Falcon's Flight (10 page)

Flint had said she was great in bed, Leslie reflected, eyeing her reflection wryly. Was the robe intended as payment for services rendered? Her expression soured at the unpalatable consideration. She ought to tear the thing from her body and throw it in his face, she fumed. She didn’t require or want his gifts as compensation for pleasure received!

But the robe did complement her hair and eyes. Tilting her head, Leslie ran her gaze down the slender length of her mirrored image. The dressing gown suited her. Maybe she wouldn’t throw it in his face after all.

“Leslie!” Impatience roughened Flint’s raised voice.

“Yes!” Leslie called, grimacing at her reflection. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Nodding suddenly, decisively, she pulled the belt tight, slip knotted it, then reached for the doorknob. Her mind was made up; she’d keep the robe, at least as long as she remained in his apartment.

Pausing a second, she frowned into the mirror; her hair was a disheveled mess, the tangled strands a direct result of wild lovemaking. Well, hadn’t she as much as promised herself a blazing affair during her vacation? Leslie chided herself, raking her Fingers through the auburn mass. Yes, she acknowledged, she had promised not only herself but Marie as well. She’d even managed to find the tall, dark devil of a man to have an affair with—or, more correctly, the devil had found her.

Turning the doorknob, Leslie concluded she really had no reason to be affronted. Flint Falcon knew the rules of the affair game even if she didn’t. And, since Flint had already proved to be a genial companion as well as an exciting, inspiring devil of a lover, she’d play by his rules until her vacation was over or the game was played out—whichever came first.

Squaring her shoulders, Leslie swung the door open and swept into the bedroom—when she wanted to, Leslie could sweep with the world’s best sweepers— wearing the robe and a smile. But behind the smile she felt a pang of something strangely like remorse. She’d wanted this time with Flint almost from their first meeting. Why should she feel like a child denied the right to play in the sunshine?

The answer was in Flint’s admiring expression. It would end sooner or later, and she would leave him. And that was the way she wished it, wasn’t it? No commitments? No ties? Of course it was, Leslie assured herself. She slid onto a chair set opposite Flint’s at the table that had been positioned in front of the expanse of windows. She had been the commitment route, and she was not a slow learner. In Leslie’s opinion, once burned was once too often.

So why did the feeling of being denied sunlight persist? Why indeed? Shaking out her napkin, Leslie carefully laid it across her lap and attempted to put her queries and doubts to rest. She had come away to rest and play; she fully intended to do both.

“Are you going to eat it or glare at it?”

Leslie’s head snapped up. “What?”

Flint gave her his now-familiar wry smile. “Your food,” he explained, inclining his head to indicate her breakfast. “You haven’t even removed the covers from the dishes, yet you’re glaring at them as if they offend you.”

“I’m sorry, I was—eh—thinking.” Leslie managed a faint smile as she lifted the largest of the domed covers. “It looks delicious.”

“It is.” Flint motioned to his nearly empty plate. “At least it was when it was hot.” His pause was brief. “What were you thinking about?”

Having taken a forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs into her mouth, Leslie finished eating, using the seconds to come up with a suitable reply. “The casino. Wasn’t it supposed to open today?”

“It’s open now.”

“And you missed the grand opening?” Leslie sighed, feeling oddly at fault.

Flint shook his head. “No, Leslie, I didn’t miss it. I was there when the casino was officially opened for business.”

“But...how?” Leslie frowned. “I thought you were here.” She glanced at the rumpled bed, then back at him.

Flint picked up the glass coffee carafe and refilled her cup and his own before responding. “I’m a night person, Leslie, nocturnal by nature.” His lips slanted into a sardonic smile. “I wasn’t at all tired when you fell asleep last night. So after I put you to bed I went to my office.” He moved his head to indicate a door in the wall opposite the bathroom. “I worked until three;
then
I joined you in bed.”

“But didn’t the casino open at ten?”

Flint nodded. “Of course. I slept my usual four hours, then went back into my office until it was time for the grand opening.”

