Read Online The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page A

smiled. “Now, Lance Matthews . . . ”
    â€œOh no,” Foxy interrupted, holding her hand up like a traffic cop. “Stop right there. I might not be looking for comfort, but I’m not looking for a bed of nails either.”
    â€œJust a thought,” Pam said mildly. “I seriously doubt he would ever make you feel bored or comfortable.”
    â€œComfortable boredom begins to sound more appealing,” Foxy commented. “In fact,” she added as she headed for the door, “I’m going to thoroughly enjoy myself tonight. In all probability I’ll win a fortune at roulette. I’ll buy you a hot dog out of my winnings at the race tomorrow.” With a wink, she shut the door behind her.
    Alone, Pam allowed her smile to dissolve. For the next few minutes, she stared down at the typewritten page in her machine.
Kirk Fox,
she decided,
is becoming a problem. Not that he has made even the slightest advance since his arrogant declaration the night of his party,
she mused.
He’s been much too involved with the races to do any more than vaguely acknowledge my presence.
Pam ignored the annoyance the fact brought her and straightened a pile of blank typing paper.
And of course, he’s had all those women hanging around him.
Pam sniffed and shrugged and went back to her typing.
With any luck,
she thought as she attacked the keys,
he’ll be just as busy throughout the entire season.
    Feeling guilty over her discussion of Scott, Foxy dressed with special care for the evening. Her dress was a stretchy black jersey that clung to her curves and left her shoulders bare. The neckline was cut straight, secured with elastic just above the subtle swell of her breasts. She swept her hair off her neck into a chignon, letting loose tendrils fall over her brow and cheeks. With the addition of a thin silver chain around her neck and a quick spray of cologne, she felt ready for the elegance of the Monte Carlo casino.
    Just as she was transferring the bare necessities into a small silver evening bag, a knock sounded on her door. With one quick glance around the hotel room, Foxy went to admit Scott. She found herself face-to-face with Lance Matthews.
    â€œOh,” she said foolishly as she recalled her success in avoiding him since Indiana. Abruptly it occurred to her that she had never seen him in evening dress before. His suit was impeccably cut, fitting over his broad shoulders without a wrinkle. He looked different, if no less dangerous. He was, for a moment, a stranger: the Harvard graduate, the longtime resident of Beacon Hill, the heir to the Matthews fortune.
    â€œHello, Fox. Going to let me in or do I have to stand out in the hall?” The tone, and the ironic lift of his mouth made him Lance again. Foxy straightened her shoulders.
    â€œSorry, Lance, I’m practically on my way out.”
    â€œPrompt as well as beautiful?” There was an amused light in his eyes. “The two rarely go together.” He stepped forward and cupped her chin in his hand before she had time to start evasive action. “We’ll have to have a cocktail before dinner. The reservation isn’t until eight.”
    Foxy backed up, then noted with disgust that the action only brought Lance farther into the room. “You’ll have to run that by me again.” She lifted a hand to the one on her chin but found it unbudgeable.
    â€œWe’ve nearly an hour before dinner,” Lance stated simply. His eyes roamed her face with a hint of a smile. “Perhaps you’ve an idea how we might pass the time.”
    â€œYou might try a few hands of solitaire,” Foxy suggested evenly. “In your
own
room. Now, I’d like my face back.”
    â€œWould you?” Amusement was smooth and male in his tone. “Pity. I’m quite taken with it.” With the barest of pressure, he brought her an inch closer as his gaze dropped and lingered on her mouth.