Woman Most Wanted. Harper AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
a man,” she managed to say. Whatever was going through her mind had to be going through his right now, too, she thought. That lower lip was pure sensuality and his eyes were half-veiled by those thick dark lashes. His breathing had deepened and slowed.
For a long moment the world around them seemed to recede into nothingness. Far in the background of her consciousness Jenna could hear the clink of china as tables were cleared, the faint sound of a radio playing behind the counter and the rushing hiss of a bus coming to a stop outside in the rain. But nothing registered. She felt as if the whole universe had lasered down to a single pinpoint of reality that only included the touch of their hands, the electric awareness flowing between them.
“I—I should make that call.”
Matt’s reluctant words finally broke the silence, but instead of regretting that the moment had come to an end, she almost welcomed it. She felt shaky and disoriented, and as he abruptly pushed back his chair and walked over to the phone in the corner of the coffee shop, it was almost impossible to force herself to stop staring at the way he moved, from letting her gaze linger on the smoothly powerful shift of muscles under that suit jacket…
What had just happened between them? A silvery shiver ran down her spine. One moment they’d been slightly antagonistic near strangers, and the next minute they’d both been indulging in converging fantasies that had almost accelerated into reality. Only the fact that they’d been in a public place had kept them apart, Jenna thought tremulously.
It had been so intense. It was as if those wings she’d felt fluttering inside her had flown straight up to the sun, heedless of the fire that awaited them there and craving only the ever-increasing heat. A minute longer in that dangerously seductive flight and she would have never been able to return to the safety of the mundane world.
Even now she wasn’t sure that she would ever be the same person she’d been half an hour ago.
He wasn’t her type, for heaven’s sakes! She saw him lift the receiver and casually turn his back to the room, but with heightened awareness she noticed that he was facing the broad, black expanse of plate-glass window. He was using it as a mirror, she realized. He knew everything that was going on behind him, and if anyone came close he’d probably start talking about something totally innocuous. Suspicion, caution, deception—they were all part of his job.
He was nothing like the men she’d known in the past. The two serious relationships she’d engaged in had been gentle and loving, and both Colin and Ted had been committed to the same lifestyle that she was used to—neither one of them could be called aggressive, and each relationship had ended with quiet affection when she’d moved on. She smiled faintly. Certainly neither man had come chasing after her, trying to persuade her to stay.
Matt D’Angelo might have a veneer of civilization and conformity about him, but if he ever wanted anything badly enough, he’d fight to get it—and keep it. Those gold-flecked eyes that could change so swiftly from bland opacity to raw desire gave him away every time he looked at her.
Those eyes were looking down at her now. With a slight start, she saw that he’d finished his call and was standing beside her silently…and as she met his shuttered gaze, she suddenly knew that her world was about to be shattered for the second time that day.
Chapter Three
She’d known it was going to be bad. What she hadn’t been able to imagine was just how bad it could be.
Numb with disbelief, Jenna shivered involuntarily. Despite the steamy heat in the coffee shop, she felt as if a cold wind was cutting through her, numbing her to her very bones.
“They had to have made some mistake in identification.” Even to herself, her protest sounded foolishly stubborn, as if she was insisting that the world was flat. “How do they know for sure it was Carling’s body?”
Matt rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, not meeting her pleading glance. Under the harsh fluorescent lights the lines of weariness around his mouth were thrown into stark relief, and his eyes, when he opened them, were unreadable. He sighed like a man trying to hide his frustration.
“Forensics didn’t make a mistake, Jenna. That’s why they haven’t released the news of his death to the media yet—because they wanted to make damn sure their suspicions were right.”
“But even experts can—”
He cut in on her abruptly, as if he couldn’t allow her to keep hoping any longer. His voice was low and emphatic.
“It’s very important that you understand this. Rupert Carling is dead. He’s been dead for over forty-eight hours—ever since someone turned his Mercedes into a ball of fire with a car bomb the night before last.” His words were vehemently distinct and his gaze held hers with what seemed like desperation. “The man was a financial titan, so when word of his death gets out later tonight, Wall Street’s going to tremble, Jenna—and with that much at stake, nobody could afford to make any creative guesses on what was left of his body. They located a Dr. Borg, Carling’s dentist, and had him working alongside the forensics team to make absolutely certain that the dental records matched up with—” He saw the convulsive swallow that she tried to hide, and changed what he’d been about to say. “With what was found at the crime scene,” he ended quietly.
“So I didn’t see him today at Parks, Parks.” Her voice was barely audible.
“There’s no way you could have.”
“And if I didn’t see Rupert Carling, then there’s no reason for anyone to try to make me look crazy,” she went on. It was as easy as connecting the dots, she thought. One fact led to another, and although she knew she wouldn’t like where this was leading, she had no choice but to follow the logic. “And if no one’s trying to make me look crazy, the only explanation for what’s been happening to me is that I really am crazy. Even Zappa was only part of my fantasy.”
Her face was pale and the strands of hair feathering onto her forehead seemed to have lost their vibrancy and fire. Her eyes were dull. “Paranoid delusions. When I started using phrases like ‘vast conspiracy,’ it should have tipped me off right then. But of course, refusing to believe that they’re delusions is part of the problem, isn’t it?”
“You saw somebody in that corridor at work. It just wasn’t who you thought it was,” Matt said uncomfortably. The coffee shop was nearly empty now, but he lowered his voice. “There’s got to be some other explanation for what happened tonight besides immediately jumping to the conclusion that you’re suffering from paranoia.”
“Another explanation for anyone else, maybe. Not for me!”
The unequivocal reply escaped from her like a cry of pain and her eyes squeezed shut, as if she couldn’t bear to face his carefully phrased questions. Alarmed by her reaction, Matt reached across the table for her hand, but she drew away from his touch. A shudder ran through her and for a moment he tensed, ready to catch her if she fainted; but even as he watched, he saw her quell the trembling with a visible effort.
A few hours ago she’d made him think of caramel sauce and whipped cream, he thought slowly—lush and desirable and frivolously disconcerting. Who would have guessed that that almost confectionery-like exterior hid a will as tough and unyielding as stainless steel? Whatever other problems Jenna Moon had, the woman had an inner strength that was imposing a rigid control on her.
When she spoke again, her words were delivered in a flat, dead whisper that sounded as if it was being wrenched out of her. “Let me tell you about my father. Then you’ll understand.”
She folded her hands carefully in her lap, pressed her lips together tightly for a moment, and then continued, the normally husky edge to her voice harsh with pain. “Franklin Moon was a student radical in the ’60s—passionately committed to making the world a better place through peaceful protests and demonstrations. He was typical of the best of that era, and he should have become one of the most influential people of his generation. But no one’s ever heard