Free Heather Graham by Siren from the Sea Page A

She’s eighteen, I believe, sometimes sweet, sometimes rebellious but very pretty and nice. The Joneses are thoroughly pleasant—and Edith’s a delight. Carrie Jones is the granddaughter of an earl, you see. Josh has the Midas touch, so they’re also the most fascinatingly affluent of our group.”
    Brittany smiled at him as he glanced her way, then turned her gaze to the winding road before them. She had felt a touch of electric warmth when their eyes had met. He liked the people he was talking about; they were his friends. He could comment on their foibles with no rancor, but with a gentle humor, and she felt that he included himself when he wryly mocked the social stratum in which he moved. And she liked that about him; she sensed that she would understand all that he had said when she met these people, and that she would meet his eyes again later that evening and know that he was sending a silent message. “See, I told you that we were all a bit off the wall!”
    And she would understand. She would smile because it would be so nice to be on the same wavelength, so nice to share that unspoken communication.
    Danger zone, Brittany, she warned herself. It was startling to learn that she was to meet her third quarry that evening—Joshua Jones—as well as Ian Drury. She had been wondering how to approach Jones. A little frown formed between her eyes. Jones was married to the granddaughter of an earl. He had a Midas touch. He didn’t sound like the type of man who would embezzle from little old ladies. But then neither did Flynn. Not Flynn. But Flynn was guilty of lying …
    “And what is Ian like?”
    “Charming I suppose,” Flynn said with a noncommittal shrug. “He throws good parties.”
    He wasn’t looking at her, so she couldn’t begin to read his expression. There didn’t seem to be any hostility to his tone, it was pleasant and casual enough … maybe just a shade more tense than it had been before?
    Brittany waited a minute, but he wasn’t going to say any more. “And who is Rose?” she prompted at last.
    Damn, if he didn’t smile! Slowly, a lazy grin just curling pleasantly into the line of his lips. “Rose,” he murmured, and she sensed his affection for the woman from the warmth of his tone.
    “Is she English?” Brittany prompted when it appeared that he had forgotten to answer her, being too absorbed in his own reflections. Brittany was annoyed, then irritated—because she had felt herself becoming so annoyed.
    “Rosy?” He queried, glancing her way. “No, Rosy is very much a Spaniard. Young and wild and very impetuous. A lot of fun. You’ll like her.”
    Will I? Brittany wondered. And then she was horrified to realize that jealousy was creeping into her system. Dear Lord, she couldn’t be jealous. She couldn’t allow this man to mean anything to her …
    “There’s Ian’s house now. You can just see his casa through the trees.”
    Brittany caught sight of the sprawling white structure through dark and spidery branches. It was one-storied, with an elaborate and porticoed entryway. If Ian Drury’s casa hadn’t been impressive by sheer size, its entry—with the five towering columns and foliaged, sweeping drive—would have earned a gasp of admiration on its own.
    “It’s marvelous,” Brittany murmured.
    “You like it better than mine?” He was gazing her way, eyes sparkling, deep blue and jet, and a brow raised teasingly.
    “Oh, no,” Brittany responded lightly in kind. “Your casa has much more character.”
    It did. It housed his character.
    Flynn chuckled softly, enjoying her response. “Let’s hope you still feel that way when the evening’s over,” he murmured.
    The car passed by an iron gate; Flynn waved to the guard on duty, and the guard—apparently accustomed to his car—waved in return. They began a slight ascent; the house wasn’t really on a hill, it was just elevated. The drive curved gracefully through a myriad of tall and flowered bushes and then the