The Perfect Temptation Read Online Free Page B
Author: Leslie Lafoy
most
insufferable man in all of London.
In all of England. Perhaps even
the entire British empire. The
possibility of enduring his
questioning and derisive comments
for the foreseeable future was more
than she could
bear. "Is there some
particular reason why you have this apparent
compulsion to needle me, Mr.
Terrell?" she demanded,
determined to resolve their
contest one way or the other. "Do
I remind you of someone you
especially dislike?"
"Well, you certainly don't
appear to have any difficulty in
asking a direct question."
''A related
truth, Mr. Terrell," she shot back . "Perhaps
even an attempt to change the
subject. But not an answer."
His smile was easy and broad,
crinkling the corners of his
eyes and sending a hard jolt into
the center of her chest. "And
you don't appear to like evasion
any better than I do, Miss
Radford. Shall we call a truce? Or shall we just continue to
verbally fence until one of us
actually succeeds in drawing
blood?"
A truce? Dear God, no. Not under
any circumstances. She
needed to keep as much distance
as possible between them;
he had a way of undermining her
concentration , of stirring
feelings that she suspected might
grow to be uncontrollable.
"I don't much care for your
manner, Mr. Terrell," she admitted.
"You're disrespectful,
sarcastic, and appear to be, at
best, only marginally interested
in the task to which you've
been assigned."
He snorted softly and his smile
widened. "I've been assigned
to the task for less than fifteen
minutes. The majority
of that time has been spent
trying to pry straight answers out
of you. And not altogether
successfully, I might add. Which
means that, to this point,
anyway, you haven ' t earned my respect."
His smile faded and his eyes
darkened to the color of
a storm-shadowed sea "As for
sarcasm ... I don't like being
treated like a boot-licking
minion, Miss Radford."
"Especially by women,"
she clarified, her pulse racing in
the face of prodding his obvious
anger.
"Mostly by spinsters with an
inflated sense of self-importance."
There it was; the unvarnished
truth of it. He'd accurately
concluded that she wasn't the
sort of woman who would
ever wrap herself around his
ankles and beg him to deliver
her from evil. And since she
didn't meet his standards of
femininity, he wasn't obligated
to meet the expectations of a
modern Saint George. It certainly
wasn't the first time she'd
been declared insufficiently
female, but that truth didn't dull
the pain. In fact, inexplicably,
the barb seemed to have gone
deeper this time than ever
before.
Summoning every shred of her
dignity, Alex found what
she hoped passed as a serene
smile and said, "It's apparent
that we're not going to be able
to work well together, Mr. Terrell.
I think it would be best
if we had the driver turn back."
"As long as you
understand," he countered, "that I'm the
closest approximation to a
gentleman that Barrett Stanbridge
can assign to you. If you're
looking for abject subservience,
you're going to have to find
another private investigator."
Subservience would be perfect. It
was the way men had
usually treated her. It was one
of the more positive benefits of
being a royal tutor, the only
British member of a royal Indian
household. "Mr. Stanbridge
himself will do quite nicely," she
mused aloud. "He has a most
appropriate demeanor."
Terrell glared at her as another
of his derisive smiles
lifted one corner of his mouth.
Alex drew a slow, deep breath
and waited.
"If Barrett were the least
interested in being the one to
stand between the little raja and
harm, he would have stepped
up to it and you and I would have
ended our acquaintance at
his office doorway. But since
it's you and me sitting in this
rented hack together ... "
She'd been backed into a corner.
Ruthlessly tamping down
a swell of fear, Alex calmly
announced, ''Then I will simply
have to find
insufferable man in all of London.
In all of England. Perhaps even
the entire British empire. The
possibility of enduring his
questioning and derisive comments
for the foreseeable future was more
than she could
bear. "Is there some
particular reason why you have this apparent
compulsion to needle me, Mr.
Terrell?" she demanded,
determined to resolve their
contest one way or the other. "Do
I remind you of someone you
especially dislike?"
"Well, you certainly don't
appear to have any difficulty in
asking a direct question."
''A related
truth, Mr. Terrell," she shot back . "Perhaps
even an attempt to change the
subject. But not an answer."
His smile was easy and broad,
crinkling the corners of his
eyes and sending a hard jolt into
the center of her chest. "And
you don't appear to like evasion
any better than I do, Miss
Radford. Shall we call a truce? Or shall we just continue to
verbally fence until one of us
actually succeeds in drawing
blood?"
A truce? Dear God, no. Not under
any circumstances. She
needed to keep as much distance
as possible between them;
he had a way of undermining her
concentration , of stirring
feelings that she suspected might
grow to be uncontrollable.
"I don't much care for your
manner, Mr. Terrell," she admitted.
"You're disrespectful,
sarcastic, and appear to be, at
best, only marginally interested
in the task to which you've
been assigned."
He snorted softly and his smile
widened. "I've been assigned
to the task for less than fifteen
minutes. The majority
of that time has been spent
trying to pry straight answers out
of you. And not altogether
successfully, I might add. Which
means that, to this point,
anyway, you haven ' t earned my respect."
His smile faded and his eyes
darkened to the color of
a storm-shadowed sea "As for
sarcasm ... I don't like being
treated like a boot-licking
minion, Miss Radford."
"Especially by women,"
she clarified, her pulse racing in
the face of prodding his obvious
anger.
"Mostly by spinsters with an
inflated sense of self-importance."
There it was; the unvarnished
truth of it. He'd accurately
concluded that she wasn't the
sort of woman who would
ever wrap herself around his
ankles and beg him to deliver
her from evil. And since she
didn't meet his standards of
femininity, he wasn't obligated
to meet the expectations of a
modern Saint George. It certainly
wasn't the first time she'd
been declared insufficiently
female, but that truth didn't dull
the pain. In fact, inexplicably,
the barb seemed to have gone
deeper this time than ever
before.
Summoning every shred of her
dignity, Alex found what
she hoped passed as a serene
smile and said, "It's apparent
that we're not going to be able
to work well together, Mr. Terrell.
I think it would be best
if we had the driver turn back."
"As long as you
understand," he countered, "that I'm the
closest approximation to a
gentleman that Barrett Stanbridge
can assign to you. If you're
looking for abject subservience,
you're going to have to find
another private investigator."
Subservience would be perfect. It
was the way men had
usually treated her. It was one
of the more positive benefits of
being a royal tutor, the only
British member of a royal Indian
household. "Mr. Stanbridge
himself will do quite nicely," she
mused aloud. "He has a most
appropriate demeanor."
Terrell glared at her as another
of his derisive smiles
lifted one corner of his mouth.
Alex drew a slow, deep breath
and waited.
"If Barrett were the least
interested in being the one to
stand between the little raja and
harm, he would have stepped
up to it and you and I would have
ended our acquaintance at
his office doorway. But since
it's you and me sitting in this
rented hack together ... "
She'd been backed into a corner.
Ruthlessly tamping down
a swell of fear, Alex calmly
announced, ''Then I will simply
have to find