Heart of the Dragon by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

you.”
    “Exactly what
were
you planning to do to me, then? Or rather, what
are
you planning? What happened to your big, bad threat from this afternoon?”
    He studied her in exasperation, but kept a cool maskon his face. “I assure you, if you cause me or my client any trouble, you’ll regret it.”
    “Would you do something worse than this, or use a
different
kind of torture and intimidation?” Sarcasm cut through her voice.
    “Really, Ms. Brown, we villains prefer to keep our strategy to ourselves.”
    “What could be worse than this? Being beaten up? Sold into slavery? Forced to eat liver and onions? I really
hate
liver and onions.”
    “You don’t seem too worried about my intentions.”
    “I’m not certain why you’re playing Sir Galahad, that’s all.”
    He gestured toward his hooded eyes and tawny skin. “Sir Galahad? There’s nothing English about this face.”
    “Exactly where are you from?”
    “Virginia. I have what’s known as a Tidewater southern accent. Very old and proper. Why, don’t I look as if I belong among the magnolias and the peaches?”
    “No, you look like you belong in a desert tent with your harem. Or in a pagoda with your concubines.”
    He laughed shortly, a little stunned by her perception—not the harem and concubines part, but the cultural connection. “My mother was half Egyptian and half Vietnamese. My father was an American Army adviser assigned to Saigon before the Vietnam War started. I was told that he was from New Jersey. And obviously of Italian heritage, with a name like Santelli.”
    Her eyes widened with surprise. Whether she approved of his mixed heritage or not, he couldn’t tell. “You never knew him?” she asked.
    “No.” The reasons behind that weren’t something he cared to discuss. He’d already told her more than he revealed to most people. Worse, he couldn’t believe that he’d so easily confided personal information to her, a woman he hardly knew.
    He closed his hand around her upper arm and tried not to be distracted by the firm, sleek feel of it under hisshirtsleeve. “Why are we standing here chatting like two accountants who’ve just met at a singles bar? You’ve been robbed of everything you own. You should be weeping and tearing your hair out—something I, as a typical villain, could sneer at.”
    “There’s nothing typical about
you
. If I’m not hysterical, it’s because I’m not the hysterical type. I tend to become stubborn and make dumb jokes when life gets rotten. And when I’ve got a decision to make.”
    “What is that?”
    “I’m going to call the Bangkok police and report everything that’s happened to me today. Then I’ll call the American embassy. Your name will figure prominently in everything I say.”
    “I love compliments.”
    “Don’t count on them, bub.”
    He motioned toward the other room. “Can we sit down and hold a
civilized
argument?” He glanced around. “I never conduct important discussions in boudoirs smelling of cinnamon bath soap. Very interesting, though. Do you think of yourself as a cinnamon bun, a cookie, or a steaming cup of hot, spiced cider?”
    She stiffened and gave him a fierce look. “A cold vanilla milkshake with poison in it. Please, take a big sip.”
    “Invitations were made to be accepted.”
    He pulled her to him and kissed her lightly. Her sharp gasp broke against his mouth. He held her in a loose embrace, one she could easily pull away from, but instead of shoving him away, she twisted her mouth tightly on his, then reached up and pinched his right ear so hard that tears came to his eyes. But he stood absolutely still, refusing to break the kiss, astonished at his impulse and her reaction.
    He felt her tremble against him. Slowly her hand dropped to his shoulder and clenched his soft cotton undershirt. Her mouth was as mobile as his own, and just as aggressive. Waves of desire shot through him,stunning him. He was far from being a stranger to desire, but not this