Garden of the Moongate Read Free Page A

vest. "Several weeks, probably."
    "Oh, how lucky for you," Judy said enthusiastically, then pursed her lips in a silly pout that made her look like an overgrown schoolgirl. "I'll only have a two-day layover there this time, but if we could see each other, I know I can make the most of such a short stay."
    "Maybe we can get together, then," he said noncommittally, apparently accustomed to women nearly begging him to take them out. "Call me tomorrow afternoon, why don't you? Maybe I can get away for dinner."
    "Oh, do try, love," Judy gushed; she trailed her crimson-tipped fingers over his long white shirt sleeve, allowing them to linger on his hair-roughened wrist. "We could have such a fabulous time, catching up on what we've missed the past three years. Now, would you care for a drink before we serve dinner?"
    Ric nodded. "Gin and tonic, please."
    "And you, miss?" Judy added as an afterthought, smiling insincerely at Allendre. "Would you care for something, too?"
    "Yes, I'll have a—"
    "Miss Corey will have orange juice," Ric interrupted astoundingly. "Straight."
    As the stewardess turned her attention to the con-tents of the beverage cart Allendre drew herself up straight, her eyes flashing green fire as she glared at Ric. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered furiously. "You have no right to decide what I'll have to drink. And I happen to
loathe
orange juice."
    "Make that juice a diet soft drink," Ric said over his shoulder to Judy, then smiled nonchalantly when he turned back to Allendre. "I assume that will suit you?"
    "Not really." She unconsciously smoothed her hands over her skirt, unaware that the action emphasized the slender outline of waist, hips, and thighs. "But I suppose that's your snide way of insinuating I
need
diet drinks."
    Shaking his head, he allowed his gaze to drift lazily over her, and his darkening eyes lingered on the generous rise of her breasts beneath the sheer fabric of her lilac blouse. "Considering your very nice shape, I'd have to be either blind or a complete fool to insinuate you need a diet drink, now, wouldn't I?" he asked, his voice low-timbred and provocative. "I just assumed you're like most young women your age, who avoid unnecessary calories as if they were poison."
    "You assumed wrong, then," she snapped at him, cursing herself for blushing at his blatant appraisal of her figure. "I dislike diet drinks almost as much as I do orange juice."
    "Sorry, but you're not having anything stronger." He gave her an insufferably smug smile. "God knows what you might do with a little alcohol in your bloodstream."
    "Really, you're too much," she muttered through clenched teeth. "And I'll have you know I had no intention of asking for anything alcoholic. Now, you tell your Judy that I want ginger ale."
    "Ginger ale for Miss Corey," he said, smiling winningly up at the stewardess, who was observing the exchange, curiosity warring with impatience in her amber eyes. "And I promise that's the final decision."
    "I should hope so," Judy said irritably, transferring all her attention to Allendre. "Now, you're
sure
it's ginger ale you want, miss? Speak now or forever hold your peace. I do have other passengers to serve."
    Not trusting herself to speak, Allendre merely shook her head, then proceeded to count slowly to ten in an effort to control her temper. However, she did manage a strangled "Thank you" when the stewardess handed her a glass of iced ginger ale and a minute square of a paper napkin.
    Allendre spent the next couple of minutes staring out her window at the layer of foglike white clouds swirling below, but at last her curiosity could no longer be contained. "Just one question," she began rather sharply, turning back toward Ric again. "How do you happen to know my name?"
    "I overheard your conversation with the ticket agent," he explained, not bothering to look up from his precious papers. "You're Allendre Corey and you don't particularly like to be called Allie."
    She stared at him.