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

It was nearly midnight when Deanna climbed into bed. As always, she checked her alarm, then made certain there
was a pencil and pad on the nightstand beside the phone. The phone rang just as she was reaching for the light.
Instinctively, she picked up the receiver with one hand, the pencil with the other.
"Reynolds."
"You were wonderful tonight."
The flutter of pleasure made her smile as she eased back against the pillows. "Marshall. Thanks."
"I just wanted you to know I was watching. It's the next best thing to being with you."
"It's nice to know." It felt glorious, snuggling back in bed, pleasantly sleepy, with the voice of the man she thought
she might love in her ear. "I've been thinking about Hawaii all day."
"So have I. And about you." He had her taped image freeze-framed on his set, quietly arousing himself with her
image and her voice. "I'm very indebted to Angela Perkins for bringing us together."
"Me too. Sleep well, Marshall."
"I will. Good night, Deanna."
Warm and content, Deanna replaced the receiver. Hugging herself, she laughed and indulged in a dreamy fantasy.
She and Marshall walking along the beach while the sun dripped color into the water. Soft breezes. Soft words. The
gentle tug low in her stomach pleased her. Normal, she told herself. Certainly that proved she was a normal woman
with normal needs. She was ready to take the next step toward fulfilling them. She was eager to.
Only seconds after she switched off the lamp and snuggled down, the phone rang again. Chuckling to herself, she
lifted the receiver in the dark.
"Hi," she murmured. "Did you forget something?"
There was only echoing silence in response. "Marshall?" Her sleepy voice shifted into puzzlement. "Hello? Who's
there?" Then into unease as the dull silence continued. "Hello? Is anyone there?" The quiet click brought on a quick
shudder.
Wrong number, Deanna assured herself as she hung up. But she was cold. And it was a long time before she
warmed again and slept.

Someone else lay awake in the dark. The ghostly light from the television screen was the only relief. Deanna smiled
there, looking out into the room, looking directly into the eyes of her audience of one. Her voice, so smooth, so
sweet, so seductive, played over and over on the recorder as it was rewound.
"I'm Deanna Reynolds. Good night.
I'm Deanna Reynolds. Good night. I'm Deanna Reynolds. Good night."
"Good night." The answering whisper was soft, no more than a purr of pleasure.

Angela had planned every detail meticulously. Standing in the center of her office, she turned a slow circle.
Everything was ready. There was a faint fragrance of jasmine in the air from the vase of flowers on the table by the
love seat. The television set, for once, was blank. The quiet strains of Chopin eased through the speakers of the
stereo. Beeker had been very thorough in his report. Marshall Pike preferred classical music, romantic settings and a
woman with style. She wore the same trim designer suit she'd worn for that morning's taping, but she'd removed the
blouse. The jacket fit with a snug V, and there was a cunning hint of black lace teasing the cleavage.
At precisely eleven o'clock, she answered the buzzer on her desk. "Yes,
Cassie."
"Dr. Pike is here, Miss Perkins."
"Ah, good." A feline smile crossed her face as she walked toward the office door. She liked a man to be prompt.
"Marshall." She held out both hands to grip his, easing forward and tilting her head to offer her cheek. And to give
him an interesting glimpse of black lace. "I really appreciate your making time for me today."
"You said it was important."
"Oh, and it is. Cassie, would you mind taking those letters right to the post office? Then you can go ahead and take
your lunch. I won't need you back here until one." Turning, Angela led Marshall into her office, being certain to leave
the door open a few inches. "What can I get you, Marshall? Something cold?" She trailed a fingertip down her