Read Online Austensibly Ordinary by Alyssa Goodnight - Free Book Online Page B

good stuff.”
    â€œFavorite Hitchcock film?”
    â€œCharade.” The irony was my little secret.
    â€œThe best Hitchcock movie Hitchcock never made?” His grin was cocky.
    â€œHonestly?” This was a shocker—and even more ironic. “North by Northwest, then,” I said truthfully.
    â€œRear Window. ” He grinned. “I drew the line at carting a camera in here.”
    â€œThe wheelchair was a nice touch. And the tag-along Grace Kelly even better.”
    He leaned in, his eyes shifting left and right, clearly not trusting our self-imposed privacy. Unable to resist any sort of secret, I met him halfway. “I met her outside and convinced her to walk in with me—even got her to push the wheelchair.” He winked mischievously. Made me wonder about his plans for me. And mine for him.
    â€œVery crafty,” I said, impressed, flirting ever so slightly behind the swing of my hair.
    â€œSo why not Audrey Hepburn?” He had a knowing look in his eye, which had my nerves crackling.
    â€œIs this one of the twenty?” I said, stalling. Truthfully I think I would have had an easier time with Audrey. More wide-eyed wonder and shy ingénue. I’d likely have spent the evening lurking in the kitchen with the girls.
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œI can’t blame Audrey—I might not have been able to resist a sixty-year-old Cary Grant either, but I’d much prefer a younger version. So my choices were Grace Kelly or Eva Marie Saint.”
    â€œIf you’d come as Grace Kelly, I might have bumped into you outside instead.”
    â€œTrue, but if you had, would you be talking to me right now?”
    â€œI’d like to think so, but maybe not. Excellent decision.” He raised his glass and downed the contents just as Will made the rounds with a blood-red cocktail and Syd served a portobello mushroom salad drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette and paired with a wafer-thin piece of herbed focaccia. Mine was shaped like a butcher knife, his a pair of sewing scissors—classic Hitchcock murder weapons. The Pop-up Culture chicks had achieved an impressive level of creepiness, aided considerably by their cat-burglar costumes, the heavy shadows in the room, and the element of surprise.
    I carefully sipped my drink, eyeing the focaccia. I tasted pomegranate, felt the quick trail of heat from the vodka, and focused on settling the nerves in my stomach. Damn if I didn’t feel like an operative, finessed, via some tech-savvy cohorts, into a critical situation to play a part and steal away before my cover was blown. But nobody was parked outside in a van, talking into my earpiece. I was playing this all on my own. I spared a quick thought for Ethan, but tamped it ruthlessly down. He would never approve.
    â€œReading between the lines . . . should I assume you’re on the hunt for a modern-day, Austinized Cary Grant? Should I be flattered?”
    A little smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, and all at once, I felt quite the vixen. Leaning my elbow on the table, I propped my chin on my hand and looked past the centerpiece, at Mr. Jake Tielman, through lowered lashes. “Hard to say. Technically you found me, but I let you drag me along. And now it’s just the two of us. . . .” I slid my lips into a long, slow smile, starting to get the hang of things. Less was definitely more. Conversationally speaking.
    I took my time with a slow perusal, squelching the self-consciousness as he watched. He was obviously pulling off charming, seeing as I’d let myself be cornered by a cute Jimmy Stewart in old-fashioned pajamas. And I suspected there was a great deal of sexy just below the surface. It occurred to me that I needed to wrap things up or risk sending the wrong message.
    â€œWould you say you make a worthy comparison?” I flicked one eyebrow teasingly up.
    â€œIn some ways,” he granted, setting down his fork and fingering his