Delaney's Shadow by Ingrid Weaver Read Free Book Online

had wandered. He used to be arrogantly proud of his lovemaking skills.
    In that regard, Alan hadn’t changed. He knew how to ensure a woman’s physical pleasure. He was as tireless as a machine and just as reliable. His only flaw was his naked ambition. No, that wasn’t his only flaw. He also considered himself to be smarter than her. He probably believed this interlude had been his idea. He might even have assumed that she’d been overcome by passion.
    She’d been taught better than that. Emotions were good tools as long as you knew how to use them. Relationships should be maintained only as long as they were advantageous.
    Alan pushed aside her pearls to nuzzle her neck. “That was great.”
    She murmured what he took for agreement as she flattened her palms on the desktop. Even without seeing it, she could appreciate the patina that gave the wood its depth. Her mother had been particularly proud of this acquisition. She’d outbid several dealers in order to bring it home. Elizabeth had slipped away from her governess to watch from the second-floor gallery as the chauffeur had maneuvered it up the stairs to her sitting room. One of the gardeners had been pressed into service to help. That had been a sight. Constance had made him remove his boots before he set foot on the marble floor of the foyer with no more than a lift of her eyebrow.
    But the desk hadn’t remained at the house. The moment her father had seen it, he’d decided to have it for himself and had it moved to his office.
    Stanford Graye had had a weakness for pretty things. Like the desk and the Picassos. And his new wife.
    Elizabeth curled her nails against the wood and moved her gaze to the window. The Manhattan skyline twinkled like jewels in a giant crown. It was a clichéd comparison, but she’d always thought it fitting since her father had ruled his kingdom from this place. The power he’d wielded had intoxicated her. He’d seemed invincible. His greatest strengths had been his exceptional memory and his knack for recognizing an individual’s weakness. He was a master at manipulation. People lined up for the privilege of letting him have his way and believed it was their idea. He’d been a modern-day Tom Sawyer, reaping profits while others painted his fence. All her life, she’d watched and learned and dreamed of being just like him.
    How many times had he sat behind this desk at the end of the day, his sleeves rolled up, the ice cubes tinkling as he sipped his drink? He used to ask her opinion. He’d pretended to listen to her, because he’d known that’s what she wanted. Then had come the day when he actually did listen to her. She’d never been prouder. She’d never felt more loved. What shall we do, Bethie? What do you think?
    Alan rubbed his cheek against hers. “Come home with me. Let’s finish this on a bed.”
    Elizabeth tipped her head away. Alan’s skin was like sandpaper. He should be shaving twice a day, but he rarely did. She should have remembered that. She put her hands on his shoulders, using the movement to ease back the cuff of her jacket so she could check her watch. “I can’t. I have some things I need to take care of here.”
    “They can wait.”
    The self-satisfied tone drove away any lingering pleasure. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear his touch on her flesh. She gave Alan a firm push and twisted her hips to dislodge him. She stood, turning her back while she straightened her clothes. “No, I’m afraid I need to deal with them now. You might as well go home.”
    “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
    The sound of his zipper set her teeth on edge. “Yes, Alan. It is.”
    He brushed aside a lock of hair that had come loose from her twist. “I thought what we did here meant you’d changed your mind about us, Elizabeth.”
    She didn’t like his tone now, either. It implied an obligation she’d never agreed to. She and Alan had indulged in a casual affair a year ago. For a while, perhaps, she had