Читать книгу Hot & Bothered - Susan Andersen - Страница 10

FORD EVANS HAMILTON OPENED his eyes and blinked the blurry room into focus. Pain splintered through his skull and throbbed along his nerve endings, and he lifted a cautious hand to probe the back of his head. It felt like an overripe cantaloupe.

What the hell had happened? Hearing muted voices, the clink of heavy crystal, he drew his eyebrows together. Was there a party going on?

Images flickered and floated on the peripheries of his mind and his brow grew smooth. Ah, yes. That’s right. There was a party—the one he’d thrown to watch McMurphy squirm. Well, McMurphy and one or two others, but the point was he had guests and he’d come into the library for a box of cigars to go with the after-dinner brandy. And…Jared had been there, right? Ford scowled as bits of their argument came drifting back and he suddenly recalled the shove his son had given him as the boy had stormed for the door. Jared was nothing but a blotch on the Hamilton name. Both his children were big disappointments.

The faint swish of fabric brushing against the Aubusson rug snagged his attention. He turned his head, wincing as fresh agony stabbed like a series of ice-pick thrusts from cranium to tailbone. He was going to make Jared rue the day he was born. Peering sourly at the slowly merging double image of the person kneeling by his side, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?” Then he pushed the question aside with an impatient wave of his fingers. “Never mind that.” He extended his arm imperiously, furious that he hurt all over. “Give me a hand.”

“Oh, I intend to,” the person murmured. “I plan on giving you a helping hand straight to hell.”

Then faster than Ford’s confused mind could process the facts, the razor-sharp silver-handled letter opener that usually rested on his mahogany desk flashed downward. And his heart exploded.