Falcon's Flight by Joan Hohl Page B

murmured at her ear.
    Feeling suddenly young and bubbly and full of expectation, Leslie waited until they had swept from the ballroom before tilting her head to give him a sparkling gaze from her long eyes. Then, her lips almost brushing his jaw, she whispered, “Yours isn’t the only game in town, Mr. Falcon.”
Four
Seven

Four
    A gust of cold wind whipped off the ocean to sweep the boardwalk, swirling bits of paper debris into the air. Clamping one hand onto her wildly flying hair, Leslie burrowed her chin into her collar and silently thanked Flint for insisting they return to his apartment for her coat before leaving the hotel.
    Deciding she needed some exercise and a lot of fresh air after the smoky warmth inside the ballroom, Leslie had opted to walk to the hotel-casino, which was situated at the far end of the boardwalk. With the realization of how cold the night wind had grown, she belatedly questioned the wisdom of her decision to walk. While one hand was warmly curled inside her coat pocket, the hand anchoring her hair was cold, as were her ears and the tip of her nose. They were still less than half the distance to their destination, and the fact that she was forced to stop every few feet to tug one or the other of the slim heels on her shoes from between the boards slowed their progress considerably. She was pondering on whether or not to request they stop at the casino they were closest to when Flint brought her to a halt by grasping her upper arm.
    “Wait a minute,” he said, turning her as he pivoted to put the wind at their backs.
    Frowning, Leslie watched as he yanked a white silk scarf from around his neck, the single concession he’d made to ward off the chill of the late-fall evening while stoically insisting that she don her winter coat. When Leslie had taunted him about the scant protection the scarf would give him, Flint had shrugged and said, “I never mind the cold.”
    Now, as he released her arm to capture the flapping end of the scarf, Leslie was inclined to believe him. Flint didn’t look cold or even chilly. His statement was further proved when, after sliding the scarf around her head, his warm fingers brushed the tender skin on the underside of her jaw as he looped one end over the other and tugged gently to fasten it.
    “There.” Stepping back, Flint cocked his head to survey his work. “That’ll keep your hair from flying all over the place and keep your ears warm as well.”
    “Thank you, but now you have no protec—” Leslie’s voice faded as she caught sight of two men from the corner of her eye. In itself, the presence of men on the boardwalk would not have caught her attention; there were many men and women strolling or rushing along the boards at all hours of the day and night, but Leslie had noticed these two particular men before, moments after she and Flint had left Falcon’s Flight.
    “Leslie?” Flint was obviously puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m probably being imaginative, but...” Leslie smiled without conviction and lowered her voice. “Flint, I believe we’re being followed by those men hovering over there.” She indicated the two men with a brief movement of her head. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the pleasant sound of his soft laughter.
    “I’ll have to talk to my security chief; they’re supposed to be inconspicuous.”
    “You mean they are following us!” Leslie gasped. “Humm.” He nodded once, then turned and continued walking, urging her along by pressing his palm to her back. “They’re my bodyguards,” he explained as she opened her mouth to question him.
    “Bodyguards?” Leslie repeated, stunned and suddenly uneasy. “Why do you need bodyguards?”
    “To protect my body,” Flint replied. Then he added, “My back, primarily.”
    “What from?” she asked, fully aware of the stupidity of her question.
    “Attack. Injury.” Flint shrugged. “Whatever.” Great. Wonderful. Terrific. Leslie shivered as the thoughts tumbled