn's. "Run
along, dear." Her voice was a purr as she released Deanna's hand. "I'll handle things from here."



"Why don't I fix that drink?"
Finn shifted away from Angela when Deanna's quick footsteps rapped up the stairs.
"I'm sure there's champagne back there," Angela told him as he walked behind the rosewood bar. "I want to toast
your homecoming with the best."
Obliging, Finn took a bottle from the small refrigerator built into the back of the bar. He considered several different
ways to handle the situation with Angela as he removed the foil and twisted the wire.
"I tried to phone you several times last night," she began.
"When I got in, I let the machine pick up. I was pretty wiped out." The first lie--but not the last, he decided with a
grimace as he popped the cork. Bubbling wine fizzed up to the lip, then retreated.
"I understand." She crossed to the bar, laid a hand on his. "And you're here now. It's been a long six months."
Saying nothing, he poured her wine and opened a bottle of club soda for himself.
"Aren't you joining me?"
"I'll stick with this for now." He had a feeling he'd need a clear head tonight. "Angela, you went to an awful lot of
trouble. It wasn't necessary."
"Nothing is too much trouble for you." She sipped the wine, watching him over the rim.
Perhaps it was the coward's way to keep the bar between them. But his eyes were direct, steady and cool. "We had
some good times, Angela, but we can't go back."
"We'll be moving forward," she agreed. She brought his hand to her lips, drew the tip of his finger into her mouth.
"We were so good together, Finn. You remember, don't you?"
"I remember." And his blood pounded in response. He cursed himself for being as mindless as one of Pavlov's dogs.
"It's just not going to work."
Her teeth nipped sharply into his flesh, surprising, and arousing, him. "You're wrong," she murmured. "I'll show you."
The doorbell chimed again, and she smiled. "Later."

He felt like a man locked behind bars of velvet. The house was crowded with people, friends,



coworkers, network brass, associates, all happily celebrating his return. The food was fabulous and exotic, the music
low and bluesy. He wanted to escape.