"L. Lee Lowe - Mortal Ghost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lowe L Lee)

'I'm not your mate.'

'Right. Then don't smoke them for all I care. One of my mates will be pleased to have them.'

Jesse's lips twitched. She ought to have inherited the red hair.

'OK,' he said. 'But what about the ban?'

She gaped at him. Capitulation was rarely this swift -- it almost made her feel cheated, like her dad she
relished a good fight. Jesse continually surprised her, and his mood swings could rival a tempest in sheer
strength and unpredictability.

'They look the other way if it's not busy.'

Jesse unwrapped the packet of cigarettes. He was left-handed, his fingers long and fine and articulate like a
musician's, and the nails were short and very clean. For someone sleeping rough, he was particular. He
inhaled deeply, seemed to be deliberating. When he exhaled, his nostrils flared in pleasure, or secret
amusement. Again he inhaled.

'If you inhale like that, you'll end up killing yourself.'

'My lungs are the last thing I've got to worry about.'

'They must be so full of tar that the next time you light a match, they'll burst into flame.'

'Clever,' he said drily.

'If you like fires that much, I can think of better places to start one.'

Something shifted in his eyes, but then he blinked, looked down at the smoke curling from the cigarette in his
fingers, and blew on it gently so that the burning tip glowed more fiercely. It must have been a reflection from
the fag, Sarah told herself, a trick of the light.
Chapter 4 26

Jesse took another drag on his cigarette -- a deep, ostentatious, provocative drag. 'If you don't think I ought to
smoke, why did you buy them?'

Her mouth turned up at the corner. 'I thought they might relax you.'

He wafted back a grin of his own. She was quick, he thought, and not without a sense of humour.

His headache had retreated, but he was aware that it lurked on the fringes of his day. The offer that Sarah's
mother had made slid again into his mind. He didn't have to stay for long, did he? A night, two at most. If he
could at least avoid a full-blown migraine, he'd able to move on with renewed energy. He was so bloody tired.

Sarah signalled to the pimply waiter, who came over straightaway with an ashtray but barely glanced at Jesse.
His eyes slithered along Sarah's body, with the requisite pause at her chest.

'Can I get you guys something else?' he asked.