The Golden Valkyrie by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online

senses with glimpses of my strong, virile body. If that didn’t do the job, I was going to ply you with liquor and cocaine, until you were completely in my power, and then quench my insatiable hunger with your voluptuous form. Now that you’ve found me out, I can confess it all.”
    Honey was staring up at him wide-eyed, her eyes fixed in helpless fascination on the intense face so close to her own. “I beg your pardon,” she said belligerently.
    Rubinoff stared at her in blank disbelief, then closed his eyes and shook his head wonderingly. “Dear Lord, you’re utterly incredible.” He groaned softly. “You’ve got to be an imposter. How could a private detective be so damn naive?” He opened his eyes and looked down at her, his lips twisting in a wry smile. “I was joking again,” he said patiently, as if to a slightly retarded child.
    “Well, how was I to know that?” she asked defensively. “You did take an awfully long time to open the door, and when you did answer it, you weren’t exactly formally dressed.” Her gaze dropped down to his hair-roughened chest, which was now pressed closely to her own. Too closely, she thought breathlessly, because his warmth seemed to pierce the material that separated them and caused a hot, melting sensation in her limbs. She knew she should move away from this travesty of a torrid embrace, but for some reason she felt oddly weak and languid.
    “The clerk got me out of the shower when he called to announce you,” Rubinoff said resignedly. “I had to dry off and slip on a robe.”
    “Oh,” Honey said weakly. His auburn hair did look slightly damp. “Well, you did say that the only reason you wanted me here was to try to seduce me.”
    “No.” He shook his head firmly. “That’s what you said. Naturally I want to seduce you. You turn me on more than any woman I’ve ever met. But that’s not the only reason I wanted you here.” His eyes twinkled roguishly. “The principle one, but not the only one. I wanted to make amends for Manuela’s idiotic practical joke.”
    “By blackmailing me?” Honey asked doubtfully.
    “I knew that you probably wouldn’t be persuaded to come any other way,” he said absently, his gaze fixed disapprovingly on her hair. “You’ve bundled up your hair again. Why the hell do you do that, when it’s so gorgeous floating all around you like a silver cape?”
    “It’s more professional like this,” she said, feeling ridiculously guilty at his disappointment.
    She suddenly realized that she was still being held over his arm in that dramatic Valentino embrace. “Hadn’t you better let me go?” she asked breathlessly.
    “If you insist.” He sighed as he pulled her upright, then reluctantly released her and stepped back. Tightening the belt of his robe, he asked, “Would you like a drink?”
    “I’ll have a ginger ale, if you have it,” Honey answered as she followed him across the room to the mirrored bar. What was it about the man that kept her constantly in a state of uncertainty? she mused as she perched on a maroon-velvet-cushioned barstool and watched Rubinoff behind the bar deftly pouring her drink. When she had marched into the apartment a short time ago, she’d been determined that she was going to establish barriers even Houdini couldn’t overcome. Yet here she was, accepting a drink and gazing bemusedly at Rubinoff’s intent face as he concentrated on mixing his own bourbon and water. His lashes were ridiculously long for a man’s, she noticed idly. Their russet color was sun-streaked gold at the tips.
    Those lashes swept up swiftly as his head lifted, and he handed her a tall frosted glass. “Now,” he said firmly, leaning his elbows on the bar and gazing at her with surprising gravity, “we talk.”
    “I believe we’ve been doing that for some time,” Honey said dryly, taking a sip of her ginger ale. “We’ve just not been communicating.”
    His lips quirked impishly. “Oh, we’ve been