Falcon's Flight by Joan Hohl

like your cousin’s got his priorities straight,” Flint observed in dry agreement. “But of course you wouldn’t allow it?”
    “Of course not,” Leslie concurred, settling her head against the back of the sofa. “But I must admit I was tempted.” Her voice had lowered to a sleepy murmur.
    “I must admit, so am I.”
    “He’s not worth the effort. You’d only dirty your hands on the slimy jerk.” Leslie lost the battle against her heavy eyelids. A soft sigh breathed through her lips as her body relaxed. The glass in her fingers tilted precariously. “I had heard that confession was good for the soul,” she muttered. “But I had no idea it was so very exhausting.”
    “Careful, Red,” Flint murmured, plucking the glass from her limp hand, “you don’t want to stain that dress.”
    Leslie was poised on the edge of sleep, teetering uncertainly. She had the vague feeling that she should remain alert, she just couldn’t remember why. Flint resolved her dilemma in the most comforting way; he drew her into the protective warmth of his arms. She heard his voice as if from a great distance as she snuggled into a deeper embrace.
    “Sleep, darling. Nothing will hurt you here,” Flint whispered against her silky hair. “Not even me.”
    Five
    Leslie came awake slowly to the luxurious feeling of warm comfort and the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee. Inhaling deeply, she freed her arms from the covers and stretched them over her head, murmuring an appreciative “Humm.”
    “Good morning.”
    The soft greeting brought Leslie fully alert. Blinking, she focused on the tall man standing by the unfamiliar bed, his long hands curled around steaming cups. Her heartbeat fluttering into a rapid tattoo, she pulled her gaze from Flint’s sardonic expression and glanced around the enormous room.
    Where was she? Leslie wondered, frowning. More to the point, how did she get to wherever she was? And even more to the point, what, if anything, had happened between the last she remembered in the living
    room and now? The answer to her initial question was obvious, even to Leslie’s sleepy mind. Her gaze shot back to Flint.
    “You’re in my bed, in my room,” he said, confirming her conclusion.
    “But how..Leslie’s voice failed as he moved to stand by the bed and held one of the cups out to her. “How did I get here?” she continued, frowning up at him.
    “I carried you.” Flint smiled wryly at her. “Are you going to sit up?”
    “Yes, but...” she began, envisioning the curving staircase.
    “Drink first, talk later.” Flint’s sardonic expression dissolved into real, heart-wrenching tenderness. “But to set your mind at rest so you can drink, I’ll assure you that you’re as untouched now as you were when you fell asleep in my arms last night.”
    Accepting his word without a shred of doubt, Leslie wiggled to sit up. The covers fell to her waist, revealing her lacy bra. She arched her eyebrows at him as she reached for the cup.
    Flint answered her silent query with a question. “You would have preferred to sleep in your dress?” Sitting down next to her, he stared openly at her barely concealed breasts.
    Leslie had the uncanny sensation that she could feel his intense gaze; she knew she felt the heat from it all the way to her flushed cheeks. “No, of course not,” she finally replied in a dry, crackly voice. Lifting the cup, she gulped the hot coffee.
    “Your former husband was a fool,” Flint said, raising his eyes to capture her shifting gaze. “You’re a beautiful woman, Leslie.” He smiled and tilted his cup in a silent salute.
    His praise sent pleasure radiating through her to deepen the flush on her cheeks and put a gleam in her exotic eyes. “Thank you, Flint,” Leslie murmured. “You’re beautiful, too.”
    Flint’s laughter poured through the room like sparkling sun rays. “No, Leslie, I’m not beautiful.” His teeth flashed in a devilish grin. “I face the beast in the mirror