“I see,” she said, beginning to believe that what she really saw was a dynamic, very purposeful man. Leslie pushed aside her half-finished meal and raised her eyebrows as she sipped on the hot coffee. “You only ever sleep four hours at a time?”

“Generally.” Flint’s smile was suggestive. “There are exceptions to every rule, of course.” His tone, plus his smile, left little doubt in her mind as to what those exceptions were.

“Of course,” she murmured dryly.

Flint’s smile deepened. “Any other questions?” “Yes.” Leslie smoothed her palm over the velvet. “About this robe you handed tome...”

“What about it?” One dark eyebrow slanted arrogantly.

“It isn’t mine,” she chided softly.

“It is now.” Flint’s tone hardened warningly; Leslie chose to ignore it.

“I do not require payment, Flint,” she said, bristling. “I thought I’d made that clear last night.”

Flint had been lounging in the padded chair. As she spoke he slowly sat up straight. “I didn’t buy the jewelry or the robe as a form of payment, Leslie.” His voice sliced at her like cold steel. “I never
pay
for services rendered.” Sheer male arrogance defined the tilt of his head. “And I never explain my motives to anyone.” His smile was remote, chilling. “I will make an exception in this case, but I will tell you once and only once. I bought the gifts because it pleased me to do so. Is that completely understood?”

Not even to herself could Leslie deny the sense of intimidation his attitude and drilling stare sent streaking through her. But she wouldn’t have admitted to the sensation under threat of bodily injury.

“Perfectly,” she said succinctly, tilting her own head imperiously.

“Good,” he bit back. “Now, is there anything else you have to say before we close this subject?”

Leslie pondered a moment, raking her mind for a suitable retort. Then her green eyes began to gleam and she nodded her head.

“You’re great in bed, Falcon,” she said wryly, “but you really are an arrogant bastard.”

Six

You ’re great in bed, but you really are a bastard.

A smile relieved the unrelenting line defining Flint’s lips. A week and a half had passed since Leslie had made the dry observation, tossing his own words back at him, yet the ghost of a smile haunted his lips every time the echo of her voice teased his memory.

And Leslie wasn’t even aware of how fitting her epithet really was! Flint leaned back in his desk chair, his lips curving in a soundless laugh. A week and a half. The reminder of time racing by intruded on his amusement. Leslie had told him that she had planned to spend two weeks in Atlantic City, and now those two weeks were almost past. Unless he could convince her to extend her stay, Leslie would be returning to New York in three days.

The alarm that snaked through Flint both surprised and annoyed him. He had expected to be fully satiated with Leslie long before the end of one week, if not bored to distraction as he always was with any woman. But one week had rushed swiftly into another, and to his chagrin he was neither satiated nor bored. Quite the contrary. Flint could not get enough of Leslie’s body or company.

Flint moved as if to shrug off the unusual sensation. He didn’t relish feeling any emotion concerning her departure, but most especially he didn’t want this uneasy sense of alarm. Flint Falcon considered his life complete—-he neither needed nor wanted to form what he considered a crippling emotional dependency on any other individual. Emotional involvements and serious relationships infringed on personal freedom—his personal freedom. And Flint had sworn long ago that nothing would ever again infringe on
his
freedom.

Enthrallment with a woman was not Flint’s idea of a fit state to be in; it interfered with a man’s work. Frowning, Flint glanced down at the list of postponed appointments lying on his otherwise cleared desktop. He had canceled the appointments the day after he met Leslie simply because his work was infringing on his time with her.

Impatient and disgusted with himself, Flint had requested his secretary to reschedule the appointments. A few minutes later he’d countermanded his own orders, thereby thoroughly confusing the superefficient man, who admired Flint above all others.

Muttering a shocking expletive, Flint spun his chair to face the long expanse of window. The sea and the sky were spread out before him, metaphorically his. It was all Flint needed, or at least it had been all he’d needed until now.

“Dammit!”

Kicking his chair back, Flint sprang to his feet and walked to the window. The bright autumn sunlight danced over the undulating waves like gold coins flung to earth by a benign deity. Overhead, the endless stretch of incredible blue sky was unmarred except for a tiny speck and the wispy line of vapor trailing it. It was freedom. It was his. And yet he felt fettered, caged by the tantalizing personality and sweetly responsive body of a woman!

