window.
“And have a little patience with him, too,” Fortune advised,
just as if she hadn’t spoken. “He tends to do things in his own slow but sure
way, but they do get done. He is a very thorough man.” Fortune nodded complacently.
I think you’re going to be very good for him, Miss Maitland. Shake him up a
little.” Before she had time to clarify the situation once more, he said, “Goodbye
and drive carefully. You have the directions?”
“He gave them to me this afternoon,” Samantha said vaguely,
longing to be on her way. She was late and she had the feeling Gabriel Sinclair
wouldn’t appreciate tardiness.
In great detail, no doubt,” Fortune chuckled. “A very
thorough man, as I said.”
Samantha allowed herself a small laugh as she started the
engine. “I got a detailed drawing of every bend in the road and every possible
landmark between here and his house!”
She just hoped she could remember a few of the details on
that elaborate map Gabriel had drawn for her earlier in the afternoon because
after taking a quick glance at it, she’d automatically tossed it on the dresser
top and forgotten it there. How lost could one get when there was only one road
between the spa and his home?
With a last glance in her rearview mirror at the comfortable
form of Emil Fortune, she guided the little car out of the parking lot and onto
the narrow highway which hugged the coast. Leaving the spa behind her had all
the uplifting exhilaration of a prison escape. What a nice little man that Mr.
Fortune was. She was really very grateful for his assistance with that bull of
a desk clerk.
The decision to check out of the spa had been made almost as
soon as Gabriel had left that afternoon. Hiding in her room when she was
supposed to join the other inmates in a lengthy jog along the beach, Samantha had
come to the conclusion that there was no point torturing herself further. She
had achieved contact with Sinclair, which had been her main goal all along.
Taking her time, she had dressed for dinner and packed her
suitcase. The outfit she had chosen had been purchased in Seattle. It was a
dashing black velvet tuxedo-style jacket and pants complete with a pleated white
shirt with tiny, upstanding wing collar and a small black velvet tie. The
close-fitting stylish parody of the traditional male evening dress was both tailored
and chicly feminine. With her hair coiled neatly into a curving knot at the
nape of her neck, Samantha felt suitably attired for an evening of business
with her angel.
She grinned to herself as she realized that she was applying
the term “angel” more and more to Gabriel Sinclair. Was that because,
subconsciously, managing an angel seemed potentially easier than managing a high-powered
business barracuda?
The grin faded as she recognized the truth behind that
thought. She had certainly not succeeded in managing Drew Buchanan very well!
He had sent her life into a tailspin from which it had taken a long time to recover.
Revenge was the last link in that recovery. No, managing a cold-blooded bastard
like Buchanan was a dangerous business at best. But angels, especially plodding
angels, should be a much easier proposition.
Samantha found the nearly hidden drive which led off the
main road toward the sea after two or three attempts and a certain amount of
backtracking. She really should have brought that damn map, she decided. Half
an hour late, she noticed, glancing at her watch as she parked the car in the
curving drive of the secluded beachfront home.
Her expression tightened determinedly as she pressed the
small bell outside the huge, intricate wrought iron gate which guarded a
courtyard paved in pale stone. It wasn’t her fault she was late!
The main door to the house opened and her host emerged.
Gabriel was wearing a conservatively striped, long-sleeved shirt, open at the
throat, and a pair of dark, well-tailored slacks that seemed to emphasize the solid
masculinity of his frame. The burnished
“And have a little patience with him, too,” Fortune advised,
just as if she hadn’t spoken. “He tends to do things in his own slow but sure
way, but they do get done. He is a very thorough man.” Fortune nodded complacently.
I think you’re going to be very good for him, Miss Maitland. Shake him up a
little.” Before she had time to clarify the situation once more, he said, “Goodbye
and drive carefully. You have the directions?”
“He gave them to me this afternoon,” Samantha said vaguely,
longing to be on her way. She was late and she had the feeling Gabriel Sinclair
wouldn’t appreciate tardiness.
In great detail, no doubt,” Fortune chuckled. “A very
thorough man, as I said.”
Samantha allowed herself a small laugh as she started the
engine. “I got a detailed drawing of every bend in the road and every possible
landmark between here and his house!”
She just hoped she could remember a few of the details on
that elaborate map Gabriel had drawn for her earlier in the afternoon because
after taking a quick glance at it, she’d automatically tossed it on the dresser
top and forgotten it there. How lost could one get when there was only one road
between the spa and his home?
With a last glance in her rearview mirror at the comfortable
form of Emil Fortune, she guided the little car out of the parking lot and onto
the narrow highway which hugged the coast. Leaving the spa behind her had all
the uplifting exhilaration of a prison escape. What a nice little man that Mr.
Fortune was. She was really very grateful for his assistance with that bull of
a desk clerk.
The decision to check out of the spa had been made almost as
soon as Gabriel had left that afternoon. Hiding in her room when she was
supposed to join the other inmates in a lengthy jog along the beach, Samantha had
come to the conclusion that there was no point torturing herself further. She
had achieved contact with Sinclair, which had been her main goal all along.
Taking her time, she had dressed for dinner and packed her
suitcase. The outfit she had chosen had been purchased in Seattle. It was a
dashing black velvet tuxedo-style jacket and pants complete with a pleated white
shirt with tiny, upstanding wing collar and a small black velvet tie. The
close-fitting stylish parody of the traditional male evening dress was both tailored
and chicly feminine. With her hair coiled neatly into a curving knot at the
nape of her neck, Samantha felt suitably attired for an evening of business
with her angel.
She grinned to herself as she realized that she was applying
the term “angel” more and more to Gabriel Sinclair. Was that because,
subconsciously, managing an angel seemed potentially easier than managing a high-powered
business barracuda?
The grin faded as she recognized the truth behind that
thought. She had certainly not succeeded in managing Drew Buchanan very well!
He had sent her life into a tailspin from which it had taken a long time to recover.
Revenge was the last link in that recovery. No, managing a cold-blooded bastard
like Buchanan was a dangerous business at best. But angels, especially plodding
angels, should be a much easier proposition.
Samantha found the nearly hidden drive which led off the
main road toward the sea after two or three attempts and a certain amount of
backtracking. She really should have brought that damn map, she decided. Half
an hour late, she noticed, glancing at her watch as she parked the car in the
curving drive of the secluded beachfront home.
Her expression tightened determinedly as she pressed the
small bell outside the huge, intricate wrought iron gate which guarded a
courtyard paved in pale stone. It wasn’t her fault she was late!
The main door to the house opened and her host emerged.
Gabriel was wearing a conservatively striped, long-sleeved shirt, open at the
throat, and a pair of dark, well-tailored slacks that seemed to emphasize the solid
masculinity of his frame. The burnished
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