Velvet Touch Read Online Free

comfortably, brandy in
hand. Nights in the San Juans could be chilly.
    "Because it's the only night spot on the island?"
Lacey hazarded as Holt Randolph glanced up from his conversation with an
elderly woman near the fire.
    Jeremy laughed. "How did you guess? Many of the people
who show up later on for the dancing will be from private cottages and motels
in the area. It makes for a fairly lively crowd. Ah! We've been spotted. Here
comes the brandy."
    Holt was making his way toward them, every inch the
charming host as far as Lacey could determine. He was wearing a summer-weight
linen jacket in a fine light blue pinstripe. Dark blue slacks and a crisp white
shirt went together nicely to give him a casually elegant look. In one hand he
carried a bottle of expensive brandy and two small glasses.
    The smile was for both herself and Jeremy, Lacey guessed,
but she knew the swift, appraising glance was directed at her alone. In spite
of Jeremy's admonition not to worry about her clothes, she was glad she'd
stopped in Seattle long enough to replace some of the wardrobe she'd sold at
the yard sale.
    Tonight
was the first chance she'd had to wear the exotically patterned silk dress from
India. Worn belted at the waist, it drifted around her knees. The look was
satisfyingly casual and rich in an understated way. The jewel-toned blues and
greens complimented the dark fire of her hair and reflected the color of her
eyes. She saw the flash of pleasure in Holt's expression and wondered why it
pleased her.
    "I'm glad you could make it," he said suavely,
handing her and Jeremy a glass and pouring brandy. "Jeremy, you've been
here a week and know the routine. I'll leave you on your own while I introduce
Lacey."
    "I can do that. . ." Jeremy started to say but
Lacey found herself whisked out of earshot before the protest could be
completed.
    "One of the few privileges of being in charge around
here," Holt murmured by way of explanation, one hand locked firmly under
her arm. "The boy's too young for you, anyway," he added outrageously.
    "I'll be thirty this summer, Mr. Randolph," Lacey
retorted coolly. "At my age a woman starts appreciating younger
men!" Never in a million years would she have made a remark like that to a
near-stranger back in Iowa, she thought happily.
    He cocked one tawny brow, turning his head to look down at
her. "Surely even back in the Midwest women have learned the value of the
. . . er. . . vintage stuff over the brashness of younger material!"
    Lacey drew a small breath. She wasn't accustomed to this
sort of conversation with a man she'd just met But if that was the way they did
things out here . . .
    "I came out West to find variety, Mr. Randolph, not to
prove the wisdom of old adages."
    He brought her to a halt in front of the fireplace and his
mouth twisted sardonically as he watched her sip his brandy. "You're
determined to leave all the old ways behind?" he inquired softly.
    "All
of them."
    "Does
that include a man?"
    "I don't think that's really any of your
business," Lacey said calmly, growing uneasily aware of the intensity of
that silvery gaze. It seemed to spark a curious response in her, a kind of
excitement that went beyond that normally produced in a mild flirtation.
    But that must be what it was, she told herself placatingly.
A flirtation. Her second since arriving, if she counted Jeremy. Life was
looking up. And, while she had determined that Holt Randolph didn't represent
what she was searching for now in a man, the practice couldn't hurt.
    "I only wanted to be prepared in case some irate male
shows up on my doorstep and accuses me of harboring a runaway wife," Holt
assured her.
    "You're quite safe. There's no husband to come running
after me. He left me willingly and everyone else back there thinks I've gone
crazy," she admitted with a grin.
    "Have
you?"
    "I prefer to think I escaped before I actually did go
crazy!"
    "Sure you're not just on the rebound from the missing
husband?"
    "Do you always get this