Banish Misfortune by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page A

ones. His hand was large, strong and warm, and it enveloped hers. He waited for her to pull away, but she made no move. Keeping her face averted, she leaned back against the worn leather seat and closed her weary eyes. Leaving her hand in his warm, oddly comforting grip.
    When Jessica had come home that afternoon her sister Sunny was at track practice and wasn't due back till six. Her mother was working, volunteer work at the hospital. She worked there every Tuesday, as Uncle Bob knew. Jessica had stood there inside the door, staring at her father's comatose figure, the heavy snores that should have been comical wafting through the room, her eyes filled with panic as Uncle Bob had loomed over her.
    They hadn't believed her, of course. Her father had slapped her face and called her a tramp. Her mother had looked her up and down with that cool, disapproving look she had perfected long ago and smiled a disbelieving smile. And Sunny had continued to run, shutting herself away from the family hysteria. And everyone apologized to Uncle Ben, who'd looked abashed and said that's all right, he understood. Jessica was prone to fantasy and exaggeration.
    That was the first time she'd slashed her wrists.
    Jessica kept her eyes on the expressway, away from Springer, letting her hand rest in his strong soothing hold. She was remembering far too much, far too often, and the man beside her only made those memories more painful. She ought to pull away from him, withdraw farther in the narrow confines of the small foreign car. But she knew she wasn't going to. And she knew she was making a mistake. Springer MacDowell was only going to add to the unbearable burdens weighing her down. With a sigh she leaned back, closing her eyes. And left her hand in his.
    Chapter Five
    Eight hours later Jessica surveyed her reflection in the mirror, looking for signs of strain beneath the iron control. Her lips were a luscious dusky red, her ice-blue eyes large and cool and luminous, her wheat-blond hair a neat cap to her delicate skull. It would have taken someone with uncommon perception to see past the coolly amused half smile, the impression of wealth and control the clinging black Halston sheath presented. She doubted that anyone milling around the Kinsey living room would be perceptive enough, or sober enough, to see more than what he or she wanted to see.
    Except for Springer. And she refused to grant him that perception. He was a stud, on the make for whatever was available, and right now she was a challenge. So what if Elyssa thought he'd given up his absorption with quantity, not quality. Jessica could hardly count herself as suddenly irresistible. She knew as well as he did that she was definitely not his type. His animosity was clear, as was the kindling light of desire that brightened those dark, fathomless eyes of his. And that light made her very, very nervous.
    She had been unconscionably stupid to let him take her hand like that. She should have pulled away with a light joke and a condescending laugh. But she hadn't. She had sat in his tiny, cramped car, staring out at the traffic, and let him hold her hand in that way. And in doing so, she had let him in closer than anyone had been in years. Never had she felt so open, so exposed, so vulnerable. It had been a much more intimate act than sex, and her guilt and dismay was far greater than if he had pulled off the expressway and taken her to a motel.
    So much for common sense, she told herself, shrugging her shoulders. Perhaps the Halston wasn't the right choice, she thought belatedly. Not with her current weight. Her shoulders looked just a tiny bit too bony beneath the halter top, and interested onlookers could probably count her ribs above the backless dress. Maybe that would be enough to drive away Springer MacDowell and X. Rickford Lincoln, leaving her to the undemanding comfort of Peter Kinsey.
    The noise of the cocktail party filtered through the open terrace windows of her bedroom. Just a