Don't Tempt Me by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online

Only Justine knew the meaning behind the twinkle in his eye. “I … took a circuitous route … inadvertently. But we did make it … and without a … calamity along the way.” Mercifully, he moved behind to hold her chair for her. It hadn’t passed her notice that the two empty seats at the table for five were right next to one another. And there
was nothing she could possibly do to alter the situation—not that she wanted to. There was an excitement at the thought of sitting close to Sloane, an excitement which—given the presence of chaperons aplenty—rose, unrestrained, within her.
    It was not the first time she had been to The Four Seasons. This time, however, the fine linen tablecloths seemed whiter, the sturdy silver more richly polished, the sparkling china more elaborate. For once, the noise of the other patrons drifted by unnoticed. The realm of her attention did not veer once from her own group.
    Amid a variety of well-prepared offerings—lobster, rack of lamb, filet mignon, and prime ribs of beef—the dinner conversation intrigued her, particularly as it concentrated on Sloane, the guest of honor, and his corporate accomplishments.
    â€œI understand you spent time last year in Italy,” Charlie Stockburne spoke up. “Were you centered in any particular area?”
    Justine put down her fork to look expectantly at Sloane, who had finished and now sat comfortably back in his seat. She noted the faint crinkles of white-on-tan at the corners of his eyes, and wondered how much of his time was spent working in the sun. As she watched, the grooves at the corners of his lips deepened, accentuated by the more serious discussion.
    â€œI did spend several months there. We were hired by a group of citizens—a privately funded restoration group—to study several problems that have been plaguing the government for years.”
    â€œSuch as …” Justine’s appetite, sated in the physical sense but barely whetted in the intellectual, brought heightened life to her features.
    â€œSuch as the problem of the Leaning Tower,” he said, smiling at her, “which threatens to one day topple completely. Such as the matter of moisture in Venice—in
terms of endangering both the wealth of art work and the city itself.”
    She was surprised. “Then you aren’t dealing primarily with military issues?”
    Sloane’s gaze reflected his respect for her insight. “ You must be familiar with the history of the Rand Corporation. It began as a military-directed operation, then branched out some fifteen years ago. We began from the opposite direction. Some of our original projects, particularly once our expansion was underway, dealt with transportation problems, pollution problems, housing problems. They have, perhaps, been our specialty, though we’ve had our share of military-related contracts.”
    Once again Sloane monopolized her attention. The how and why were still an enigma. But when he talked, she listened—of her own free will and to the exclusion of everything else. Now, Richard Logan’s voice startled her.
    â€œYou aren’t advocating a buildup of arms in the underdeveloped countries, are you?” he asserted, a pacifist bent in his question to Sloane.
    Her strawberry-blond tresses swung round as Justine’s eyes flew back to Sloane’s. This was the first such challenge of the evening. With a touch of apprehension she awaited his response, wondering exactly how he would handle the issue.
    It was nearly imperceptible, that slight up-tilt of his firm chin, but it was a gesture of acceptance, a rising to face the test, just as Justine sensed this tall, broad-shouldered man would always do. He spoke with command and calm assurance.
    â€œPersonally, given my choice, I would never advocate a buildup of arms. But, in the first place, I don’t always have my choice, and, in the second, my personal