Read Online No Nice Girl by Perry Lindsay - Free Book Online Page B

words.
    â€œI can’t see how she could miss,” he said grimly. “Matter of fact, isn’t it a sort of unwritten law that all private secretaries are in love with the boss?”
    Anice laughed with sweet, child-like mirth.
    â€œWell, if there’s a law, then I violated it,” she said gaily. “Because I certainly wasn’t in love with mine, the year I worked at the mills. My boss was sixty and fat, and he and his wife quarreled all the time. He had stomach ulcers from his wife and his trouble with the government red tape, but he couldn’t fight back at either his wife or his government, so he took it out on me. I hated him—I think sometimes if I’d known a poison that couldn’t be traced, I’d have used it on him!”
    She gave a soft little peal of mirth at this, but Terry did not join in her laughter. Instead he looked at her curiously and said mildly, “I’ll bet you would, at that!”
    Startled, Anice stared at him.
    â€œWhy, Terry! Do I look like a murderer?” she gasped.
    â€œWhat murderer does?” Terry argued reasonably. “Nope, I think cute little tricks like you, all done up in white muslin and blue ribbons and golden curls, should be labeled: ‘Danger! Dynamite! Do not touch!’”
    Oddly enough, Anice took that as a compliment, and Terry wondered cynically why the hell a woman considered it a compliment if a man called her dangerous. He felt that Anice was potentially a very dangerous woman, but he meant it in no complimentary sense. He was puzzled to know why she was making such a play for him; unless, of course, the fact that she knew he was Phyllis’ lover had aroused her possessive instincts. Anice was the sort of girl who’d be miserable if she saw a man completely absorbed in another woman; it would arouse her most acute hunting instincts. And that, undoubtedly, was the reason behind Anice’s play. He grinned a little to himself. If that was the game she was playing—well, he could play it, too! The prospect for an interesting, not to say instructive evening, seemed to him to be extremely good.
    When they reached the apartment, Anice gave him the key with a pretty little gesture of feminine docility. He unlocked the door, and she went ahead of him into the room, thrusting up windows, turning on the fan, complaining gaily of the stuffy air.
    â€œFix yourself a drink, Terry, while I get into something cool and have a shower,” she said gaily, and went into the bedroom and closed the door.
    Terry stared for a moment at the closed door, his eyes startled.
    â€œNow, do you suppose—” he asked himself thoughtfully, considered a moment and nodded. “Could be, could be,” he agreed with his secret thought.
    He went into the tiny kitchenette, retaining his thoughtful mien as he mixed himself a drink. When he came back into the living room, he took up his position on the couch, his drink in his hand. As he swallowed it, he watched the closed door of the bedroom, behindwhich he could hear soft footfalls and the little humming sound of Anice’s low-voiced singing.
    The door opened at last and Terry’s eyes widened as he said to himself, “Uh-huh—just what I thought.” For Anice was seductive and alluring in wide trousered pajamas of chalk white, over which were scattered coin-sized dots of various shades of blue; the bodice was simply a snugly fitting halter that tied in a blue bow beneath the full, soft curves of her lovely breasts. There was a bit of bare midriff and there were no sleeves, and Anice’s silken curls were tied back from her face with a blue ribbon.
    She beamed innocently at Terry and said, “There now! I feel ever so much better. I can even bear to think about food.”
    â€œIt’s worth a thought,” Terry agreed warily.
    Prattling in her usual pretty, almost girlish style, she spread the cloth on the gateleg table and brought the