Beloved Beast. Karyn GerrardЧитать онлайн книгу.
but let her hand rest lightly on his sleeve. Muscle flexed under her touch causing her stomach to flutter. Honestly, this was ridiculous. Reacting to him this way made her feel weak, not in control of the situation. Which she was not, and it merely annoyed her further. The sooner she was away from this Robert Taylor look-alike, the better. The last thing she needed was a man in her life mucking things up.
They reached the end of the street. Gillian tried to pull her hand away, but he held it, slowly raised it toward his lips. No. He wouldn’t. What astonished her was how cool his skin felt. And it had a pale shade from what she could make out in the shadows, which followed this mysterious man everywhere he went. Bowing slightly, his full lips barely brushed past her knuckles, but made enough contact for her breath to quicken. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, his fingers stroking along her palm leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Good night, Miss O’ Keefe. Until we meet again.”
She stepped back, her legs jittery from his arousing touch. His fedora was pulled low over his face and all she could make out was his perfectly-shaped patrician nose. “Meet again? It’s highly unlikely.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “You never know.”
Gillian turned and quickly walked away. She could have invited him up to her flat for a drink. But that would be an invitation of another kind, and taking a stranger to bed for quick sex was not a wise idea. A stranger she met in an air raid shelter of all places. She picked up her pace knowing he watched her as she could feel his intense stare boring into her. Rounding the corner, she stopped and leaned against the brick building, trying to catch her breath. She waited five minutes to see if he would follow her. He didn’t. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she sprinted to her flat, her heels clicking on the pavement.
Once inside, she stood by the window and pulled aside the blackout curtain enough to peer out. The street was empty. After she let go of the curtain, she removed her wool coat and headed for her small kitchen. With shaking hands, she reached for the bottle of brandy. Yes, it was best she did not let her attraction to a mysterious stranger go any further. How could she not be attracted by his obvious masculine power? He radiated virility from the broadness of his shoulders, the sensual tone of his voice, to his hidden-in-shadows perfect profile. Emotionally, she was a wreck. The guilt she carried overwhelming. It took everything she had to get through the day. Never again would she allow any man to engage her heart.
* * * *
Once Gillian rounded the corner, Luke waited thirty minutes before fetching his car. He rented the loft of a large chalet-style home on Hastings Avenue in Redbridge which afforded him a modicum of privacy as the older couple who lived in the main house stayed out of his business. All the greenery surrounding the property along with the separate rear entrance also met his privacy requirements. The street was suburban in look and quiet for the most part. Since leaving Cornwall eleven years ago, he rented small, private flats and never stayed in one place more than two years. His previous life was packed in boxes in storage, and he basically lived out of two pieces of battered luggage.
Luke didn’t sleep much during the night. Instead he relived his encounter in the air raid shelter with Gillian Browning. She was attracted to him, what little she saw of him. He made sure he remained in shadow. Her heartbeat increased and her breathing became shallow when he was near, especially when he leaned in and whispered in her ear.
One particular talent he honed over the years is if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear a person’s heartbeat, gauge their pulse, and ascertain if they lied or experienced an emotional response. He also became skilled at reading a person’s facial expressions. Gillian had definitely reacted to him. But only because she never saw his face in the light of day. The lady would be in for a shock when she did.
Regardless, even in the low lighting, he observed the pulse at the base of her throat beat rapidly at his nearness. Along with the delicate flush of her cheek, the parting of her lush lips, and the soft, barely audible sigh that escaped them.
But what disturbed him more was his own reaction. When he took her hand to escort her along the street, rolling warmth gripped him and nearly made his knees buckle. What's more, when he passed her the mug of tea and their fingers brushed, it caused his heart to skip a beat. The only woman to cause such a response had been Glenna. The few women he’d been with since never registered any reaction from him and certainly not any warmth. But this one did. It concerned him. In truth, he should notify Fred and demand he find another operative to see to her safety and protection.
For the most part, he’d moved past the melancholia that settled in his soul at Glenna’s untimely and violent death, but it made an impression, enough to convince him he did not want to love again. The hurt and pain too much to bear. As if any woman would love him. Glenna had been special as were the circumstances surrounding their unconventional romance. She encouraged him more than once to live on for the both of them, embracing all life had to offer including love. With an unknown number of years ahead of them, it was a promise easy to keep. Now with her gone, the promise was easy to forget.
Eventually, he managed three hours sleep and after bathing and dressing, he even ate a piece of toast with marmalade, washing it down with watery coffee before making his way to the SIS offices at fifty-four Broadway. The front of the building had a sign stating The Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company resided there. Nothing could be further from the truth. No one who worked inside used the front entry. They used a secret entrance at the rear at twenty-one Queen Anne’s Gate. Luke usually parked a block away and walked to the back door as he did this morning.
Once inside, he sprinted up the stairs taking them two at a time and headed straight to Fred’s office. He always liked the interior of this building with its twelve-foot vaulted ceilings, nineteenth century gable windows, and ornate plaster walls and trim.
Of course, Fred was already there, a mug of steaming tea sitting before him on the desk. “Ah, Luke. Take a seat. I’ve sent word and Miss Browning is to join us at quarter past ten, which will give us time to go over her file more closely.”
Luke hung his trench coat on the hook along with his hat and scarf, but kept his French-made aviator sunglasses on. When he was reanimated, his eyes were affected. It was as if his irises exploded, and they now resembled the color spectrum of a kaleidoscope. Glenna had found them attractive and mesmerizing. Since most people were put off by the strange mixture of colors, he wore dark glasses to hide them. People stared at him enough as it was. Sitting opposite, he reached across the desk and took the file folder from Fred’s outstretched hand. “A little thin, is it not?”
“Not much background on her apparently.”
Luke frowned as he flipped back and forth between the sparse pages. “I would ask her questions on her family when she arrives. Fill in the blanks.”
Fred arched an eyebrow. “And you will be the lie detector?”
“I’m certainly more accurate than a polygraph test. Also, there are not many details of her affair with this Otto Kroger.”
“What did it matter? As long as she got the information we needed, which she did.” Fred crossed his arms. “I agree the reporting is slipshod, she wasn’t my agent. The man who ran her is now dead, and because of it, we cannot question him on why he kept such sketchy records. At the start of the war things were chaotic, poor records kept, many mistakes made. No one sure of whom was in charge of what. We have a firmer handle on it now.”
Luke stared at the picture of Otto Kroger. The headshot photograph was professionally taken for his business due to the pose and expensive suit. He observed a coldly handsome man with amazing bone structure, a high forehead, and prominent cheekbones. The man’s nose was long with a high bridge, but it didn’t mar his Nordic good looks. Judging from the width of his shoulders he must have been tall and seeing his face was lean, Luke assumed his body type was as well.
If he were a woman, he supposed he would be attracted to the strong line of his jaw and the full lower lip. A stab of envy slid in between his ribs thinking of Gillian in bed with this man. “Obviously it was not a hardship for her to seduce this Germanic God,” he mumbled sarcastically.
The corner of