The Cop And The Chorus Girl. Nancy Martin
Читать онлайн книгу.
go through with the wedding. Not for the wrong reasons. I—I just felt like I better run away before things got any worse. You ever feel like that?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Something seemed to click in his head and then register on the narrow planes of his face. Then he said, “Yeah, I’ve felt like that.”
“Now I don’t know what to think,” she said slowly. “I need some time.”
“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Sir Galahad, suddenly acting as if he was waking from a dream. “The neighbors are beginning to suspect.”
Dixie glanced upward and found several residents of the quiet street hanging out their second-floor windows to get a glimpse of her. One woman seemed to be talking on her portable telephone while pointing down at Dixie as if she’d just discovered Princess Di below her windowbox.
“Uh-oh,” Dixie muttered. “In five minutes there’ll be a dozen photographers here snapping my picture.”
“And mine,” said Galahad, slipping his helmet over his dark hair once more. “Let’s split.”
He climbed onto the bike and started it with a jouncing kick that sent Dixie grabbing for his waist. He turned his head. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
Dixie held on tightly this time as her rescuer guided his motorcycle around the streets, winding through traffic with smooth expertise.
You haven’t put yourself in another man’s hands, Dixie told herself sternly. It just feels that way.
She made a silent vow not to let this one take control of her life the way Joey had.
Of course, this one didn’t act like Joey at all. He was younger—in his mid-thirties, no doubt—and had a sweet face beneath the hard expression he tried to maintain. He looked handsome and laconic—a young Gary Cooper. Only with more hair. She assumed he was some kind of mechanic, judging by his deep feelings for a silly machine.
Right off, Dixie had noticed a distinct gleam of compassion in his dark eyes. When she’d run out of the church, he’d been the only one to pay the slightest attention.
And he hadn’t dumped her on the sidewalk when she’d begged for help. He’d even landed a pretty good punch on George’s chin—George, who prided himself on being Joey Torrano’s invincible bodyguard. He’d knocked George down without even thinking about it. The other bodyguard had been short work for Galahad, too.
He had good instincts, she decided. And a kind heart—even though he didn’t really want one. For a simple mechanic, he seemed to be fighting a gentlemanly side. That thought gave Dixie courage.
She leaned forward. “One question, sugar. What’s your name?”
Tilting his head back so the wind carried his voice better, he answered, “Flynn.”
“Flynn what?”
“Just Flynn.”
She laughed. “What kind of man gives himself just one name?”
“That’s two questions,” he retorted, demonstrating a modicum of humor.
“You keeping secrets, sugar?”
“Let me ask you a question first.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Why did you kiss me?”
Two
“Oh, sugar, I am ashamed of that.”
Dixie didn’t want to explain. How could she, really? What sensible person would believe the power of the famous Butterfield kiss? It had started with Great-Grandma Butterfield and had been passed down through the generations directly to Dixie herself. All her life she’d been warned about abusing her gift. And now she’d gone and done it.
“I’m really sorry, sugar.”
And she was. But Dixie had to know Flynn a whole lot better before she explained herself to him. He just wasn’t going to understand yet. So she said, “Let’s talk about that later, okay? Take me to the Plaza.”
“The Plaza!” he echoed. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s the safest place right now. Trust me.”
“I thought you wanted to get away from Joey Torrano, not walk straight into his bedroom!”
“It’s my bedroom, not his.”
“You think that will stop him from sending his goons in to grab you?”
“Believe me, sugar, it’s the best place for me right now.”
He growled something deep in his throat, but opened the throttle and pointed his motorcycle in the direction of the Plaza Hotel, where Dixie had set up housekeeping.
She held on tight while Flynn wove his motorcycle through Manhattan’s weekend traffic.
The hotel loomed elegantly over the southernmost edge of Central Park. A line of horse-drawn carriages drowsed in the sun out front, awaiting tourists. A liveried doorman stood on the staircase, frequently moving down to open the doors of the limousines and taxis that disgorged Plaza guests. He directed a fleet of scurrying bellhops to carry scads of expensive luggage in and out of the grand hotel.
All these sights had seemed like part of a movie set when Dixie had first arrived in the city. Now she accepted them as part of her amazing new life.
A life she couldn’t wait to leave behind.
Since her earliest memory, Dixie had been groomed for her shot at the Big Time. She had taken tap-dancing lessons and endured hours at her aunt Lucy’s Sweet Creek Hair Boutique. She’d entered beauty pageants and talent contests since the age of four. She’d been the Dairy Princess and the Fire Queen and Miss Teen Texas.
Now—finally—here she was in the Big Apple with spotlights and autograph seekers and a hit show on Broadway. People sent flowers and candy and marriage proposals.
And Dixie couldn’t stand it.
I’m going back to Texas as soon as I can, she told herself.
But first there were a few loose ends to clean up.
Dixie clutched Flynn tightly when he swerved the bike across traffic to enter the Plaza. On the steps the doorman froze in his tracks as Flynn pulled his motorcycle under the hotel’s expansive canopy and stopped. Flynn took one look at the disdainful doorman and made no move to get off the bike. Over his shoulder, he said to Dixie, “Look, this isn’t exactly my kind of place.”
“Not mine, either,” Dixie retorted, clambering off the bike in a flounce of white satin. “But it’s amazing how fast you can get used to luxury. Come on.”
“What for?”
She faced Flynn, determined to hang on to him a little longer. For the first time since arriving in New York, Dixie felt as if she’d found somebody she didn’t want to lose just yet.
Being honest for the first time in a long while, she said, “I need your help. You have to come inside.”
Flynn looked stubborn. “Why?”
The hotel doorman marched over and sketched a bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Davis. We weren’t expecting your return for a few hours.”
“Oh, hello, Barney. Uh—I’m planning a surprise for Joey.” She gave him a big grin and wound her arm sinuously around the doorman’s burly elbow. “You’ll play along with me, won’t you?”
Barney responded with a blushing smile. He, too, had fallen for the charms Dixie just couldn’t hide. “Of course, Miss Davis. I figured this was some kind of gag.” He indicated Flynn’s motorcycle with an unflattering wave of his hand. “You