Falcon's Flight Read Online Free

straight black eyebrow.
    “Yes.” Leslie’s voice had roughened to a whisper.
    “Allow me.” Briefly flicking his hand to indicate that she should follow him, he pivoted and strode to the registration counter, ignoring the restless crowd waiting to check in with an arrogance the most talented dramatic actor would have envied.
    Even while she asked herself why she was obeying his dictate, Leslie followed in his wake, coming to an uncertain stop one step behind him. There were three clerks manning the desk, an extremely attractive middle-aged man, a smoothly handsome younger man and a lovely young black woman. Hurried but unharried, the clerks performed their duties with cool efficiency, for the few seconds oblivious of the dark, silent man observing them. Then, as if feeling the intensity of his regard, the young woman glanced up. Her eyelids flickered with recognition an instant before a dazzling white smile brightened and enhanced the beauty of her face.
    “Good afternoon, Delhia,” he said politely. Then, not waiting for his greeting to be returned, he turned to grasp Leslie’s arm, drawing her to his side. “This lady is my guest. If you’ll hand me the card to the Spanish suite, please,” he continued, “I’ll see to the formality of signing in later.” Before he had finished speaking, the unsmiling man held out his right hand imperiously.
    Startled, confused and becoming distinctly uncomfortable at the frankly curious stares from the people milling in front of the desk, Leslie drew herself up to her full height, preparing to announce to him and everybody else that she would wait her turn. The clerk rushed into speech before Leslie could utter a word.
    “Certainly, Mr. Falcon,” she said crisply, spinning away to carry out his order.
    Mr. Falcon. The name reverberated inside Leslie’s head. The name of the hotel was Falcon’s Flight. Leslie swallowed a groan of dismay. She’d careened into the owner of the damned hotel! She was about to attempt another, more comprehensive apology when another thought ricocheted through her mind. The arrogant, imperious Mr. Falcon had informed all and sundry that she was his guest, and that he would attend to the formality of signing in later! So, then, what did that make her look like?
    Distracted by her speculations, Leslie was unaware of two computer-coded plastic cards changing hands. Falcon’s low, politely toned voice jarred her into awareness.
    “If you’ll come with me.” Stepping out in front of her, Falcon moved directly into the crowd. Understandably, considering his formidable appearance, those who blocked his path shuffled around to allow him passage.
    Feeling the speculative appraisal of every person in the lobby forced Leslie to follow him simply to escape the uncomfortable sensation of being weighed and measured for value per pound. Head up, shoulders back, she tossed her flaming mane like a mettlesome filly and strode after the man who moved with the fluid grace of a soaring bird.
    At the bank of elevators, Falcon passed by the other hotel guests waiting for the lifts and walked to the very last set of double doors. There was a small sign marked Private in plain block letters on one of the doors. Dipping his fingers into a pocket, he withdrew a narrow strip of plastic. As Leslie came to a stop beside him, he inserted the strip into a slot in the wall. The doors swooshed open. Inclining his head slightly, he ushered her into the conveyance.
    By the time the car began to ascend, Leslie was simmering with an explosive mixture of embarrassment, humiliation and anger. She felt like some man’s kept woman. She felt like this man’s kept woman! Leslie didn’t like the feeling.
    In a silence that seemed to vibrate with mounting tension, the cubicle swiftly rose to the fifteenth floor, then came to a smooth stop. When the doors slid apart, Falcon motioned for her to precede him into the wide carpeted corridor. His hard, expressionless face revealed not a