Read Online Handful of Dreams by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page A

that—”
    “Good writing was good writing; it didn’t matter the topic, the category, or the style.”
    “Precisely.” She pushed more potato salad around. “Do you write, Mr. Lane?”
    “Not a word, Miss Anderson. I love the business, but I’m hopeless at the quest myself. You’re not eating.”
    “I told you,” she murmured uneasily, “I’m really not hungry.” And before he could press her, she quickly asked, “How long am I supposed to stay awake?”
    David was busy pulling apart a piece of cold chicken. “I’m not really sure. The line went dead when we were in the middle of that conversation. I guess midnight would be all right.”
    Midnight. How far away was that? She tried unobtrusively to lean over and look at his watch. He noticed her effort and offered up his wrist.
    “Eight P.M ., Miss Anderson.”
    Four more hours in his company. They stretched out like an eternity. She’d rather be in a hospital!
    “You’d get a few minutes reprieve if you ate,” he told her.
    Startled, she noted that there was a teasing gleam around his eyes, as if he did have a sense of humor. A pleasant sense of humor—quite possibly—if she were anyone else in the world.
    “Then I’ll have a piece of chicken,” she muttered, and he laughed.
    There was silence for a moment, then to her surprise he pushed back his chair a bit, and she gazed up, aware that he was watching her. “I want to apologize—”
    “You’re going to apologize to me?” she said incredulously, and couldn’t help but add a sweet, “Will wonders never cease!”
    She should have left it alone. His mouth stretched out tightly, taking on a grim, white hue.
    “Not for my opinion of the situation—or anything I said to you about it, or yourself. I’m apologizing because I called a truce for the evening and broke it. If we’re going to survive it, though, the truce needs be put back in place.”
    “Why the hell don’t you just let me go to bed?”
    He shook his head. “I really can’t. Jerry was insistent that I watch you.”
    “For what? If I did fall over, there would be nothing to do, anyway!”
    “Yes, there would. I’ve got a list of instructions.”
    “This really is ridiculous.”
    “Maybe, Miss Anderson, but you’re right about one thing: I really don’t want your injury on my conscience. So that’s the way it is.”
    Her jaw was solidly locked; her eyes snapped with more fire than the candle’s flame. He laughed.
    “Poor, poor Miss Anderson! It really is a hell of a situation, isn’t it? You’re accustomed to calling the shots, ruling the old manor. It’s unthinkable for you to be trapped into taking orders. And there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. No police to call, no way out.”
    “I’m sure there will be a way eventually,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll just get past you and lock myself up somewhere!”
    He laughed, and she sensed that humor in his eyes again. “But you won’t do that, will you? Because, of course, I’d just come after you and haul you back.”
    “Oh, but, Mr. Lane!” she proclaimed, her eyes very wide and sweetly naive, “You wouldn’t want to do that! You’d have to touch me and you might get your elegant little fingers tainted and grimy.”
    “My fingers are neither elegant nor little, and sometimes I like to play in the mud, Miss Anderson.”
    “I’m quite sure, Mr. Lane, that you’ve played in truck-loads of it!”
    To her surprise he chuckled softly again, then lifted his tea glass to her, eyes studying her in an appraising fashion. “Perhaps, Miss Anderson, I should have made your acquaintance earlier. I might have been more understanding. You’ve got an angel’s beauty and a devil’s wit. I can see how you managed to garner his heart and soul—and his mind.”
    “I did love his mind,” Susan replied pleasantly. “And his soul and his heart and just … every little thing about him.”
    “I’m glad to hear it,” David muttered. He pushed back his