Free Falcon's Flight by Joan Hohl Page A

stroking the taut material shielding her breast. “Besides that fact, I haven’t been with a man in over a year,” she admitted in a breathless rush. “And I’m feeling more than a little uncertain about what I’m doing here.”
    Flint went still for a moment before, stepping back, he turned her to face him. “Why?” His voice combined amazement and curiosity.
    Thinking he referred to the last part of her explanation, she said, “I told you, I’m unaccustomed...” Her voice faded as he shook his head.
    “I don’t mean that,” he said, dismissing her attempt at elaboration. “Why haven’t you been with a man in over a year?”
    Surprised by the tight, oddly excited inflection in his voice, Leslie stared at him in utter confusion. His impatient “Answer me!” brought her to her senses.
    “Because I went through a rather nasty divorce a year ago,” she snapped, whirling away from him to descend the stairs into the living room. As she neared the center of the large room, Leslie felt him behind her and she spun around to face him again. “I haven’t been having particularly kind thoughts about men in general during the past year,” she said, revealing hidden bitterness she had thought she’d put behind her. She tried a careless shrug and failed miserably. “Unkind thoughts are not conducive to love affairs,” she said, smiling dryly, “which I’m unaccustomed to indulging in, anyway.”
    The sensuous mood was broken, at least temporarily. Leslie knew it and, judging by his expression, so did Flint. His lips slanting in a wry smile, he sauntered to the ornately carved credenza.
    “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, opening the long cabinet to reveal a well-stocked bar and a small refrigerator.
    “Will I need it?” Leslie’s question earned her a flashing grin from Flint, a grin so blatantly sexy she suddenly tensed with anticipation again.
    “If you mean as fortification to face what is definitely going to happen later, then no, you don’t need it.” Flint’s grin softened into a smile. “There’s no hurry, Leslie. We have all the time you require. Now can I get you a drink?”
    “Will you be joining me?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then yes, please. I’ll have a glass of white wine.”
    After pouring out two glasses of wine, Flint led Leslie to the long couch positioned in front of the window wall. He waited until she was comfortably seated, then handed her a glass before sitting down beside her and draping his arm around her shoulders. Sipping the wine, Leslie steeled herself for the questions about her marriage and subsequent divorce that she felt positive were coming. She nearly choked on her wine when Flint finally spoke.
    “So tell me,” he invited softly, “what do you think of the view?”
    Sputtering, laughing, Leslie cradled her wineglass protectively and stared into his gleaming dark eyes. He is a devil, she decided, catching her breath, an enchanting, beguiling devil of a man. And all the more dangerous for it!
    “The view is spectacular and you know it.” Leslie’s voice revealed the delight she found in him; somehow she didn’t care.
    Flint obviously did care. The deep, exciting sound of his appreciative laughter was nearly her undoing. “Of course 1 know the view’s spectacular,” he admitted, “but the question did break the tension, didn’t it?”
    “Okay, 1 give up.” Emitting a dramatic sigh, she settled in for the inquisition. “What do you want to know?”
    “Everything,” Flint responded immediately, surprising himself more than her. “Start at the beginning and take it from there.”
    Giving him a prim look, Leslie projected herself into the role of a young girl, about to render her first public recitation. “I was born thirty-seven years ago in a small town in—” That was as far as he allowed her to go.
    “Leslie.” Flint’s voice was low and tinged with amusement, but it also held a hint of warning. Leslie decided on prudence and took the