Sensuous Angel by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

little gratitude.
    “Thank you,” she muttered, snatching them from him and straightening herself quickly. She made a quick escape into the bathroom, the husky sound of his chuckle following her.
    She leaned against the closed door for a moment, trying to slow the erratic beating of her heart and the great gulps she was taking in for air.
    “He can’t be a priest!” she mouthed.
    She stumbled over her own clothing as she tried to change, but she still managed to get her clothes on quickly. She gave up on trying to repin her hair and simply brushed it and allowed it to hang loose. No time for makeup repair. And she had forgotten to burrow through a drawer for a new pair of stockings….Damn.
    Drawing a deep breath, she exited the bathroom in her bare feet. He was watching her every movement, sitting comfortably with an ankle crossed over a knee, his dark head relaxed against the chair, his fingers idly strumming its arms.
    “Tell me, Ms. Miro, how does a girl from Shrewesbury Street wind up at the Plaza?”
    Donna paused and straightened from the drawer she had been searching to face him through the mirror. “You tell me first, Father Luke, how a priest happens to wear custom clothing?”
    He smiled nonchalantly. “I have two sisters, Ms. Miro. They’re both fond of lavishing gifts on me at Christmas.”
    It didn’t ring exactly true. But then it didn’t sound like a lie either.
    Donna found a pair of stockings and slammed the drawer shut.
    “Okay, fair enough. We made money in the olive-oil business,” she said, continuing quickly with a defense mechanism that had become mechanical since her college days. “The legit olive-oil business. Being of Italian descent does not automatically make one a member of organized crime.”
    He lifted his dark eyebrows high with humor. “My dear Ms. Miro, I would have never assumed such a thing.”
    Donna flushed slightly. “I’m sorry. I got tired of the teasing at Boston U. when everyone asked if I could get a hit man for a certain professor when exams were coming up.”
    “No one likes to be stereotyped, Ms. Miro.”
    There was a calm authority to his gentle words that sent her flying back to the bathroom in confusion. What was going on here? she screamed inwardly as she stepped into the fresh stockings. She had to get away from this man—but he was her only link to Andrew McKennon and, therefore, to Lorna.
    She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the pain that could still touch her so easily. She had to find Lorna. Or did she? Maybe she should have stayed out of it…
    No. She exhaled a deep sigh. She had thought it over again and again. Lorna was as close to her as her brothers and sisters. Maybe closer. They had been friends since they had been five years old. She couldn’t take a chance that everything was all right. She had to know. If something were to happen to Lorna, she would never forgive herself for not getting involved.
    Okay, so she was involved. And being involved had cast her into the company of a priest who was making her feel as if her muscles had become wet cement and her bones had turned to jelly. Who teased her, confused her, frightened her, excited her, and made her fear for her soul.
    Donna straightened and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Her dress was simple and concealing, yet nicely sophisticated. She was twenty-eight, adjusted to the world around her, sure of her views and goals, and comfortable in her relationships with family and friends. She was not going to allow herself to appear unnerved.
    She tilted her chin slightly and flicked her long hair behind her shoulder. She was ready.
    This time she strode out of the bathroom with a calm assurance, pausing only to transfer a few things from her shoulder bag to a smaller evening purse. She didn’t glance at the man whose eyes she could feel like brands on her back until her task was complete. Then she turned and sauntered as best she could, with her ankle still weak, for the door,