Sensuous Angel Read Online Free Page B

can’t tell you anything until—” He broke off suddenly as there was a tap at the door and called out, “Come in, Mary.”
    Mary bustled back into the room with a tea cart, the top tier carrying a beautifully etched silver tea service and lovely bone-china cups while the lower tier carried a plain yellow bucket. “First things first!” Mary commanded with a smile. “Luke, why don’t you serve your guest some tea while I see to her ankle.”
    Luke complied with no comment. “Cream, sugar, lemon?”
    “Just plain, thanks—oh!”
    Donna gasped as Mary took a no-nonsense hold of her foot. “Father’s right, Miss Miro—nothing here but a mild sprain.” Donna heard her shoe make a soft clunking sound as it hit the carpet. “Let’s get your stocking off now….”
    Mary waited expectantly. Donna again felt herself turn an absurd shade of red. Why couldn’t she have been rescued by a nice white-haired priest with a rotund potbelly? Why this man who was once more watching her with amusement-laden eyes that somehow portrayed a sensuality that made heat rip along her spine?
    “Come, come, now…Donna! We must get this ankle into the hot water—” Mary broke off abruptly, seeing the flush on Donna’s cheeks and the electricity that seemed to spark between Luke’s devilish gold and her crystal-blue eyes. She laughed delightedly. “I’m so sorry! Luke, step out of the room, please. You’re embarrassing the lady!”
    Luke smiled, then obligingly left the room. Mary discreetly joined him.
    Donna hurriedly ripped off her remaining shoe and her pantyhose, watching the door all the while and berating herself for doing it. He wasn’t going to come barging back into the room.
    “Miss Miro?” Mary called, tapping on the door lightly.
    “All set,” Donna returned with a breath of relief.
    A second later her ankle was feeling nicely soothed, and Mary was leaning with stern instructions that Donna keep the ankle soaking for at least twenty minutes. Donna was totally taken off guard as the devastating priest brought two cups of tea, handed her one, and sat comfortably beside her on the sofa.
    “Well…tell me more about yourself,” he urged her in a noncommittal tone.
    Donna busied herself with her tea, trying to ignore the ruggedly masculine, scintillating scent of his aftershave. She felt that if he touched her again she would shoot through the ceiling with the sear of his magnetic heat.
    He was an extremely attractive man, but she was at a loss to understand the intensity of her reactions to him. She tended to be wary of strangers—men in particular—and she had never felt such a physical attraction before. She sipped her tea quickly, silently praying, God, make me stop this! But the feelings stayed with her—and so did the guilt and embarrassment. She had to pull herself together quickly. She couldn’t afford to spend a minute dwelling on her strange reactions. Each nuance of his rich voice warned her that he could be a formidable foe.
    “You already know my name,” she said irritably, now watching the steam that rose above her cup. “I live outside of Worcester, Mass. I’m twenty-eight years old. I graduated from Boston U. with honors. You can check on any of the information I’ve given you. I’m completely legit, Father, which I’m beginning to think you’re not.”
    Donna heard the flick of a lighter. She turned back to the priest. He had lit a cigarette and was staring idly at the smoke as it whirled into the air. He spoke without glancing her way. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miro. It’s just as I’ve told you. I don’t really have the right to tell you anything.”
    Donna felt every muscle within her body tense. “Why not? What is the great mystery here?”
    The golden eyes lit upon her, uncomfortably probing and knowing. He didn’t reply.
    “There is something very wrong, isn’t there?”
    He shrugged. “Very wrong? I don’t know. I’m not God.”
    “You might have fooled me,” Donna muttered