Flint’s brows were inching together in a Fierce frown when he heard the faint rustle of movement from the room beyond his office door. Leslie. A sensation too similar to happiness flowed through his entire body. Denying the validity of the sensation, Flint forced himself to remain absolutely still when what he longed to do was stride into the bedroom and sweep Leslie into his arms.

Utter madness! Flint’s instinct for self-preservation sent a message of warning to his besotted senses. It was utter madness to allow his emotions to become frazzled over a mere woman.

Ah, but what a woman! Even as his mind rebelled against it, Flint strained to hear the soft sounds of her movements in the bedroom. An image of her swamped his senses and tormented his body. It was three-forty in the afternoon, and he wanted her. His sudden need was nothing new; Flint was getting very familiar with the near-constant state of arousal.

Moving his shoulders in a philosophical shrug, Flint surrendered, savoring the memories they now shared and the anticipation of adding to those memories. There would be time enough to reclaim control of his rioting senses and voracious desire after Leslie was gone, Flint mused confidently.

Only three more days. The phrase stabbed at Flint’s mind like a poisoned dart. Moving with sudden decisiveness, he turned his back on the window and headed for the connecting door to the bedroom with long, purposeful strides.

Three days to go.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Leslie paused in her restless circuit around the room to stare at the closed door to Flint’s office. She felt strange, not at all like the rather cynical woman who’d laughed about indulging in a blazing affair if she should happen to run into a certain type of man.

Well, she
had
literally run into that certain type of man, and being with him was having a strange effect on her mentally and physically. Just the thought of Flint on the other side of the door caused a tingle in her spine and a weakness in her body.

Lord, the man’s appetite was insatiable! Her breathing growing rough and uneven, Leslie sank onto the edge of the bed, a mocking smile curving her lips as she recalled her own aggressive behavior in his bed. Falcon’s influence on her was astonishing. Never had she taken the initiative while making love. Never had she reveled in playing the wanton. The self-mocking smile deepened as Leslie decided that should the occasion arrive she could now accept the role of Salome, confident of giving an award-winning performance.

Quivering in response to vivid memories, Leslie lay back on the enormous bed. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Flint was consuming her, body and mind, to the extent that he was all she thought about anymore. She wasn’t eating well, she wasn’t sleeping well; she felt exhausted and exhilarated in turn. And as if her mental and physical state were not enough, thoughts of Flint prevented her from using the casino as an escape hatch—she could no longer
lose
herself in a casino.

If she had believed it at all possible, Leslie might have believed she was falling in love with the enigmatic, confusing man whose bed she so very contentedly shared. But Leslie absolutely refused to so much as entertain the possibility of falling in love with Falcon. In Leslie’s oft-stated opinion, love was detrimental to a woman’s health and sanity. But she did enjoy being with him, in and out of bed!

Deep in introspection, Leslie didn’t hear the office door open, nor did she hear footsteps. Flint’s sharp, indrawn breath alerted her to his presence in the bedroom.

“Sleeping again?” his voice was pitched low so as not to disturb her if she had drifted off.

Leslie opened her eyes and caught her breath at the imposing sight he made. He was attired in a three-piece gray suit, but in spite of the conservative clothing, the thought occurred to Leslie that Falcon looked more like a high-priced, cold-eyed hit man than a high-powered executive. Denying that there were times Flint’s self-contained aloofness frightened her would have been pointless. Leslie knew instinctively that he possessed the power to hurt just about anyone he wanted to—her most of all. The knowledge instilled wary caution in Leslie.

“I thought you were going to work all afternoon?” she said, recalling his exact words and dismissive tone at breakfast. He’d told her to find her own
amusement
for the day, as he was planning to spend it in his office—which had been declared off limits to her from day one.

Flint didn’t respond, at least not verbally. A smile, blatant with sensuality, relieved the severity of his thin lips. His movements precise and economical, he began to undress. One dark eyebrow inched into an arc that silently urged her to follow his lead.