Petals on the Pillow by Eileen Rendahl Read Free Book Online Page B

What a way to get recommendations for future commissions, she scolded herself, jump into bed with your patrons before you even present them with working drawings.
    “Good morning to you, Miss Donovan,” he replied. His voice rumbled like rough silk. Kelly wondered if anyone else had noticed that the temperature in the kitchen had risen a degree or two or that Harrison’s glance seemed to be travel ling up and down her until her T-shirt and jeans felt transparent. His obvious appraisal of her left her breathless and she seriously doubted that this was the same measuring look he had given to all the nay-sayers on Wall Street when they’d told him he was crazy to sell off his grandfather’s prosperous lumber firm. It absolutely couldn’t be the same look he’d used to cow the advisors who had told him never to invest in such a specialized and high-tech business as the building of automatic pilot systems for jets, and it definitely was not the chilly glance he gave to the sycophants of the business world who now fawned over him when he deigned to grace them with his presence from time to time, all of which he was famous for. Not unless Harrison wanted half the financial world entertaining some very unbusiness-like thoughts about him.
    “Will you be wanting some cream in your coffee then, Mr. St. John?” Mrs. Jenkins asked, her voice bright and false. “I’ve some fresh in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”
    Harrison frowned, twin lines creasing his forehead, as he turned to look at Mrs. Jenkins. “You know I always take my coffee black, Dora. What on earth are you talking about?”
    “Just thought you might like a change,” she answered, wip ing away the last of Betsy’s tears before heaving herself back to her feet and lumbering back to the stove to give the pot a stir.
    Betsy kept her head ducked forward, allowing her straight dark hair to shield her face, but she needn’t have bothered. Her father’s gaze skipped lightly over her again to follow Mrs. Jenkins to the stove. He spoke to the air when he said, “So what were you all discussing so intently when I came in?”
    Kelly trod lightly on Betsy’s foot before the girl could reply and shook her head quickly. She tried to keep her own voice nonchalant. “Oh, we were just making some plans to do our preparatory work. Why don’t you run along, Betsy? Meet me in my room in about ten minutes and we’ll get started. Okay?” Kelly gave the girl’s hand a squeeze. She got a squeeze back in return and Betsy scurried out of the room.
    Kelly gathered up her dishes and took them to the sink. She walked to the coffee maker to refill her cup and immediately wished she hadn’t wandered so close to Harrison St. John’s magnetic pull. The air around her sizzled as he slid the mug from her hand and refilled it himself.
    “I trust you had more pleasant dreams after you returned to your room, Miss Donovan?” he said as he handed back her full coffee mug. For a moment, their fingers touched and he resisted her effort to pull away. The resonance of his deep voice thrummed through her, as did the heat from his hard blunt fingertips.
    “I don’t know about the dreams. I slept though. And you?” Kelly returned his gaze evenly, although her breath had contin ued to quicken and she knew her cheeks must be stained crimson. He released the mug, but the effect of his voice still had her wanting to cross her legs.
    Harrison shrugged. A twist of a smile moved his lips.
    Mrs. Jenkins bustled past them, apparently oblivious to the electricity that bristled between Harrison and Kelly. “Miss Kendra says that Mr. David will be paying us a call today,” she said over her shoulder.
    Harrison glanced at his watch and Kelly watched his face go impassive, blank. It was a strange process and a unique one for an artist to watch. Used to picking out the subtle variations of shape and proportion that make everyone unique, Kelly still couldn’t quite pinpoint how Harrison rearranged